Thread: Against the Ropes [ Sigr & Captain Brandeau ]

Vincenzo Vinny La Rosa was once the number one MMA prospect highly requested by pro scouts from around the globe. Fighting was to be his golden ticket to fame and bottomless fortune to fulfill his sinful greed. Fortunately, he possessed the talent and skill but his delusion was too selfish to hold its ground. Vinny could think of no greater good worth fighting for than himself and it was that annoying brand of arrogance that resulted in his failure. Through intense training and perseverance, none can ever say the man did not have discipline. And since his epic loss during the fight that ended the beginning of his career that took place plenty of years ago, failure humbled the man. His eyes used to always shimmer like flames and held an immense passion for doing what he loved most. Having been so hyperactive in his youth and just as impulsive and one-minded, he had a lovehate effect on just about everyone. When people are reminded of the ex-fighter, they are reminded more of his mistakes than his accomplishments. But behind that initial image, his eyes were green like the churning waters of the bay area during a storm. Small, dark lines hung beneath the hollows, deepening with age and granting him total maturity. Now 29 years of age, almost a decade later, he was dragging barrels of trash to the street curb of his beloved hometown, Chicago. There was nowhere else for him to go when fighting and competing was all he knew except to work in a local restaurant where he bussed tables and washed dishes. No matter the position, everyone wore all black and the males had to have their shirts tucked into their pants. Working for living wages, Vinny did not dislike his work but if someone were to tell him his future ten years sooner he would have laughed his ass off. He scored the job through the owner, Marina, an old classmate from high school who, like everyone else, pitied him. Still, it was an honest living and he was thankful for the opportunity. The restaurant, Chicago Gold, featured Italian American flavors at least twenty different recipes for pasta, twenty styles of pizza, sub sandwiches, and loaded hot dogs. The lunch rush was just minutes away and during cold, rainy days like this one, the restaurant served hot, homemade soups. The rancid scent of old, unfinished food soured the gum hed been chewing on, so he leaned over a barrel and spat it out. To his left, the garbage truck slowly turned the corner and onto the street. He had heard the familiar engine rumbling and hissing above the other noises of the bustling city, including sirens in the distance. Vinny would only have to endure the stench and suffer in the icy rain two buildings longer as two men in sanitation uniforms tackled the bins, cans, and barrels on either side of the street. His gaze escaped for a brief moment to look out ahead of him and at the small crowd of people gathered across the way waiting to pass over. Among them, he noted the height of a particular woman who stood out before the truck approached and braked in front of his line of vision. Just as the thought came, it went and he had a job to finish. Vinny would move the emptied barrels out of the path of several pedestrians before a coworker approached him. Vinny, Marina needs you inside. I got this. His tone was somewhat urgent as he took the barrels. They both glanced inside the restaurant through its glass doors and windows and witnessed a line of already 6 people, still growing. The restaurant was of average size with six booths and two tables inside as well as two tables on the outside. On the way back in, Vinny found himself holding the door open for three more customers and a child. Marina assigned him to the backup register after booting it up, which divided the line into two. When he spoke, he first greeted everyone politely, though his face made little movement, and his accent was just as Chicago as everyone else's. He would look down to put money in the drawer and extract exact change and whatever dark curls not tied down in his small messy hair bun would bounce with his movements. He had straightened up for the next customer, hands at the ready on the tablet screen, a relaxed expression on his round face now that the first wave of the rush had been taken care of. Yes ma'm. And a name for the order? He asked his final customer, biting back a defeated sigh. Studying this woman before him now that she stood just across the counter, Vinny recognized her from one of a few photos hanging on his fridge. In this particular photo, a young Vinny stood between a Mr. Omarov and his daughter who was just a kid up to his waist at the time. But it couldn't possibly be the same girl.