Shotgunpenguin
I have become haitus, destroyer of RP's
Connor Davis
Connor must have died in that airport and went straight to heaven. It was the only possible explanation that made any sense as he stepped out of his room sized master bathroom. It was literally bigger than his dorm room back home, and he didn't have to share it with anyone else. Not to mention the actual hotel room itself. It was as big, if not bigger, than his families entire living room. The bed was a full king and looked immaculate. There was an entire sofa in the middle of the room with two comfortable looking leather chairs surrounding a large coffee table flanking it. The television was embedded in the wall and had to be at least a hundred inches wide, with a stereo system that just oozed possibilities. And the view was incredible, the large outside balcony giving him a beautiful view of the city itself.
After getting through customs without being ambushed, he practically threw himself into the first taxi he found and started repeating the limited Spanish he had drilled into his head at the driver. It was all for nothing however as the driver was fluent in English, leaving Connor more than a little embarrassed as he was asked where he wanted to go. Just wanting to get out of the area for the time being he had told the driver to take him to a hotel, any would do. As it turned out, the hotel that he was taken to was not just any hotel, but what looked like an entire resort wrapped into a hotel. He wasn't even sure how he would try and afford it, only to be informed by the front desk that his room was already prepared and paid for. Now, draped in a comfortable bath robe and sat on the foot of his bed, he couldn't even to begin to believe his luck.
Flicking on the television, Connor lazily browsed through the channels to see what was on. Eventually, he had found himself on a channel dedicated to the tournament itself, with a table full of well dressed and experienced looking men and women spoke excitedly about the participants. Fights were broken down, names were thrown around and fight records, both public and not, were paraded around as each host argued for their perceived favorite to win the tournament. Apparently this Bek guy was the favored contestant, boasting the most eliminations yet out of all of the participants. Soon after the hosts took a break, and a list of the remaining participants was slowly scrolled across the screen. Besides each participant was a number, a number that he soon realized showed their overall ranking in the tournament.
He watched the names scroll on by, his eyes glued to the screen as he scanned for his name. Finally, his name scrolled up from the bottom of the screen and he could not help but let out an angry yell when he noticed his ranking. One hundred and nineteenth, he wasn't even in the top one hundred! Grumbling, Connor reached for his phone to look up some of the names that were ahead of him, eager to try and get some information on them, only to remember that he had shut if off during the flight to save power. Powering it on, he was immediately blasted with over fifteen missed calls from his parents, seven voice-mails, and dozens of text messages as well. He cringed, remembering that he didn't exactly clear any of this with his parents beforehand. Falling back into the comforting embrace of his king sized bed, the softness of the pillows slowly sapped away his annoyance and dread as he closed his eyes and sighed. He could deal with that basket of grenades in the morning. For now, all he wanted to do was get some sleep and be ready for the next day.
A knock at the door had him groaning, not willing to leave his quilted comfort to answer the door. Thankfully, the person didn't continue to knocking stopped after a short while leaving him to close his eyes and lie in bliss. Unfortunately, his body was still wired from both his flight and the massive brawl at the airport. No matter how much he tossed and turned, he eventually gave up on sleep for now and got dressed. He changed into his spare set of clothes, A pair of jeans and a burgundy t-shirt covered by a blue and grey half-zip jacket. Instead of his usual shoes he decided to take the extra time and lace up his boxing shoes. If fights could break out at any moment, it was probably a good idea to be ready whenever. Slipping a roll of tape into his jacket pocket Connor was about to open his hotel door when he spied a piece of paper on the ground in front of it.
Leaning down to pick it up, he turned it over and inspected it. It was a pamphlet, detailing all of the features and perks being an active card holder in the tournament would grant him. In addition to his fully paid for hotel, he would be able to grab a meal at practically any location within the city. Seemingly no expense was spared, which only served to hammer in exactly how important and influential the people putting the tournament on were. Restaurants, clubs, bars, any and every activity he could think of was detailed in the pages of the pamphlet.
Also included, much to his shock, was a detailed breakdown of the more.... adult oriented festivities that were available for the competitors to enjoy. Connor quickly shut the pamphlet, face turning red as he looked around as if to confirm that he was alone. After confirming that yes, he was in fact still alone in his hotel room, he slowly peeled open the pamphlet and scanned every inch of it.
"W-well it would be rude to pass them up on such a generous offer. Besides, I am almost twenty one, so I'm basically already a full fledged adult. What's the worst that could happen?"
------------------------------------------
Everything was a blur.
Another drink burned its way down his throat, the heavy shot glass slamming against the wooden counter with more force than necessary as a cheer erupted from those around him. Someone slapped his back as he turned and raised his arms for a cheer. Or tried to, in any case as it seemed like fine motor control had left him somewhere between the fifth or sixth shot of liquor. Instead his arms splayed out wildly in the air as the unimpressed bartender collected the glass with weathered patience.
"¡Este niño puede sostener su licor!" His new best friend slapped his back eliciting a mild groan of complaint from the slumped over man. Connor didn't quite understand what he was saying, but he sounded happy so it was probably something good.
"Y-yesh. I'm da greatust. Best 'round." The words slurred from his mouth while his right arm slowly snaked itself towards the now empty space of the bar counter in search of the next shot. "Wuzzuh?"
"Ya no más." The bartender glared at the assorted group, arms crossed as he continued. "Estás cortado, lo último que necesito son los organizadores en mi por darle envenenamiento por licor."
His best friend, god he really didn't deserve someone like him, took offense to what was obviously an insult against Connor. "Oye, vamos, es un competidor. Tienes que darle lo que quiera. ¡Y lo que quiere es otra ronda para todos nosotros!"
"No." The bartenders left arm slid beneath the counter before returning with a worn looking baseball bat. "Ahora sal de aquí antes de que me suba a la barra y te dé una patada en el trasero!"
Why was he getting so mad? They were just having a good time, or at least Connor thought they were. "S'fine s'fine, we- we'll go. B-becuz the party ish jush gettun started!" The floor quickly rushed to catch him, and suddenly the whole world shifted. No longer was he inside of a dingy bar surrounded by his new friends. His face filled with cushioned comfortableness, he rolled over only to yelp as his body fell off of the very comfortable bench. Now with a face full of significantly less comfortable floor, Connor slowly drug himself onto his knees and blearily looked around the room.
It looked like some sort of waiting room, although his new friends were nowhere to be found. The only other person in the room was an older looking woman lazily watching the television, some sort of sport was playing although he couldn't make heads or tails of what it was.
"E-excuse me." A wave of nausea slammed into him, as well as a piercing headache as he cradled his head in his hands. "W-where am I? Did my friends drop me off here?"
Mentions:
druidquest
ne wrong move and he was probably gonna have to go to the doctor's to get himself checked out, not to mention accidentally siring a potential heir to his territory on accident! 
