Post by ktotheb on Jul 5, 2017 3:07:52 GMT
***
ON-SCREEN
ON-SCREEN
The camera fades in from black to reveal a small table that’s been set with a decorative decanter, a small ice bucket, and an ornate scotch tumbler.
“Ah… July fourth”
A hand reaches in from off screen and removes the stopper from the decanter, setting it aside before lifter the bottle and pouring a healthy two fingers of liquid into the tumbler. After a the hand fishes out two cubes of ice from the bucket and drops it in.
“You know people, there isn’t much one would think a man of my vocation would like about America-”
The camera pulls back, revealing a Jolly Roger flag has been pinned to the wall behind the small table.
“-after all, the Punchline de la Broma Negra isn’t one to yearn for social acceptance or even the average American’s social code-”
As we pull back farther, into view, kicked back on a dark-lacquered bar-stool is one Leoncio de Soto, his furry ring jacket, eye patch and trademark smirk accented with an actual pirate captain’s hat.
“-and even though the average American is secretly enamored with being like me. Romanticizing what I consider to be, you know - piola. They’ll still at the end of the day, obey the rules, pay their taxes, and go about living the high-life of the seas where the average American always has: novels, movies and videogames.”
At that Leoncio removes his cap settling it neatly on his lap before taking a sip from his tumbler.
“Still, despite all that gente, I feel a kinship with Americans, being one of the first democracies. Because for all the negative press and terrible Johnny Depp movies, piracy was one of the first forms of democracy."
He puts his hand over his heart before sighing wistfully.
“Much like the founding fathers who fought the British, my great grandfather dreamed of freedom from an oppressive monarchy, and stood alongside like-minded heroes - Patriotas if you will - to face down tyranny and ensure that their fellow man lived as the Good Lord intended. Free and without scruples”
Another sip from his tumbler before Leon gestures towards the camera, a sarcastic grin on his lips.
“I stress without scruples. Sometimes that meant killing people that needed to be killed, sometimes that meant drinking excessive amounts of rum and whoring, but hey! Freedom is freedom, right?”
A chuckle as he takes another sip before setting the tumbler back on the table.
“July fourth is a time to reflect on having earned that freedom, of having stood achorado and taking what’s yours. I’m proud of you America, as one progressive thinker to another, it’s nice to see. I wish I could tell the lot of you that Rugido would be celebrating right alongside with the victory of HIS people, but alas…”
Leoncio picks up the decanter and pours some liquid out onto the ground before topping up his own glass.
“... my people didn’t win, and instead are vilified as tyrants and villains to this day for wanting to live free. History favors the victor and all that.”
A sigh. A long second passes before de Soto’s gaze turns back up to the lens.
“Now I can almost hear some of you out there wondering what this has to do with Rugido’s triumphant return to the ring at Phoenix Wrestling’s Redemption one-ten card. Or what this has to do with me making my triumphant recovery from the injury I sustained when Chica Faith and I handily defeated Iser and Valiant. Or even if this has anything to do with my upcoming opponent, that overgrown pizado Ryan Graves… well to be honest…”
Leoncio replaces the wide-brimmed, black tricorn onto his head with a flourish.
“... that had nothing to do with my match OR my injury. It honestly has nothing to do with that pendejo Graves. That spiel was a showing for…”
De Soto points into the lens.
“... your sake. All of you watching at home. I did that for you because I felt that after being away for so long and depriving you all of my hermoso face due to injury, it was the least I could do to say something heartfelt, and interesting and somewhat subversive. I needed to say that, and do you all know why?”
He runs the index finger of his non-drinking hand across the brim of his hat as he knocks back some more booze.
“Simple, because I now have to talk about Ryan Graves, so anything heartfelt, interesting and subversive gets keelhauled.”
Leoncio shrugs.
“I know, it sucks for me too. Let’s get it over with quick like pulling of a band-aid, aye?”
His free hand scratches his stubble a moment before he nods again into the camera.
“Ryan, dude… Cabrón... how are you? I hope you’re doing poorly, honestly I do. Not out of any sort of hate, nothing about you gives Rugido cause to hate you because honestly you’re nowhere NEAR worth it, but I hope maybe you rolled your ankle or something this morning because - honestly - you’ve been annoying me ever since I had to spend good, quality pirate time fast-forwarding through anything to do with you whenever I skimmed through Phoenix Wrestling shows since my unfortunate injury. That was like a good whole three-or-four minutes I could have used to do something better. Like learn a third language, meet a life-mate, take up a college course, tragar un cuchillo...”
He reaches into his jacket and yanks out what appears to be an old, weathered scroll.
“... I made a list of other things, but let’s not get too sidetracked. You see Ryan, when you were announced as my opponent I had to go back through my TiVo and actually invest the time into seeing what you had to offer, what you had to say.”
At this Leoncio shrugs.
“As it turns out? You really didn’t have a lot of either.”
He holds his hands up defensively.
“Now now Ryan, I’m sure you’re seething right now that I can dare crack wise against you. At this point I’m almost certain you’re no longer watching the screen having thrown a bottle of whiskey at it before putting on a leather jacket, riding your Harley Davidson down to the local bar, beating up some nadie, and giving herpes to a single mother you thought was an ángel after a dozen tall-boys. So here I am then, talking to the Phoenix Wrestling fans and our peers, maybe you’ll be more receptive when you’re nursing a ratón, but I doubt it.”
Leoncio clears his throat.
“You see Ryan, it’s very easy for men like you to come into a company - any company - with an air of mystique around you. You’re a large, imposing bastardo with the skillset that comes with being a large, imposing bastardo. You’re strong, you’re smashmouth, you want to come into that ring and bully and bleed ever poor alma
that stands against you.”
Rugido points into the lens.
“I saw the last Redemption, and I saw exactly how and why you got sent against Cassius Reed, and I saw exactly how and why you lost to him, Ryan. I’ll be honest, there was a moment there where I think that mystique you have had him shook, even if Reed doesn’t admit it, but the problem with being a big, angry dude in an environment where big, angry dudes are commonplace is that as the match went on and Reed got comfortable, he exposed something in you, Ryan.”
Leoncio chuckles.
“Being a big, angry dude is all you got.”
He shakes his head a moment before looking into the lens.
“There isn’t a calculating mind behind those eyes. The ’I’m a badass, look at all this denim’ couture doesn’t hide some startling technical ability. You came in big, and you came in angry, and that’s all you had against Cassius maldito Reed!? The man whose entire tenure in Phoenix Wrestling has been breaking the mystique of people over his knee?”
At that Leoncio pinches the bridge of his nose, a sigh escaping his lips.
“If it seems like I’m not taking you seriously, Graves… it’s because no soy. You haven’t earned it. You’re nothing but a run-of-the-mill, printer-press bully, and unfortunately for your win-loss record Cabrón, I made my skull-and-crossbones over making fools out of people like you. So prepare to be boarded, because all of your ‘being big’ and ‘anger’ and all of that garbage means less than nothing to me when you don’t get to stay standing, when I tie up your legs and stretch your ligaments out and have you screaming like the kids you used to pick on.”
De Soto takes a moment to wet his lips with another sip from the tumbler.
“July eleventh in Utah, la Broma Negra sails again and nothing will save you from me, Ryan. Smirk at being threatened by a ‘little man’, think about all the things you’re going to want to do to me, it won’t matter, I’m the captain of this ship, the Last True Throatcutter, and in that ring I’m going to make sure you know who the true giant in that ring is.”
A pause before the slowly intensifying expression of Leoncio immediately melts away into his trademark smirk.
“After all, what good can a Tyrant Of - literally here - ‘wild and noisy disorder or confusion; uproar’ be against a Tyrant of the High Seas?”
He lifts up his eye patch so the viewer can see him blatantly wink.
“Happy fourth of July, all”
With that he scoops up the decanter and walks off screen with a flourish as we fade to black.