• “You’re up, Alvarez!”

Leo sat in the desolately-illuminated locker room, a canid ear flicking in a slight swivel after he had put on his wraps and had his maw get a tight grip of a bite into his fang-molded mouthguard.

Only clad in dark shorts and a black v-neck t-shirt, orchestrated street beefs were the only kind of thing Echo as a town offered the red wolf as time stood. Just a few more of these matches and he’d be good to go.

Someone big had to see him. And no, not from The Smoke Room.

Leo’s style was uniquely his own in that, given his previous history in wrestling, his almost pudgy-looking frame was but a false representation of how he fought; he wasn’t a mindless striker that simply used being bigger to win, because that wouldn’t get him far.

For his chula, he would make it to the big leagues one day. Even if it drew him mad.

Just a few more.

Leo never really was a fan of big crowds, but as the crowd around the outside, in-the-open ring cheered his name, he remembered why he never gave up all over again.

(💭) “Are you seeing this, chula?” he internally monologued, already thinking of the first few moves he’ll do to get a feel for his opponent.

Jab, Leg Kick, Step Back, Single Legged Takedown, Ground & Pound!