Description: Technico vs. Rudo, Purposeful Poison vs. Food Poisoning, a street fight between known luchadors in Vyle and El Fuerte goes down outside of the Mexico City Arena, and it only ends in indigestion for the Sickness.
CBL, El Consejo de Box y Lucha, the Boxing and Wrestling Council, proudly presents...the main event.
Mexico City is oddly NOT packed tonight...because the biggest spectacle in Lucha right now isn't happening in its arenas. No...outside, in the wicked Mexican nights, an outdoor arena has been set up, with the pristine Cordova beer-branded canvassed ring set up right in the middle of the action. And the crowd is excited, having seen one of the most exciting Luchas de Apuestas ever...but the nightisn't over, for the main event is to come.
o/` TWO TAPES IN THE DECK, SET TO DUB OVER, PRESS RECORD AND ABSORB THE SUBCULTURE o/`
With the pulsing music and flashing purple and green lights, the familiar form of the man known as Vyle strides down the aisle, uncharacteristic in his calm walking to the ring. Perhaps it's because of confidence. Perhaps it's because of pride...
Or perhaps it's because he doesn't trust himself running after he sampled a bit of his opponent-to-be's soup before the show. "Godddammit, the Tagament better kick in soon," he mutters to himself, sliding into the ring with a grumble, trying to hide his discomfort as much as he can as he climbs the turnbuckle to goad a few boos out of the crowd for their favorite rudo.
Suddenly, trumpet fanfare begins to overpower all other sound. The crowd is pretty audibly intimidated by how completely awesome this shit sounds, but that's not all there is to this entrance, my friends. Oh no. Fireworks explode up into the sky, reds, yellows, blues, and greens all illuminating the isle floor with the power of Kaboom!. A man walks down the aisle, a massive sombrero concealing his face, a black suit over a muscular form, but anyone can tell this is no mere man. Perhaps the manliest, for it is quickly revealed to whom this mysterious figure belongs. The man grabs at the tassled brim of the hat and quickly throws it into the sky, reveling the three-starred mask that everyone knows and loves. He breaks into a dash before jumping into flips and cartwheels the rest of the way down, ultimately ending on the arena itself.
"EL FUEEEERTEEEEE," the familiar voice shouts at the arc of his final jump, the sound followed by his boots slamming into the arena floor. His other hand reaches at the collar of his suit, and with a quick tug and a spin is sent similarly flying through the air, a barechested and spandexed pantsed outfit left in its wake. With a proud grin and an extremely bold finger pointed directly at his opposer, he continues, "Shall make you... El MUERTE!! ... no, no, that's a bit too extreme. I apologize."
The music cuts off. You swear you hear a record player scratch. It appears the wrestling community doesn't appreciate a flip flopper. He rubs his mask deep in thought, before looking back up. "Hm, I hear you enjoyed the soup. I put a lot of heart into that. Just for you. Sopa de Tomate and ... Goat. A succelent meal, I must say. But it's not a good idea to fight without waiting for half an hour after filling yourself!" He finger wags, an honest smile plastered to the face behind the mask.
A groan, audible only to those in and around the ring, comes from the poisonous American luchador, a glower toward his opponent. One can assume it's just natural rudo/tecnico animosity...but this goes deeper. Oh, MUCH deeper. "You little bastard, my stomach lining is peeling off as we speak thanks to that abortion." Funny that, the rudo criticizing the tecnico on the grounds of poisoning.
"Oh, don't you give me that god damn grin," he grunts, his anger suddenly outpacing the knot in his stomch. Just enough that he dashes out to try and clothesline down the masked chef right as the bell rings. No pre-match taunts or theatrics.
Vyle. Wants. Blood.
COMBATSYS: Vyle has started a fight here.
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Vyle 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte has joined the fight here.
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Vyle 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 ElFuerte
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte dodges Vyle's Fierce Punch.
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Vyle 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 ElFuerte
El Fuerte's grin remains ever-present as he drops down to the floor, completely flat. "Amigo, esta serio?" He presses a hand down and lifts himself off the ground into a single armed handstand, and then pushes hard to propel upward. A simple twist and he's on his feet, and fist pressed against the palm of his hand as he rolls his neck. "No one has ever liked my soup so much they have immediately wished to test my mettle as a fighter. I am honored you enjoyed it so much. Very well! I shall respect your delight enough to grant your wish." El Fuerte begins to dance in place for a few moments. "Feel the fury of my Lucha! Arriba!"
The Luchador immediately breaks into a sprint, straight for his challenger. "A second dish just for you! This may not sit well!" He reaches forward with his arm, giving a thumbs up as he goes, but then leaps forward toward the ground, pushing his legs forward to aid in his sweep beneath. "Calamari Slide!"
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte successfully hits Vyle with Calamari Slide.
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Vyle 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 ElFuerte
Oh, now Vyle's just irritated. Very irritated. "That wasn't a compliment, you ass, I was trying to take your damn head off to use as a crock pot!" He snaps back, catching himself on the ropes after missing the clothesline thanks to one of his own favorite evasion tricks. "Nnnhh...."
When the spicy luchador charges at Vyle, the rudo tries to shoot inside to counter. But the sudden slide forces a sudden shift, one he doesn't manage in time before the sweeping attack clips his legs and sends him tumbling head first into the ground. "GUUhhhnnnn...." Picking himself up with a glower, he stares at El Fuerte with narrowed eyes. "You..." Charging forward, he tries to grapple at the masked wrestler, hoping to grab him up and swing him around into a nasty irish whip straight into one of the turnbuckles, face first.
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte dodges Vyle's Strong Throw.
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Vyle 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 ElFuerte
The Luchador quickly ducks under the oncoming attack by slithering around to just behind, realizing the imminent danger of being so close to the turnbuckle. "No, amigo, I heard you the first time. Most people just aren't so adamant about how much they liked it as you. I appreciate the compliments greatly." He quickly hops to the side and brings his fist up to right cross, but as his punch drives foward he jumps down and close. His left arm hastily shoots by to embrace Vyle around the stomach in hopes of bringing him directly backwards into the arena floor.
COMBATSYS: Vyle fails to counter Medium Throw from ElFuerte with Antidote.
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Vyle 0/-------/---====|=------\-------\0 ElFuerte
He expected this. When El Fuerte suddenly leapt on the turnbuckle to stop the irish whip toss into the corner, Vyle was expecting something like this. Vaulting counters like these are stock and staple of any good luchador. Which meant he knew what had to be done to stop it.
Unfortunately, knowing and doing are two different things, and despite seeing the dive coming, Vyle underestimates the power behind El Fuerte as the man grabs him and hits the diving spear from the turnbuckle, sending the rudo down to the mat with a rather painful sounding slam. "NNNHHHHHH!!"
After the slam, El Fuerte quickly hops to his feet. "Aye aye," he says softly as he shakes his head downwards. But not to be down for more than a moment, he crosses his arms over his chest and dances in a small circle. "I guess you weren't ready for that one, eh? The quick of feet still need to know how to use them. Walk without rhythm, and you won't attract the worm!" El Fuerte squawks with a mocking grin and flaps his arms, just once, and then leaps onto the downed wrestler with an elbow out. "Arriba, amigo!"
COMBATSYS: Vyle dodges ElFuerte's Strong Punch.
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Vyle 0/-------/---====|=------\-------\0 ElFuerte
At least the elbow drop is predictable. Of all things, at least Vyle can be happy about that.
When El Fuerte comes down with the elbow, Vyle quickly rolls to the side, showing he's not about to stay down long himself. As the ring rattles from the masked fighter's missed attack, the rudo lays in wait. "How about I pulp you enough to stuff you into a tequila bottle with your worm, huh?" he sneers. Off his game, Vyle is.
But he's hoping for a comeback quick, as he rebounds off the rope, coming off with a drop kick aimed straight toward El Fuerte's knees.
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte blocks Vyle's Light Kick.
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Vyle 0/-------/---====|==-----\-------\0 ElFuerte
The Mexican's eyes go wide as his arm hits something incredibly flat and unexpected. He tries to scramble back to his feet, but before he knows it he has an attack powering down on him. El Fuerte plants his hands onto the ground and again takes a stand on his hands, though braces against the ground and brings his legs close together. The kick lands against his shins, but he tries to soak the blow by bringing himself down with it. Once momentum of the blow finished, leaving a fine sting on his shins, he vaults backwards, landing on his feet. "Heh heh, muy bien! I have many more things that I can also teach you!"
It's a pity that El Fuerte has no hint of arrogance in his tone. It's completely pure ignorance in its finest form. He resumes his dance, hopping up and down in a relatively random manner, yet it keeps a distinct rhythm against the floor. "All right, Senor, this needs a bit more spice. Let's get cooking, hm?" He bursts forward in the Habanero Dash, and then leaps into the air, a high arc that would extrapolate right onto the neck of his newly found trainee. "Propeller... TORTILLA!" Connection would result in a near impossible feat of strength involving the continued momentum of El Fuerte's jump to send him spinning around the opponent's neck so quickly and with such force that it would actually generate lift, allowing El Fuerte to gracefully drop Vyle on the floor to land himself a safe distance away.
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte successfully hits Vyle with Propeller Tortilla.
Grazing Hit
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Vyle 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 ElFuerte
Rolling back up to his feet after the unfortunately mis-aimed drop kick, the rudo stares at the rather oblivious chef he faces down, feeling his anger reach a shuddering boiling point. Were Vyle an actual cast-iron boiler the rivets would be rattling and threatening to blow outward at this point.
No scream of frustration, though, as he finds no time to do so. With El Fuerte flying at him, he tries to duck the flying attack, only to have El Fuerte land on his shoulders. The surprising, insane spinning seems to wrench at Vyle's neck, but a thankfully timed grab at the ropes keeps him from being lifted up. "HHhnn..."
Not about to let this get any worse for him, Vyle tries to slither straight up into the landing luchador's face. "EAT THIS!" And then.the classic heel tactic, almost tailor made for one as ill as Vyle: the good ol' Poison Mist, straight to the face.
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte parries Vyle's Venom Breath!
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Vyle 0/-------/-======|====---\-------\0 ElFuerte
Continuing the spin of his previous attack as he falls to the ground, he watches his opponent with a stern glare. The brash and upfront nature of the charge his opponent makes towards El Fuerte is unfamiliar, and once he sees some form of ... breath attack? The Luchador quickly stretches his arms out, palms wide open, and twists along with his momentum in a wide arc, creating a force of air to brush the mist off to the side while also moving himself out of the line of fire as quickly as possible. He curls his upper body towards his chest, his back landing on the floor in such a way to allow him to safe fall away from Vyle. Continuing the motion away, he rolls upward to his feet. He looks angry, as if to yell something, but pauses as if distracted. "Ah, how could I be mad at you, Sopa de Tomate y Goat. Your aroma... music to me. Music." He smiles and closes his eyes, sighing softly. "Thank you, for allowing me that chance, amigo. I rarely let myself experience my own courses. It is not the way of the chef to brag, but, I do make a fine meal." He claps his hands together and hunches down, spreading his arms and shimmying in place. "Here I come!" He breaks into a run once more, as staying agile and moving is his preferred method to strike. However, instead of trying to feint, or catch him off guard, El Fuerte pulls his arms back and drives right at his opponent with a bare chest upwards to the face. "Quesadilla BOMB!"
Continuing the spin of his previous attack as he falls to the ground, he watches his opponent with a stern glare. The brash and upfront nature of the charge his opponent makes towards El Fuerte is unfamiliar, and once he sees some form of ... breath attack? The Luchador quickly stretches his arms out, palms wide open, and twists along with his momentum in a wide arc, creating a force of air to brush the mist off to the side while also moving himself out of the line of fire as quickly as possible. He curls his upper body towards his chest, his back landing on the floor in such a way to allow him to safe fall away from Vyle. Continuing the motion away, he rolls upward to his feet. He looks angry, as if to yell something, but pauses as if distracted.
"Ah, how could I be mad at you, Sopa de Tomate y Goat. Your aroma... music to me. Music." He smiles and closes his eyes, sighing softly. "Thank you, for allowing me that chance, amigo. I rarely let myself experience my own courses. It is not the way of the chef to brag, but, I do make a fine meal." He claps his hands together and hunches down, spreading his arms and shimmying in place. "Here I come!"
He breaks into a run once more, as staying agile and moving is his preferred method to strike. However, instead of trying to feint, or catch him off guard, El Fuerte pulls his arms back and drives right at his opponent with a bare chest upwards to the face. "Quesadilla BOMB!"
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte successfully hits Vyle with Quesadilla Bomb EX.
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Vyle 1/------=/=======|====---\-------\0 ElFuerte
....he did not just....he did not just.... "What the hell..." Vyle mutters, gritting his teeth and finding his anger hitting redline. THAT just pisses him off. Enough for a serious lapse in judgment that sends him breaking right toward El Fuerte.
And right into a rising splash attack that plows straight into the poisonous. Busted in the face and collar by the Quesadilla Bomb, Vyle gets blown straight into the ropes, stumbling out with a spill onto the outside as cheers roil through the crowd for El Fuerte...even if some jeer, some for Vyle's vicinity near them, and some for just how lopsided the fight's turned out to be.
And for Vyle himself....working the 10 count outside is probaby the only option he has right now. As far out of sorts as he is he needs to get a breath, and back into his groove, or else he's a dead man.
COMBATSYS: Vyle gains composure.
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Vyle 0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 ElFuerte
El Fuerte bounces back to the ground in his hunched and ready stance, but sees no immediate assault coming. "Que pasa, hermano? Need a siesta? Not during Lucha training, eh? Come on, you fight until you're done." He begins bouncing again, the chef enjoying the way this fight is going like a nice picadillo burrito covered in red sauce and cheese. He has one of those in his fridge right now. He'll probably eat it pretty soon. Or perhaps ravioli? Regardless, he cautiously moves closer to Vyle. "Tell you what, amigo. I'll make you a nice meal after this. It'll be on me, by me." Now in a grabbing distance, the chef reaches an arm out as if to shake the hand of his competitor. He grins confidently with an honest good-will behind the eyes. It's as if all the spite and ill-meant rage is going right over his head.
Before the gentlemen's gesture could be completed, El Fuerte darts away from Vyle. "Keep your cabeza up, hombre!" He plants his foot on the turnbuckle and runs straight up it, leaping off the very top and arching his back around. "This one is for you! TOSTADA PRESS!" A glorified aerial body slam is coming barreling down.
COMBATSYS: Vyle blocks ElFuerte's Tostada Press.
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Vyle 1/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 ElFuerte
Vyle glowers as he leans on the railing, staring holes into El Fuerte as he drops to the outside after him, and offering the hand out toward him. Even if he was in a mood to accept, he wouldn't...and not that it matters, as El Fuerte vaults from the ring toward him in that flying body press.
Gritting his teeth, Vyle's arms come up, managing to catch El Fuerte for the most part. A small rattling and a drop back into the railing still rocks him, but he's still up, thankfully. "Nnhh...Just...shut up. Just...shut the hell UP!!" he shouts, grabbing for El Fuerte again and trying to send him head first straight into the steel pole bracing the turnbuckle. No bracing for this one, he's really trying to fracture Fuerte's skull with the toss. But...that's what happens when you're facing a frustrated and angry violent thug with indigestion.
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte blocks Vyle's Improvised Throw.
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Vyle 1/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 ElFuerte
Being off balance by the flagrant openess of his last attack, El Fuerte's skull is clutched by the other wrestler's hand. The force pushing him is too strong, and he gets shoved right into the turnbuckle. It is in his favor that he knows how to deal with an attack like this, for he isn't just a Luchadore for fighting's sake, but also entertainment! He know how to deal with situations like this. To play off a blatant and violet attack as convincing but still painful is such an trick! Sort of. It'll still hurt. But as if instinct took control, he brings both of his arms up against the turnbuckle as he's brought down. His masked dome strikes hard, but most of it is absorbed through his own limbs. "Aye aye, this is just getting violent."
El Fuerte reaches back behind him, grabbing hold of Vyle's head. With an abrupt force, he pulls himself in such a way to almost wrap about his opponent's head, but then immediately straightens himself up to form a vertical line. It is awkward, however, leaving many loopholes for possible escape during the motions that follow. He stops holding himself up, allowing gravity to pull him straight down into the floor. His grip then tightens around Vyle's head is efforts to bring him down with. "This is my Chili Mexicano! Muy caliente!"
COMBATSYS: Vyle fails to counter Chili Mexicano from ElFuerte with Relapse.
- CRAZY Hit! -
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Vyle 1/---====/=======|=======\-------\0 ElFuerte
Unfortunately for Vyle, he wasn't looking for El Fuerte to catch himself, like a good trained wrestler should. He wanted to really HURT him. But...alas, despite the crowd eating it up, Vyle knows better. Glaring and gritting his teeth, he lets out a growl of frustration, nearing full out scream as he stalks after.
As the masked luchadore grabs for him, Vyle tries to stop him in his tracks, hoping to whip out a spinning back kick and prep up for something nasty...unfortunately, the grab happens too quickly, and then...El Fuerte does his mad spin, handstands on his head, and then twists down to drive Vyle into an overly complicated, but horribly effective and powerful powerbomb that leaves the rudo laid out. Eyes have light in them still, but....the body isn't quite so willing at the moment.
El Fuerte turns to the roaring crowd and throws his arms up, shouting loudly. Most join in, chanting his name in return. "Senor, you see? All it takes is a little love and people will gobble you up like an fried ice cream sundae." He turns to Vyle, a wide grin on his face. "You've chose to fight the great El Fuerte, Chef of the People! The Hurricane of the Gulf of Mexico! This is Lucha, and you are cooked. I thrive on the spirit of these people, and they flow through me! Learn to harness their energy, and you will feel the power!" He begin dancing around, though not very defensively, just to put on a show for everyone around him. He's genuinely please, as his luck appears to be very much in show tonight. "Come, we are not finished yet. Let's give these people the show they deserve. Arriba!"
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte gathers his will.
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Vyle 0/-------/---====|=======\===----\1 ElFuerte
You know....the more El Fuerte talks, the more Vyle finds himself just really wishing he had some ear plugs. He's even more insufferable than May Lee, without the excuse of her hero complex. Unfortunately for Vyle, he finds himself a bit too dead out on the ground to make much of a difference here. He manages to get up, of course...but it's obvious he's not in a good state, especially from the way he's forced to hang himself over the apron, and roll weakly back into the ring under the bottom rope. And yet...despite it all, his eyes are blazing...burning pits of hate focused straight on the chef. Oh, how he wants to shut his gordita for good....
COMBATSYS: Vyle focuses on his next action.
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Vyle 0/-------/---====|=======\===----\1 ElFuerte
El Fuerte's heart is broken. He can only see hurt in Vyle's eyes, and he wants to help. "Escuchame, companero. I have an important thing to say." He breathes in deeply. "I know that we have not gotten along, you and I. Mexican and American. A lot of my people feel that your entire country just dumps its garbage right on our front gulf. But El Fuerte is a forgiving man, looking to bring happiness to all that surround him. It is why I take up cooking, and I why I fight across the world. To learn new recipes, and to give joy to those people who are not as well off as I. I try to be selfless, for they deserve it." El Fuerte points toward the crowd. They cheer.
The Luchador reaches out, his eyes wide with compassion. "So, amigo, I give you this chance to bridge our cultures, to be the man you want to be: a man of the people. Let us blend our lives together in hopes of creating a new world of Lucha, a new world for them, and a new world for fighters like us." He snaps his fingers, and two men come out with a platter. On it is a slew of tortilla chips, and a weird bowl with an oddly colored orange-red mass in the center. "When I made this dish, it was for both our cultures. American, and Mexican. I call it Salsa de Lechuga."
As if inspired by his creation, he reaches down and dips a chip deep into the goop, and then immediately thrusts the chip quickly in your direction. I will explain this for your sake: you are correct in assuming that you are about to be forced to eat chips and salsa. However, much to your assured terror, I'm sure, the American part of this meal is in fact quite simple. Yes, it is chips, salsa, all blended together with the great taste of cole slaw.
Yes, that is tomatos, jalapenos, cilantro, mixed with with shredded lettuce, carrots, and mayonnaise. A huge pile of it sitting on fried tortilla, and your fear, rage, whatever you want to call it, has left a big enough hole in your mouth to fit just enough of that succelence right inside. "This is for our people! BIEN COMIDA!"
COMBATSYS: Vyle fails to counter El Fuerte Dynamic Cooking Time from ElFuerte with Antidote.
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Vyle 1/------=/=======|=------\-------\0 ElFuerte
COMBATSYS: Vyle has reached second wind!
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Vyle 1/------=/=======|=------\-------\0 ElFuerte
And all that Vyle hears of El Fuerte's speech to him? 'Blah Blah Blah Blah....' There's just no speaking to someone who isn't going to be receptive to you in any way. El Fuerte could stand to learn it someday...but judging by how this match has turned out, it's probably not necessary today.
Vyle just doesn't want to hear it, and when he stands up, waiting for the chef...and blinks at the bowl of ....what is assumedly chips and salsa...with cole slaw. Oh hell no. "GET THAT CRAP AWAY FROM ME!!" He attempts to grab at Fuerte and drop him before the second culinary abortion of the night is forced into his mouth...but to no avail. The awful meal is stuffed into his mouth, and like a shot, Vyle falls down, grabbing for his throat and rolling around in honest-to-god pain. He manages to stay conscious through it all, but....that's probably less fortunate for Vyle than a torture.
El Fuerte claps his hands together with joy. "Look at you! You're just revelling in my masterpiece! I'm proud. So proud. Together we will form an alliance between our peoples that nobody will be able to break! I will call it the Lucha Line of Love. I feel I have one more lesson to give to you today, my friend." He walks over the the dying wrestler and picks him up slowly off the floor. "This is one of my more simple moves. I enjoy it though, perhaps you will too, like you do my food!" He just chuckles to himself as he turns Vyle upside down. "... just loves me food. Hehe. Muy bien.
The audience roars in praise, and El Fuerte returns a few graciases here and there preparing Vyle's beaten body for a slam dunk into the floor. "Uno, dos, tres!" He tosses up Vyle up in the air and then immediately leaps up after him in attempts to powerbomb him for what he hopes is the last time.
COMBATSYS: Vyle dodges ElFuerte's Strong Throw.
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Vyle 1/------=/=======|=------\-------\0 ElFuerte
It's good El Fuerte lifted Vyle up fromthe canvas. The rudo definitely wasn't about to get up himself. He'll have to thank the chef later. Maybe a kick to the head next time Vyle can actually lift them that high.
And lifted up into the powerbomb as he is, the poisonous wrestler manages to pull a sneaky move, pushing off the top of Fuerte's head and dropping to the ground behind him. Not about to look over a good opportunity, he reaches behind him, trying to grab at the cooking tecnico's head and drop to his knees in a variant of the old Hangman's Neckbreaker.
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte interrupts Strong Throw from Vyle with Quick Throw.
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Vyle 1/---====/=======|===----\-------\0 ElFuerte
It was obvious he had missed his attack when he lept up for his opponent, who was no longer there. In a quick reaction to the hands now grabbing at him, he breaks himself free with a twist. . He plants his feet firmly on the ground for but a brief moment, grabbing Vyle by the chest and just brute forcing him downwards to propel chef into the air. El Fuerte vaults over, legs spread wide as he pushes his opponent right into the floor. He lands facing away, though turns slowly with his hands up high, now on the defensive. "You are certainly a sneaky little one, amigo. But my Lucha is nothing to take lightly. I strike like the Chupacabra. Quick, deadly, and you'll never see your goat again!"
That...didn't go so well. Instead of a neckbreaker, Vyleends up dropping by his lonesome, pushed down on by the vaulting Fuerte as he vaults into the air away from Vyle. Pain wracking the rudo, it's all he can do to pull himself up to face the landing chef. "You....are....dead.." he grunts, a rather ineffectual threat...buthe tries his best to make good on it, tackling at Fuerte's ankles in hopes of a nice double leg tackle. The small set up to a big final word, perhaps.
COMBATSYS: Vyle can no longer fight.
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ElFuerte 0/-------/----===|
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte parries Vyle's Outbreaker!
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ElFuerte 0/-------/---====|
El Fuerte places his hand on Vyle's head and gently guides his tackle away as he sidesteps. "Buenas noches, amigo. You did well!" Vyle lands off to the side, and El Fuerte throws his arms up in glory. "AYAAAAAAAAYAYAYA!!!" He begins flipping like a kid on a sugar high all around the arena. "This is Lucha Libre! And I am... EEELLL FUERTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" He leaps up and off the turnbuckle, landing in the aisleway. He smiles at the camera, a gleam between his teeth, and then he Habanero Dashes off and out of sight. The stadium has been rocked by the Hurricane.
And....Vyle plants face first intot he ground, his last gasp about as effective as anything else inthis fight Unfortunately for him, his last conscious thoughts before he passes out are not of violent revenge. Or the pain of losing as he watches El Fuerte rush off up the aisle in victory.
It's wishing he could just have a damn beer and wash out the aftertaste of this whole meeting with El Fuerte in the most literal sense possible
Log created on 18:40:03 07/28/2009 by Vyle, and last modified on 10:20:09 10/21/2014.