COUP D’ADIEU (MAINTENANT BAISER)
Zero hour. The Anglo Luchador stalks the hallway leading to Argyle position at the Toyota Center, looking to score a victory against nepotism and for good taste. It might be all on his mind, but other residents occupy his brain. Reckoning with his erratic behavior. Trying to find peace. But the biggest one, well, the biggest resident in his brain was actually trying to catch up to him…
FLAMBERGE: Vieux chien, attends.
Euro-douche fashion is hard to translate into unseasonably warm Texas weather, but the French kid is making a valiant attempt in a Louis Vuitton branded black and gold tank top and 99 cent white-framed plastic sunglasses. Indoors, of course, just because. He lowers his shades to the tip of his nose.
FLAMBERGE: You saw what I did, non?
The luchador turns around and sees the object of his consternation. Anger does not beam through his mask though. Shocking, given the back-and-forth they’ve had since ReVival 21.
TAL: Yeah. Beat the Risen Star. Don’t care how cold he is right now. That’s huge.
The former Intense Champion looks the former Five Star Champion up and down.
TAL: You know, whether you accept my challenge or not, and I assume you’re not here because you want to back down, I hold you in high regard. Regard enough that if I called a promo crew to my hometown? I wouldn’t just flip ‘em the bird.
The cheap shades are now off of FLAMBERGE’s face. His lips are grinning, but his eyes are not.
FLAMBERGE: Not only that, Anglue…I outshone you. You and I both got the victories on 23 against our Love Convoy adversaries, it is true, but the world knows who truly stood out that night…and your arrogant ego be damned, to one up me, you now take on this Best, this cretin from the outside, to make up for the lost shine, non?
The left edge of French Phenom’s lips curl into a snarl.
FLAMBERGE: What I wouldn’t give maintenant to flip you on your ass right now, if it didn’t mean you would whine about it later after I beat your old ass at ReVival 25.
A smile formed behind the mouth opening on the luchador’s mask.
TAL: So you accept then, le petit?
Yonder French Youth steps closer, though they do not touch.
FLAMBERGE: That’s right. I accept. See you in the San Antonio.
The old luchador lets out a little chuckle.
TAL: You know, kid, I’m not sure how this enmity between us got so bitter. Not sure if it’s because I still have a hangup about your erstwhile bestie, or whatever it is. But as much as I’ve been in my own head lately…
He pauses for a beat, catching the young guerrier off-guard if only for the time needed to catch his breath.
TAL: I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even care if you move onto bigger and better things and make yourself the face of this entire company. Better you than the Russian at this point anyway. I don’t want to break my foot off in your ass like I do this Best kid, or like I did with Nuzzle Fucker last week. And it’s because I wasn’t lying when I told you all those weeks ago.
FLAMBERGE’s brow arches like Les Champs-Elysees.
TAL: I see a lot of myself in you. But truth be told, I don’t like the old me, so don’t get it twisted. I want nothing more than to beat you in San Antonio. But afterwards? This, win or lose? It’s over unless you decide you want to act the fool and continue it.
FLAMBEGE: Always framing things around how you want them to be…you condescender. You’ll feel differently after what I do to you, Gluechador.
FLAMBO snorts.
FLAMBERGE: …assuming you make it out of your match tonight alive.
Their foreheads are mere millimeters apart, if only for a flagrant spicy moment, before FLAMBO departs, leaving TAL with his thoughts and the rest of the hallway towards the entrance ramp.