Post by Malo on Apr 3, 2017 0:38:03 GMT
“Pin Noah Field for the One, Two, Three.”
Zasshu steps forward pulling a spray painted green kendo stick from off camera.
”At the very least I will beat you senseless with this most lovely weapon.”
“Fear the Future.”
Fade to black.
“Wait, amigo, we is not done!”
There’s a small shuffling noise as the cameras turn back on, a confused Zasshu standing where he’d been only moments ago. From behind the camera, Malo appears; slowly backing himself beside his partner, finger pointing just to the left of the camera.
“Camera-person, Malo is not having the chances to talk – no fading to negro, si!”
Malo, finally back in position, cracks his neck to the side and strokes his goatee. He opens his mouth, but shakes his head and wags his finger at the camera with a cluck of his tongue. He begins pacing back and forth in front of Zasshu, psyching himself up. Slapping the sides of his masked face, striking himself in the shoulders and arms.
Every few steps, Malo turns to the camera and pauses – mouth open, but before he speaks he shakes his head and continues his journey.
Seconds become minutes, minutes become a few more minutes, those become … well, probably somewhere in the neighborhood of five, six-ish minutes; in the end, Malo stands beside his parter.
Zasshu, the man whom he has stood shoulder to shoulder with without hesitation.
The rumors of Laura Howlett ordering his destruction had reached his ears, though he wasn’t having any of that. He knew now, just as he knew then, that his friend wouldn’t fall for any chicanery - even from the sultry and silver tongued Howlett.
No, because the Bueno Club, the stood for something greater than what Laura could possible understand.
Honor …
Respect …
Tradition …
All this and much, much more. The two men standing in front of the cameras would gladly risk it all for the glory of the match. They, unlike so many of their ilk, walked through that curtain for the love of the profession.
The gold, the glamor, the monies, none of it held the same seductive sway for this pair as it did for so many others.
It was a foreign concept, he was sure, but one that would, hopefully, become infectious and spread from city to city, from locker room to locker room, throughout the entire company until the only men and women that remained, were those dedicated to building up – rather than tearing down.
Too much time had been spent razing, not nearly enough time had been spent rebuilding.
This is who the Bueno Club was, the rebuilders, the renovators, the architects for a new, and better, Imperial.
This was why Malo didn’t hesitate to break out the kendo sticks, to train with his partner in the ways of his Jedi forefathers … or future-fathers if one was to consider that though the franchise took place ‘A Long Time Ago’, but still with futuristic technology.
Malo stood there, smile etched across his face as he looked from his parter to the camera. A hundred ideas of what to say crossed his mind as he opened his mouth, index finger pointed directly into the camera …
“¡Si!, what he is saying!” he says, turning and slapping Zasshu on the chest and marching offscreen as Zasshu looks at the camera, then to his parter as the cameras, once more ...
... fade to black.
Zasshu steps forward pulling a spray painted green kendo stick from off camera.
”At the very least I will beat you senseless with this most lovely weapon.”
“Fear the Future.”
Fade to black.
“Wait, amigo, we is not done!”
There’s a small shuffling noise as the cameras turn back on, a confused Zasshu standing where he’d been only moments ago. From behind the camera, Malo appears; slowly backing himself beside his partner, finger pointing just to the left of the camera.
“Camera-person, Malo is not having the chances to talk – no fading to negro, si!”
Malo, finally back in position, cracks his neck to the side and strokes his goatee. He opens his mouth, but shakes his head and wags his finger at the camera with a cluck of his tongue. He begins pacing back and forth in front of Zasshu, psyching himself up. Slapping the sides of his masked face, striking himself in the shoulders and arms.
Every few steps, Malo turns to the camera and pauses – mouth open, but before he speaks he shakes his head and continues his journey.
Seconds become minutes, minutes become a few more minutes, those become … well, probably somewhere in the neighborhood of five, six-ish minutes; in the end, Malo stands beside his parter.
Zasshu, the man whom he has stood shoulder to shoulder with without hesitation.
The rumors of Laura Howlett ordering his destruction had reached his ears, though he wasn’t having any of that. He knew now, just as he knew then, that his friend wouldn’t fall for any chicanery - even from the sultry and silver tongued Howlett.
No, because the Bueno Club, the stood for something greater than what Laura could possible understand.
Honor …
Respect …
Tradition …
All this and much, much more. The two men standing in front of the cameras would gladly risk it all for the glory of the match. They, unlike so many of their ilk, walked through that curtain for the love of the profession.
The gold, the glamor, the monies, none of it held the same seductive sway for this pair as it did for so many others.
It was a foreign concept, he was sure, but one that would, hopefully, become infectious and spread from city to city, from locker room to locker room, throughout the entire company until the only men and women that remained, were those dedicated to building up – rather than tearing down.
Too much time had been spent razing, not nearly enough time had been spent rebuilding.
This is who the Bueno Club was, the rebuilders, the renovators, the architects for a new, and better, Imperial.
This was why Malo didn’t hesitate to break out the kendo sticks, to train with his partner in the ways of his Jedi forefathers … or future-fathers if one was to consider that though the franchise took place ‘A Long Time Ago’, but still with futuristic technology.
Malo stood there, smile etched across his face as he looked from his parter to the camera. A hundred ideas of what to say crossed his mind as he opened his mouth, index finger pointed directly into the camera …
“¡Si!, what he is saying!” he says, turning and slapping Zasshu on the chest and marching offscreen as Zasshu looks at the camera, then to his parter as the cameras, once more ...
... fade to black.
Well howdy there pardner.