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Irony · (01-02-2014)

"Surely, you can't be serious," the only semi-concerned voice of Alyse Acker rang out over the awkward silence that engulfed the room in its bittersweet embrace. In the darkness of the room, her flamboyant hand gestures went unnoticed as she settled back in the swiveling office chair she was seated in. "A professional wrestler? Really, Teodoro?"

"Yeah, a professional wrestler. I don't see what's so hard to comprehend about that," Teodoro shot back, standing up and attempting to stretch out the stiffness in his back no doubt caused by his decision to rewatch the entire series of Avatar: The Last Airbender over the course of one day. Shaking his head to get the embedded flashes of misplaced colors out of his head, he stumbles over his own two feet on his way to the lightswitch. Noticing the blunder, Alyse giggles quietly to herself before clearing her throat.

"Yeah, totally. You're the best fit for a wrestler ever."

"Hey! Shut up," he responds, flipping the switch and flooding the room with the shockingly foreign yellow light. With his eyes not yet adjusted, Teodoro shoves his face into the crook of his elbow, waiting a few seconds before returning to the now harshly lit reality of the basement.

"Real convincing." She pushes off the arms of the chair and gets to her feet. Rubbing her eyes, she makes her way over to where Teodoro stood, resting his back against the solid concrete wall. Coming to a stop a few feet in front of her roommate, she watched as his blank, emotionless eyes danced from her face to the floor, his lensless eye glasses doing nothing to shroud them.

"So, don't you have to like, I dunno, get trained to be a professional wrestler or something?"

"Apparently not. At least, not according to the guy who hired me. From what he told me, it was pretty straightforward, no training involved," he said, pushing the nose piece of his glasses up against his face. The blank expression on his face gave way and was replaced with a slight smile formed in the corners of his mouth. Alyse frowned at the sight of what she perceived to be overconfidence dripping from the look on her roommate's face.

"That reminds me, I've been meaning to ask this: who hired you? Better question: whoever it was that hired you, were they on drugs or something?"

"Wow," he began, the smile becoming a smirk. "You sound concerned! Why's that?" he asked, walking his fingers up Alyse's right arm. "Got something you wanna tell me?"

She responds the only way she felt necessary: with a facepalm (apply directly to the forehead!), only to Teodoro's face. More specifically, a cheekpalm. A cheekpalm applied with so much force that it spins Teodoro all the way around and then some, and throwing his practically useless glasses from his face and sending them skidding across the carpet less concrete floor.

"Ow, what the fuck?!" he exclaims, grasping the side of his face. An anguished look comes over his eyes, and his mouth remained open, silently holding out the last syllable of his question. In response, Alyse breaks into nigh hysterical laughter.

"That's why I asked," she says after regaining her composure. "You're a fucking pussy."

"iAm not!" he yells in an uncharacteristically effeminate voice, his hands still running along the point of impact. For a few seconds, he transformed into a Nancy Boy of mixed heritage, however it appears that he's fine now. Unsure of how to process the response, Alyse shakes her head before muttering the million dollar question.

"What in God's name was that?"

"I uh, I dunno," he says, coughing. "Something must've been caught in my throat or somethin'."

"Yeah uh, whatever."

"Anyway, back to what's really important here: I am not a pussy!" he persists, still rubbing his sore cheek. She rolls her eyes and turns away, walking back towards the seat she was in for the marathon.

"Sure you aren't. So tell me, who hired you? Seriously, I wanna know."

"Well, if it's that's such a big deal, fine. If you must know, the XWF."

"I think I might've heard a thing or two about it. The place that legitimately killed someone on live TV a week or so back?"

"That's the place!" he said, the first hint of legitimate excitement creeping into his voice during this conversation making its presence known. She sighs, still refusing to turn back to facing him. The breath leaves her mouth with a whistle, and she stops herself at the couch Teodoro had been seated in. Her hand drops onto the cushion of the couch, and she calls out across the mostly barren void that separated them.

"Don't worry, I'll be watching you fall flat on your face."

'Yeah yeah, fuck you." Brushing by her, walking at a much more brisk pace, he turns and heads up the stairs, tripping over the last one into the first floor of the building. "I meant to do that!" he calls down the stairs to Alyse, who he figured was watching before disappearing into the hallway.

"Whatever," she mutters before hopping over the cushion, onto the couch.

***The Next Day***

I am what I am; everything I wanna be. - Childish Gambino

The newest addition to Teodoro's "Inspirational Quotes" wall looked awkward compared to the sea of pseudo-intellectual bullshit spewed by someone trying too hard to be the second coming of Kurt Cobain, sans the coke/shotgun combo probably because like our own protagonist, the people on that wall are quivering pussies.

Tossing the generic brand Sharpie on the ground alongside the wall, Teodoro falls back in his more artful than practical chair and admires the quotes on the wall for a whopping 13 seconds before standing back up and walking out of the room, heading down the set of stairs that stood literally right in front of the room he just stepped out of.

"Hey

, you're up already?" Fausto Finnegan; another of the inhabitants of the house called as Teodoro stepped down the last stair. "It ain't even noon, you lazy fuck!"

"Well shit, I guess I'm early," he responded while stepping over the threshold into the main room of the house. Fausto was seated on the couch, bowl of store brand Fruit Loops in hand, watching early morning cartoons. Teodoro reached in his pocket for the iPhone that never left his body to check the time: 6:45 AM. This was early for him, he thought as he slid the device back into his back pocket.

"Anyway, what's the occasion?" Fausto pondered between bites of the cereal.

"Well for starters, I got a job-"

"No fucking shit? Good on you man, now you can start helping out with the bills 'round here! You convince that bitch to follow in your footsteps so Serita and I can stop getting mooched off of?"

"Nah man, I didn't think about it."

"Well, get on it!"

"Whatever man," he said as he crossed through the main room on the way to the bathroom. Remembering a crucial thing, he stops and turns around, facing the couch that his roommate was seated on. "Right, probably should tell you I ain't going to be in town for the next few days. Work shit."

"Cool man, now can I get back to my show?"

Teodoro laughs, before turning around once more. "Whatever man," he repeats aloud. "Whatever, man."

***A Few Hours Later, in Tampa***

"Alright. Yeah I'll be safe. Don't worry about it! ...Love you too mom." Looking around nervously, and sighing in relief when no one seemed like they were paying attention to his phone call, Teodoro slides the phone back into his pocket and proceeds into the lobby of the airport that his flight had touched down at. The sea of nondescript faces drove a feeling of apathetic false superiority into his heart. They have no idea who they're standing close to, he thought as he cut through the mass like some kind of Hipster Moses. I just hope none of them try to become bandwagon fans or anything. Gah!

Once he made it out of the airport, the taxi driver that the XWF had ordered him for some reason (he must've signed that special little checkbox or something), who had been running late, literally runs right into him. Like, seriously. Knocking him to the ground and shit.

"Oh no, I'm terribly sorry sir!" the driver says, oblivious to who it is he's talking to. Teodoro brushes his clothes off and stands up, trying to look tough. In reality, he scraped his elbow and it hurt like a son of a bitch.

"It's no big," he responded. "Why are you in such a rush, anyway?"

"Oh, I'm late! I was supposed to pick up this guy, professional wrestler or something and I totally forgot!"

"Professional wrestler, eh? Did they give a name?"

"They only gave me a word, they said whoever it was would get it. Irony."

"Nice to meet you driver, I'm Irony," Teodoro replied after a few moments of silence. The driver, taken aback, begins to laugh.

"Very funny, sir. I have to find him though."

"You found him," Teodoro responds, agitated.

"No offense sir, but you don't look like a professional wrestler."

"But I do look like the type of guy who would use Irony as a name, don't I?"

Now, the silence was on the shoulders of the cabbie. "Yeah, I guess you are."

"Shall we go?"

"I guess," the driver said before turning around and heading for his car. Teodoro follows closely behind, whistling the melody to some obscure as fuck song all the way.

Upon entering the cab, Teodoro buckles his seatbelt and is greeted by the unmistakable vibrating of his phone. Groaning, he struggles and eventually pulls it out and answers the call.

"Irony!" the remarkably Jewish voice of Paul Heyman almost yelled into the phone. "Just letting you know, you have an interview tomorrow with XWF's very own Steve Sayors regarding your match. Don't fuck this up, rook."

Just like that, the call ended. Sighing and dropping the phone in his lap, Teodoro brings his attention from his crotch and to the driver.

"Hey?" he asks. "You think we can stop at like a Walgreens or something? I need some Neosporin..."

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