Pedro Gonzales and the Rain
Mar 4, 2016 16:10:54 GMT -5
Post by Anna on Mar 4, 2016 16:10:54 GMT -5
The last time Pedro Gonzales ran in the rain was less than a year ago towards the house of his last trainer.
By that point, the older male was stepping back into the ring himself after a few years absence due to some...circumstances. He was quite unsure of himself, if he still had it physically. Yet mentally, he carried over a decade of ring experience and had somehow taking a liking to Pedro. Maybe he saw a bit of himself in the former cashier: a glimpse of the hunger he once had. Regardless of what it was, there was enough for an invitation to be passed over. Two weeks later, he ended up in a wheelchair. Revenge never had the chance to come into fruition as the promotion would close shortly after, one out of many things that still left a bitter taste in Gonzales' mouth. It's clearly not the best way to become the 'New Pride of Mexico'.
Still, the irony isn't lost on Pedro. Although he uses the much more awkward moniker of 'Mexico City's Favorite Son', fate has placed him on the side of another Pride of Mexico...Maine. He even wears the same eye searing pink hoodie during that fateful run. And even as he sees the tip of the training facility just peeking over the horizon, the hamster runs in his head.
Sometimes to become the person you want to be, you must reconcile with who you were and who you are. It gets tricky in some respects. The battle hardened future version often hates the weakness in the meager cashier past or the occasionally dorky present. After all, who else spends their time sewing and writing Nero/Aries Reed slash fic? The wrestler part of Pedro Gonzales wants to be the best of all worlds, period. It wants to be knowledgeable, unafraid to speak up. It wants to be strong in every sense of the word and training and fighting are the best things in life to do. Professional wrestling has no place for the weak. And so the training multiplies, every bit of it a necessary evil. Enough is never enough.
This tag team tournament is a test not just for him but for anybody involved. Wrestling as a team requires a hell of a lot more thought than going at it alone. The partners must be in sync with each other’s mindsets, if nothing else. Senor Bond could easily booked random singles wrestlers together and let the chips fall where they may but rarely does that produce anything lasting. So teaming up with El Grandé Malo, perhaps the closest thing Pedro has to an amigo, is much better for both men.
Yet there's always somebody just on the horizon waiting to challenge you.
__________
"Brute Camp."
A beat. He seems to be tasting the words with his tongue as if trying to contemplate them. The hoodie's still on but Pedro's head has undoubtedly risen this time even if his eyes are looking up rather than at the camera.
"Sure, Señor Mason seems a little too fond of hyping himself up at times and
Señorita Becky is trying to recover from a small slump. But on the whole, both of them are very much on the same page as I am. Still learning, still fighting. And although they haven't been a team long, they both seem to have the advantage for the first time in...perhaps ever in terms of popular opinion."
And then for the second time in his Lion's Den run, he looks straight at the lens.
"For good reason, if you think about it. This is officially the debut of Señor Malo and I as a tag team. It's an exciting time with many pitfalls. Our styles are similar, yet we will most likely need time to gel."
A shrug.
"But with the rare exception, I have yet to see anybody training here decide to take their ball and go home, even with people doubting them. Señor Malo and I, we are no exception to the rule. I have no hatred in my heart for the Brute Camp. Merely a promise.
Our bond was initially formed under the belief of a common enemy. We unite in this tournament for a common goal. My solemn vow to all, both competitors and fans alike, is to fight with integrity and win with honor. In other words..."
The smile only gets slightly wider as Pedro silently peels off his hoodie. Or rather tries to. It's an awkward as fuck visual when his head gets stuck and can't pop out but eventually, it does come off revealing a nifty little homemade shirt fresh off the press. White on black.
"...the Bueno Club way."
A gander at the Bueno Club shirt.
"It had to be done. Gonzales out."
By that point, the older male was stepping back into the ring himself after a few years absence due to some...circumstances. He was quite unsure of himself, if he still had it physically. Yet mentally, he carried over a decade of ring experience and had somehow taking a liking to Pedro. Maybe he saw a bit of himself in the former cashier: a glimpse of the hunger he once had. Regardless of what it was, there was enough for an invitation to be passed over. Two weeks later, he ended up in a wheelchair. Revenge never had the chance to come into fruition as the promotion would close shortly after, one out of many things that still left a bitter taste in Gonzales' mouth. It's clearly not the best way to become the 'New Pride of Mexico'.
Still, the irony isn't lost on Pedro. Although he uses the much more awkward moniker of 'Mexico City's Favorite Son', fate has placed him on the side of another Pride of Mexico...Maine. He even wears the same eye searing pink hoodie during that fateful run. And even as he sees the tip of the training facility just peeking over the horizon, the hamster runs in his head.
Sometimes to become the person you want to be, you must reconcile with who you were and who you are. It gets tricky in some respects. The battle hardened future version often hates the weakness in the meager cashier past or the occasionally dorky present. After all, who else spends their time sewing and writing Nero/Aries Reed slash fic? The wrestler part of Pedro Gonzales wants to be the best of all worlds, period. It wants to be knowledgeable, unafraid to speak up. It wants to be strong in every sense of the word and training and fighting are the best things in life to do. Professional wrestling has no place for the weak. And so the training multiplies, every bit of it a necessary evil. Enough is never enough.
This tag team tournament is a test not just for him but for anybody involved. Wrestling as a team requires a hell of a lot more thought than going at it alone. The partners must be in sync with each other’s mindsets, if nothing else. Senor Bond could easily booked random singles wrestlers together and let the chips fall where they may but rarely does that produce anything lasting. So teaming up with El Grandé Malo, perhaps the closest thing Pedro has to an amigo, is much better for both men.
Yet there's always somebody just on the horizon waiting to challenge you.
__________
"Brute Camp."
A beat. He seems to be tasting the words with his tongue as if trying to contemplate them. The hoodie's still on but Pedro's head has undoubtedly risen this time even if his eyes are looking up rather than at the camera.
"Sure, Señor Mason seems a little too fond of hyping himself up at times and
Señorita Becky is trying to recover from a small slump. But on the whole, both of them are very much on the same page as I am. Still learning, still fighting. And although they haven't been a team long, they both seem to have the advantage for the first time in...perhaps ever in terms of popular opinion."
And then for the second time in his Lion's Den run, he looks straight at the lens.
"For good reason, if you think about it. This is officially the debut of Señor Malo and I as a tag team. It's an exciting time with many pitfalls. Our styles are similar, yet we will most likely need time to gel."
A shrug.
"But with the rare exception, I have yet to see anybody training here decide to take their ball and go home, even with people doubting them. Señor Malo and I, we are no exception to the rule. I have no hatred in my heart for the Brute Camp. Merely a promise.
Our bond was initially formed under the belief of a common enemy. We unite in this tournament for a common goal. My solemn vow to all, both competitors and fans alike, is to fight with integrity and win with honor. In other words..."
The smile only gets slightly wider as Pedro silently peels off his hoodie. Or rather tries to. It's an awkward as fuck visual when his head gets stuck and can't pop out but eventually, it does come off revealing a nifty little homemade shirt fresh off the press. White on black.
"...the Bueno Club way."
A gander at the Bueno Club shirt.
"It had to be done. Gonzales out."