A COCAINSAUS ENCOUNTER
You’ve heard of the Cold Open? Well, now it’s time for the Cool Open!
Cut to the parking lot of the PPG Paints Arena in Pittsburgh, and a lone car is doing what cars did in a parking lot. Which is to park. Obviously. After a few moments of hesitation, the driver gets out of the car, and fans watching from within the arena let out a cheer for Coral Avalon.
Avalon goes to pick up his travel bag from the backseat of his vehicle, but he stops when he notices another car pulling up next to him. Well, not necessarily a car.
One with a head, and two wings.
Coral Avalon: Oh my god, you’ve got to be kidding me.
Coral watches on in awe as a very familiar face dismounts from atop the mythological creature. To help paint a clearer picture, said dismounter is wearing an electric blue tracksuit with matching T-Shades.
Cancer Jiles: Thanks man, grab my bags and take them to my locker room for me. I’m gonna burn a jay in the parking lot first. Maybe two of them. Apparently I’m up against a dinosaur tonight. Fucking PRIME.
Avalon doesn’t oblige, which causes Cancer to look up from the ground and fully vest his interest.
Cancer Jiles: I said take my ba- oh shit. It’s… you. The Crownless King. We have to stop meeting like this.
Coral Avalon: What, do you have a horse factory or something?
Cancer Jiles: Uh, yeah. It’s called a farm. Where do you think all of the eggs come from? Jeez bud, what’s inside that forehead of yours? Hot air?
The COOLYMPIAN laughs.
Coral does not share the same brashful enthusiasm as his counterpart. Instead, there’s legit confusion running across his face and forehead.
….On the one hand, it would make sense if Old McCancer did own a farm. The eggs. The horses. The eggs. He needs to get them from somewhere. On the other hand, he couldn’t. They don’t have farms on mountaintops.
Cancer Jiles: Say, since I have you here and there’s no way we’ll just keep on randomly bumping into each other I want to ask you something that has been bothering me.
Coral shakes his head as if to say he’s not a part of the wall busting. That, or he’s getting himself ready to digest an insult.
Cancer Jiles: It is crownless because there simply isn’t a crown big enough that would fit around your forehead? Or is it because you need favor among the high court? If it’s the latter, I got people up there you know. I could put a good word in for you.
Coral blinks, still staring at Jiles’ winged horse.
Coral Avalon: Okay. Nope. Full stop. That’s a horse. You rode a horse to the arena. Please tell me that I’m not about to find its head in my locker room later on tonight?
Jiles stares back at him. At least, Coral thinks so. He can’t really see his eyes.
Coral Avalon: Actually, don’t answer that question. Instead, I’ll answer yours. No, I’m not Crownless because of the forehead.
The Maestro sulks in disappointment.
Coral Avalon: I’ll even do you one better, I don’t need help in the high courts, either. I have a lawyer.
Coral considers those last four words for a moment, knowing that the lawyer in question was sulking around in Seattle over losing a valuable championship just three days ago.
Coral Avalon: Technically, I have a lawyer.
It’s always good to reevaluate your assessments.
Coral Avalon: So, uh… not to change the subject but… you’re up against a dinosaur tonight. A pterodactyl, I think. That’s the other weird thing I’ve heard this week. I’m gonna be honest, I don’t really know any good anti-pterodactyl tactics to suggest for you.
He considers using the word “pterotactics”, but that’s not a word and that’s too dumb even for the guy behind Baron von Blackberry to say out loud.
Cancer Jiles: That’s okay. I would never ask you for help to begin with. Not as an uninitiated. Well, outside of carrying my bags I suppose. The thought is nice though, and I’ll definitely keep it in mind when going over your application.
Coral Avalon: Wait. What application?
Cancer Jiles: Nothing. I confused the word application for eggsecution. No matter. I’d say see you around but that’s probably a little too on the nose.
Cancer Jiles: Catch you later.
The Blonde Bandit grabs his bag from off the curb and heads toward the PPG Paints Arena.
Cocainasaurus soars off into the horizon as we cut to the ringside area before anyone tries to add any more cooler openings!