THE BEST OF TIMES, THE WORST OF TIMES
The camera cuts from Coral Avalon’s whereabouts to another part of the Ball Arena where The Anglo Luchador, now in his wrestling gear, awaiting his luchador war vs. Rocky de Leon, speaks on a cellular phone.
TAL: Mike, you should’ve seen the look on the kid’s dad’s face. I think he wanted to stab me… yeah well, I didn’t think. That’s always been my big problem…
He turns around as his brother speaks to him on the other side of the line (and country) to find someone has been standing behind him for at least a few seconds now. You might recognize him as the number one contender to the Universal Championship, Tyler Adrian Best, flanked by what appears to be a small battalion of corporate lawyers.
TAB: Tommy Motherfucking Talented.
The luchador holds up one finger to indicate that he is, in fact, busy at the moment.
TAL: Well yeah, but I didn’t think this guy was going to be…
TAB: interrupting You deaf or stupid? I don’t have all day, dickhead.
The luchador looks at him cross for a moment before looking back down on his phone.
TAL: Hey Mikey, I’ll call you back after my match, okay?
He presses end on the phone and looks back up at Tyler Adrian Best and his legal counsel.
TAL: This seems, I don’t know, excessive? Lawyers for whatever it is you have to say? Besides, don’t you have, I don’t know, more pressing gluey business to be taking care of right now?
TAB: Look, I sincerely couldn’t give a fuck less about you, about my father, or about whatever petty little butthurt issue the two of you have over his glorified basement fight club. I’m literally only here because these paper monkeys need to service you a cease and desist, and no one at HOW could remember what you looked like. You know, on account of you being there for less than a shot of espresso and running back to PRIME with your tail between your shitty, culturally appropriating legs. So like… here. Stop saying shit about my family. It annoys them, and then they annoy me.
One of the lawyers reaches out, handing a sealed manila envelope to The Anglo Luchador, who stares at it with his mouth slightly agape. He almost can’t believe that he’s seeing this with real eyes.
TAL: Well, sorry, for someone who doesn’t care, you sure are here with backup to make sure you’re the only one who had a monopoly on slander. Or maybe you thought you had that because your grandpop’s a pirate millionaire or whatever…
Lawyer #1: I’ll have you know calling Mr. Lee Best a “pirate millionaire” is slander, and is actionable in court…
The luchador puts up his hands.
TAL: Fine, fine, no more pirate millionaire shit, no more speaking my mind about your dad’s shitty fight club, yadda yadda yadda. Look, I’ve got a match coming up, and I just went through a whole, well, thing so…
TAB: Yeah, again, I sincerely could not give a fuck less. But for what it’s worth? If you think I kicked your ass, my dad would beat the fucking shit out of you inside one of those shitty fight club cages. Just saying.
Before the luchador can get his own clapback in, the number one contender to the Universal Championship and his coterie of lawyers turn and walk away, Tyler flipping the bird rather egregiously as he departs.
TAL: All these glue assholes are so rude. Whatever, time to go ground a pterodactyl.
The luchador turns around headed presumably to Argyle as the camera cuts serendipitously to his opponent for the evening.