Post by ktotheb on Jan 16, 2017 2:57:50 GMT
(Miami, Florida, January 7th, 2017)
Morning casts in through the bedroom window. Well, technically not morning, because it’s actually half past noon, but the dreary, overcast sky on this Saturday parts ever so slightly for a stubborn sun trying to shine through, as it just so happens to land directly on the upturned, sleeping face of one Leoncio de Soto.
Does it wake him from his slumber? No, but he does stir slightly only to let out a stubborn groan then roll away from the window in question, only to be cut short by another occupant in the bed.
THAT wakes him.
Leoncio’s eyes open, his expression bleary and curious as to who it was that was sharing his bed. Sitting up slightly his eyes widen after a long moment of confusion.
This wasn’t his bed. This wasn’t even his house… and if the pictures of a smiling couple on the opposite wall of the bed were any indication, the bottled blonde - whose name he had a lingering suspicion was Jill, but spelled with a ‘Y’ or some other inane, Millennial 'special snowflake' bullshit - that was snoring blissfully beside him was certainly not his wife.
She couldn’t be, Leoncio de Soto wasn’t married.
“... fuck” He grumbles, then winces as it comes out much louder than intended. He checks to make sure the woman is still sleeping, wincing anew as he notes her paid-for false eyelashes are falling off and her mascara is a goth-like disaster. This was a hookup he wouldn’t be calling again.
He slides quietly from bed in search of his clothes from the night before. After a few moments of searching which are addled slightly by not only his need to be stealthy, but also the bill of services from a night filled with Tequila shooters, he manages to turn up one sock, one pair of silk boxers ‘Jylle’ managed to tear during last night’s sloppy fuckfest, his black dress slacks, and a grey undershirt. Checking the pockets of his wrinkled slacks he lets out a sigh of relief.
“Wallet, phone, keys… thank merciful Christ” He crosses himself half-heartedly before he drags out his phone. It displays two missed texts - one from a different woman whose name he wasn’t sure he put into his contacts list correctly asking what he was up to tonight, well, last night now, and the second was from his father asking when he was going to be back up to visit him again - and one missed phone call from his friend Cedric.
Spotting Cedric’s name, Leoncio hurriedly pulls his pants and undershirt on and somewhat sourly tosses the singular sock and ruined boxers back to the floor before carefully making his way out onto the balcony attached to the bedroom. He brings up the contact info and quickly dials the man back.
“C’mon man…” Leoncio mumbles impatiently as the call issues it’s pre-requisite long-distance service fee message and starts ringing.
“‘Lo Leon” Cedric’s dry voice crackles into Leoncio’s ear, obviously expecting the man to call him back, “was beginnin’ to wonder how deep into the drinking and whoring last night, I called hours ago”
“Whoring? I’m wounded, ese. Not a single one of these women have paid to enjoy my company! ‘Sides, I stayed in last night, Bible study” He smirks, choosing not to cast a look back into the bedroom, where the wraith of his most recent conquest sleeps, “So did they call back? Am I in?”
He realizes as he asks how childlike he sounds, but he’s not inclined to care right then. Leoncio and Cedric were friends from the old neighborhood in Detroit, while Leoncio was still trying to make his way in the world of professional wrestling, Cedric had taken a more… financially stable route with his life. It was just through dumb luck and Leoncio’s desperate charm that Cedric accepted to take something of a managerial role for the boisterous man’s professional and financial status.
In this case - considering this was the first real money contract that Leoncio de Soto had ever grasped for in his career - Cedric wouldn’t just accept his friend’s eagerness to know if he’d got it, he'd expected it.
“Yeah dude. You got it, Phoenix Wrestling is your new employer” Cedric states, voice bland, but Leoncio swore he could HEAR the smile in his voice.
“FUCK YE-” de Soto claps a hand over his mouth, stifling his exuberance, he casts a cautious look over his shoulder, satisfied he didn’t wake anyone he leans back to the phone, “When do I start?”
“Well they already got you booked i-”
The sound of tires screeching into the drive of the suburban two story diverts the Latin-American’s attention from hearing the details about his match. His eyes quickly cast down onto a grim sight, the familiar face that graced the picture frame opposite his most recent lay’s bed. He hops out of the driver’s side of his Dodge RAM and stares up at the now regretful professional wrestler his wife had cuckolded him with.
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!? WHERE’S JYLLEAN!?” The man roars as he rushes up to his own front door out of Leoncio’s line of site, but the sound of the front door getting flung open so hard it smashes through some dry-wall below him paints a vivid picture of what’s about to happen.
“Yo Cedric, I’mma haveta call you back, dog” de Soto mumbles into his phone before terminating the call and stuffing his cell into his pocket.
“Wh-what’s going on?” The professional wrestler hears the only now awakened Jylle grumble from behind him.
“Your husband’s here mamacita,” Leoncio offers, turning to give the woman a smile stuck somewhere between dashing and terrified, “so I’m off, you two look like you have some things to sort out”
With that proclamation he leaps over the balcony railing before he can second guess himself, catching a quick glimpse of the angry husband rushing into the bedroom with what appeared to be a firearm. He’s weightless for a moment before he crashes down onto the woman’s various amaryllis flowers, fueled by adrenaline and the will to live Leoncio rolls free of the garden and makes a shoeless dash across the lawn and out to the street where he’s grateful to spot the teal Toyota 4-Runner his father had given to him as a graduation gift.
“No more two-story houses” He grumbles to himself as he hops into his vehicle and starts it up.
He peels out from the curb, the music he’d been listening to last night kicks on at the same eardrum breaking volume he’d left it at the night before, it almost manages to block out the boom of a gunshot… except Leoncio’s rear window basically explodes.
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” de Soto pitches the truck right and hunches low as he speeds off for home, “NO MORE LOCO MARRIED CHICKS!”
***
The camera opens to reveal the face of an unfamiliar grin adorning the face of a well-built young man, his olive skin and gleaming eye - his other currently covered by an ornate leather patch - giving him a peculiarly boyish, rogue-like charm.
“¿Qué Huele, Phoenix wrestling fans? Allow me to introduce myself, the dashing figure you see before you is named Leoncio de Soto. Sometimes called the ‘Punchline de la Broma Negra’... I know that doesn’t tend to roll off the tongue, but give me some time, I’m new here!”
Leoncio jabs a thumb into his chest proudly.
“So, I’m the newest face amongst a sea of faces new and old to Phoenix Wrestling. A sea familiar to many wrestling fans, who’ve seen the waters of this industry swarmed with various villains, heroes, mercantile types and other sorts of ne’er-do-wells laye their claim in it. Some succeed, some flounder, and some worse yet, become chum. It’s not really a pretty picture to paint of Phoenix Wrestling - or of pro-wrestling in general - but even I have to admit, it’s exciting”
He chuckles, voice barely containing the sheer joy that he’s getting the opportunity to speak on camera. Realizing the impression he’s giving off, he takes a calming breath before adopting a more nonchalant countenance.
“Exciting enough, that I’m willing to cast off into that sea with little more than my guile, wits and ability to see me through, well, that and a heritage of sailing the bloody waters, you see, this mentality of cutting swaths through the turbulent tidings of life and any who will oppose me? That’s something that exists in my blood, my great-great-great grandfather, Benito de Soto, was a feared pirate in the Caribbean, during what many called the dying days of true-blue swashbuckling. He was seen as a dying breed of man, a fearsome cut throat who stood against all that opposed him and left heaping mounds of bodies in his wake, plundering ships and reaping unjust rewards the whole way…”
De Soto rubs his hands together expectantly.
“Now some might ask what this has to do with me? Well fans, naysayers and peers… and especially my first opponent in Phoenix Wrestling - The Twin-isher - it means that much like my ancestor, I fit in perfectly with this industry! I bear a legacy-”
He pauses for a moment
“… uh, perhaps the wrong word to use in this particular company, but we’ll just stick with it…”
Leoncio shrugs before continuing.
“... a legacy that lets me know that I can find success in a place as cut throat and vicious as professional wrestling. Make no mistake, I’m a charming, often-times caring individual, but as Twin-isher is going to discover very shortly, I’m more than willing to be as vicious, selfish and bloodthirsty as I need to be to see that my goals are met”
His smile this time bares his canines, expression full of anticipation as the words leave his lips.
“Twin-isher - hombre - I know you and your brother have graced the locker room of Phoenix Wrestling for a long time, you have tenure, you’ve even garnered respect from some big names that used to pass you off as jokes… even I have to say it’s chido of you both to have stuck around so long even though it’s doubtful you’d ever reach the top, but Twin that’s where my admiration for your ability to ‘keep on’ stops, comprende?”
‘Rugido’ nods into the lens as though he were explaining this to a simple child.
“On January seventeenth, I’m going to do to you something impressive enough that it resonates beyond the dark match we’re stuck in. I’m going to bend you, I’m going to put you into some torturous positions Güey, and you’re going to resist, and you’re going to fight back. I’d expect nothing less from you, but all that’s going to do is ensure I get crueler, and more vicious until you can’t take anymore, and when you can’t take anymore? Well, you’ll know the new name in Phoenix Wrestling, the Lion’s Rugido, the Captain of the Broma Negra, and the punchline that follows”
With that Leoncio comes to a stand, from off-screen he pulls out a black flag bearing the symbol of the Jolly Roger on it. He hefts it up over his chest, grinning down on it before looking back into the lens.
“Aguas... de Soto sails the bloody seas again!”
With that he tosses the pirate flag over the lens as we cut to black.