Pedro Gonzales Fires the First Shot.
Jun 27, 2016 16:04:56 GMT -5
Post by Anna on Jun 27, 2016 16:04:56 GMT -5
Longer.
The hair is longer now just as it was before. He had first started with this hair. Swaggered through Mexico City with this hair. Was his mother's youngest son with this hair. If only they could see him now. Mami would shake her head at the whole ordeal, telling him to find a sensible job with a wink and a nudge. Rico would scowl and grumble about all the times he beat his baby brother up only to be rolled up in a pin when he was asleep. But times had changed: mami was dead, brother in prison, him in America. And as a wrestler, no less!
This wasn't supposed to happen and he knew it. But it did. For two years, he proclaimed that he wasn't really a wrestler despite his attempts at wrestling. Yet now somehow, he felt somewhat worthy of the term. He couldn't pinpoint when he started feeling this way. Was it during his first class in the training facility? Teaming up with Malo? Fighting the Baroness? He couldn't say.
And really, it didn't seem to matter.
Turning on the camera, Pedro Gonzales tries to adjust it. First towards his Bueno Club shirt, then towards his freshly shaved face. There's no need to try to look like a badass anymore.
"I can't help but find it just a little bit funny when commentators always introduce me as one half of Bueno Club moreso than anything. That always seems to be the very first thing they say despite who I put up a fight against. It almost seems like no matter what I do, I'm made to look a pile of shit on their shoe only worthy of their attention because of my alliances.
But there can be no denying I am tougher than I seem on the surface. If you need any proof, you only have to look at Señor Dupree and I's opponents for Pride. As different as they seem, Señor Hank and Butcher had made the same mistake. They thought that brutish snarls and mack truck analogies could coast them into wins. It didn't and I can't help but wonder what they'll do next. I hope they've learned something from our last encounters."
And there's a sigh.
"Though seeing as Butcher's here, I doubt it. He tries to scare people, there's a bit of back and forth, he loses whenever it counts, and he runs around finding somebody else to try and intimidate. Very much like a junkyard dog that gnaws on an old bone and starves himself to death, never noticing the prime rib five feet away from him. After he broke his teeth on our bones, he's gone towards another. Trying to one up people that don't fit in with his ideology of what a wrestler should be."
A beat.
"Though that does raise the question of why Señor Bond cries foul when Triple T and Nest were beating each other up and when guys from FGA storm the place on a monthly basis but doesn't bust him for doing the same damn thing. Gotta get those ratings, I guess."
...shots fired?
"As for Señor Hank, the jury's still out on him. He's only just started on his comeback run after all. But for a rambunctious country boy, he seems oddly quiet. Too quiet. Will he also cry fluke at the top of his lungs when he's not gurgling another shot of Jack and wasting his life away? Will he humbly admit that he should've been wiser? Will he even show up?"
Shrug.
"Some would say that I could be at a disadvantage because of Señor Dupree. But I take it as another challenge. He's just a good man retrying this stuff and he will give me the best he can. I know this in my heart because I am that guy. In the end, that's all I can ask out of anybody. We carry our portion of the weight the best we can and plow right through the people standing in front of us."
Pedro blinks at the camera.
"And that's if he shows up given that scramble thing never happened. Huh."
His smirk speaks hidden truths in a way that could almost say how funny that the only person who isn't in question of appearing is me.
"In the end, I don't have the answer to any of these questions. And to be honest, it doesn't matter because I'm going to kick as much ass as I can irregardless of who my opponents are, who is by my side, or who does or doesn't support me. You can grind me under your boot, you can mock, you can taunt...you can do whatever eases your ego. But I can't be destroyed."
The nod is polite.
"See you later, chicos."
The hair is longer now just as it was before. He had first started with this hair. Swaggered through Mexico City with this hair. Was his mother's youngest son with this hair. If only they could see him now. Mami would shake her head at the whole ordeal, telling him to find a sensible job with a wink and a nudge. Rico would scowl and grumble about all the times he beat his baby brother up only to be rolled up in a pin when he was asleep. But times had changed: mami was dead, brother in prison, him in America. And as a wrestler, no less!
This wasn't supposed to happen and he knew it. But it did. For two years, he proclaimed that he wasn't really a wrestler despite his attempts at wrestling. Yet now somehow, he felt somewhat worthy of the term. He couldn't pinpoint when he started feeling this way. Was it during his first class in the training facility? Teaming up with Malo? Fighting the Baroness? He couldn't say.
And really, it didn't seem to matter.
Turning on the camera, Pedro Gonzales tries to adjust it. First towards his Bueno Club shirt, then towards his freshly shaved face. There's no need to try to look like a badass anymore.
"I can't help but find it just a little bit funny when commentators always introduce me as one half of Bueno Club moreso than anything. That always seems to be the very first thing they say despite who I put up a fight against. It almost seems like no matter what I do, I'm made to look a pile of shit on their shoe only worthy of their attention because of my alliances.
But there can be no denying I am tougher than I seem on the surface. If you need any proof, you only have to look at Señor Dupree and I's opponents for Pride. As different as they seem, Señor Hank and Butcher had made the same mistake. They thought that brutish snarls and mack truck analogies could coast them into wins. It didn't and I can't help but wonder what they'll do next. I hope they've learned something from our last encounters."
And there's a sigh.
"Though seeing as Butcher's here, I doubt it. He tries to scare people, there's a bit of back and forth, he loses whenever it counts, and he runs around finding somebody else to try and intimidate. Very much like a junkyard dog that gnaws on an old bone and starves himself to death, never noticing the prime rib five feet away from him. After he broke his teeth on our bones, he's gone towards another. Trying to one up people that don't fit in with his ideology of what a wrestler should be."
A beat.
"Though that does raise the question of why Señor Bond cries foul when Triple T and Nest were beating each other up and when guys from FGA storm the place on a monthly basis but doesn't bust him for doing the same damn thing. Gotta get those ratings, I guess."
...shots fired?
"As for Señor Hank, the jury's still out on him. He's only just started on his comeback run after all. But for a rambunctious country boy, he seems oddly quiet. Too quiet. Will he also cry fluke at the top of his lungs when he's not gurgling another shot of Jack and wasting his life away? Will he humbly admit that he should've been wiser? Will he even show up?"
Shrug.
"Some would say that I could be at a disadvantage because of Señor Dupree. But I take it as another challenge. He's just a good man retrying this stuff and he will give me the best he can. I know this in my heart because I am that guy. In the end, that's all I can ask out of anybody. We carry our portion of the weight the best we can and plow right through the people standing in front of us."
Pedro blinks at the camera.
"And that's if he shows up given that scramble thing never happened. Huh."
His smirk speaks hidden truths in a way that could almost say how funny that the only person who isn't in question of appearing is me.
"In the end, I don't have the answer to any of these questions. And to be honest, it doesn't matter because I'm going to kick as much ass as I can irregardless of who my opponents are, who is by my side, or who does or doesn't support me. You can grind me under your boot, you can mock, you can taunt...you can do whatever eases your ego. But I can't be destroyed."
The nod is polite.
"See you later, chicos."