THE WRONGER FOOT
Parking lot. FLAMBERGE has showered and changed into street clothes, which today is a purple hoodie and black shorts. He’s got keys in hand, making his way to his parked FLAMBOrghini.
“Nice wheels.”
FLAMBERGE stops in his tracks. He turns, and the camera turns as well, to catch the approaching Nate Colton. FLAMBO inhales through his nose and tenses up.
Nate Colton: Hey, we’re cool. Just wanted to talk. I…I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.
FLAMBERGE: …is that what we are calling this?
The Strasbourgian is still tense, while Colton steps forward with clear “Let’s Make Peace” body language.
Nate Colton: Hell of a job you did tonight.
FLAMBERGE pauses for a second and takes Colton in with his eyes.
FLAMBERGE: You know…I watched the Dusk match. I was mad at how impressively you performed. I did not think you had the thing inside of you.
The Frenchman presses a button on his key fob and the FLAMBOrghini “beep beep”s in response.
FLAMBERGE: Alors, we have done the different foot. Now, if you will, je m’excuse…
Nate Colton: Of course. And if you ever need a training partner, hit me up. I’ve been looking for a new one since Filmix left town. Hell, I bet we could both learn something.
FLAMBO chuckles at Nate’s suggestion as he reaches for the door.
FLAMBERGE: Oui, OK Colton, “I could learn something”. Good one.
Question: what’s the difference in maturity levels between the average 22-year-old and the average 25-year-old?
Answer: not a lot.
Nate stops FLAMBERGE from opening the door, and suddenly his tone is much more confrontational.
Nate Colton: What’s that supposed to mean? Think you know it all already?
FLAMBERGE: I know enough to know that you aren’t the man to teach me more. I was trying to be the polite before, but unless you can teach me how to summon the Larry Tact to win matches for you, my expectation is low.
Colton’s lip curls into a snarl.
Nate Colton: Well, maybe I could teach you some goddamn manners. You’re a hell of a talent, kid, but that attitude is gonna cost you. You wouldn’t have lasted a week training with my old man.
At “kid”, FLAMBERGE bristles. At the mention of Jake Colton, he enters a state of full Anger French.
FLAMBERGE: J’en ai marre de toi et de ta stupide putain de famille.
Nate Colton might not speak French, but he’s got a pretty good idea of what FLAMBERGE just said and it’s not something he can let slide.
He knows of several phrases back home that were all but guaranteed to lead to a fight. Most of them involved showing disrespect to Larry Bird or ranch dressing. But Nate isn’t one to waste time, so he goes for the historical number one.
Nate Colton: Hey, buddy.
He steps closer, nearly nose-to-nose with FLAMBERGE. The French Phenom doesn’t back down in the slightest.
Nate Colton: Don’t think for a second that you can talk about my family like that, just ‘cause yours are shitbags–
Oh. Oh, no. You shouldn’t have said that, Nathan.
Intentionally or not, you just insulted the man’s mama.
FLAMBERGE shoves Colton HARD in the chest, and Colton shoves EQUALLY HARD in return. Fists begin to fly, haymakers and shirt-pulling and head-grabbing ugly fists. Nate shoves FLAMBERGE into the driver’s door of the FLAMBOrghini, cracking the window; FLAMBO grabs Colton by his shirt and spins him around, shoving him into the passenger window, cracking it too. The back-to-back crunches and thuds cause a loud blaring of the car’s alarm, which soon becomes multiple car alarms as the mayhem continues.
It doesn’t take long for the area to flood with Enemigos, having already gotten word that DEFCON: Buddy had been reached. They pull the young men apart, who still find time to scream at each other.
Nate Colton: Get back here, you little shit! I’ll dent your head, too!
FLAMBERGE: You will pay for my car, and you will pay dans le RING, ton chien!
As the chaos settles, we move back to the announcer’s desk.