THE BEATLES OF YAKUZA KICKS
We return from commerical to the locker room, where we see Coral Avalon hurriedly getting his gear together for his match tonight. Fortunately for him, we’ve joined him while he’s at least got his long tights on, and not one minute before that.
He’s also not that far removed from arriving at the arena and immediately running into Cancer Jiles, which is part of the reason why he’s muttering to himself as he laces his boots.
Coral Avalon: (muttering) Freaking Jiles…
He doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, but there’s a subtle change in his eyebrows as he realizes he’s not alone. Without looking up, Coral decides to greet him the only way he can.
Coral Avalon: You know, I hear it’s bad luck to see your opponent gearing up before a match. The Baba Yaga will curse you, or something.
“She wouldn’t do that to me. She’s a friend.”
The light illuminates the other side of the locker room. Leaning against the wall in a convenient patch of shadow, doing his best Bogart…
WHOOOOOO!
…is Chandler Tsonda. He steps forward and gives Coral a once-over. He’s bedecked in athleisure, though a few stray hairs seem out of place, which for Tsonda suggests DEFCON 2 or 3.
Chandler Tsonda: You’re certainly running late. You know how many Barbie recap podcasts I’ve listened to while waiting for you? A LOT. Not enough, but a lot.
Coral Avalon: I’m going to guess it’s a non-zero number.
Avalon finishes lacing one of his boots, and then goes to the other.
Coral Avalon: So, as I explained to my wife getting into the building but before I ran into Cancer Jiles, I’m not sure my Uber driver speaks either of my fluent languages. Or any of the languages I kinda know but kinda don’t, since being able to say “hello”, “where is the restroom”, and “where is my blackberry mask” in fifteen languages doesn’t make me fluent.
He sighs, and finally looks up at Chandler as his hands do the work.
Coral Avalon: Just gonna come to me right before the match, are we? I mean, we could start it here, I guess. Work up some energy, pull on each other’s hair, throw each other into the vending machines outside, have a laugh. I don’t imagine that’s what you’re here for, but you never know with this place.
The Model Citizen barks out a laugh, scoffing at the suggestion.
Chandler Tsonda: You and me? Brawling in the back like a bunch of ne’er-do-wells? C’mon, Top Gun: Averick, we’re chivalric as fuck! You hate cheating, I hate…well, I find cheating semi-distasteful, circumstances pending. So no, I didn’t come for blood.
The tension lessens somewhat in the room. Tsonda takes a step towards tonight’s foe.
Chandler Tsonda: You came in through Parking Lot A, right? You see any sign of that bleeding scab of a human being who’s walking around with my face? I know he’s here.
His laces done, Coral moves to putting on his wrist tape. His many scars along his left arm that are usually covered up by his sleeve are clearly visible as he does.
Coral Avalon: I didn’t see your weird doppelganger, no. Presuming you’re not the doppelganger yourself, anyway. Not unheard of. I wrestled a guy in Belgium named Dr. Dominick Doppelpopolis. You’ll never guess what his schtick was.
Chandler Tsonda: Wait, good point. I could be Fake Me. Ask me a question that only the real me would know. No, actually, text me a verification code. No, you know what, leave me a dead drop at ReV 33. I’ll give your weird snack lawyer the location. Until then…(Tsonda puts finger to his lips) don’t say anything to me that you wouldn’t want that nasty little parasite to know. Opsec may be compromised.
In his charmingly manic type of way, Tsonda conversationally pivots on a dime. He raises a finger.
Chandler Tsonda: So…uhh…we gotta punch and kick each other until somebody gets the ol’ uno-dos-tres tonight, huh?
Coral Avalon: There might be a suplex or two. Maybe a backbreaker. Maybe tonight’s the night I try out the sky twister press.
He winks.
Chandler Tsonda: (excitedly raising his voice) Dude, are we doing WITTY REPARTEE RIGHT NOW? You old sailor, you!
The Sultan of Style appears positively giddy at what appears (at least to him) to be friendly rivalry with the Crownless King.
Chandler Tsonda: The whole reason I set up shop here, other than covert action against Doppeldick, is to say good luck, wish you good fortune in the wars to come, yadda yadda. And also let you know that if you need an affordable assassin to take care of Jiles…(returning Coral’s wink, very obvious) I definitely don’t know a guy, if you know what I mean. But mostly the good luck thing.
Coral Avalon: I was serious about the sky twister press… uh, I mean, what I mean to say is good luck out there!
For the record, Coral Avalon hasn’t done a sky twister press in his life. He is most certainly not informing Tsonda of this, though.
Coral Avalon: As for Jiles, that’s not really a problem I need dealt with yet. I’ll keep the whole not-knowing-an-assassin thing in the back of my mind, though. Maybe it’ll prove not-helpful in the not-future.
Chandler Tsonda: It’ll be an honor to have you try and sky twister press KO me, eventhoughI’lldefinitelydodgeandpinyou, but neither here nor there! Best of luck bashing my face in with your Ringomynomial or whatever.
The Model Citizen offers a handshake, willing to do battle shortly as honorable foes.
Coral stands up and returns the handshake, smiling.
Coral Avalon: Yeah, uh, it’s called Rhongomyniad. Ringomeowmeow is the drummer.
Chandler Tsonda: (tapping his forehead) Duh, you’re so right, brother man. Anyway, we gotta go plot each other’s corporeal destruction, but lemme get your digits.
He pulls up his phone, taps a few buttons, and then squints.
Chandler Tsonda: So weird. I’ve got you in here but it’s just four random digits? Big Twilight zone vibes. Anyway, put your stuff in there. You’re gonna go nuts for these Tony Gamble as Mitch McConnell memes I found.
Tsonda hands over his iPhone.
Coral winces as he taps in his phone number into the iPhone.
Coral Avalon: Done. I’ve been trying to get your number for months, by the way. This was way easier. But why do I feel like I just signed up for a 24-hour Tony Gamble dunking newsletter?
Chandler Tsonda: (pawing through his phone, half-listening) Ok, maybe, I’ll just send you the whole folder. (laughing to himself) God, these are classic. See you out there, compadre.
Chuckling while staring catatonically at his phone, The Model Citizen wanders out the door, and leaves Coral to the rest of his pre-match preparation.
He’s about to attend back to perfecting his wrist tape, when the sound of his phone buzzing interrupts the newly won peace and quiet. The sound buzzes over and over, once for each blessed meme. The Crownless King sighs. We go elsewhere.