THE GRIN HAS GAS
That damn grin.
Tony Gamble: You’re not a very smart man, are you Morty?
The damn Grin.
Tony Gamble: I’m going to assume the answer to that question is no, because a smart man would have realized the horrible mistake he was making by attacking me for no good reason last week.
Dressed in a black, long sleeved, button up shirt with a gold and black paisley tie and black slacks, Tony Gamble is standing in front of a PRIME backdrop. His jet black hair is slicked back and looks wetter than an actress in one of Bobby Dean’s top five movies.
Tony Gamble: You failed to understand that, and it has me really concerned. I’m starting to feel like we shouldn’t leave sharp objects around you, and should probably put the crayons away so you don’t start stuffing them in your mouth.
His grin slowly widens into a smile.
Tony Gamble: All kidding aside, it’s obvious you’re not thinking clearly. It seems as if you have taken things between you and I personal, because that attack last week was surely not about the shitty decision making of one of the most laughable teams in the league. It’s a shame really, and I want to make things real clear to you right now… my interaction with you has been about business. I was asked to handle a squeaky wheel that needed to be greased… to make sure you understood that family business is not to be spoken of in any means.
Two men walk up and flank Tony, also dressed to impress in black, long sleeved, button up shirts and black slacks. The top button on their shirts is unfastened and their sleeves are rolled up. The one on the left is the shorter of the two, but only by two or three inches. His head is clean shaven, but you can tell by the well groomed goatee that his hair is dark brown.
Tony Gamble: I was hoping that you had come to terms with that, that you understood what I had been telling you and taken it to heart. Then; out of nowhere and for no reason at all, you want to sucker punch me.
Tony shakes his head.
Tony Gamble: You’ve made this personal, but I need you to understand that you mean nothing to me. You have been nothing more than a job to me, a task to check off my list before moving on to the next one. My friends here…
Tony glances over each shoulder at the two men slightly behind him on either side, that damn grin as unnerving as ever. The taller of the two sneers as he cracks the knuckles on his left hand. His long black hair is slicked back and pulled into a ponytail that reaches his shoulders.
Tony Gamble: Well, let’s just say that they have taken it personal and would like to handle this on that level. I don’t want that. What I want, Rowe, is to keep this professional. The best way to do this, is to step into the ring at UltraViolence and settle this like men. It is what we do after all, isn’t it? If you somehow manage to win this match, I’ll let you off the hook and never bother you again. If you win.
Tony chuckles slightly as he brings his right hand to his face and brushes his index finger across the scar that runs along his cheek; a permanent disfigurement that he learned to embrace and make his name one of the most well known in PRIME history.
Tony Gamble: But when you don’t. Well, that is when you swallow what little pride you have been grasping to underneath that joke of a mask, and you come to terms with the fact that your relevance here in PRIME is what I allow it to be. You take your place here with us, as part of the Gamble Adoration Syndicate.