Alias: Don Giovanni (formerly Mozart Giovanni)
Age: 34 (Punch Out!! Arcade (unused)), 44 (Mike Tyson's Punch Out!!), 54 (Punch Out!! Wii)
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Sardinian
Height: 5'10 (Mike Tyson's Punch Out!!), 5'11 (Punch Out!! Wii)
Weight: 260 lbs (in fat)
Sexuality: Pan
Pronouns: The standard He/Him/His
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Circuit? World just wedged unceremoniously between Aran and Bull
Relationships: Giovanni is infamous for having absolutely no relationships… yet.
Gimmick: Giovanni's main gimmick is scaring you. His sole purpose is to fuck with the player through the game's meta. If you dodge too early or chicken out he will get you good. Don't flinch. Please. Don't flinch. This is NOT someone you want to button mash to. :3
(i made this asshole after getting smoked by Tiger and Flamenco)
I'll even go so far as to say when you pause the game and restart, there's a 50% chance he'll laugh.
Ass. Hole.
Biography: I've made a short comic about it like it was one of those promotional comics from POWii its unfinished but i'll try to work on it later
Not-So-Fun-Fact, in MTPO!!, if you lose to him, he points at the player an laughs. He uses Sandman's unused sprites for it.
Meta: Appears in Punch Out!! (Arcade, unused), Mike Tyson's Punch Out!! and Punch Out!! Wii.
got the models @user-spys ripped and noticed that despite being 6'5 sandman is taller than Popinski, who's an inch taller. so i rearranged everybody by how tall their models are, and i think we need to recalculate these guys' heights...
how are aran and don 6'1 when aran is clearly taller....
you found a rare oc post!
this creature is Don Giovanni
53 years old, from Italy Sardinia.
His gimmick? Taking advantage of your reaction time and scaring the fuck out of you. Don't worry he can be beaten easily (though he's in the world circuit)
oh man this is new... ummmm so who wants a vampire NES don fanfic?
Requested by: Nobody but myself and @skullkandiii
A/N: So me and kandi concluded that Flamenco is different in the NES hes like a calm and sweet guy so why not make him a vampire eh?
Genre: Fluff, vampires and whatnot
Warnings: Just light mentions of blood and implied vampiric mind control. Maybe suggestive? Light swearing (from you.)
Word Count: 1,217
For as long as you have been a photographer in the wayward WVBA, there’s always some special thing about each of the boxers. What amazes you more though, is that out of nowhere this small underage teen is plowing through the roster of boxers above his weight and height class like it’s nothing. But, then again, every boxer you’ve seen or met had something unique. A French guy who lives up to his name, a drunken Soviet who somehow got his wins, this… large… monster thing from the Pacific islands… And so many more. But there was one who had all the craze in the past few months. Hell, had more publicity than that aggravating testosterone brick from Hollywood. A wan, droopy eyed, (cough bALDING COUGH), Spaniard known simply as Don Flamenco.
Pretty on-the-nose for a guy like that. You don’t know if it’s just that Natural Spanish Charm™, but he has been a people magnet. Every match with him on the card have been sold out. He’s everywhere, that dashing man, on the papers, national television… And eventually, you found yourself with hundreds of photos of him. What’s so preternatural about this guy, anyway? You just didn’t get it, but here you are in the black room shifting through multiple rolls to find something that wasn’t Don. Ahah. Sandman… errr… what was that picture of Flamenco again? Your mind kept going back to Don’s photos. It’s not out of interest in his looks this time. It could be the amount of spotlights on the ring, but not one photo had him cast a shadow. While Little Mac— that kid’s name, right?— had some double shadow behind him, Don just didn’t have any. And there was no prank or editing behind the scenes. Even outside the viewfinder there was just no shadow. Whatever. It’s late at night, you’re on 3 cups of coffee, you might be going cuckoo.
All of these eventually came to a head one fateful day when you decided to get a bit too close. He looked a bit tired after this fight, could be his eyes, but he looked more dead than usual. He wasn’t smiling and he looked like he just woke up. He lost, but it almost never bothers him, at least, from your observation. Having the survival instincts of a dodo, you snuck into the locker room to get a closer look (and possibly more questionable photographs). There was nobody else in there. Just you and him—
“¿Hola?”
Ah shit.
You froze in place. The door was sprayed with WD-40 the last time you checked. How could he hear you if he was this far from the door. He called out again… “¿Hola?” Before you could backtrack and sneak out of the room, you bumped into something. Surprise! It’s him.
“WHAT TH-“
You stumbled backwards and tripped over a bench. In that nanosecond where you blinked, he caught you and helped you back up on your feet. He still looked tired, but a bit disturbed as he tried to calm you down. What the hell is he saying now? Is it relax? “Perdón… Perdón…” he muttered, keeping you close to him. His skin felt too cold. He got himself back together and switched up his language. “Sorry, are you okay?” You kinda missed his Spanish voice.
“Y-yes,” you said still shaken. At last, you took the time to fully take in Don’s appearance. He was in the middle of still fixing his “hair”, his curl was a bit ruffled, his towel and robe were wet… eugh… and his expression looked worse. You asked if he was alright. He slowly shook a “no”, before slumping on the bench. You quickly got him some water, but he refused.
“No. I’m fine. I’m just thirsty.” He said breathlessly.
“But… you have water!”
“Oh… you don’t know, do you?”
His mouth struggled to get those words out. And as he forced them out, the lights dimmed and a click was heard from the locker room door. You tried to push it open but it won’t budge. Jammed. Don stared at you with distant eyes as your heart started to race. What kinda extra-mun-dane shit is going on?! Your wide eyes locked on his for a moment and he sheepishly looked away.
“Sorry,” he apologised again. “but I can’t let you leave. This only needs to be between the two of us.”
That voice calmed you down. Huh? It’s so smooth and silky compared to the hoarse one a few seconds ago. While Don looked down in shame, you waltzed to the front of him with your finger on the camera’s button ready to take a picture of something so beautiful it’s hard to describe. He couldn’t help but look at you with pity in his eyes as you tried to take a picture. You couldn’t. The camera suddenly just doesn’t work.
“Its unusual for someone like you to be here,” he said, trying to display some sort of attitude. “But you came at the right time. This… might scare you… but…”
He rose slowly, crouched a little to face you, and pleaded:
“May I, please, drink your blood?”
You thought you’d drop dead at that, but instead, you chuckled. Does this guy really think he’s a vampire? This wasn’t part of his gimmick. He’s just that Dashing Spaniard trope personified and no more no less. However, Flamenco sensed your immediate disbelief and went to prove you wrong by gently charming you. For a moment, your worries about him went away and your eyes were fixed on his. Only for a moment, though. After that, you were snapped back to trepidation. The denial was gone now. They just be lettin’ anyone into this sport, huh?
Flamenco— or would it be Fangmenco?— barely held back a simper watching your reaction. “Aqui.” So your blood is getting drank by this stud muffin? Hell. Yeah. But the rosy cheeked boxer hesitated to ask for your approval. Of course he wanted that. Politeness over arrogance. “Now that you’re convinced… Please?”
“YEA- I mean… Yeah, alright Mr. Flamenco.”
His face went all sad again, unsure about this. “Are you s-sure? I don’t know if I could make it as harmless as I can.”
For the heck of it you said yes impatiently. Before you could say you’re squeamish about blood, the lights dimmed with your thoughts. He caressed you, held you close and affirmed that everything will be alright. It was like time had stopped, the last thing you could make out was that beautiful face. How in the hell could something this photogenic walk the earth for so long? Everything was blurry, your neck felt warm, you’re frozen in this wonderful state of bliss. No wonder all of those vampire novels were so popul—
“¡Terminado!”
Bang! You’re back. The lights were bright again, the door was unjammed and Don was walking out wiping blood off his tender lips. He looked better now, back to his youthful tall-dark-n’-handsome boxer look. His droopy eyes were full of life and they looked at you one last time before he left. “…Adios, y gracias!”
Nobody would believe you. You knew it. But the burning question has been extinguished, but the burn in your neck won’t be for a good 48 hours.
