Post by ktotheb on Aug 2, 2017 3:24:59 GMT
We cut in from black to reveal Leoncio de Soto relaxing in his ‘natural’ environment. That is to say, he’s relaxing on a nameless dock, on a nameless beach watching the sun go down. The whole scene is picturesque and wholesome, even though the man known as the ’Punchline de la Broma Negra’ is currently shirtless, drinking a bottle of rum out in the open… with his trademark eyepatch adorning his face.
“¿Qué onda! I’m glad you could join me here today, Phoenix Wrestling fans, peers… and hopefully my tag partner Faith and lastly - naturally - the pizodas that sum up the Collective. Frankie, Tony, Geno… I know you just met me during the culminating moments of the last Redemption, so I feel like there’s a need to give you a proper introduction to the man that helped chase off your little wannabe mafioso brain trust.”
He tilts the rum towards the camera.
“I am Leoncio de Soto, Rugido, the Punchline de la Broma Negra, the eventual captain of the high seas of Phoenix Wrestling, the free man who flies no color but black, and - where you guys come in - a friend of one of the meanest chicas in wrestling today, Faith.”
He gives his head a shake as a dry chuckle escapes his lips.
“Since using your brains doesn’t seem to be your strong suit caballeros, if you didn’t grasp that me wielding a chair in your general direction meant we weren’t going to be mutual kidney donors by the time the dust settled, then the company I keep should be your big clue.”
With his free hand Leoncio scratches at his beard a moment.
“I mean it may seem so easy and obvious to the likes of you three. I came back last Redemption and I… well chavos I was damn busy. Won my match - of course - caused two colossal meatheads to have a dust-up, and the cherry on top of my comeback, kept three greasy cretins like you from continuing to torment mi compañero.”
De Soto wipes a hand across his forehead melodramatically.
“I suppose the three of you wouldn’t know, but it’s simply exhausting being as good as I am. So imagine how tickled pink I was after last Redemption, when I got told ’Hey Leoncio, you incredibly talented, handsome, roguish maverick with the dashing smile and killer abs, as a reward for being you, in all your splendor, your next match will consist of teaming with the woman - el guerrerra - you should have won the tag titles with if it weren’t for your untimely injury, and together you’ll have the chance to help Faith avenge every hour, minute and second you three tontos have been an obstacle in her life.’”
He smiles even around the swig of rum he takes.
“For those that can’t imagine, I was tickled pretty damn pink. You see I live for the legacy of the pirate, and in piracy we have something call the pirate’s code, and contrary to popular belief, great pirates - even the most dreaded of Scallywags - held honor and loyalty pretty high, at least to those they had to trust their life too when the cutlasses were out and broadsides were hitting the deck. Faith and I? Well, we only had one match, but I can assure you lot that that’s all it takes to earn loyalty and respect if someone is good enough in battle, firing flintlocks and in our case wrenching bodies into painful positions until they simply can’t take anymore, and contrary to whichever one of you mañé dolts figured it would be a good idea to fuck with MY crew thought, Faith is very, very, very good when it comes to wheeling into bloody battle and giving what-for”
Another chuckle escapes his throat.
“What better night for it? A night where we ride high on bloody tides of vengeance and retribution we do so in a land famous for being where people make their fortune with hard-earned, ill-gotten gains. That’s right hermanos y hermanas we are Under The Colosseum Lights. Myself and Faith will sail together again and show the Collective exactly why Capitán de Soto and the cut-throat warrior goddess are not to be fucked with… and if it seems like I’m taking them lightly, like I’m somewhat laid back about the threat these three men possess, let me assure you, it only looks that way, because in reality?”
Leoncio lifts the eyepatch from his face before turning to face the camera, brown eyes glaring into the lens intently,
“These three men: Tony, Geno and that greasy little perra Frankie, have been quite the pain in the ass while I’ve been away, and while I like to smile and make wisecracks, make light of the situation and whatnot. I’ve still sat at home and watched them torment people I have a healthy respect for, I watched them torment Faith, I watched them attempt to take advantage of her and Cassius’ exhausted states last week and honestly, I’d had enough. Now it’s not enough to tell them I’ve been looking forward to getting my hands on them, come August sixth? I will show them exactly why despite the good nature I put forward, a cut-throat is still called a cut-throat for a reason.”
De Soto points into the lens.
“... and I could care less if they take my words and my threats seriously at face value, the truth will be on display to the world when that bell rings and I take Tony to the mat and wrench his arm out of it’s socket, or when I get my legs around Geno’s neck and the last thing he’s aware of as the black closes in is the scent of my testículos, and once I get bored of making two grown ass men cry like little pibe when they realize they’re no longer big fish in a small pond, but rather little fish in my goddamn ocean, I’m going to tag in Faith and let her have a go dissecting and emasculating you wise-guys, and we’re going to cycle through, again and again, until Frankie’s begging the ref to make us stop.”
The grin that spreads across Leoncio’s face is far more predatory this time.
“Oh Frankie, don’t think I’ve forgotten about you… oh no. There’s still plenty of space on this galley for your blood to hit the deck too, and I aim on collecting every drop you owe, for myself, for la Broma Negra, for Chris Andrews, and most importantly, for Faith.”
With that he turns back to face the quickly dwindling sunset, the bottle in his hand raising to his lips once again.
“When that bell rings in Las Vegas, all pretenses are gonna peel away and the three of you will realize you’re in our wheelhouse now, no ship, no paddle, just endless, rolling azure and a sinking feeling that the sharks are closing in.”
A pause.
“The Punchline de la Broma Negra will sound, and when you’re crushed beneath its hull, the last thing the three of you will hear will be Faith and myself laughing. A joyous shanty sounding you all the way down to Davy Jones. Tell him I said hi.”
With that we fade to black.
“¿Qué onda! I’m glad you could join me here today, Phoenix Wrestling fans, peers… and hopefully my tag partner Faith and lastly - naturally - the pizodas that sum up the Collective. Frankie, Tony, Geno… I know you just met me during the culminating moments of the last Redemption, so I feel like there’s a need to give you a proper introduction to the man that helped chase off your little wannabe mafioso brain trust.”
He tilts the rum towards the camera.
“I am Leoncio de Soto, Rugido, the Punchline de la Broma Negra, the eventual captain of the high seas of Phoenix Wrestling, the free man who flies no color but black, and - where you guys come in - a friend of one of the meanest chicas in wrestling today, Faith.”
He gives his head a shake as a dry chuckle escapes his lips.
“Since using your brains doesn’t seem to be your strong suit caballeros, if you didn’t grasp that me wielding a chair in your general direction meant we weren’t going to be mutual kidney donors by the time the dust settled, then the company I keep should be your big clue.”
With his free hand Leoncio scratches at his beard a moment.
“I mean it may seem so easy and obvious to the likes of you three. I came back last Redemption and I… well chavos I was damn busy. Won my match - of course - caused two colossal meatheads to have a dust-up, and the cherry on top of my comeback, kept three greasy cretins like you from continuing to torment mi compañero.”
De Soto wipes a hand across his forehead melodramatically.
“I suppose the three of you wouldn’t know, but it’s simply exhausting being as good as I am. So imagine how tickled pink I was after last Redemption, when I got told ’Hey Leoncio, you incredibly talented, handsome, roguish maverick with the dashing smile and killer abs, as a reward for being you, in all your splendor, your next match will consist of teaming with the woman - el guerrerra - you should have won the tag titles with if it weren’t for your untimely injury, and together you’ll have the chance to help Faith avenge every hour, minute and second you three tontos have been an obstacle in her life.’”
He smiles even around the swig of rum he takes.
“For those that can’t imagine, I was tickled pretty damn pink. You see I live for the legacy of the pirate, and in piracy we have something call the pirate’s code, and contrary to popular belief, great pirates - even the most dreaded of Scallywags - held honor and loyalty pretty high, at least to those they had to trust their life too when the cutlasses were out and broadsides were hitting the deck. Faith and I? Well, we only had one match, but I can assure you lot that that’s all it takes to earn loyalty and respect if someone is good enough in battle, firing flintlocks and in our case wrenching bodies into painful positions until they simply can’t take anymore, and contrary to whichever one of you mañé dolts figured it would be a good idea to fuck with MY crew thought, Faith is very, very, very good when it comes to wheeling into bloody battle and giving what-for”
Another chuckle escapes his throat.
“What better night for it? A night where we ride high on bloody tides of vengeance and retribution we do so in a land famous for being where people make their fortune with hard-earned, ill-gotten gains. That’s right hermanos y hermanas we are Under The Colosseum Lights. Myself and Faith will sail together again and show the Collective exactly why Capitán de Soto and the cut-throat warrior goddess are not to be fucked with… and if it seems like I’m taking them lightly, like I’m somewhat laid back about the threat these three men possess, let me assure you, it only looks that way, because in reality?”
Leoncio lifts the eyepatch from his face before turning to face the camera, brown eyes glaring into the lens intently,
“These three men: Tony, Geno and that greasy little perra Frankie, have been quite the pain in the ass while I’ve been away, and while I like to smile and make wisecracks, make light of the situation and whatnot. I’ve still sat at home and watched them torment people I have a healthy respect for, I watched them torment Faith, I watched them attempt to take advantage of her and Cassius’ exhausted states last week and honestly, I’d had enough. Now it’s not enough to tell them I’ve been looking forward to getting my hands on them, come August sixth? I will show them exactly why despite the good nature I put forward, a cut-throat is still called a cut-throat for a reason.”
De Soto points into the lens.
“... and I could care less if they take my words and my threats seriously at face value, the truth will be on display to the world when that bell rings and I take Tony to the mat and wrench his arm out of it’s socket, or when I get my legs around Geno’s neck and the last thing he’s aware of as the black closes in is the scent of my testículos, and once I get bored of making two grown ass men cry like little pibe when they realize they’re no longer big fish in a small pond, but rather little fish in my goddamn ocean, I’m going to tag in Faith and let her have a go dissecting and emasculating you wise-guys, and we’re going to cycle through, again and again, until Frankie’s begging the ref to make us stop.”
The grin that spreads across Leoncio’s face is far more predatory this time.
“Oh Frankie, don’t think I’ve forgotten about you… oh no. There’s still plenty of space on this galley for your blood to hit the deck too, and I aim on collecting every drop you owe, for myself, for la Broma Negra, for Chris Andrews, and most importantly, for Faith.”
With that he turns back to face the quickly dwindling sunset, the bottle in his hand raising to his lips once again.
“When that bell rings in Las Vegas, all pretenses are gonna peel away and the three of you will realize you’re in our wheelhouse now, no ship, no paddle, just endless, rolling azure and a sinking feeling that the sharks are closing in.”
A pause.
“The Punchline de la Broma Negra will sound, and when you’re crushed beneath its hull, the last thing the three of you will hear will be Faith and myself laughing. A joyous shanty sounding you all the way down to Davy Jones. Tell him I said hi.”
With that we fade to black.