If it looks like Mark, the backstage assistant responsible for trying (and mostly failing) to keep King Blueberry in check, has pissed himself for a second straight show, well, there’s a reason for that.
Her partner would tell you that the eyes of Reina Raspberry function like a tractor beam, and once you’re caught you might as well give up, because the alternative is being blasted down into your component atoms by her wrath. The thing about her mask is that it only covers the upper half of her face, and her eyes are visible through it. Right now, they’re locked onto Mark.
Reina Raspberry: So you don’t know where he went? Don’t have any idea?
Backstage Assistant Mark: N-no.
Reina Raspberry: Mark, I’m not trying to be an ass about this, but aren’t you kind of supposed to know these things?
Mark looks at the floor.
Backstage Assistant Mark: Yes.
Reina Raspberry: Okay, well if you see…
She pauses, as a familiar silhouette begins making his way down the hall. That’s when the mood shifts. If Mark was anxious before, he ain’t seen nothing yet.
Reina Raspberry: Where the fuck have you been?!
The Blueberry doesn’t break his stride, simply continuing down the hall towards his destination.
King Blueberry: Needed to clear my head. Got pretty worked up earlier, and I didn’t want to take that into the match with Hanlon. He’s not the enemy. He doesn’t need to deal with the fall-out from… that.
Reina Raspberry: Well thanks for cluing me in on what you were going to do, but I guess that’s just the way you operate lately, isn’t it? Not telling me shit. First you show up on High Octane, then you actually go to one of their shows, and now you’re picking a fight with the guy who…
She cuts herself off, not wanting to finish that sentence.
Reina Raspberry: Seriously, Jared, what the fuck are you thinking?!
For his part, he doesn’t stop moving, and still continues on his path towards the locker room they share. This is the latest in a string of very bad decisions on his part.
Reina Raspberry: Oh no, we’re having this conversation now.
King Blueberry: I’d really rather not.
Reina Raspberry: And I really don’t give a shit.
As soon as he’s in the locker room, she reaches up and pulls the mask from her face in one swift motion
Reina Raspberry: And take that stupid thing off. I’m not having this conversation with you dressed like a clown.
The camera starts to follow, until a door is slammed mere inches from the lens.