WHAT A PEACH YOU ARE
Simon Tillier looks as snazzy as ever backstage with microphone in hand, eager as a beaver for what’s coming next.
Simon Tillier: Ladies and gentlemen, at ULTRAVIOLENCE we saw one of the most heated rivalries in PRIME come to a head as two future stars, Nate Colton and FLAMBERGE, took things to the next-
(off-camera): Non non non, hold it right there, vous bébé mésange d’un homme.
FLAMBERGE steps into frame, wearing a khaki wool turtleneck with a gold chain, white pleated slacks, and thick black sunglasses. Tillier looks nervously excited to get his first question in.
Simon Tillier: FLAMBO, the world wants to know-
FLAMBERGE grabs the microphone and pulls it to his face, Tillier’s hand still desperately holding onto its handle underneath the Frenchman’s grip.
FLAMBERGE: I KNOW what the world wants to know. They want to know how my game that is the big talk had the bad result, non? They want to know how I feel about le fils de pute Nate Colton getting his hand raised and our little parking lot conversation, non? I GIVE NOT THE SHIT WHAT THE WORLD WANTS, TILLIER!
Simon is taken aback and tries pulling the microphone closer to get a word in – he’s not winning this test of strength.
FLAMBERGE: FLAMBERGE only gives the damn for what the FLAMBERGE wants, and right now, it is the three things. The first, is the health and the recovery of the person who is most the near and the dear to the hearts of many of us backstage, and the fans at the home…
Simon Tillier: Of course, we are all praying for Jonath-
FLAMBERGE: Phil Atken – je jure devant Dieu, Tillier, interrupt me again and see what happens to you, je vais t’apprendre à la dure si tu ne fermes pas ta gueule.
Tillier gulps.
FLAMBERGE: The second is for the Nate Colton to enjoy his petit instant while he can – he knows as well as I do that this thing is not the finished. And the third…
He looks over at Tillier.
FLAMBERGE: No interruption? I have your the permission? GREAT, THANKS SIMON, WHAT A PEACH YOU ARE. The third…le troisième.
He removes his thick sunglasses – he has bandages over the bridge of his nose and his eyes are swollen and bruised from the events of the post-ULTRAVIOLENCE press conference.
FLAMBERGE: The third is for the pain in the FLAMBERGE’s asshole Brandon Youngblood to understand that the smug arrogant bastard that thinks he is the cock in the henhouse has days as the face of this PRIME brand that are numbered. He wants every wrestler in the back to quake like une petite feuille at the mere thought of getting in his way, and he abuses this aura to keep himself on the top of this place while his little dogs like Nate Colton see this abuse as “dues”. DUES.
FLAMBERGE spits on the ground.
FLAMBERGE: Decades of the tenure be damned, it is the same reason the America is in the shit shape it is in, what with your 80 year old senators who think the Jabber is a dance boxers do. The old warhorses of wrestling can only become useful when they become the glue. I waited too long before deciding it was time to beat the shit out of my own daddy, but mark this, and make sure your handsome shithead little son sees this, Youngblood – I will NOT wait too long to beat the shit out of the Suplex Daddy.
FLAMBERGE finally relinquishes his grip on the microphone and storms off. The back of Tillier’s palm is bright white, then flush pink in the spots where FLAMBERGE’s grip overlapped his hand.
Simon Tillier: …I guess it’s back to you, Nick and Richard!