THESE ARE MY DIPPING MUSTARDS
The camera cuts from the interview stage to back in the corridors of the MGM Grand Garden Arena. The Anglo Luchador, already dressed in his gear for his Intense Championship defense against Jacob Mephisto, replete with his “Fighting for Jonathan” t-shirt, is speaking to someone who at present is off-camera.
TAL: So, uh, those stories from your youth… are they true?
The camera pans over to find former PRIME wrestler and part-time in-ring interviewer, Captain Suleimon, sitting on a steamer trunk, checking his phone.
Suleimon: Which ones? There are many tales about the great Ottoman Captain. For example, I was in the Red Army, and I…
TAL: …did you ever wrestle a tiger, like, for real?
The aged Turk looks up from his phone and shoots the Intense Champion a look that could melt steel.
Suleimon: Typical white devil talk. Anything you find questionable you relegate to tall tale status. Hmph. If I didn’t just get my hip replaced, I would…
TAL: I believe you, you old salt, Xipe Totec, I’m just asking because I am inte…
Voice from off-screen: I hate to interrupt a very intriguing conversation between two refined gentlemen such as yourselves, but I was wondering if either of you had any grey poupon?
In walks Tony Gamble, surprisingly not flanked by any of the other three members of the Gamble Adoration Syndicate.
Suleimon: Oh Jeez, this guy. More than one Italian in a close radius like this is enough to give me heartburn. I’ll talk to you later.
Suleimon gets up and hobbles off-screen. The Intense Champion turns his attention fully to The Perma-scar Superstar, who happens to be wearing his #STANDINGFORJON t-shirt.
Tony Gamble: Guess that’s a no from him, how about you champ? I’m making a sandwich, and don’t really want to send one of the guys to the store.
TAL: Unfortunately, the only mustards I keep in my locker are ones for dipping. What’s your angle here anyway, Wingtips? I don’t trust you. You’ve been incredibly saccharine the last week or so on socials.
Tony waves his arms and shakes his head.
Tony Gamble: I don’t mess with that saccharine stuff, I prefer real cane sugar. As far as trusting me, if I were you I wouldn’t trust me either.
Gamble chuckles heartily.
Tony Gamble: I mean, you are keeping my title warm for me, so I’d hate for you to think we’re friends or anything.
TAL: (feigning disappointment) I’m crushed.
The Paladin of PRIME turns completely towards Gamble.
TAL: So what are you really here for?
Tony looks a bit confused at the question.
Tony Gamble: Uhm… mustard. I told you I’m making a sandwich, right? You and Ria are always trying to read into something, like I can’t just make a comment without having some hidden meaning. It’s really getting ridiculous.
TAL: Well, to Ria’s credit, she’s incredibly smart and has a great bullshit detector. Look, I don’t have any mustard. I have to apologize, I don’t keep dipping mustards on me, it was a joke. If that’s all you want, I’m not your man. I don’t have time to deal with your circular bullshit tonight, okay?
Tony Gamble: I don’t think it’s that great, or she wouldn’t have believed yours. But alas, you’re a “tecnico” so everyone falls for your bullshit. I’ve seen the real you, and while you pretend to be this good guy that is here for all of his friends and fighting for PRIME’s good name… You’re really only doing what you need to do to elevate your status here in PRIME.
Tony leans in and taps the Intense title twice.
Tony Gamble: This gets you a little bit of credibility, but it isn’t your endgame. No, you have Universal title dreams just like everyone else in this place. You’re not going to get there, because I’m not only going to take back the title I won at Great American Nightmare… I’m also going to push you so far that everyone remembers the jackass swinging a barbed wire bat. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a sandwich to make. You know, since women are too good to make them nowadays.
Gamble walks out of frame, leaving a frustrated and flummoxed Intense Champion in his wake.
TAL: I’m usually the sarcastic one in these feuds. What the hell, man.
The camera cuts back to the ring for the next match.