Description: Team Murder Tacos consisting of none other than MURDARHOUZE Mick and EL FUERTE face off against the crazed Chinese Boxer, SHENWOO. A fight that takes place minutes before the count down for the new year, the three fighters demonstrate the true ingredients required to end the year with one spicy finale. There's several ways to ring bells, many of them including hitting it with 2x4s on fire, molotov cocktails and, of course, frying pans. (Winners: Team Murder Tacos)
Mick didn't like it here. He didn't like the screaming drunken crowds, he didn't like all the noise...all such a big to do about nothing. He just shrugged it off, though, let people think that a new year brought change. A new year brought a new number, while the age old problems of humanity lingered on. And true, Mick probably wasn't doing much to help them. And he was fine with that.
Black shirt with white writing, more on that later. Black jeans, with a black hockeymask, with white markings on that as well...complete with his usual steel-toe boots and fingerless punching gloves, the only other thing was a white bandage, wrapped around his left forearm...he stood there, stalking around and pacing, waiting for his partner, for this fight...
Like the complete opposite side of the coin, El Fuerte thrives on this kind of environment. The screams, the chaos, the noise, the crowds..the good food! A new year brought new beginnings, new opportunities in the constant struggle for humanity to better itself, not only for individual cultures, but as a species. El Fuerte always tried to help with such improvement. And he was fine with that.
Entering the arena with his usual mask and pants, the luchador sports tonight a black shirt with white writing on it, although it's hard to see what it says. As he suddenly catapults himself from the crowd landing on the arena, the only visible thing is that it matches with whatever Mick has written on his own shirt. Like he does all things, El Luchador is eager, excited and very energetic for this fight.
"Haha! Listen to all those wrestling fans out there amigo! Come on, pose with me! HRUUA!" El Fuerte says to the Garbage Wrestler whilst he goes into a repertoire of poses and flexes that he quite likely rehearsed before the match. "Yeaah! Squeeze 'em baby, their real!"
It's always cold on New Years Eve in tne NYC. Revelers are bundled up, kept warm by layers of clothes and the proximity of others.
Of course, Shenwoo, The God of Battle doesn't even feel so much as a chill from the late night air. There's fire in his blood tonight. A inferno raging just below his skin that keeps the numbness of Jack Frost at bay.
Just as soon as the producers decide that El Fuerte's had enough screen time, another set of music hits. Shenwoo's music.It's loud, the bassline causes the floor to shiver gently and old men five blocks away to complain about the racket.
The street fighter bounds into view, not even missing a beat when he's hit with a spotlight. Hooting and hollaring like a giddy idiot, he pumps his fist in the air as he canters down the runway. He skips the first step of the ringside stairs , long leg stretching to the second as he propells himself up. With a hand braced against the ring post he vaults over the ropes, expensive boots pounding down on the mat.
His fists are in the air agin, pumping, agging on the crowd as he climbs upto the second rope.. He's alive.
The only way this night could get better... is if he had a fight.
And whaddya know?!
Turning to the wrestling pair, the wild boxer flashes a mad grin, white teeth shine in the chaos of neons and LEDs. He pounds a fist into a open palm... He slipped up and slept through his last Saturday Night Fight. Not this time! He set his alarm!
Mick sat back, lazily propped against a turnbuckle as he watches Fuerte burst forth, and walked over casually to the little man. The seven foot Irish monster nodded at the Mexican's energy...and a collection of poses began!
El Fuerte on one knee, arms making an X, grinning fiercely at the camera! Mick standing there, hand flat against his face.
El Fuerte standing now, flexing with his left foot against a ringrope, giving the audience real attitude! Mick turned away, shaking his head.
El Fuerte grinning as-
As his music was interrupted, and Mick was almost relieved when the gaudy opponent stepped out boldly, living up his moment in the sun, so to speak. If there was one thing Mick couldn't stand, it was showy, flashy bastards like this. And as he stepped inside, Mick wouldn't wait, wouldn't wait for any bell, or any sign for the match to begin. He would throw an immediate kick into the man's stomach, to double him over.
If that worked? Then he'd lift and jump, grabbing him in an impromptu piledriver, spinning...and hopefully crashing Shenwoo's skull into a steel chair that had been lying there. This...was the MURDERDRIVER!
Hey! Hey! Who cut the music!? El Fuerte wasn't done with his epic collections of badass poses! Never mind that the Irish wasn't playing along, for El Fuerte that was like the perfect contrast to his burning enthusiasm, Mick sure makes a good background at least. "Que??" Turning abruptly to the side, it is rather hard to miss Shenwoo's own flashy entrance. As passionate as any wrestler, yet it lacks the flair and skill of a proper luchador, just by looking at him he can guess that he's a brawns over brains street fighter. This would take some strategy.
"Okay Mick..Mick!?" Or they could just charge blindly! Just as the wrestler was getting ready to hunker down and talk out a plan of attack with the giant MURDERHOUSE, the Garbage Wrestler makes a point to show who truly is more vicious by attacking Shenwoo with all his might from the get go. Wellp, charging is also a legitimate attack.
The normally very fast Fuerte Lucahdor, charges behind the other wrestler to wait and see what he does. Running past the two fighters, El Fuerte sees from over his shoulder that Mick is going for the devastating pile driver, and thus El Fuerte decides to follow that up by jumping up to the ropes to bounce making a backwards flip in mid air to double stop Shenwoo in the face.
"First tortilla of the year!"
COMBATSYS: Shenwoo Toughs Out MURDERHOUSE's MURDERDRIVER!
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/------=|===----\-------\0 Shenwoo
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ElFuerte 0/-------/------=|
COMBATSYS: Shenwoo endures ElFuerte's Fajitas Buster.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/------=|=====--\-------\0 Shenwoo
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ElFuerte 0/-------/----===|
They come as a pair, one after the other. A large boot is driven into the washboard stomache of the God of Battle, the kick driving out a 'hoof!' of breath as it double the blonde man over. Buckling forward, he is a prime target for the slam that follows. Up then down, it is a short twist with a bit of a twist. The chair is a nice touch, the big ape's skull pounding a deep dent into the solid steel seat. If there was no bell rung, the crash of head to chair would have to do!
Fight's on!
Released, Shenwoo flops out, arms andf legs splayed against the mat. He's down just long enough for the Luchador to capitalize. Two heels come crashing down on the blonde galoot's face, smashing it back against the chair, another ring.
Fight's Double-On!
The man beneath El Fuerte's boot-heels spasms, arms and legs jerking, stiffening. MAH GAWD, IS HE DEAD, CALL A AMBULANCE!?
No, Not quite, just as soon as there isn't a spicey serving of Luchador standing on his head, Shenwoo rolls over with a dull groan and peels himself off of the mat, he remains hunched for a moment before his shoulders jag and shake... the roar of the crowd will make it difficult to hear... but the man is laughing. HJe rears up off of the mat, lips split wide by a riotous grin, a hand covering his eyes falls away revealing a glare that might not be entirely sane. "Good... I was worried you two would be wimps. Alright then! tIME TO RING IN THE NEW YEAR BY RINGING YOUR BELLS!" he bellows, the mad declaration bellowed out above the clamour of the crowd.
He's on the move! A head-long charge that sends him sailing towards the tall Irishman. One fist cocks backwards past hish shoulders, knuckles proturding like four, little battering rams right in a row. As soon as he's close enough he smashes the appendage foreward, it's like a face-seeking fist missile!
COMBATSYS: Shenwoo successfully hits MURDERHOUSE with Gekiken.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\1 Shenwoo
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ElFuerte 0/-------/----===|
Mick had a retort planned, the hockey mask and large size does NOT mean the man is silent...but he's definitely shut up as that power-packed missile explodes across his mask. The mask affords some protection, but goddamn, it fucking hurts. And the force of it! Mick was not a small man, and now, nearly three hundred pounds of lean muscle were taken off the mat, Mick landing on his shoulders before rolling back up. But he was never one to hesitate.
He launched back forward, trying a bit of a complicated little move: Mick would reach out to grab Shenwoo's hair with his left hand, his right arm launching toward the boxer's face in a forearm smash. But, this was just to stun the man, and the modified Judo-flip to put him on his back was just to get him in position...as Mick stepped backward...and then fell forward, his hockey mask used as a weapon, trying to fall into a modified headbutt, right for the man's skull! And hopefully, setting Shenwoo up for a nice Lucha-move, should this all work!
"Haha! Pendejo!
The Mexican uses Shenwoo's face like a trampoline and bounces off the wild haired boxer to land somewhere else in the arena. He isn't worried that the combined efforts of the Irish and the Mexican had killed off their opponent, the SNF officials wouldn't have sent someone against both of them if their neck could have been broken that easily. Right? Right! Just as he's up and away from the fallen fighter, Shenwoo awakens with brimming fury, wanting vengeance for getting trashed like that so early in the fight.
Sure that he's going to go for him, El Fuerte begins to move in circles trying to make himself a small target, though this works against him since instead Shenwoo goes for the more obvious one of the two, one MURDERHOUSE Mick. "Cuidado Amigo!!" Someone should tell El Fuerte that he should stop spouting stuff in Spanish if he wants to be understood. Wincing, El Fuerte closes one eye when Shenwoo's knuckles collide with Mick's mask, but having punched that mask himself, he knows the Irish man isn't going down that easily.
"Let's go!" Sure enough, Mick gets up from that punch like if it were nothing and counter attacks the wild boxer, going to put him on his back where he can headbutt him. However, that's actually not a good position for a throw, and thus El Fuerte decides to take a page from MURDERHOUSE as he grabs the flattened chair they used to pound Shenwoo's head like an anvil and SMASHES it right on Shenwoo's scalp.
Best way to end the year is by taking a chair to the head!
COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE successfully hits Shenwoo with London Bridge.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/=======|=======\==-----\1 Shenwoo
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ElFuerte 0/-------/----===|
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte successfully hits Shenwoo with Tostada Press.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/=======|=======\===----\1 Shenwoo
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ElFuerte 0/-------/---====|
He didn't expect for anything to be finished in one punch, infact, he dearly hoped otherwise! Tos see the masked man rise was a answered hope. To see him coming on so quickly was another. Shenwoo stood, thinking to simply weather whatever it was that Mick could deal out. This may have been a mistake. A hand in his hair anchored him in place and pulled him towards that oncoming forearm, the collision set of stars in his eyes. A momentary daze later found him slammed down onto the mat where he found himself met with another blow to the face, this time from that mask. Another solid blow that bounced his skull off against the floor.
Mick clears the pound-zone and El Fuerte comes in with a chair. A downward slam that's sure to leave another hefty dent in the folding bit of furniture as it bounces against the top of Shenwoo's head.
Shenwoo's seeing more than just the lights of times square now. His cage is a little rattled and whatever passes for a brain in that skull of his has been sloshing around in the soup that surrounds it. Rolling over, the chinese brawler hauls himself to his feet once more, shaking off the cobwebs and chasing away the birds with a violent shake of his head. He might have something worthy of a New Years Hangover pounding in that head of his the next morning but now, he's having the time of his life!
Another smile that threatens to split his face from ear to ear and another, more haggered bout of laughter and Shenwoo lays in. He's after El Fuerte now, fists bundled together, fingers intertwined and held low at his hip as he comes in at the smaller man. "That's as hard as you can hit, even with a weapon?!" he barks at the man as his conjoined fists come swinging up like a sledge hammer, rushing to meet the chin of the -OTHER- masked man.
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte blocks Shenwoo's Fusen Kyaku.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/=======|=======\====---\1 Shenwoo
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ElFuerte 0/-------/-======|
Mick got to his feet, slowly and staggering away as Fuerte came in with that frying pan, whacking it down on the unfortunate brawler...and wasn't sticking around to see what was happening, because he rolled out of the ring, quickly. If Shenwoo did his homework, he would -know- that Mick wasn't running, but rather rummaging and hunting for weapons, fighting the big crowd of people to find stuff to use...shoving drunken partiers, grabbing things, throwing a collection of sports equipment and old janitor stuff into the ring, he quickly came back, as Shenwoo threw a soon to be blocked rocking punch at his miniature partner...and Mick was ready, no matter the outcome, quickly lighting the thing in his hand, and speaking to his opponent, to get his attention...
"Hey, fuckface...how 'bout a drink?!"
That's right, it was a molotav cocktail, thrown right at the face of the Chinese Boxer, thrown as hurtlingly quick as a fastball!
El Fuerte jumps back after the metal chair hit the man's forehead, wanting to at least give him a chance to recover whilst the dynamic due prepared for yet another vicious attack. El Luchador discards the utterly wrecked chair now after being smashed against Shenwoo's face repeatedly, it will no longer be of any good use to anyone making El Fuerte think that it was the chair, and not Shenwoo's face, who came out of that collision worse off.
The masked hero catches from the corner of his eye Mick going for the crowd knowing perfectly well what is Mick fishing for. Thus he decides that he'll distract Shenwoo in the mean time. Scoffing at the insult from the Chinese boxer, El Fuerte keeps himself light on his feet as he bounces slightly back when Shenwoo charges at him. "Oh, no to worry compadre! The spicy stuff has yet to arrive!"
The wrestler crouches slightly with narrowed eyes at the wild swing and smirks "A clumsy attack amigo." Indeed, it's predictable and El Fuerte doesn't even try to get out of the way, instead he puts his elbow in the way of Shenwoo's fists letting him smash that instead of his chin. Though this ends up hurting his arm quite a lot! "Augh...well..how about that?" Grumbles the masked warrior as he is pushed back by the tremendous force of the blow rubbing his arm in the process.
Speaking of spicy stuff..incoming molotov cokctail!
"Chingada Mick! I'm still standing over here!!" El Fuerte curses out loud as that Molotov cocktail is likely to hit him too and all he can do is make a backflip to stand on the turnbuckle away from the incoming explosion.
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte focuses on his next action.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/=======|=======\====---\1 Shenwoo
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ElFuerte 0/-------/-======|
COMBATSYS: Shenwoo endures MURDERHOUSE's House of Fire.
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MURDERHOUSE 1/-------/=======|=======\=====--\1 Shenwoo
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ElFuerte 0/-------/-======|
Shenwoo's rushed blow rewards him with just a clip against the smaller wreastler's elbow rather than a hammering strike against his chin.
It ain't what he wanted, but he'll take what he could get!
The luchador rattles something off before bounding away. Chingada? What did that even mean, it sounded chinese... but he knows all of the dirty words in Chinese!
Turning a eye towards the source of El Fuerte's discontent, Shenwoo found a bottle with a flaming rag fuse sailing his way. He might not know what Chingada means but he deffinitly knows what a molotov cocktail is!
His lips color into a snear, his eyes lighting with a fire of their own as the bottle sails home. "Get that pansy shit out of here!" barks the muscular, blonde man. A open hand sweeps around to meet the bottle, intending to smack it away... Only Shenwoo put a little bit too much oomph behind it!
The glass shattered, the volitile contents meeting the flaming rag and suddenly erupting in a burst of flame that consumed gthe man in a sudden ball of fire! The flames bit at his skin and seared him. With his leather pants baking and his silk shirt set aflame, Shenwoo turned a mad-eye towards MURDERHOUSE, the source of the bottle.
A stomp set the ring to shiver, trashcans and kendo sticks rattled around him as he planted the foot with authority and used it to launch himself towards Mick, erupting in a sudden burst of motion that had the flames that still burned in his hair or on his clothing to suddenly billow and flare. Mick would know this song from before, it started out much the same but the beat hit harder and the melody was quicker.
If the blow before was a face-seeking fist-missile, this one was a orbitaly launched face-nuke!
COMBATSYS: Shenwoo knocks away MURDERHOUSE with Zetsu! Gekiken.
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MURDERHOUSE 1/=======/=======|=====--\-------\0 Shenwoo
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ElFuerte 0/-------/-======|
Mick grinned beneath that mask of his as the bottle smashed, setting that tacky clothing ablaze, Mick stood smugly and adjusted his elbow pad...and realized immediately that something horrible was about to happen. The flaming wreckage of Shenwoo barreled toward him, scattered weapons flying, and Mick just glared at Shenwoo, right in the eyes...he tensed, preparing himself for another powerful hit...and couldn't prepare enough. He was tough, and right now, that toughness was definitely put to the test! A firey fist smashed across that black hockeymask, even hitting across the side, cause a huge, diagonal crack to appear all along from the bottom left to the upper right, and he went flying. He actually spun around once from the impact of the blow, and soon his back smashed into a turnbuckle, HARD...
And beyond! All the ropes of the ring would tighten as that turnbuckle bent from the pressure...and then cracked, those ropes now drooping at one corner, and Mick flying, landing head-first on the concrete below. He didn't move, not at first, but after a minute, he fought his way to his feet. And he looked fucking pissed!
He slid back in the ring, rushing toward the Chinese fighter in a barreling, stalking kind of walk, immediately grabbing out, trying to get the man in a headlock. If this worked, Mick would reach into his pocket and pull out a very sharp fork. A fork that was trying to carve across the forehead of his opponent, trying to draw blood, and trying to stagger the man, trying to make him woozy. Because if this all worked, then he'd grab the real big kahuna, the thing he managed to bring with him subtly, how in the fuck could he produce these crazy weapons?!
It was a two by four, at least, it was. Now, at the end, it was wrapped in cloth, barbwire, lightbulbs and light tubes that were somehow able to be wrapped around the end, and of course...lit on fire. And this unholy weapon was swung downward, aiming to smash right across the forehead and face of Shenwoo.
"My turn!"
El Fuerte guesses that Spanish sounds like Chinese? Maybe? Irrelevant in the end since his curse only managed to confuse Shenwoo long enough to not realize that smashing a Moltov Cocktail is a very /VERY/ bad idea! "Holy jumping lima beans." It is true that El Luchador is accustomed to his partner in crime's brutality, but flinging grenades in the wrestling ring might be taking a step beyond what El Fuerte intends to do. He doesn't think he could do that to anyone and for a second, the wrestler thinks he should try to calm both these hot heads down before anyone gets /seriously/ hurt, worst way to end the year is being dead.
Of course, Shenwoo doesn't do like any normal person would do and tries to quench the flames and instead goes to swing a punch to Mick so hard that it send the giant Irish man right through the frigging ropes of the ring to the crowd below. "Mick!!" He knows MURDARHOUZE Mick doesn't like it when people worry about him. But dang! That looked like it hurt! No one strikes El Fuerte's amigos without being seriously injured themselves.
Of course, MURDERHOUSE ain't the type that likes to share the spot light and he makes it difficult for El Fuerte to get in and assist in anyway when he goes for the head lock. Therefore he just aims to help Mick by bringing a weapon of his own. His trusty frying pan that also appears outta freaking nowhere to be swung at Shenwoo when El Fuerte jumps from the turnbuckle and pound the crazed boxer flat along with all of Mick's blunt weapons.
COMBATSYS: Shenwoo blocks MURDERHOUSE's Ode to Butchers.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/-======|=======\-------\0 Shenwoo
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ElFuerte 0/-------/---====|
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte successfully hits Shenwoo with Quesadilla Bomb.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/-======|=======\=------\1 Shenwoo
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ElFuerte 0/-------/-======|
The shock of the impact of fist against hockey mask washed back over Shenwoo, a grand gust of air that snuffed the last of the flames, leaving nothing behind save for burned skin, seared silk, charred leather and of course that lovely smell of burned hair.
Though his chest heaved, his posture did not slouch or waver, nor did his smile fade. If anything it grew, a massive, wolfish grin that cut a broad gash across his features. This wasn't over, not by a long shot, even if the Irish went down, he still had the Luchador to content himself with!
The Irishman was not down however, far from it. He was up and back in the ring, closing in on Shenwoo and grappling him, locking the blonde's head into the crook of his arm and bringing to bare the most devious weapon of all!
A fork?!
Yes, a fork! The tines of the utensil gouged into the chinaman's forehead, dragging rents across the spanse above his brow, cutting shallow furrows into the flesh and letting it bleed, juicing the boxer as if he was a wrassler from the 80's. Blood, warm and wet, poured down his features, dripping through his blonde eyebrows and stinging his eyes.
His vision turned red, one eye was fored to screw shut. It was only more coal on the fire however. In the time it took Mick to come back, brandishing his horror story of a 2x4, Shenwoo was ready... In a sense of the word.
How can one really be ready for a thick board of wood fastooned with barbed wire, lightbulbs, fluorescent tubes, and on fire?
The answer is that no, you cannot.
So when that flaming, barbed wire, light bulb, fluorescent light covered board came swinging his way, Shenwoo lifted a forearm into it's path. Bulbs shattered with sudden pops, paper-thin shards of glass burrying themselves into the meaty arm. Tubes burst, adding more white, brittle shrapnel to the corncopia that covered him adding a toxic mix of mercury gas to the air, barbed wire prongs gouged at the flesh, carving bloody grooves into his arm. Then there was the fire. Let us not forget the fire! It bloomed upon contact with the gas, a sudden flash burn that made it all come together in the most wonderful of ways.
But Shenwoo was still standing, that 2x4 wedged into his arm, the other free. Did he have it in him, did he have another varient of Gekiken in his pocket?!
The world may never know.
For while the blonde chinaman reeled back that mighty fist, the revelers and party goers of Times Square chanted.
"Five! Four! Three! Two! One!!!!" amassive, belighted ball descened down it's pole just as a masked man took flight, skillet in hand. Shenwoo shifted his weight back, hand cocked past his shoulder, the blow that would ring in the new year coming... sooner than he expected.
"HAPPY NEW-" -KLOOONG!!!!
El Fuerte soared in right at the buzzer, pan in hand and swinging for the fences, skulled rang against cast-iron cooking equipment like the call of a bell.
Shenwoo's head snapped to the side, pan bouncing off his skull and sending him stumbling away, one drunken step and then another until he stumbled over a manhole cover that had been pitched into the ring previously and crashed down into a aluminum garbage can.
This boy ain't getting back up too soon.
COMBATSYS: Shenwoo takes no action.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/-======|
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ElFuerte 0/-------/-======|
COMBATSYS: Shenwoo can no longer fight.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/-======|
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ElFuerte 0/-------/-======|
Mick swung that piece of lumber, and watched it wedge in the little man's arm. MURDERHOUSE stepped back, noting that fist cocking back, and put up his own fists, not so much a 'boxing' stance, as a 'sloppy alternative to passing out' stance. He was ready, ready as he could be, almost ignoring the cheering throngs of people. He swayed and lurched violently on his feet but remained standing...and wouldn't you know it, Fuerte came through. Flipping like a little Mexican Jumping Ninja, he watched that cookingware smash across Woo's face, and noted the staggering journey he took into unconsciousness. Mick took a deep breath, stepping back, and he nodded at Fuerte, reaching out to swing a meaty slap to his partner's shoulder. It was light, but it was light coming from MURDERHOUSE Mick.
"Good job."
That's all he said, before dropping to one knee, shaking his head from the cobwebs. That had been a close one, for Mick at least...
COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE takes no action.
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MURDERHOUSE 0/-------/-======|
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ElFuerte 0/-------/-======|
COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE has left the fight here.
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ElFuerte 0/-------/-======|
Scratch that previous statement of taking a chair to the dome being the best way to end the year. Truly the best way to finish it strong was by taking a fork to the head, followed by a 2x4 wrapped around with barbed wire, add a healthy dose of fire and finish it off with a resounding smack of a frying pan to flatten it all into a neat scalp tortilla. And that my friends is the perfect spicy recipe to truly end the year with the satisfaction of a job well done.
*KLANG* There's that oh so sweet sound of metal hitting thick skull as El Fuerte dashes in at the last second just before Shen can manage to pull back his fist back to smash another devastating hit on Mick to slam one of his own. Good ol' frying pan to the nogging always seems to do the trick. "Ey! Told you the spicy stuff was coming amigo! Hahaha" El Fuerte watches as how the lights on the the boxer's eyes go out like a stove turned off after a delicious plate of tamales are finished being prepared to plummet on the ground where he doesn't get back up. Thus Shenwoo joins thousand others who will also spend New Year's eve completely knocked out.
Beaming, El Fuerte rests his frying pan on his shoulder whilst Mick pats his shoulder with that giant paw of his. "Not too bad eh ese? This marks the first victory for us! Murder Tacos!!" Yes, that is what their T-Shirts say, no doubt El Fuerte's idea.
As he says this, Mick goes to one knee and it is difficult to say then if he does this due to pain and exhaustion or because of the Mexican's obnoxious cheerfulness. Either way, since he is kneeled now he has no other choice but to pose with Fuerte when all those cameras start flashing on them.
"Huh!
"Hah!"
"Flex!"
COMBATSYS: ElFuerte has ended the fight here.
Log created on 19:31:07 01/02/2012 by ElFuerte, and last modified on 09:01:37 01/03/2012.