Roleplay Numéro 6: Now with 26% More Accuracy
Mar 18, 2016 13:24:37 GMT -5
Post by El Grandé Malo on Mar 18, 2016 13:24:37 GMT -5
A blue and silver LDFC banner hangs against the wall, gently undulating. From the left side of the screen he steps, the hood of his black Bueno Club sweatshirt pulled up and over his masked head. He slowly steps in front of the banner, turning slightly to look over his right shoulder at the letters moving in the breeze. He turns back, lifting the hood and peering out with a audible breath. “Has it really been the two weeks already? It seem like only yesterdía that Malo was getting his heart ripped from his chest and danced upon by the Brute Camps.” His head shakes from side to side, reliving the moment from two weeks prior. “I is disappoint that mi amigo Pedro and I will no longer be in the tournament of the tag teams. I is disappoint that this is because of me … because I was not able to compete at the levels of the Brute Camps.” Malo’s head hangs down to his chest, still slightly shaking. “I suppose I could let this setback continue to eat away,” he pantomimes with his right band a mouth opening and closing, “at me, or Malo could get off his, ¿comó se dice? potro piedad … ah” he scratches his head, “… the pity pony; si, si – I needs to get off my pony but get back on the horse …”
He pauses for a moment, a befuddled look on his face. “I am not the fan of the horse; too big and smart for Malo. Give me a burro any day! So, I is dusted off and back on my burro – ready to try, try agains. This week in the Lion Dens, I is taking on muy bonita y muy talentoso, Señorita Reed.”
Malo pull back his hood, a pearly white smile shining beneath a bright red beard. “Hola, señorita; I is honored to make your pleasure,” he says, bowing low with a slight giggle. “I understands that you are the princesa – the Lion Dens is quite the magnet for royalty, si? We has the Príncipe MacBottom y la Baronesa Roja, so why not la princesa de la Reed Familía?” He smiles, his head bouncing around like a bobblehead, obviously pleased with himself. “Si, si, I kids though – Malo, he is like royalty too. Mi padre, he always say that I was a royal pain in the …” he stops, a cocked eyebrow barely noticeable beneath his mask but the smirk is much more obvious. “The dos of us,” he continues, “are like the peas in a pod. Two highflying thinkers who rely on more than just muscle and their dashing good looks,” he adds, “to win matches like so many of our colléagues. This match will be the nice changes of pace for both of us, si? We both are looking for the way to get back into the winning column, but it is a shame that only one of us can do this.
I must say,” he says with a shrug, “that evens though I is not the booker man for the ‘elDefC’,” his air quotes nearly compensate for his accent, “but I must say that you and I, we make the better match than anyone else on the card, si si. You see, what everyone fails to see – though Malo cannot understand why – is that week after the week, months on ends, it is always the snarky, mean spirited commentary between us all.
Por que?
Is there really the reason for everyone else to has the enorme ego? I mean,” he snorts, “Malo knows that they all think that their mierda no fétidas,” he waves his hand in front of his nose, indicating the lack of smell from what can only be everyone else's … “Poop, we all does it and we all knows that it smells muy awful. So why pretend that you are the gift to wrestling; that you are gracing this company with your presence; that nobody else could possibly attain the same level of skills as tu?
Exactly …
So, Ms. Bianca, I is very pleased that you do not fall under this same frame of minds. You seems to be the very hard worker – but Malo know that hard work does not always equal success. Oh,” he nods with a chuckle, “I knows this all too well. I know that you will brings you ‘A’ games and give Malo the runs for his monies” he grins. “So good luck, señorita, and may the best highflier wins!” Malo extends his hand as though expecting it to be shook, and holds it there awkwardly as the camera feed doesn’t end. He looks around as though expecting something else to happen, his arm still outstretched, hand still open. “Ok … um, adios?”
He pauses for a moment, a befuddled look on his face. “I am not the fan of the horse; too big and smart for Malo. Give me a burro any day! So, I is dusted off and back on my burro – ready to try, try agains. This week in the Lion Dens, I is taking on muy bonita y muy talentoso, Señorita Reed.”
Malo pull back his hood, a pearly white smile shining beneath a bright red beard. “Hola, señorita; I is honored to make your pleasure,” he says, bowing low with a slight giggle. “I understands that you are the princesa – the Lion Dens is quite the magnet for royalty, si? We has the Príncipe MacBottom y la Baronesa Roja, so why not la princesa de la Reed Familía?” He smiles, his head bouncing around like a bobblehead, obviously pleased with himself. “Si, si, I kids though – Malo, he is like royalty too. Mi padre, he always say that I was a royal pain in the …” he stops, a cocked eyebrow barely noticeable beneath his mask but the smirk is much more obvious. “The dos of us,” he continues, “are like the peas in a pod. Two highflying thinkers who rely on more than just muscle and their dashing good looks,” he adds, “to win matches like so many of our colléagues. This match will be the nice changes of pace for both of us, si? We both are looking for the way to get back into the winning column, but it is a shame that only one of us can do this.
I must say,” he says with a shrug, “that evens though I is not the booker man for the ‘elDefC’,” his air quotes nearly compensate for his accent, “but I must say that you and I, we make the better match than anyone else on the card, si si. You see, what everyone fails to see – though Malo cannot understand why – is that week after the week, months on ends, it is always the snarky, mean spirited commentary between us all.
Por que?
Is there really the reason for everyone else to has the enorme ego? I mean,” he snorts, “Malo knows that they all think that their mierda no fétidas,” he waves his hand in front of his nose, indicating the lack of smell from what can only be everyone else's … “Poop, we all does it and we all knows that it smells muy awful. So why pretend that you are the gift to wrestling; that you are gracing this company with your presence; that nobody else could possibly attain the same level of skills as tu?
Exactly …
So, Ms. Bianca, I is very pleased that you do not fall under this same frame of minds. You seems to be the very hard worker – but Malo know that hard work does not always equal success. Oh,” he nods with a chuckle, “I knows this all too well. I know that you will brings you ‘A’ games and give Malo the runs for his monies” he grins. “So good luck, señorita, and may the best highflier wins!” Malo extends his hand as though expecting it to be shook, and holds it there awkwardly as the camera feed doesn’t end. He looks around as though expecting something else to happen, his arm still outstretched, hand still open. “Ok … um, adios?”
