“There was me worryin’ the cat had got your tongue.”

Alceo Dentari, all suited and booted in his usual garb of tailored Italiano cloth, sat upon a stool, the only illumination available was provided by a single solitary spotlight hanging overhead. The cone of light radiating from it lit Alceo perfectly, keeping him as the focal point and making sure everything else in the room remained hidden in darkness. Once again, nothing could distract from what he had to say.

“But maybe, if ol’ Moggy did have hold a’ that particular organ you wouldn’t go about makin’ such a idiot a’ yourself.” He said with a smile. “I ain’t too sure about who suffered more, me havin’ watched you throw words together in the vain hope a’ makin’ a sentence, or you for taxin’ your brain more than ever before.”

Alceo’s brow furrowed and he shook his head ever so slightly, “Jesus, I think it’s catchin’.” He laughed.

Alceo closed his eyes and took a breath to compose himself. “Why do I think I’m gonna take you out?” He asked himself as his eyelids slowly reopened and he fixed a stare down the camera.

“I don’t think I’m gonna take you out, Jonny...” He said, the change in his tone was notable, no longer was he laughing. Now he was deadly serious. “I know it. An’ I ain’t sayin’ that ‘cause a’ my planet sized ego, I’m sayin’ it ‘cause it’s true.”

“There seems to be somewhat of a trend in Defiance right now. The top draft picks are strugglin’ while the afterthoughts are runnin’ away with it.” He said as he made his fingers sprint along across his chest, “An’ that rings true in Heritage as well as here on Evolution. Heidi Christenson, number one draft pick; gone. Eugene Dewey, number two draft pick; slump. Adam Waterman, number three; gone. Jonny Booya, number four; slump. I could continue, but I just don’t got the time.”

Alceo threw up a digit for every name he rang out, just in case you were unaware of which number he was actually talking about.

“Meanwhile, the guy that’s lead the league since week one, gets picked in a lottery at the ass end a’ the show.” he said nonchalantly, as though he were telling a friend not to worry about returning the fifty cents he’d just borrowed, “Nobody expected Alceo Dentari to lead out a’ the blocks. Nobody expected Alceo Dentari to knock Heidi on her ass, and nobody expected Alceo Dentari to wipe out Bronson Box... Did they?”

Wait for an answer that’s never going to come.

“Well Alceo Dentari did.” He said slowly and purposefully, jabbing his index finger deep into his sternum. “‘Cause I know just how damn good I am when I step into that ring!, So when I hear some overrated, underperformin’ piece a’ crap, crack wise callin’ me ‘king a’ the...’”

He hesitated and shuddered slightly before reluctantly continuing, “‘Short bus...’”

Smolder.

Purse lips.

Roll tongue around teeth.

Deep, calming breaths.

Not working.

“I get a little bit angry. Heidi felt the need to stoke the coals, and what happened to her?” Alceo asked, still fuming, “She got burned. I beat the everloving crap outta her regularly tapped ass, packed her a bagged lunch, an’ sent her off down the road to apathy.”

Alceo pointed off into the darkness and scrunched his nose up as though there were a particularly offensive smell beneath it.

“When they announced Jonny Booya versus Alceo Dentari, your luck certainly did change, unfortunately for you though, Jonny, it went from bad to worse.” Alceo said, finally allowing that sinister smile to return, “‘Cause I’m gonna do exactly the same to yous as I did to that tramp, I’m gonna hurt yous, then I’m gonna beat yous.”

“Ain’t that a kick in the head.”

More Propaganda | View Alceo Dentari's Biography