"Hey, El Patron?"

"Si, mi amigo?"

Ricardo hesitates as he looks over at his employer. "Do you think... I could be a decent competitor some day?" Alberto looks surprised when Ricardo glances over at him, dark eyes locked on his face. "Despite the injuries, and everything else? If given a chance?"

"Of course, mi amigo. You have a feel for the business many don't, and from what I've seen of you in NXT, you have quite the mastery of the highflying style. I have no doubt you'd do just fine as an actual wrestler. What's bringing this on, Ricardo?"

"I was just curious." He looks surprised and flushed with pleasure, staring down at his hands. "Gracias, El Patron."

"So," Alberto says after a few minutes of quiet reading, putting his book down and turning to look at his friend. "If you could wrestle under any name, what would it be?"

Ricardo blinks, never bothering to consider such a thing before, since it had seemed he'd never become an active wrestler. "Um... I'm not sure, actually. I suppose I'd like something to honor where I came from..." He rests his chin on his hands and stares blankly at the wall.

"So something for So Cal," Alberto guesses, tapping a pen against the cover of his novel. "Hmm..."

"Yeah," Ricardo breathes, eyes gleaming as he searches around for some idea of what name he could possibly ever use. "Maybe something that rhymes..."

Alberto initially suggests it as a joke, his lips twitching up into an almost playful smirk as he looks over at his best friend. "Perhaps you should come out as El Local," he laughs, not noticing at first as Ricardo honestly ponders this. When his ring announcer doesn't join him in laughing, his brow furrows. "Ricardo?"

"I think I like it," he mutters. "It is pronounced similar to So-Cal, and... it just feels right, I suppose. Gracias, El Patron, I had no doubt you would think of something."

Alberto winces, not sure if the name is the best idea, but yet Ricardo looks so pleased with it, he ultimately drops it, doubting that the younger man would have many opportunities to use it anyway, as he is always so busy with his responsibilities to Del Rio as it is.

So El Local is born.

Well over a year later, Ricardo stares down at the mask that he'd had made for his rare wrestling endeavours while working for Alberto. His arm hurts, some. Not as bad as it could've but bad enough. His former best friend had attacked him, nearly breaking the appendage... just after his current employer had left him with little to no warning. He closes his eyes and sighs tiredly, lonely and hurting physically and emotionally.

He goes to NXT the next day, watching people training and learning more of their trade. Wrestling is really a beautiful thing to watch, and he has enjoyed the rare time he'd get to compete, smiling slightly. Drawn by an idea, he sneaks backstage and pulls on the mask, finding some wrist tape and wrapping his arms and hands up in it before heading out to the rings to look for someone willing to train with him. He ends up facing off with Tyson Kidd, the two of them circling each other curiously before Tyson locks up with him, both going back and forth until Ricardo sweeps his legs out from under him, pinning his shoulders to the mat. Tyson fights free and the two of them stare at each other, an odd look crossing the Canadian's face. "What is it?" he asks, suspicious.

"What's it like? To wrestle in a mask?" Tyson asks, his lips twisted in thought as he examines Ricardo's. "Is it difficult to adjust?"

"It depends on the person," Ricardo says hesitantly. "I... have another mask if you want to give it a try, see how you do."

Tyson's eyes brighten. "Yeah, I'd like that, thanks, man."

Ricardo nods tensely, wandering to his bag and finding the spare mask, walking towards the ring with it. "Here you go."

Tyson holds it in his hand for a long moment, analyzing the feel of the fabric against his skin, the eyeholes, how it attaches. "Hmm," he sighs, struggling to put it on.

"Here, let me help," Ricardo says, approaching him and gingerly tugging the mask over his face properly, adjusting it so it fits a little better. It's not snug, it was designed to fit his head, not Tyson's, but he supposes it'll work while Tyson examines it. "What do you think?"

"I think it's fine," he says. "I want to see how I compete in it. Mind a try out match?"

"Sure, let's try this thing," Ricardo says, settling into a defensive position and waiting for Tyson to approach. It's clear that it takes him a while to catch on to competing in the mask, but when it clicks, Tyson does really well, unhindered by his vision being blocked by the fabric or anything else. He even gets his pin back after a rough clothesline that sends Ricardo reeling into a dropkick, Tyson laughing softly as he pulls the mask off and stares at Ricardo. "So I'm guessing you like competing in it."

"Yeah, I do." Tyson rubs his fingers against the eye meshes before looking up. "Hey, what do you say we form a tag team? It might just be temporary, I haven't decided where I want to go with my career now that I'm cleared to compete again, but for a little while."

Ricardo's lips twitch as he realizes that perhaps he won't be staying out of the WWE ring for as long as he'd feared following losing both of his employers. "Yes, I think that sounds fine. What do you think of Los Locales...?"

He and Tyson actually have their very first tag match that Friday on Smackdown, losing to the Matadores, and even though he hates yet again coming up on the short end of things, he feels happy just being in front of the crowd, competing again. Tyson seems pleased enough with it as well, and they agree to do it again as soon as they possibly can.

They next get booked on Main Event but lose again, some of the good feelings fading as Ricardo rubs at his aching shoulder, wondering when, if, things will get easier. He sighs and tugs at his mask, trying to hold it together, when Tyson sits across from him, pulling his mask off. "Hola," he greets him quietly, unlacing his boots quickly. "Maybe the next time we'll have more luck, hm?"

"About that," Tyson says slowly, staring down at the mask. "I think..."

But Ricardo knows, can sense really well when things are nearing their end. He, after all, had faced it with both Del Rio and RVD in the last few months. He doesn't need to delay this discussion yet again. "It's over, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I mean, you've been great, I've been able to work through a lot of my ring rust thanks to you and the training we've done the last couple of weeks, but I want to start wrestling as myself again," he says slowly. "I have Natalya and Total Divas to think about, and... I want to work on my own brand." He holds the mask out, smiling sadly at Ricardo. "Thank you, man. I really mean it, you've been great."

"Sure," Ricardo says numbly, once more left in the lurch. Though he had expected it, had no designs on this being some long-term thing, it still hurts. Leaves him wondering what exactly he's going to do next. "I'm happy I could help you." He takes his mask and stares blankly down at it, realizing that the alterations they'd done to it was now meaningless.

He's still staring blankly at it when Tyson gets up to leave, pausing in the doorway to look back at him. "Hey, man, are you going to be ok?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," he nods, struggling to smile. Once Tyson leaves, he stares back down at the abandoned mask. "Why wouldn't I be?" He sighs and tosses it into his bag, moving to stand up to collect the rest of his things, leave so he can think, strategize what he'll have to do next to try to keep his career somewhat together.

He stares at the calendar of each hotel room that he stops in, day by day going by. He's only booked rarely in dark matches as El Local in NXT and on the main roster, which is better than not being used at all, but it still eats at him, the waiting period between competition leaving him jittery and unsettled, even when they start using him for commentary and interviews for the Latin market. It's better than just sitting around aimlessly, but it doesn't leave him fulfilled. He wants to compete, prove that he's worth more than just his voice, but he gets no real time or opportunity.

He suggests a luchador match for TLC in a tweet, the reaction from fans mostly positive, but it ultimately goes nowhere, his time on the commentary table continuing. He's used rarely through the holidays in dark matches or non-televised live events, falling even further into a slump as he continues to lose. "Ay dios mio," he sighs, scrubbing at his face once he's pulled the mask off after the latest. He thinks if he competes more, perhaps he'd have a better chance at actually winning, but it's hard to get that foothold in with all of the other competitors who have been here for longer in a wrestling role, not just as a manager or ring announcer. He closes his eyes and sighs, grimacing as he rubs his fingers across his mask. "I'll be rewarded for my patience at some point, right?" he mutters. "I have to be..."

But he's not booked in matches at all in January, his calendar very quiet except for the typical interview and pay per view commentary, and he knows he should be grateful to have that much, but he's not. He wants more, he needs more, and the more time goes by, his situation not changing in the slightest, the more he worries that this is all there will ever be. Sometimes he tries to convince himself that it'll be enough, but he knows deep inside that it never will be. He still brings his gear to main roster events, he even wanders around in his mask sometimes just in case it might catch someone's eye like it had all of those months ago, but nothing comes of it.

The Rumble comes and goes and he's not even allowed to be in it, as himself or as El Local, and he swallows heavily. "No, no," he breathes, staring up at the night sky. He has his mask on, his eyes closed against the soft glow of the moon, and everything just hurts. He slumps down to the ground and hugs his knees to his chest, trying to remember how to breathe, how to hold back his emotions. He's at the arena, the sound of the show currently going on echoing through the door behind him, and he doesn't want to be found like this, but it's rough. He wants things to be better, to be different. He'd never thought, when Alberto had helped him think of the El Local name, that he'd need it like this, that it would all fall apart so terribly fast. "Ay," he whispers, tensing when the door behind him opens with a loud squeech. He doesn't want to be seen, knowing that most would mock him for sitting out here, kick him when he's down... literally... but it's too late to leave, footsteps are heading his way. He barely has time to uncurl from himself and stand when the person pauses next to him, staring at him.

"What are you doing?" the voice is gruff, less than impressed, and his breath seizes in his throat as he recognizes it immediately- Alberto. Of course. Just when he was thinking things couldn't get worse. "You are that... El Local person, si?"

Ricardo looks up in surprise. The name had been the one semi-decent thing he had been left with after his association with Del Rio, the fact that Alberto doesn't remember inspiring it digging deep in Ricardo's chest as he stares up at him. He can't speak, merely nodding. He's pretty sure Alberto would, at the least, recognize his voice, if he doesn't remember anything else from their time together.

Del Rio leans against the wall and stares out at the night sky. "This business, it is not easy to break into, hm?" Ricardo watches him, confused, unaccustomed to him actually talking to people, much less someone he thinks is an absolute stranger. "Even I have difficulties. Especially now that there is only one World title. I do not wish to belittle myself by going after one of the lesser belts, but yet I can't seem to get an opportunity at the title I actually want either..." He sighs and glances over at the quiet man across from him. "Even so, there is little reason to just give up, hm? Patience is not my strong suit, never has been, but in this business, opportunity can come at any time when you least expect it. The next time it does, I intend to grab it and never let go."

Ricardo nods mutedly, frowning as Del Rio taps his hand against the brick wall and pulls away, re-entering the building without another word said. The former ring announcer tugs at his mask, mumbling to himself in Spanish distractedly. "Ay, I wonder if he will ever realize... who he just talked to without insults or biting remarks." He shakes his head, smiling woefully. "But he did make some good points." He stares up at the arena. "Opportunities may be rare, but I have to make the best of them when they come. Be it commentary, interviews, or actual matches."

Alberto's words remain with him, keeping him patient and, when his next opportunity comes, a tag team with Kalisto, he grabs ahold and does his best to make it worthwhile, training hard enough that he wins a couple of matches. The tag team doesn't last either, but he's relieved anyway. It had at least taken him out of the losing slump he had been in for so long, makes it easier to wait for his next opportunity. He stares down at his mask, smiling faintly, before he packs it to head out for another training session at the performance center, to be ready for whatever will come next.