Pressure
Aug 12, 2023 19:20:21 GMT
Post by Persona Non Grata on Aug 12, 2023 19:20:21 GMT
Whenever Pedro Gonzales says he's going to do a thing, he does everything he can to do the thing. For example, the soup.
It's the night before the Shotgun taping and the leader of Los Rebeldes is in front of an impromptu kitchen in the most halfassed motel they could find, sweating his balls off, and making as many different soups as he can. Man's not a classically trained chef, but he gives it a fair effort even with two separate hot plates haphazardly plugged into a surge protector. On the other hot plate is Persona Non Grata, wearing his mask and a Kiss The Cook apron.
(Whether that is the only stuff he's wearing is up to your imagination.)
He stirs his batches that sit on top of the cheap wooden vanity this hotel bought to make this small room feel slightly more homey, much to the frustration of Mestizo who just wants soup. The little gremlin jumps but can't quite grasp the nearby pot. He's been doing this since they started and shows no signs of stopping anytime soon. Annoyed, PNG twirls his large wood stirring spoon and smacks Mestizo in the noggin with it.
Unfortunately, Pedro spots this. "Hey! We can't have Ewok fur in the soup! Rinse that off and tie him up while you're at it."
A small grumble comes out of PNG as he snatches up his pet who comes dangerously close to getting his prize before being bonked for the second time and carried into the bathroom. It's the only place in the room with a sink and a decent pipe to restrain little beasts. Now working all the hot plates, Pedro moves over with his bevy of throwaway plastic spoons. A sip of the chicken soup proves that it's missing something. Sure, it's good enough as a bare basic meal. But sometimes, you just need something a little more even if you are a lunatic with a raccoon living in a van down by the river.
It needed just a little bit of lemon.
When PJ Lemon and Carmine Dante darkened the doorstep of Los Rebeldes, it came with opportunity and when opportunity knocks, you answer. Strike 2 Kill were considered the favorites in the match. Hell, they were considered the favorites to win the whole damn tournament! So when the world champion came through with a proposition, the trio listened. Could they have defeated Strike 2 Kill by themselves? Yes. They could've. Because regardless of any perceived underdog status, all it takes is one fuck up in either direction to determine victory or defeat. However, professional wrestling is a lot like gambling. They take a bit of skill, an asston of luck, a pinch of risk. Both are also numbers games. Look at these three. You think they sweat a numbers game?
Lemon and Dante didn't do it from the kindness of their heart. Top Titty probably doesn't have a heart. It's a mutual back scratching session. They get to torment Mark Storm by proxy and the boys eliminate a threat to the ultimate goal. It was a chance to lean the odds in Los Rebeldes' favor. Turning that 50% into 98% was a risk that paid off.
A lemon is snatched from the grocery bag, cut in half, and part of it squeezed into the pot. Another taste.
"Bueno."
One pot done. One match down. More to come.
Persona Non Grata is back from the bathroom with his freshly cleaned spoon as Mestizo huffs from the doorway in his makeshift chain harness. The Emperor is still twirling his utensil around as he casually strolls back into position. He can hear Pedro start making comparisons between the food they're making and the matches ahead of them. In a strange way, that's what makes him the leader. The younger man is always trying to make connections to the goal. Even in everyday things, he finds a way to keep his–and by extension, the group's–focus on the path. Pedro sees the differences. PNG sees the similarities.
A washed up rocker and his mulleted fan boy. A snarky accountant and the loser he never wanted to team with. A teacher and his pupil.
All have some slight connection to each other. Some are more halfassed than others. Every team's goal going into this is to win against the first team, conserve as much energy as possible, and smash the shit out of the other team. And for his money, the best way to conserve energy is to brutalize the first set of obstacles as quickly and horribly as possible.
That is exactly what they are, by the way. Obstacles. Fragile, cracked walls to bulldoze over. The goal isn't to beat them to a bloody pulp. The goal is getting those tag titles. Some of the OGs of RAZOR have formed teams and that's all well and good. But the true foundation of any established tag division are the first champs. Being the champions is one thing. Being the first champions is another ball game. Being the first means being the measuring stick for anybody that comes after. Whoever wins them next would have to be better than. Not just for one match, not just for a night, but just straight up better in order to try to match the footprint. Being the foundation brings pressure.
Yet as the hot plates are turned off and the soup comes down from a roaring bubble, the thought of that pressure is a weight they can carry.
It's the night before the Shotgun taping and the leader of Los Rebeldes is in front of an impromptu kitchen in the most halfassed motel they could find, sweating his balls off, and making as many different soups as he can. Man's not a classically trained chef, but he gives it a fair effort even with two separate hot plates haphazardly plugged into a surge protector. On the other hot plate is Persona Non Grata, wearing his mask and a Kiss The Cook apron.
(Whether that is the only stuff he's wearing is up to your imagination.)
He stirs his batches that sit on top of the cheap wooden vanity this hotel bought to make this small room feel slightly more homey, much to the frustration of Mestizo who just wants soup. The little gremlin jumps but can't quite grasp the nearby pot. He's been doing this since they started and shows no signs of stopping anytime soon. Annoyed, PNG twirls his large wood stirring spoon and smacks Mestizo in the noggin with it.
Unfortunately, Pedro spots this. "Hey! We can't have Ewok fur in the soup! Rinse that off and tie him up while you're at it."
A small grumble comes out of PNG as he snatches up his pet who comes dangerously close to getting his prize before being bonked for the second time and carried into the bathroom. It's the only place in the room with a sink and a decent pipe to restrain little beasts. Now working all the hot plates, Pedro moves over with his bevy of throwaway plastic spoons. A sip of the chicken soup proves that it's missing something. Sure, it's good enough as a bare basic meal. But sometimes, you just need something a little more even if you are a lunatic with a raccoon living in a van down by the river.
It needed just a little bit of lemon.
When PJ Lemon and Carmine Dante darkened the doorstep of Los Rebeldes, it came with opportunity and when opportunity knocks, you answer. Strike 2 Kill were considered the favorites in the match. Hell, they were considered the favorites to win the whole damn tournament! So when the world champion came through with a proposition, the trio listened. Could they have defeated Strike 2 Kill by themselves? Yes. They could've. Because regardless of any perceived underdog status, all it takes is one fuck up in either direction to determine victory or defeat. However, professional wrestling is a lot like gambling. They take a bit of skill, an asston of luck, a pinch of risk. Both are also numbers games. Look at these three. You think they sweat a numbers game?
Lemon and Dante didn't do it from the kindness of their heart. Top Titty probably doesn't have a heart. It's a mutual back scratching session. They get to torment Mark Storm by proxy and the boys eliminate a threat to the ultimate goal. It was a chance to lean the odds in Los Rebeldes' favor. Turning that 50% into 98% was a risk that paid off.
A lemon is snatched from the grocery bag, cut in half, and part of it squeezed into the pot. Another taste.
"Bueno."
One pot done. One match down. More to come.
Persona Non Grata is back from the bathroom with his freshly cleaned spoon as Mestizo huffs from the doorway in his makeshift chain harness. The Emperor is still twirling his utensil around as he casually strolls back into position. He can hear Pedro start making comparisons between the food they're making and the matches ahead of them. In a strange way, that's what makes him the leader. The younger man is always trying to make connections to the goal. Even in everyday things, he finds a way to keep his–and by extension, the group's–focus on the path. Pedro sees the differences. PNG sees the similarities.
A washed up rocker and his mulleted fan boy. A snarky accountant and the loser he never wanted to team with. A teacher and his pupil.
All have some slight connection to each other. Some are more halfassed than others. Every team's goal going into this is to win against the first team, conserve as much energy as possible, and smash the shit out of the other team. And for his money, the best way to conserve energy is to brutalize the first set of obstacles as quickly and horribly as possible.
That is exactly what they are, by the way. Obstacles. Fragile, cracked walls to bulldoze over. The goal isn't to beat them to a bloody pulp. The goal is getting those tag titles. Some of the OGs of RAZOR have formed teams and that's all well and good. But the true foundation of any established tag division are the first champs. Being the champions is one thing. Being the first champions is another ball game. Being the first means being the measuring stick for anybody that comes after. Whoever wins them next would have to be better than. Not just for one match, not just for a night, but just straight up better in order to try to match the footprint. Being the foundation brings pressure.
Yet as the hot plates are turned off and the soup comes down from a roaring bubble, the thought of that pressure is a weight they can carry.