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Post by amsterDAN on Feb 13, 2019 20:15:44 GMT
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
"The Ransom Letter"
Season 1, Episode 13
Original Air Date: Feb. 13, 2019Speeding down a rural highway through the dead of night, Sal de Roca decided he just couldn’t take it anymore. He was still about two hours from his intended destination, another secret property he kept, this one out in Sonora. But the envelope stuffed down the front of his wrestling trunks might as well have been a handful of fire ants, the amount of discomfort and anxiety it was causing him. He decided he just couldn’t wait any longer. It had been at least a half an hour since anyone had passed him in either direction, so Sal decided it was safe enough to pull his Rolls Royce onto the shoulder. The road he was on was a completely straight shot; he’d be able to see any approaching headlights from about a mile away. Dirt crunched under the tires as the car pulled off of the asphalt. The envelope was rumpled and slightly damp from being transported in his tights for so long. Sal flapped it around in the air, trying to dry it off a bit. Then he wormed a finger under the flap of the envelope and tore it open. He pulled out the neatly-folded single sheet of paper contained therein, and smoothed it out against the face of his steering wheel. Just as Sal had suspected, it was the ransom note he’d been waiting on, with instructions for the handoff. Again, it was written in the silly style of movie ransom notes; letters of different fonts, sizes, and colors, cut out from newspapers and magazines. Sal read it once and frowned. He read it again, and frowned some more. These definitely weren’t the kind of instructions he’d been expecting to receive. Something seemed a little… off. Having the not-exactly-legal side hustle that he did, Sal actually had prior experience in receiving ransom notes, and he was quite certain no self-respecting international drug trafficking cartel would have asked for their money to be delivered in such a haphazard way. The letter read: They just want me to toss all that money behind a dumpster? That struck Sal as one of the least secure ways to hand over a ransom. He also found the line about being “way too smart” to be... well, not a particularly smart thing to say. Suddenly, Sal was feeling extremely suspicious. This wasn’t some dangerous cartel he was dealing with; he was certain of that. Indeed, if this highly unprofessional ransom demand was any indicator, whoever was trying to extort Sal might well just be some bumbling doofus, or doofuses. Had someone been playing Sal for a fool this whole time? He tossed the ransom note onto the passenger seat and twisted the key in the ignition and his Rolls Royce sprung to life again. But instead of carrying on down that dark highway, Sal spun the wheel around to make a U-turn and roared off, back in the direction of Juarez.
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Post by Senator Phillips on Feb 13, 2019 20:19:50 GMT
I see a La Guerra de Sangre update, and it puts a big grin on my face, every time. We don't deserve such wonderful writing(and matching pictures!) here.
The mystery of the dubious ransom note has me both intrigued and snickering. Really looking forward to seeing how Sal deals with this situation.
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Post by amsterDAN on Feb 14, 2019 21:33:13 GMT
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
"The Semifinals"
Season 1, Episode 14
Original Air Date: Feb. 14, 2019EL TORNEO: NIGHT FOUR
THE SEMIFINALS EARLIER IN THE DAYTo say that David Harley was pleased to be facing Tocapelotas in the semifinal of El Torneo would have been a major understatement. Ecstatic was more accurate. Over the moon. As they might’ve said back in his native California, David was stoked. Riding the rickety elevator up to the La Guerra office that morning, heading in early to finish up a bit of paperwork that couldn't be put off any longer, David couldn’t keep himself from grinning over the top of the coffee cup he was sipping from. As a matter of fact, so unworried was he about the match that evening, David had decided to make his morning mug in the Irish style.
Other luchadors on the La Guerra roster might have had David slightly more concerned. Sicomoro was a big boy, and Avispon de Alameda was the most nimble man he’d ever seen fly around a wrestling ring, and El Descosido was about as ruthlessly rough-and-tumble as they come, but David didn’t need to worry about any of them anymore; they’d all been knocked out of the tournament already.
Tocapelotas on the other hand… well, the man was a nitwit. A dunce. A pinhead. And not a particularly talented wrestler either. David had known exactly what he was doing, inserting Toca into the bracket as an injury replacement precisely where he did. And thus far, it had all worked out according to plan. With a little help from the ZDM boys, as well as a little grease in the palm of the notoriously unethical referee Notorio, Toca had upset that big bad rudo Sicomoro, just as David had hoped. As for his match tonight, he was confident those same ZDM boys would not dare interfere against him; they always became a bumbling pair of brown-nosing bootlickers whenever they were graced with David’s presence. He couldn’t say he blamed them.
He got out of the elevator and walked down the hallway. As always, the chalkboard stood sentinel under that bare, flickering light bulb dangling from the ceiling by a frayed wire. David unlocked the office door, but before he went in he paused to admire the bracket for a moment. Only two matches to go, and the mask of Choque would finally be his. He took a big slug from his mug of coffee, squeezed his eyes shut and smiled as the warm burn of whisky slowly crept down his throat all the way to his belly.
A mischievous little idea occurred to him and David grinned even more widely than he already had been doing. He stepped up to the board, grabbed a nib of chalk, and scratched out the name Tocapelotas from the semifinals. Then he scrawled his own name - DAVID FUCKING HARLEY - into the finals. Sure, it might have been a bit premature, but come on. He had every reason to expect tonight’s match to be a cakewalk.
He stood back and admired his handiwork and took another big slug of coffee. He was nearing the bottom of the mug and the whisky content down there was so strong it caught him off guard. David choked it down with considerable effort, then started to cough violently. He held on to the side of the chalkboard to steady himself as he whooped and hacked and wretched. He was coughing so loudly, he didn’t hear the shuffling footsteps approaching until they’d sidled up right next to him.
David whirled around to see who it was, his eyes watery and his face beet red. It was an odd-looking fellow in pink spandex and a feather boa so long it trailed ten feet behind him down the hall.
It was Tocapelotas.
Between choking on his coffee and being startled by the sudden appearance of the man he’d be wrestling against later that night, David had a hard time spitting anything out but finally did. “Toca… what are you doing here?”
Tocapelotas shrugged. He took a slug from a carton of Jumex he happened to be holding. “Just doing the Toca rounds.”
David cocked an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure what that even meant.
Tocapelotas turned his head toward the chalkboard. He stared blankly at it for an uncomfortably long time, standing completely motionless. David stood still as a statue as well. Finally after what felt like an eternity, Toca raised the the Jumex to his lips again and took a long, thoughtful sip. Then, he raised his free hand and pointed at the name DAVID FUCKING HARLEY written into the finals, and slowly turned his head to face the man to which that name belonged.
“You spell the Toca wrong,” he said expressionlessly. He used his feather boa to wipe the name from the board, picked up a stick of chalk and in an excruciatingly slow manner, carved the letters T-O-C-A in its place. He took a step back to admire his handiwork.
“That is the much betters,” Tocapelotas said as he turned on his heel and shuffled off down the hall - toca toca toca toca toca - with that lengthy feather boa trailing a mile behind him, leaving a stunned and speechless David Harley in his wake.
MATCH #1
i.W.e. TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
LOS TORMENTOS (Tiburanha & Ultimo Grande) vs (c) BIRDEMIC! (U.S. Kestrel & Resplendent Quetzal)THE RANSOM DROP Sal de Roca walked with purpose through the backstage area, carrying a briefcase. There was about six minutes to go until he was expected at the curtain for his match against Cicatrices. Down a quiet, cavernous hallway he found the door to Emergency Exit 7C. Unsurprisingly, the alarm was disengaged and did not go off when Sal opened it. The dumpster was right there, just a few steps outside, just barely far enough off the wall to be clear of the path of that heavy door. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Sal kneeled down and slid the briefcase into the small gap between the dumpster and the wall. He made it a point to not look around as he did so; he was certain he was being watched and tried to act as nonchalant as possible. He stood up, brushed off his kneepads, and went back inside.
There were now less than five minutes left until he had to go out for his match and he really should have been heading toward the curtain, but Sal wasn’t going anywhere. He waited on the other side of the door, his ear - or rather, the side of his mask - pressed against it. He waited. And waited.
Suddenly, Sal heard something. A rustling. A set of shuffling footsteps. It was time.
Sal darted just a few steps down the hall, to a small red box mounted on the wall. A fire alarm. It would afford him all the time he needed. He used the little mallet dangling from a chain to smash the glass, and he pulled the lever. A deafening siren screamed throughout the entire arena.
Sal sprinted back to Emergency Exit 7C and heaved the door open with all his might. He heard a man’s voice cry out as the heavy metal door smashed into him, pancaking him between the door and the concrete wall. Something clattered to the ground; the briefcase. For good measure, Sal grabbed the door by the edge and used it to slam whoever it was on the other side a half dozen more times, before finally peering around the corner to see exactly who it was.
Unconscious in a crumpled heap behind the door lay a masked man. It was a very familiar looking mask indeed. Beside the lifeless body, an open briefcase with hundreds and hundreds of tiny slips of torn-up white paper in it, some fluttering out of the case and scattering across the concrete like leaves being carried by an autumn breeze. Each and every slip of paper read the same thing: FUCK YOU PENDEJO in Sal’s handwriting.
Sal looked down at the unconscious man. Yes indeed, that mask was a rather familiar one. It was Motosierra’s. But the person wearing it was decidedly not Motosierra. He definitely looked quite a lot like him, and was basically identical in every single way aside from the fact he was about three feet too short to be Motosierra. Sal stared down in disbelief.
It was Minisierra. Motosierra’s mini-estrella twin.
Sal’s blood boiled. He grabbed the unconscious dwarf by his belt and lifted the limp body up off of the concrete and carried him through the emergency exit, back inside. The backstage area was largely deserted as most everyone had opted to evacuate at the sound of the fire alarm, which was still shrieking. The few people who passed him in the hallway seemed too preoccupied with running for their lives to worry about why Sal was carrying around a knocked-out midget. Sal took Minisierra into the empty locker room, where he used a couple towels to hogtie him and stuffed a dirty pair of socks into his mouth. Sal crammed the bound-and-gagged midget into his locker.
Minisierra groaned weakly. His eyes fluttered a bit, then opened. They seemed bleary and unable to focus at first, but when they finally did and he saw big angry Sal de Roca glaring at him, they became as wide as saucers.
“I’ll be back to deal with you in just a few minutes, cabron,” Sal growled, and he slammed the locker door shut. Minisierra moaned. The earsplitting klaxon of the fire alarm finally ceased, and people started slowly trickling back into the backstage area. Sal secured his locker with a combination lock, then turned and headed out to the curtain for his match. MATCH #2
EL TORNEO SEMIFINAL
CICATRICES vs SAL DE ROCAAFTER THE MATCHSal would’ve been lying if he’d said he wasn’t heartbroken about losing his shot at la mascara de Choque, but that was just the way the cookie crumbled. Just as he hadn’t had the time to celebrate his prior victories in El Torneo, he now had no time to cry over spilled milk either. There was still a hogtied mini-estrella in his locker that needed to be attended to.
Back in the locker room, everyone gave Sal a wide berth since it was never wise to get in the way of someone who’d just lost a match, especially a rather important one. That actually worked in Sal’s favor, since nobody dared say a word when he went to his locker and pulled out a bruised and battered midget with his hands and feet tied together. Without a word to anyone, he slung Minisierra over his shoulder and marched out of the room. All the luchadors looked on in bewilderment and shot each other quizzical glances, but when Sal exited they all just sort of shrugged, then continued about their business as though nothing unusual had happened at all.
Sal went out to the parking lot and heaved Minisierra into the trunk of his Rolls Royce. The midget landed in the boot with a loud thud and writhed around in pain, moaning. Sal yanked the dirty socks out of his mouth.
“What are you gonna do to me, man?” Minisierra said, sounding frightened out of his mind. “Where are you taking me?”
Sal scoffed. “No, no, no. The question is: Where are you taking me? Tell me where Motosierra is. Now.”
Minisierra was silent. His lip was quivering.
“Here’s the deal,” Sal said. “One way or another, you’re gonna be riding around in this trunk for a while. So either you tell me where your brother is and we can drive directly to him right now, or you don’t tell me, and you spend the whole night in here while I search for him myself. And I’m taking all the bumpiest roads I can think of and hitting every goddamn pothole I come across.”
Minisierra still wasn’t saying a thing.
“Have it your way,” Sal grumbled menacingly, and slammed the trunk shut.
He could hear the midget hollering for help as he started up the Rolls Royce, so Sal spun the volume knob on the stereo all the way to the right until his cries were completely drowned out by blaring mariachi music. On his way out of the parking lot, Sal hit a speed bump at about sixty miles an hour and smiled grimly at himself in his rearview while he listened to Minisierra bounce around in the boot like a pinball. MAIN EVENT
EL TORNEO SEMIFINAL
TOCAPELOTAS vs DAVID HARLEYAFTER THE MAIN EVENTAbout a thousand miles away in Las Vegas, hundreds of bookies cursed and smashed their TV sets and considered leaping to their deaths off of high-rise balconies. Back in the Arena Naucalpan, the roar of the crowd was unlike anything the lucha libre world had ever heard before. The ground shook, the rafters quaked, chunks of concrete flew from the foundation of the building, and the roof of the joint was blown off so thoroughly it was now orbiting the earth. Jubilant luchadors came sprinting to the ring from backstage and hoisted Tocapelotas up onto their shoulders, led by El Hijo de Choque who had tears in his eyes. Frenzied fans stormed the ring and stadium security didn’t lift a finger to prevent them doing so, since they were too busy celebrating themselves. Somewhere in the scrum, a humiliated David Harley crawled away through a sea of legs and trampling feet, barely escaping to the backstage with his life.
The mood could hardly have been more elated even if Mexico had just won the World Cup. Everyone in attendance, and all of Juarez, and indeed much of the nation would party until dawn and beyond because of this. The chant of TO-CA TO-CA TO-CA would echo across the continent for days. That dastardly, bastardly gringo David Harley had finally been defeated. He’d never get his greedy, grubby hands on the most coveted relic in all of lucha libre, la mascara de Choque. And, at least for the time being, the absolute unlikeliest man on the planet - Tocapelotas - was the hero of Mexico.
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Post by amsterDAN on Feb 19, 2019 2:58:35 GMT
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
"The Reluctant Abductor"
Season 1, Episode 15
Original Air Date: Feb. 18, 2019Back at his opulent manor, Sal de Roca really wasn’t sure what to do with Minisierra. He’d never intended on becoming a hostage-taker. It had been a rough ride back to the house - Sal had made sure of that - and the midget had taken a pretty good bruising, hogtied in the trunk and all. So in a rare display of mercy, Sal decided to untie Minisierra and chain him to a Corinithian column instead, with enough slack on it so that he wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. After a couple hours when the midget started bitching about being hungry, Sal gave him a bag of chips to snack on. Eventually, Minisierra needed to pee so Sal temporarily removed the chain from the pillar and walked the mini-estrella to a restroom. Sal approached hostage-holding a lot like taking care of a dog. “You know, if you just tell me where Motosierra is, I’ll let you go,” Sal said, sounding distracted. He was sitting on a plush purple couch, smoking a cigarillo and watching TV. “Yeah, you’ve said that about a million times already, man. I’m not telling you where he is.” Minisierra was sitting across the room with his back against the column and his feet stretched out in front of him, the chain attached to his ankle just long enough to allow it. “But look, I’m getting really bored of this, and I think you are too. So I’ll make you a deal.” Sal muted the TV. “Oh yeah?” “Yeah,” Minisierra said. “My phone. It’s not in my pocket anymore. I’m not sure exactly when it fell out, but it might be in your trunk. If it is, you can just call Motosierra yourself.” Sal just about sprinted to the garage, and lo and behold, Minisierra’s phone was indeed in the trunk of the Rolls Royce. The screen was shattered from that rocky ride back from the arena, but it still worked. Sal rooted around on it as he walked back to the living room. Thirty-three missed messages from Motosierra, mostly to the effect of WHERE THE FUCK R U?!?!?!?!? That made Sal smirk. But when he eventually got back to the living room, that smirk disappeared immediately. Wouldn’t you know it, Minisierra had somehow broken free from his bonds and escaped, apparently by just walking right out of the front door, which was ajar. Those mini-estrella truly were crafty little bastards. All that remained was a dwarfless chain, lying limply on the parquet floor. Sal cursed. He sat back down on the couch, wondering what to do next, when he remembered the smashed-up cellphone he was holding in his right hand. Sal opened up the contacts, found Motosierra’s number and dialled it. “ WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE?” is how Motosierra answered the call. “He was just spending some quality time with his new friend Sal.” He could hear Motosierra choke and gasp on the other end of the line. “ Sal! Sal. Uuuh... ummm... Oh hey there, Sal. Um... what’s up buddy?” “You idiot,” Sal grumbled. “I know everything already, so cut the crap.” “You do?” Motosierra asked, sounding sincerely surprised. Sal sighed. “My god, you really are an idiot. I know you weren’t really kidnapped, and I know that you stole my money, and you stole that valuable package I paid you to deliver, and you were trying to extort me for even more money. You greedy, pea-brained idiot. I can’t believe you thought you were smart enough to pull something like this off. Clearly, you aren’t.” Motosierra sounded annoyed. “Screw you, man. Where’s my brother? Where’s Minisierra?” “I was just about to send you one of his fingers, like the one you sent to me,” Sal bluffed. “ WHAT! Don’t do that, man!” Motosierra cried. “It wasn’t a real finger, Sal, it was just a sausage link with a chicken bone stuck in it, I swear to God!” Sal couldn’t help but laugh. He’d been too horrified to take a very close look in that cigar box back at his ranch, and just assumed it was a real finger. Perhaps Motosierra had the capacity for occasional cleverness after all. “We’ll see,” Sal said menacingly. “I want my money back, Moto. And I want it in my hands tonight. If you ever want to see your brother again, you’ll make that happen for me.” Motosierra seemed to seriously be considering Sal's demand for a second there. But then something strange happened. Through the phone, Sal heard a door open and slam shut. He heard Motosierra say Wait a minute, what the fuck are you doing here? and knew exactly who had come through that door. Sal thought hard about this for a few seconds. If Minisierra had already made it to wherever Motosierra was, that meant they were both very close, within a few blocks of him. Sal knew Motosierra couldn’t afford to live on this side of town, which meant he was hiding out on someone else’s property. But who else lived in Rincones de San Marcos that might get involved in some dirty business such as this? After seeing Minisierra, Motosierra felt emboldened. “You lying old loser, my brother is right here! So you ain’t gettin' shit back from me anymore, man. You can kiss that money adios.” Inside, Sal was boiling with rage but continued to sound calm and collected. “Motosierra, I will dog you for the rest of your days if you pull this shit on me. I’ll be after you every step you take. And sooner or later, I’ll catch up to you, and when I do, you’re a dead man. You won’t be able to take a single step down any street in Mexico without seeing me right behind you. You’ll never be able to wrestle a match again. If you want to ever feel safe again, you’ll have to disappear, forever. I know you're feeling flush with cash right now, but it’s going to take a whole hell of a lot more money than that to hide from me for the rest of your life.” Motosierra took all that into earnest consideration, and did not find Sal’s forecast appealing in the least. But he was a stubborn man. “I’m not giving you back this money. Not without a fight.” Sal fell into a contemplative silence for a few seconds, which made Motosierra anxious. “That’s not a bad idea at all,” Sal finally said, a lightbulb going on. “We should fight for it.” Motosierra wasn’t thrilled by the idea of gambling all that money on a single match, but he was nonetheless a luchador, honor-bound to accept challenges. “State your terms.” “You and me for the money.” “Nope,” Motosierra responded instantaneously. He’d been expecting that one, and frankly did not love his odds of winning a straight one-on-one. “How about a tag team match? Me and Minisierra versus you and whoever.” “For the money,” Sal added. “For the money,” Motosierra echoed. “Deal,” Sal said. “I’ll see you on Thursday, muchacho.” Motosierra grunted in agreement and hung up. The moment the call had ended, Sal flung Minisierra’s phone across the room and into the fireplace, taking a minute to watch it melt. Then he reached for his own cellphone and scrolled through the contacts until he found the one he was looking for, cryptically named EL M. The phone rang a few times before it was answered. “Hey. It’s me. Oh, I found him alright. But I’m gonna need your help,” Sal informed whoever was on the other end of the line. “I need a tag team partner. And you need to make sure whoever that ends up being gives us a damn good chance of winning, or we’re both in big trouble.”
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Post by Senator Phillips on Feb 19, 2019 15:41:44 GMT
Lucha Libre by Elmore Leonard. At risk of being repetitive, this is tremendous stuff. High stakes match coming here.
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Post by amsterDAN on Feb 20, 2019 4:52:48 GMT
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
"Toca On Air"
Season 1, Episode 16
Original Air Date: Feb. 19, 2019The three members of the current iteration of ZDM - cousins El Descosido and Exposito and their strange associate Tocapelotas - set out bright and early that morning in their battered old pickup truck, El Descosido driving and the other two sitting in the bed of the truck, as per usual. They were headed downtown, to the set of a popular morning news program, on which they’d been invited to appear. The invitation itself had come as quite the shock to the ZDM boys; they’d never received one to anything before. More shocking still was what greeted them when they arrived. Hundreds of fans were waiting out in front of the building. When they saw the shabby pickup truck approaching, they erupted into raucous cheering and swarmed the vehicle. It took a while for them to settle down enough for the boys to even be able to exit the truck. Things had really changed ever since Tocapelotas took down David Harley in the semifinals of El Torneo in one of the most shocking upsets in professional wrestling history. He’d instantaneously become a national icon, and ZDM was officially on the map. Many of the fans were wearing white T-shirts with ZDM scrawled on them in pink; perfect homemade replicas of the ones Toca designed. There were little kids and even some adults running around with what looked to be freshly-dyed shocks of pink in their hair, just like Toca’s hair. Disembodied arms jutted every which way out of that teeming mass of people, the hands at the ends of them holding cartons of Jumex to be autographed and Sharpies to do it with. A smattering of fans started chanting TO-CA TO-CA TO-CA and quickly the chant swept across the entire crowd. Tocapelotas waved happily, turning in circles as if determined to wave to everyone there individually, until he started to get dizzy. El Descosido and Exposito waved politely to the audience as well but nobody seemed to notice, as they were all fighting for Toca's attention. The ZDM boys went inside and immediately some producer-types and their assistants whisked them away to make-up. Tocapelotas had his greasy face powdered up and thoroughly enjoyed the pampering, but the other two guys were wearing masks and thusly did not receive the same treatment. Someone wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard came into the dressing room and told them they had two minutes until they were on the air, and ushered the boys over to the studio. The lights on the set were bright and bewildering, at least to El Descosido and Exposito. Tocapelotas, on the other hand, charged right in like a kid let loose in a candy store, and a trio of assistants had to rush over and physically restrain him from invading a weather segment that was airing live. Thirty seconds someone told them. They were herded in the direction of a news desk where two attractive female anchors sat, gossiping between takes. As the boys approached the news desk, a diminutive old man wearing a beret, Ray-Bans and a totally extraneous scarf leaped in front of them, holding his hands up to halt them in their tracks. He had the air of someone very important; a director or something. He jabbed accusatory fingers into the chests of Exposito and El Descosido. “Who the hell are these guys?” he demanded loudly to no one in particular. “They’re Toca’s sidekicks,” answered a clipboard-carrying assistant who happened to be standing nearby. The director-type shook his head vigorously. “ No no no no no. We only want Tocapelotas to go on.” It took a moment for the coin to drop, but when it finally did it felt like two tremendous punches to the guts of the cousins. They just stood there in stunned silence, processing the news. Someone started counting down from ten. People all around the room rushed to their positions. An assistant took Toca by the arm and walked him the rest of the way to the news desk. He looked back over his shoulder at the other two ZDM boys, grinning the same goofy grin he always had on his face regardless of what was going on, completely oblivious to their sorrow. And then just like that Tocapelotas was live on the air, that goofy grin of his cast onto millions of television screens across Mexico and other parts of North and Central America. And the other two ZDM boys were simply left to stand on the sidelines, looking on enviously.
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Post by amsterDAN on Feb 22, 2019 1:32:55 GMT
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
"El Final" (Season Finale)
Season 1, Episode 17
Original Air Date: Feb. 21, 2019LA GUERRA DE SANGRE: SEASON FINALE
EL TORNEO POR LA MASCARA DE CHOQUE
CLOSING NIGHT GALA A STANDOFF BEFORE THE SHOWPretty much immediately upon entering the arena, David Harley found himself in the middle of some sort of tense standoff backstage. Sal de Roca was hollering his head off at Motosierra and about a half dozen luchadors were holding him back. Motosierra, for his part, was doing a good bit of hollering himself. The big masked biker was waving around a pillowcase, apparently filled with some brick-shaped objects, though he swung it around so effortlessly it couldn’t possibly have been bricks. David ran over and got between the two which calmed things a little, but he had some shouting to get out of the way as well.
“Where the hell have you been, you idiot?” David said, smacking Motosierra upside the head. “You almost ruined my show! What do you think you’re doing in here, anyways? You don’t work for me anymore!”
“He and I have a score to settle!” Motosierra snarled, pointing over at Sal.
“Well it ain’t happening on my show!” David spat.
Sal stepped forward and cleared his throat. David looked over at him, and saw Sal nodding his head in the direction of the pillowcase clenched in his adversary’s white-knuckled hand. It took a moment for Motosierra to comprehend. When he finally did, he plunged his free hand into the pillowcase and produced a neatly rubber-banded stack of thousand-peso notes.
David’s eyes grew wide. He started to salivate. Motosierra held the money out and David greedily snatched it away, clutching it tightly to his chest.
“Okay, so what time do you boys want to go on?” MATCH #1
INTERPROMOTIONAL 4-ON-4 TAG TEAM MATCH
TEAM LA GUERRA DE SANGRE (Avispon de Alameda, Oro de Acapulco, Sicomoro & Super Mohan) vs TEAM DOUBLE BIRD WRESTLING (Flamingo Danza, Urfwurm, Chubby Bunny & Baboon Man)With the help of a little seed money from David Harley, former La Guerra members and reigning i.W.e. tag team champions Resplendent Quetzal and U.S. Kestrel have struck out on their own to form a promotion specifically for wrestlers with ridiculous animal gimmicks. In preparation for Double Bird Wrestling's opening event, they've taken some of their top talent on the road to face off with four members of La Guerra de Sangre!TOCA NEEDS TO TALKExposito and El Descosido had arrived at the arena hours ago, and still there was no sign of Tocapelotas. They’d tried calling him all day to no avail, and he still wasn’t answering his phone. They sat around in the locker room, already wearing the white-and-pink ZDM shirts Toca made them, waiting anxiously.
There was an odd rumbling in the hall outside the locker room, that slowly swelled to a great crescendo as it drew nearer. Dozens and dozens of sets of stomping feet, people yelling, a lot of odd clicking sounds, and all sorts of other excitement. Somehow through all of it, they heard a faint, familiar sound.
Toca toca toca toca toca.
The locker room door flew open. It was Tocapelotas. He wasn’t smiling, which was extremely odd for him. He had on sunglasses, which seemed particularly useful at that moment because behind him the cameras of scores of paparazzi flashed incessantly, instantly blinding Exposito and El Descosido. Toca shut the door behind him and their eyesight eventually was restored.
“Toca! Buddy!” Exposito said, jumping up to greet him with a friendly slap on the back. “Ready for your big match tonight?”
“Toca is always the big readies,” Tocapelotas said flatly.
“You got this one in the bag, dude!” El Descosido said encouragingly.
“Toca gets always what is in the bags,” Toca said.
The cousins exchanged concerned looks.
“Toca, are you… uh… feeling alright, buddy?” Exposito asked.
Toca stood still and silent for an uncomfortably long time. Suddenly he whipped off his sunglasses and glared at them with an intensity they didn’t previously believe him capable of.
“Guys, we must make a talk,” Toca told them. “Toca has been doing the thinking. Toca is superstar now. Toca is most the famous-est man in the Mexico, and also universe except maybe Pedro Infante.”
El Descosido snorted derisively, a grin spreading across his face. “I wouldn’t necessarily go that far…”
“Toca goes that far and then Toca goes to the even farther.”
El Descosido stopped smirking.
“Toca is much the too big for little baby ZDM now,” Tocapelotas declared, dramatically sliding his sunglasses back on. “And you two are not the very goods at lucha, either. You make embarrass to the Toca. So Toca quit.”
Exposito and El Descosido were speechless and crestfallen. Toca turned on his heel, threw open the locker room door, and disappeared back into the bustling swarm of reporters and paparrazi waiting for him out in the hall. MATCH #2
3-ON-3 MIXED GENDER TAG TEAM MATCH
TEAM MEXICO (El Hijo de Choque, Lady Caliz & Exposito) vs TEAM AMERICA (David Harley, June Allgood & J.C. Lamb)Two people still have scores to settle with David Harley before he slips away to San Francisco to attend to his other promotions. Having both been eliminated from El Torneo by Harley, El Hijo de Choque - son of the tournament's namesake - and Lady Caliz would both love nothing more than a shot at revenge. However, David Harley has stuck them with an awkward third wheel - Exposito of ZDM, who lost to Lady Caliz in round one - while calling on two ringers of his own, the obnoxious evangelist J.C. Lamb and the perspicacious primatologist June Allgood, who also happen to be the i.W.e.'s entrants in the cross-promotional Critical Club March Madness tournament next month.MATCH #3
TAG TEAM MATCH FOR A PARTICULARLY VALUABLE PILLOWCASE FULL OF PESOS
MOTOSIERRA & MINISIERRA vs SAL DE ROCA & A MYSTERY GUESTHaving finally exposed the "kidnapping" of Motosierra for the sham it was, Sal de Roca is determined to recover whatever money he can from the rough-and-tumble biker, and boy is he angry about that ill-advised attempt to extort him. While Motosierra has called on the aid of his pint-sized sibling Minisierra in this tag team match, it remains a mystery who Sal's partner will be, though it seems he's sought help from someone outside of La Guerra. The winners will head home with a sack so full of cash it could keep anyone fat and happy for years and years to come, while the losers will be left practically penniless.SAL & CO. CATCH SOME BACKSTAGE HEATTo say that the rest of the La Guerra de Sangre roster resented Sal de Roca’s decision to team up with outside talent - and from the rival promotion Lucha POWER no less - would have been an extreme understatement. Backstage, Sal was getting so much heat he was beginning to wonder if he’d even be able to make it out of the building in one piece.
Everywhere he went backstage his colleagues got into Sal’s face, pushing and shoving and giving him a piece of their mind, and jeering him for losing the match against Motosierra and his midget brother. The two Lucha POWER men, his tag partner Doctor Dorado and the promotion’s owner El Macho, trailed a few steps behind Sal, looking a little concerned for his safety.
Out of nowhere, El Descosido came jumping out from around a corner up ahead. He marched right up to Sal and company, looking irate. He hockey-checked the much smaller Doctor Dorado into a wall, shoved Sal aside, and got into El Macho’s face. It looked like those two would come to blows, but suddenly a man squeezed in between them.
It was David Harley and he looked even angrier and closer to committing acts of violence than El Descosido did.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here, El Macho?” David yelled, nose-to-nose with the well-dressed masked man. “I don’t remember inviting you onto my show, you lousy limelight-stealing son-of-a-bitch!”
“El Macho attends any lucha libre event that pleases him, Harley,” El Macho said, standing his ground. If anything, he looked happy to see David.
“Wipe that smile off your face!” David demanded. “This isn’t funny, god damn it! You’re really stepping on my toes here.”
But El Macho did not wipe the smile from his face. Indeed, he didn’t seem to be listening to David very closely at all. He was looking the irate owner of La Guerra up and down, inspecting his clothing carefully.
“David Harley is always so fashionable. So youthful!” El Macho declared in a jovial voice. “Maybe El Macho should start wearing tight jeans, too!”
David faced burned bright red and he looked as though he was about to strangle El Macho, but somehow maintained a small shred of composure. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted some yellow-jacketed guards standing around nearby.
“Security! Security!” David cried, pointing at Sal and the Lucha POWER men. “Escort these undesirables out of this building IMMEDIATELY!” MAIN EVENT
THE FINALS OF EL TORNEO POR LA MASCARA DE CHOQUE
TOCAPELOTAS vs CICATRICESHeading into the second round, neither of these names were even listed on the bracket, and yet after several strange twists of fate, here we are. David Harley reversed the referee's decision after Cicatrices was seemingly eliminated by his brother El Descosido in the first round, and allowed the man with the horned mask back into the tournament, albeit with the odds stacked heavily against him. Ever since then, Cicatrices has strung together a stunning run that has propelled him into the finals. In the opposite corner, Tocapelotas was brought into the tournament as an injury replacement for El Descosido, who got shredded by a barbed wire baseball bat wielded by none other than his brother Cicatrices. David personally picked Toca because he had him pegged for a loser, and expected an extremely easy victory if they were to ever cross paths in El Torneo, which they eventually did. Talk about your all-time backfires. The stakes for this match could hardly be higher as these two men square off for the most coveted relic in all of lucha libre, the ratty old Mask of the legendary CHOQUE!THE MATCH IS MOMENTARILY STOPPED...The crowd was stunned as Tocapelotas took off up the entrance ramp, apparently abandoning the match and heading home. What a disgraceful way for the finale of El Torneo to end!
He was nearly to the curtain when a tall, slightly out-of-breath man came bursting through it, stopping Toca in his tracks.
It was David Harley.
“Toca, what in the flying fuck do you think you’re doing? There is no way in god damn hell I’m letting you walk out of here right now and ruin this tournament! Not after all the shit I’ve had to put up with just to get us to this point! No way, no how.”
Toca shrugged, looking a little beaten down, which he literally was after the last twenty minutes or so in the ring with Cicatrices. “Toca has had the enoughs. Toca can not beat the horny man.”
It took a moment for David to realize he was referring to the horns on Cicatrices’ mask. “You have got to be kidding me! Are you actually being serious right now?”
Toca shrugged again and hung his head.
“You kicked my ass in the middle of that ring right there just last week, and I’m one of the greatest god damn wrestlers who ever lived!” David pretty much screamed at him, jabbing a finger into Toca’s chest. “I would have done anything in the world to win Choque’s mask. And you can be damn sure that if I’d made it to where you are standing right now, I wouldn’t be walking away from that opportunity like a coward, no matter how hopeless things looked for me. You’ve got to at least try, Toca.”
Toca’s head raised up. A new flame seemed to have ignited in his eyes.
“You can beat this guy,” David encouraged him. “I believe in you, god damn it. I have no choice but to believe in you, because you beat that belief into me last week. Now get the hell back in that ring, and do the very same thing to Cicatrices.”
David Harley slowly raised his hand and pointed to the ring. Toca turned to face it, a wild look in his eye unlike anything the crowd had ever seen from him. Slowly, the frown on his face vanished, replaced by a goofy buck-toothed smile. All the perplexed murmurs echoing around the hushed arena disappeared in an instant, swept away on a thundering wave of cheers. Toca marched back down the ramp and climbed into the middle of the ring, fixing Cicatrices with a smoldering glare that burned with the intensity of a thousand suns, but smiling all the while in a way that really unsettled his opponent. David signalled for the referee to restart the match. The ref nodded, squared up the two competitors in the dead center of the ring, and called for the bell… MATCH RESTART
TOCAPELOTAS vs CICATRICESAFTERMATHPyrotechnics fired off, crackling every which way. Red and gold confetti fluttered down from the rafters. The crowd clapped their hands raw and cheered until they were hoarse, even those who hadn’t been rooting for the victorious party. Finally, the sacred Mask of Choque had decided on its new owner. Cicatrices was el campeón. His uncle Gemelo Malvado was the first to come flying out from backstage to congratulate him, hugging Cicatrices with all his might. The rest of the La Guerra roster - everyone except his brother and cousin - followed shortly behind, hoisting the champ up onto their shoulders as roses and bras and other odd congratulatory gifts thrown by the crowd showered him from all directions. Cicatrices raised a triumphant fist and the audience roared in response. Next to come down the ramp was El Hijo de Choque, who carried his father’s tattered old mask in his trembling hands. A hush fell over the arena as the audience regarded the mysterious relic with awe. El Hijo de Choque climbed into the ring and all the other wrestlers instinctively scattered, lining up on the apron to observe the ceremony from a respectful distance. The two men met in the middle of the ring. Cicatrices kneeled before El Hijo de Choque, head down and hands outstretched… As El Hijo de Choque carefully set the mask into its new owner’s hands, the audience erupted into such a cheer that the roof of Arena Naucalpan was blown so thoroughly off the joint it was least seen floating around the vicinity of Uranus. Cicatrices got all misty-eyed as he got back to his feet and climbed the nearest turnbuckle, thrusting the mask jubilantly into the air, raising the volume of the crowd higher and higher each time he did so, shaking the earth. He repeated the procedure at each corner of the ring just to make certain everyone in attendance would be deaf by night’s end. Suddenly, the sound of a skipping record, followed by aggressive, abrasive punk rock music. Two men marched down the ramp with a purpose. El Descosido and Exposito. Cicatrices warily climbed down from the top turnbuckle and met them in the center of the ring. Cicatrices glared at his brother, then at his cousin. The other wrestlers threatened to climb back into the ring and take them out, but Cicatrices raised a hand to stop them. The silent standoff continued for another agonizing minute. Out of nowhere, El Descosido lunged forward. Everyone in the arena gasped. But he didn’t do what they were expecting. Instead he embraced his little brother, lifting Cicatrices up as he squeezed him, so his feet were dangling high above the mat. Exposito joined in on the lovefest, wrapping his arms around Cicatrices from the other side. The crowd found it to be an authentically heartwarming moment, and applauded. That feeling would be extremely short-lived, however. As though they’d coordinated it carefully in the short time they’d spent hugging, the three ZDM boys suddenly scattered in different directions. El Descosido clobbered five or six of the wrestlers standing on the apron with wild fists, sending them tumbling down to the floor. Exposito threw himself like a cannonball into another group of luchadors, falling out to the floor with them but scampering back in just as quickly. Cicatrices ran up a turnbuckle, turned and dove down a whole line of luchadors, clipping at least four faces with a reckless missile dropkick. And just like that, the ring was cleared of everyone except the original three members of Zapatos de Madera. The audience was aghast. Cicatrices had stolen their hearts, only to turn around and shatter them into a million pieces just moments afterwards. Tecate cans came flying from all directions, piling up in the corners of the ring like rapidly forming aluminum snowdrifts. A deafening barrage of booing was all that could be heard for miles around. And standing in the center of the ring, the target of it all, were those damned, dastardly ZDM boys: El Descosido, Exposito, and their leader, the champion of El Torneo and proud new owner of the most prized possession in all of lucha libre, la mascara de CHOQUE... Cicatrices!
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Post by amsterDAN on Feb 22, 2019 16:41:29 GMT
SPECIAL THANKS With the conclusion of El Torneo officially in the books, that brings season one of La Guerra de Sangre to a close. Perhaps the handful of you who followed my fed are wondering why I've decided to wrap up the season so abruptly after only five shows. Well, on the real-life side of things my wife is so outstandingly pregnant at the moment that it appears for all the world that I'll probably have a second daughter in my hands before this weekend is over. The "official" due date would be the 13th of March, but I can say with certainty we aren't making it until then. So to say I cut things close with wrapping up La Guerra for the season would be a bit of an understatement. Of course, fatherhood trumps Fire Pro so I'll be taking a short hiatus from federation-running, but don't worry; La Guerra WILL be back, along with some other fun and more community-oriented ideas I have in the hopper, once I feel I'm properly on top of my dad-duties again. I know this is probably a supremely weird thing to do, but hey, I'm feeling pretty gushy today what with all the baby-stress and what not. So I'd like to take a few moments to thank some people: First and foremost, a tremendous thank you to LankyLefty17 whose clever suggestions saved me from multiple quagmires. Whenever I seemed to get stuck, spitballing ideas with you eventually got me unstuck, and the story never would have gone to the places it did without your input. I've joked that Lefty should get some sort of senior scriptwriting consultant credit for La Guerra. That's only half a joke. Thanks dude. Huge thanks to Senator Phillips whose encouraging words really buoyed me along. Getting the thumbs up from the Senator is about as glowing an endorsement as anyone can receive in this little community of ours, and I really appreciate the support. Also, about halfway through the tournament I applied a ton of the MMA-move advice you'd posted in another thread, which really transformed how a lot of my guys fight, and for the better. Thank you to Fury , who often seemed to be the first person to get to any new La Guerra post. Really glad you came along for the ride. And yeah, I'd basically like to go ahead and thank everyone who ever dropped a 'like' on a La Guerra post. There aren't many of you, but so many more than I ever expected. I was extremely hesitant to even start up La Guerra because it seems like writing-heavy feds are well on their way out, but each and every one of those likes and comments convinced me to keep going, and I'm really glad I did because I had an absolute blast with it and I think we ended up with something really unique among e-feds. So turrible666 , psychodriver91 , Gasher Bloodspuer , fukuro , OrochiGeese , joshthejerseyboy and anyone I may have forgotten: thanks for checking my weird little world out. The 'likes' were worth more to me than you might expect. And just thank you to the entire community, even you lousy bastards who never bothered to look into La Guerra de Sangre for a single second. I'm glad the Critical Club exists and is populated by such a diverse array of interesting oddballs who each bring a different spin to our strange hobby of bumping digital wrestlemen up against one another, and make doing so feel worthwhile. We've had some strange and occassionally unpleasant moments in this forum and the last one, but I think at its core this is a wonderful community to be a part of and I'm really glad to be a member of it. I may have to step back from fed-running for a little bit, but I'll still be on here every day. Fire Pro forever and always. |
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Fury
JIM MINY
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Post by Fury on Feb 22, 2019 18:20:00 GMT
Congratulations on the new baby coming along! I’ll most definitely keep you and your family in prayer. Take all the time you need to be with your family. As far as me posting first...yeah! It’s weird...I’ve been trying to FULLY understand Lucha for the longest but I never could connect even though I love wrestling and have been watching for eons. It FINALLY clicked for me PLUS I watched Coco (Which had an El Santo cameo), PLUS I read Mondo Lucha a Go Go which helped me understand a lot more about the significance of Lucha. After all that then this wonderful e-fed popped up and I was over the moon!! This fed, ZIP Japan, and the fed I’m in (Prestige Wrestling Association: 2d12.com/prestige/) are my 3 favorite feds!! The reason I posted first a lot is because I checked it out multiple times per day!! I never knew when more content would drop. You’ve done an outstanding job and I can’t wait to see what happens next!!!! |
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Post by OrochiGeese on Feb 22, 2019 18:51:54 GMT
Congratulations on the new baby coming, amsterDAN!!!! 👶
I think you are doing the right thing by wrapping up Guerra in a set, designed way rather than being caught off guard during the pregnancy and not giving a planned, decisive, and satisfying conclusion to it all.
That is the spirit of the community right there. Incredibly well said 😎
I hope that you enjoy the next few months and know that we are very happy to have you around in any capacity even if you need a Sangre hiatus. A "sangriatus" (sounds like a break from drinking sangrias 🍷 )
Just from personal experience and as a way to help ease your transition into taking a "sangriatus", it can be a little initially frustrating to go from heavy fed-running to not doing any fed work when you still have the mental drive to want to, but that train will sail again...uh, that boat will roll....okay, not hitting those travel analogies but my main point is that you can have fun here without an "all or nothing" approach to e-fedding. You can even come up with some "off season" fed stuff that isn't as regimented or scheduled that you can have some fun with that doesn't provide any pressure to do. At the very least, you can work on edits, do occasional role playing when the mood hits, and even think of story lines for future seasons. So there's still a way to keep the fed in your mind and even do some creation for it without holding yourself to a set routine which won't be possible now that you have more responsibilities vis a vis a tiny human getting ready to main event your world :)
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Feb 23, 2019 16:48:02 GMT
It would seem that while the end of El Torneo would mark a break for La Guerra de Sangre, not everyone in the promotion would choose to remain idle. Last night, at Warrior Grounds #9 the freshly reunited Zapatos de Madera made a surprise appearance, targeting the Lucha POWER roster for what appears to be retaliation for Doctor Dorado and El Macho's guest spot at the tournament's final show. At this time it is unclear whether the invasion was ordered by David Harley directly, or if ZDM was acting on their own. Either way, the message was received and rumor has it the Lucha POWER roster is pressing for a match at the Lucha POWER Supershow on March 7th. Neither Harley or El Macho have agreed to comment, though El Macho did state that he will address the situation at the official press conference for the event next week. We'll be sure to keep an eye on this story as it develops... |
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Post by psychodriver91 on Feb 26, 2019 0:26:10 GMT
Hey man, glad to be along for the ride! I first saw your stuff in your creations thread and was amazed by the creativity, and when I saw you were finally making an E-Fed here, I had to check it out. Honestly, besides S3, this is the only E-Fed I've ever followed here, and is a big inspiration for my own personal plans not just for Fire Pro, but for the WWE games as well(which has sadly taken up a lot more time than FPW, but I plan to return to it soon). Congrats on the kid, and take as much time as needed to enjoy the family stuff, I can't wait to see season 2!
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Post by amsterDAN on Feb 27, 2019 1:42:10 GMT
BREAKING NEWS
Another day, another La Guerra guy poppin' up where he doesn't belong... and this time, it's TOCA! The unexpected superstar has decided it's time to take The Toca Show on the road, but where will The Toca Train's first stop be? Well, you'll just have to peruse the pages of the World Wrestling Daily Digest to get the scoop! 
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Post by joshthejerseyboy on Feb 27, 2019 4:13:27 GMT
In a few weeks im glad to announce that AAW will collaborate and have an interpromotional PPV!!! Stay tuned for more details
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Post by joshthejerseyboy on Mar 1, 2019 13:28:28 GMT
Im happy to announce for the first match in WORLDS COLLIDE will be
Landmine Deathmatch
David Harley vs JD Belmonte
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