Post by Los Pollos™ on Oct 1, 2019 19:36:50 GMT
“Pollo! Pollo! Pollo!”
The roar of the dozens of people in the audience is nearly almost deafening. Último Pollo IV stands there on the roof, looking out over them and gives them a triumphant roar. It is for them that he does all this.
He shifts his gaze to El Fuego Kid, the Extreme Backyard Lucha Libre World Champion, lying prone in the middle of the ring, on top of Super Extremo’s mom’s living room glass table. It doesn’t matter how many times he has dived off a ledge onto a poor sap below, the adrenaline rush of this moment never ceases. The moment right before you take that leap, not knowing if you will fail or succeed, but that no matter what happens you will create moment that will last forever, not only in the minds of those who witness it, but in the deepest part of your soul.
One last time he gives a quick glance to the roaring fans in the backyard below, but right before he’s about to jump off, he spots a man wearing a suit and golden mask. Stopping to study the man closer, he sees that it is indeed Pollo Dorado, standing among the crowd of beer drinking frat boys and whoever else might have wandered in from the street, with his arms folded and a look on his face that Último knows all too well.
Shrugging it off, Último gives one last roar and leaps off the roof with a picture perfect Henton Bomb. The last thing he sees is El Fuego Kid getting off the table, before that all too familiar flash of intense pain hits him and everything turns black.
--
Half an hour later, he’s lying on his stomach on the couch inside the house, grabbing some chicken fingers from the side table in front of him.
“So let me get this straight,” Dorado says, sitting on a kitchen chair beside him, picking shards of glass out of his back. “You decided to jump off a building into glass risk your entire career, ‘because it’s fun’?”
Último ponders the question a moment, chewing on a chicken finger.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”
“You need to take things more seriously! We haven’t won one match since coming to Pollomania and if we don’t do step up, we won’t just bring shame to ourselves, or the Pollo legacy, but to the entire Pollobucket franchise as well. Domestic sales of Pollo Bucket are down 0.4% since our debut in Pollomania.”
“Well, I’m doing my part at least,” Último replies holding up a chicken finger. He soon regrets it as he feels the glass getting pulled out of his back with way less gentleness than before.
“Is this all just a joke to you? You’re a representative now. You have responsibility. I’ve seen so-called news site report that Pollomania rebranded to Dynamism because they were ashamed of us. Even if it’s not true, it’s our job to make sure that no one would even think to say the words 'Pollos' and 'shame' in the same sentence.”
It becomes quiet for a moment, with neither man saying a word.
“Listen. If you don’t want to take things seriously for yourself, or the Bucket, or the Pollo legacy, that’s fine. I can’t force you to do anything. But I ask you, as your friend - as your brother - to not let me down on this.”
Último turns his head to look at Dorado’s face. It’s not the face of a stern corporate manager anymore, but the face of a concerned brother. He starts thinking about the other man he calls his brother. The man he will face in the first round of the Junior Heavyweight tournament in less than a week. A man he deeply respects, mostly out of fear, and is glad to have by his side, mostly because he doesn’t want to be opposite from him. Último has never been one to back down from danger, he steps into them. But it’s one thing to not fear the unknown, and another to not fear the known.
He sits up in the couch, not caring that his back drips blood all over it - Super Extremo’s mom won’t be home until next week anyway - grabs a handful of chicken fingers and looks Dorado in the eyes.
“Can you just make sure Sangre doesn’t kill me?”
Dorado smiles.
“If that fall didn’t kill you, brother, nothing will.”
The roar of the dozens of people in the audience is nearly almost deafening. Último Pollo IV stands there on the roof, looking out over them and gives them a triumphant roar. It is for them that he does all this.
He shifts his gaze to El Fuego Kid, the Extreme Backyard Lucha Libre World Champion, lying prone in the middle of the ring, on top of Super Extremo’s mom’s living room glass table. It doesn’t matter how many times he has dived off a ledge onto a poor sap below, the adrenaline rush of this moment never ceases. The moment right before you take that leap, not knowing if you will fail or succeed, but that no matter what happens you will create moment that will last forever, not only in the minds of those who witness it, but in the deepest part of your soul.
One last time he gives a quick glance to the roaring fans in the backyard below, but right before he’s about to jump off, he spots a man wearing a suit and golden mask. Stopping to study the man closer, he sees that it is indeed Pollo Dorado, standing among the crowd of beer drinking frat boys and whoever else might have wandered in from the street, with his arms folded and a look on his face that Último knows all too well.
Shrugging it off, Último gives one last roar and leaps off the roof with a picture perfect Henton Bomb. The last thing he sees is El Fuego Kid getting off the table, before that all too familiar flash of intense pain hits him and everything turns black.
--
Half an hour later, he’s lying on his stomach on the couch inside the house, grabbing some chicken fingers from the side table in front of him.
“So let me get this straight,” Dorado says, sitting on a kitchen chair beside him, picking shards of glass out of his back. “You decided to jump off a building into glass risk your entire career, ‘because it’s fun’?”
Último ponders the question a moment, chewing on a chicken finger.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”
“You need to take things more seriously! We haven’t won one match since coming to Pollomania and if we don’t do step up, we won’t just bring shame to ourselves, or the Pollo legacy, but to the entire Pollobucket franchise as well. Domestic sales of Pollo Bucket are down 0.4% since our debut in Pollomania.”
“Well, I’m doing my part at least,” Último replies holding up a chicken finger. He soon regrets it as he feels the glass getting pulled out of his back with way less gentleness than before.
“Is this all just a joke to you? You’re a representative now. You have responsibility. I’ve seen so-called news site report that Pollomania rebranded to Dynamism because they were ashamed of us. Even if it’s not true, it’s our job to make sure that no one would even think to say the words 'Pollos' and 'shame' in the same sentence.”
It becomes quiet for a moment, with neither man saying a word.
“Listen. If you don’t want to take things seriously for yourself, or the Bucket, or the Pollo legacy, that’s fine. I can’t force you to do anything. But I ask you, as your friend - as your brother - to not let me down on this.”
Último turns his head to look at Dorado’s face. It’s not the face of a stern corporate manager anymore, but the face of a concerned brother. He starts thinking about the other man he calls his brother. The man he will face in the first round of the Junior Heavyweight tournament in less than a week. A man he deeply respects, mostly out of fear, and is glad to have by his side, mostly because he doesn’t want to be opposite from him. Último has never been one to back down from danger, he steps into them. But it’s one thing to not fear the unknown, and another to not fear the known.
He sits up in the couch, not caring that his back drips blood all over it - Super Extremo’s mom won’t be home until next week anyway - grabs a handful of chicken fingers and looks Dorado in the eyes.
“Can you just make sure Sangre doesn’t kill me?”
Dorado smiles.
“If that fall didn’t kill you, brother, nothing will.”