Post by Roy Vezina on Oct 26, 2024 23:05:42 GMT
The Punch Line has taken over a corner booth at the back of a small, classic diner. It’s late, almost midnight, and they’re the only ones left, save for a tired-looking waitress wiping down tables. The booth is cluttered with plates of half-eaten poutine, a couple of milkshake glasses, and stacks of maple syrup bottles that someone must have thought made good decoration. Harv Norris and Rick Hull are lounging casually, Harv flipping through an old hockey magazine while Rick absently stirs his half-melted milkshake. Roy Vezina, leaning back against the booth’s red vinyl seat, clears his throat and grins.
Roy Vezina: (arms spread wide) “Alright, boys, listen up. This past year has been something else, huh?”
Harv puts down the magazine and Rick sets his milkshake aside. They turn their attention to Roy, the undeniable leader of their little band.
Roy Vezina: “Last October, we did something nobody thought we could do. We created the Punch Line, a group that nobody saw coming, and now look at us. Champions, the top of Pollo Road, running the show from top to bottom.”
Harv Norris: (grinning, his thick Newfoundland accent shining through) “Dats right, b’y! We showed ‘em all, eh?”
Rick Hull: (smirking) “Damn right we did. Took the belts, took their pride, and we didn’t even need to throw a punch half the time.”
Roy chuckles, clearly pleased with his team’s success.
Roy Vezina: “And it’s not just about the belts, boys. It’s about loyalty, sticking together, and being a real team. A real family.”
Harv and Rick nod in agreement, feeling the camaraderie that only comes from fighting side by side for over a year. The sound of a spoon clinking against a glass breaks the silence, and Harv chuckles.
Harv Norris: “Y’know, Roy, I gotta say—never thought I’d find myself here, eatin’ poutine with a bunch of goons like yous. But look at us now.”
Rick laughs, and Roy raises his milkshake glass in an impromptu toast.
Roy Vezina: (smiling) “To the Punch Line—Canada’s greatest export!”
They all clink glasses, even though Harv’s is empty. As they finish, Roy leans forward, looking particularly proud.
Roy Vezina: “And now, with Puck and Blue Thunder on board, there’s no stopping us. Puck’s got the speed and the mouth to keep our opponents distracted, and Thunder… well, he’s a big asset.”
Rick Hull: (smirking) “Kid’s got a set of lungs on him, that’s for sure. Never seen someone run his mouth that much and not pass out.”
Harv Norris: (chuckling) “Tiny, but mighty, dat one.”
Roy leans back with a satisfied grin, clearly enjoying the banter. But then, as if remembering something, he glances around the diner.
Roy Vezina: “Yeah, and with Blue Thunder, we’ve got the enforcer. The silent wall to keep everything in check—”
Harv suddenly catches sight of a tall, shadowy figure standing at the end of their booth, almost blending into the dark corner of the diner. It’s Blue Thunder, completely motionless, just standing there like a towering statue. Harv jumps, nearly knocking over his empty milkshake glass.
Harv Norris: (startled) “Holy jumpin’, who’s dat?!”
Rick’s eyes widen as he realizes who it is.
Rick Hull: (leaning back, startled) “What the hell, man?!”
Roy, too, jumps slightly but tries to play it off with an awkward chuckle.
Roy Vezina: (nervously laughing) “Thunder! What the hell, man, you gotta stop doing that! How long have you been standing there?”
Blue Thunder just stands there, unblinking, in his full hockey gear, staring straight ahead. The man doesn’t say a word. Roy, Harv, and Rick exchange looks, none of them quite sure what to make of the situation.
Harv Norris: (whispering, to Rick) “B’y, he looks like he’s gonna eat somebody.”
Rick Hull: (leaning away) “Does he even sleep, Roy?”
Roy clears his throat and tries to regain his composure, smiling awkwardly.
Roy Vezina: (trying to laugh it off) “Yeah, well… y’know, it’s just part of the intimidation factor, right? Blue Thunder, he’s like our… secret weapon.”
Blue Thunder continues to stand there, completely silent, and the tension in the air is almost comedic.
Harv Norris: (muttering, half to himself) “Secret weapon? More like a spooky ghost, b’y…”
The group laughs nervously, and the camera slowly pans away, capturing the odd but somehow fitting scene of the Punch Line—three guys in a dingy diner, trying to figure out their newest member who’s eerily good at standing in the shadows.
Roy Vezina: (arms spread wide) “Alright, boys, listen up. This past year has been something else, huh?”
Harv puts down the magazine and Rick sets his milkshake aside. They turn their attention to Roy, the undeniable leader of their little band.
Roy Vezina: “Last October, we did something nobody thought we could do. We created the Punch Line, a group that nobody saw coming, and now look at us. Champions, the top of Pollo Road, running the show from top to bottom.”
Harv Norris: (grinning, his thick Newfoundland accent shining through) “Dats right, b’y! We showed ‘em all, eh?”
Rick Hull: (smirking) “Damn right we did. Took the belts, took their pride, and we didn’t even need to throw a punch half the time.”
Roy chuckles, clearly pleased with his team’s success.
Roy Vezina: “And it’s not just about the belts, boys. It’s about loyalty, sticking together, and being a real team. A real family.”
Harv and Rick nod in agreement, feeling the camaraderie that only comes from fighting side by side for over a year. The sound of a spoon clinking against a glass breaks the silence, and Harv chuckles.
Harv Norris: “Y’know, Roy, I gotta say—never thought I’d find myself here, eatin’ poutine with a bunch of goons like yous. But look at us now.”
Rick laughs, and Roy raises his milkshake glass in an impromptu toast.
Roy Vezina: (smiling) “To the Punch Line—Canada’s greatest export!”
They all clink glasses, even though Harv’s is empty. As they finish, Roy leans forward, looking particularly proud.
Roy Vezina: “And now, with Puck and Blue Thunder on board, there’s no stopping us. Puck’s got the speed and the mouth to keep our opponents distracted, and Thunder… well, he’s a big asset.”
Rick Hull: (smirking) “Kid’s got a set of lungs on him, that’s for sure. Never seen someone run his mouth that much and not pass out.”
Harv Norris: (chuckling) “Tiny, but mighty, dat one.”
Roy leans back with a satisfied grin, clearly enjoying the banter. But then, as if remembering something, he glances around the diner.
Roy Vezina: “Yeah, and with Blue Thunder, we’ve got the enforcer. The silent wall to keep everything in check—”
Harv suddenly catches sight of a tall, shadowy figure standing at the end of their booth, almost blending into the dark corner of the diner. It’s Blue Thunder, completely motionless, just standing there like a towering statue. Harv jumps, nearly knocking over his empty milkshake glass.
Harv Norris: (startled) “Holy jumpin’, who’s dat?!”
Rick’s eyes widen as he realizes who it is.
Rick Hull: (leaning back, startled) “What the hell, man?!”
Roy, too, jumps slightly but tries to play it off with an awkward chuckle.
Roy Vezina: (nervously laughing) “Thunder! What the hell, man, you gotta stop doing that! How long have you been standing there?”
Blue Thunder just stands there, unblinking, in his full hockey gear, staring straight ahead. The man doesn’t say a word. Roy, Harv, and Rick exchange looks, none of them quite sure what to make of the situation.
Harv Norris: (whispering, to Rick) “B’y, he looks like he’s gonna eat somebody.”
Rick Hull: (leaning away) “Does he even sleep, Roy?”
Roy clears his throat and tries to regain his composure, smiling awkwardly.
Roy Vezina: (trying to laugh it off) “Yeah, well… y’know, it’s just part of the intimidation factor, right? Blue Thunder, he’s like our… secret weapon.”
Blue Thunder continues to stand there, completely silent, and the tension in the air is almost comedic.
Harv Norris: (muttering, half to himself) “Secret weapon? More like a spooky ghost, b’y…”
The group laughs nervously, and the camera slowly pans away, capturing the odd but somehow fitting scene of the Punch Line—three guys in a dingy diner, trying to figure out their newest member who’s eerily good at standing in the shadows.