CARE FOR A DRINK?
Back from commercial.
The Anglo Luchador once again is spotted, this time backstage talking to a production assistant. He’s still wearing his Simpsons shirt, jeans, and sneakers, but gone is the hat. It probably clashed with his mask. You ever try wearing a mask with a hat? Neither have I, but it’s gotta be pretty clunky.
TAL: Alright, so people make fun of JJ Abrams for lens flare spam, right? But when you’re shooting a guy like Winters, y’know, man of God, you want to use stuff like that to your advantage. Really sell his ethereal connection with The Lord.
PA: Wow, that sounds pretty good.
TAL: Yeah, I don’t have a lot of experience in production, but you kinda have to get the basics of selling the wrestlers down pat when you promote shows, even in Mexico. Even the ones you don’t like and wish would lose, you still have to make them appealing to the crowd or at least their downfall appealing enough so that if they do lose, the guy who beats them really feels like they put down a monster.
PA: Seems like the bad guys win around here all the time anymore.
The Luchador looks down momentarily for a beat, slightly shaking his head.
TAL: You know what, who cares, right? It’s just on us to do better at beating them. Who knows, maybe B will put Glue Boi Alpha on his ass tonight.
PA: Yeah. Anyway, thanks!
The Luchador nods and turns around, only to recoil in deep surprise at who is standing right behind him.
David Noble: What’s with the getup? Didn’t you have a hat on earlier?
The brute force of KING, Noble looks The Anglo Luchador up and down, a bit confused as he slips his hands into his jean pockets and leans back, taking a good look at the former Intense Champion.
David Noble: Before we get too far, don’t have a cow, dude.
TAL: Make it quick. I don’t wanna spend too much time doing small talk with people who’ve assailed me. Especially not about my novelty shirts.
The Luchador’s focus turns into a glower.
David Noble: Fair enough, have it your way. Rose heard what you said last week, not the bit about fuck off and die like you said in the office, but what you said in the ring about wanting a match. She’s got no problem with that and if you want it at Colossus, she’s game for that.
TAL: Cool. I’m glad she’s game. You too. The whole gang. Doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll fight all five of you at the same time if I need to. But one of you is enough for me.
David Noble: Sure. Meet us in the ring in two weeks time and we’ll do a contract signing. Make it official and all, okay?
David extends his hand, but The Luchador looks at it like a ticking time bomb.
David Noble: Fair enough. The whole business with drugging you and dragging you out onto the stage like that? My apologies for that.
TAL: Apologies?
The Luchador turns around, snorting through his nose, before rapidly turning about face again to look at Noble.
TAL: APOLOGIES? YOU DRUGGED ME WITH ENOUGH ROHYPNOL TO LAST A SHITTY FRATERNITY A WEEK, AND YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST SAY SORRY?
David Noble: Just thought I would offer it, Tom. You enjoy living in that glass house of yours. I look forward to bashing your face in at Colossus, you fucking prick.
The Luchador looks like he’s going to roar, but instead, he turns to the wall, leans his head and right arm against it, and turns his head to bow downward.
TAL: Do me a favor, David. Get the fuck outta here before I do something I regret, please.
Noble turns to go, but the Luchador turns around with a devious look on his face visible through the openings in his mask.
TAL: Actually, hold on a second. You’re right, you’re right. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t accept an apology.
Noble looks confused.
TAL: In fact, think of this as a peace offering, from me to you. A drink between rivals.
He reaches into a backpack on the ground and grabs a can with unfamiliar labellng on it.
TAL: Here, have a cold one.
He tosses the can to Noble, who catches it. The Luchador turns to walk off.
David Noble: What, you’re not going to stay and have a drink with me?
TAL: Oh, oh no, I’d love to, but I’m helping with production tonight, trying to get some nice seasoning for LUCHA ESPECIAL and maybe another project I’m thinking about. But by all means, throw it back.
The Luchador walks off. Noble shrugs, cracks the can open, and chugs before spitting it out all over the hallway area near him.
David Noble: What the fuck is this? This tastes like salami left on the counter and the ashtray of Patty and Selma. What did that asshole give me?
He looks at the can and the label reveals that it is MEAT?-Brand Alcoholic Beverage (ABV 24.8%, 2,000 IBUs).
David Noble: Well, damn. [yelling out to no one] Anyone know where I can find Bobby Dean?!
The camera cuts to another backstage area.