GROUCHIE AND THE PRETTYBOY
Picture me strollin’.
WHOOOOOO!
…is a thing that Chandler Tsonda thinks, strutting one of The Pit’s finest hallways. After several weeks where his backstage spatial awareness could fairly be described as “Moses wandering in the desert,” this is a man walking with purpose, striding with confidence. Ok, sure, it’s just because he knows where, like, two things are backstage, but you gotta fake it until you make it.
Does he celebrate internally, throwing himself a mental parade for his unassailable navigation skills, when he arrives at his chosen destination? That’s a secret that goes to the grave (but yes). And the destination that he has so adeptly orienteered to find? That’s no secret; it’s written on the outside of the locker room door.
PAXTON RAY
The Model Citizen sidles up to the door and raps three times on the door.
Chandler Tsonda: Open up, grouchie. I want a word.
After a few moments the door opens and Paxton Ray looms, sneering. The fans immediately react appropriately.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Paxton Ray: Grouchie, huh?
He considers the default threats and after a moment just raises his eyebrows.
Paxton Ray: Go ‘head, use your words while ya can.
Tsonda smiles and puts a lawyer-ly index finger in the air.
Chandler Tsonda: So glad we got to this so quickly. Gotta say, you’re performing WAY above grade level at opaque but menacing threats, I just love that for you.
The Model Citizen produces from the pocket of his athleisure joggers a scrap of paper.
Chandler Tsonda: I wrote this down because I didn’t wanna forget, so bear with me, sunshine. (reading off the paper) “By order of Lindsay Troy, any physicality between contestants in the Rev 29 Tropical Turmoil qualifier match between Chandler Tsonda, a shimmering world-class guy and a tribute to the sport, and Paxton Ray, an impolite violence goblin, will result in a forfeit of that match.”
He offers up the scrap of paper to Paxton.
Chandler Tsonda: I might have taken a few spots of artistic license in there, but the gist is that mom said no horseplay in the house.
Paxton looks at the piece of paper, then lets it drop to the ground.
Paxton Ray: Listen. I know people like t’talk. ‘Bout a whole lotta things. Some of ‘em are true. But I ain’t gonna beat the shit out ya before our match. I got plenty’a time to do it in the ring.
Chandler Tsonda: Too bad. I thought you might do me the ol’ sucker punch favor of ushering me to Tropical Turmoil via forfeit. Turns out you’re only two-thirds of mean, nasty, and dumb, and truly, congrats on that.
The Sultan of Style folds his arms across his chest, looking satisfied with himself (does he ever look any other way?).
Chandler Tsonda: But I did notice that since our last fireside chat at ReV 26, you seem to be missing a certain something. (doing a title belt motion around his waist) About yay big? Ring any bells?
Paxton Ray: Yeah, she sure did ring some bells, din’t she? I can’t say shit. I lost. I lost two in a row. An’ if ya ain’t lost a step from your glory days, that may end up bein’ three in a row. I ain’t afraid a’losin’.
Paxton stepped forward, making sure not to touch Chandler, lest he pull a fast one and pretend to be knocked over.
Paxton Ray: But if I’m in your shoes, I’m afraid of what an angry man on a two match losin’ streak is gonna do t’me to take out his frustration.
Chandler Tsonda: If you were in my shoes, you’d have an absolute gorgeous pair of Hermès slip-ons. But I take your point. You do seem to have a kind of “caged animal is at its most dangerous” energy.
Tsonda puts a finger to his chin, affecting the look of being deep in thought.
Chandler Tsonda: And if there’s one thing to respect about you – and jury’s in deliberations on that – you do have an innate sense for violent spectacle. In your own feral type of way.
Paxton’s sneer drops for just a moment. When you’re reviled by the entire roster, compliments — however soaked in venom — are not normal.
Paxton Ray: Yeah. Yeah. Thanks.
The sneer returns.
Paxton Ray: An’ it’s gonna be another spectacle tonight, pretty boy.
Chandler Tsonda: I actually agree with you there. Surprised we’re giving this away on free TV. When I put that third consecutive L on you, feel free to ask for our rematch be behind the ol’ $49.99 paywall of a PPV.
Tsonda looks down at his watch. It’d be very gauche to say what brand, and what pricepoint, this thing emanates.
Chandler Tsonda: Anyway, I suppose we’ve both got to mosey for, you know, sanctioned chaos and bloodlust. But I just wanted to come and say, from the bottom of my heart: bad luck, and bring a mouthguard.
Paxton smiles and rubs his beard, nodding.
Paxton Ray: Bad luck. Yeah, that’s definitely what ya got, bein’ lined up against me tonight. See ya in the ring, kid.
And with that Paxton steps back and slams the door in Chandler’s face. The Model Citizen looks taken aback for just a moment and then, taking it all in, he nods to himself and smiles.