|
Post by Craig Christ on Feb 4, 2008 10:36:21 GMT -5
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.1 Live from the Staples Center, LA
Tonight’s card:
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Fatal Fiveway: iSav vs Captain Courage vs Adam Wylde vs Kennith Noisewater vs Deacon King * Top 2 advance * Soul survivor gets to choose opponent for Round 2Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match:[/color] Chris Austen vs Exodus Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Eric Ares vs Colt Conrad Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Gregory Best vs Rivers Atwood Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Halford vs Benedict Phoenix Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Sick Fixx vs Sir Freyd Brisbane Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Eric Ahreman vs Anon Emus Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Fytor vs Cain Ravid Main Event: Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Tag Team Match: [/color] 13 and Ribz vs Sam & Max & Johnathan Dunn[/center] Promo only until Tuesday, 12 February 11:59 PM EST. Voting & Promo until Thursday, 14 February 11:59 PM EST.[/color]
|
|
Cain Ravid
Lower Midcarder
"Not so; if anyone kills Cain, he will suffer vengeance seven times over."
Posts: 106
|
Post by Cain Ravid on Feb 6, 2008 10:19:56 GMT -5
Open your eyes.
Darkness.
Open your eyes.
Silence.
Open your eyes…
…and see.
The darkness vanished and light shined through. Triangular spears of light spread across a stucko ceiling. Another morning in a string of unbearable mornings. Will it ever end? Will his salvation ever come?
Cain turned his head and looked at the beautiful blond head that was nuzzled into his shoulder. He sighed quietly, then turned attention back to the dingy white ceiling of the motel room.
What was her name again? Did it even matter. He would never see her again and he’s known the names of so many great people that even bothering to try and remember hers would be an insult to them. He had gotten what he wanted from her…no…what he had NEEDED from her last night and it certainly wasn’t her name.
He sighed again and rolled to his right, the slowly pulled his arm out from beneath the sleeping girl, trying his hardest not to wake her. She stirred for a moment, making a small moaning sound and Cain stopped all motion. Once it seemed like she was sound asleep again, he pulled his arm the rest of the way out.
Cain swung his legs over the end of the bed and sat up. He ran his light brown hand through is long black hair pushing the strands out of his face. He leaned forward, placing his left elbow on his knee and stared at his reflection in the motel mirror. Cain’s dark brown eyes stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment before shifting his attention to the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels® Tennessee Whiskey resting on the cheaply constructed wooden unit that served as both a dresser and TV stand. Cain leaned forward; lifting himself just inches off the edge of the bed and wrapped his right hand around the neck of the bottle of “Ol’ No. 7”.
Blinding white light cut through the thin cotton sheets that served as the motel’s window curtains, briefly illuminating Cain’s entire room. Cain paused in mid twist of the bottle’s cap and stared toward the window. His eyes quickly shot to silver handgun that rest on the top of the television. His muscles tightened as his body prepared to bolt toward the 9mm then, the lights died down to blackness.
Just headlights, Cain thought. Just headlights. Confirming his thoughts was the sound of a car door opening and squealing on its rusty hinges, followed by the sound of that same squeaky door slamming shut.
Cain’s body relaxed and he spun the top of the whiskey body the remainder of the way off. He held the bottle to his lips, and then tilted his head back. He relaxed the muscles in his throat and allowed the caramel colored liquid to flow directly past his tongue and down his esophagus. A warming sensation started in his stomach and quickly passed through his entire body, finally terminating at the tips of his fingers and toes. He lifted his head and pulls the bottle away from his lips. A few drops of the alcohol began to work their way down his lower lip and he wiped them away with the back of his bare forearm.
The naked female figure laying in his thirty-five dollar a night bed stirred under the sheets and made a soft whimpering sound. Cain turned his head and looked back over his shoulder at his play thing from last night. More movement came from beneath the sheets then, the woman awoke and tiredly pushed herself up to a seated position.
The girl used the back of her hands to lazily wipe the sleep away from her eyes. Then, in the harsh raspy voice that always seemed to take over ones vocal cords the morning after a hard night of drinking and drugs, she spoke.
Girl : What time is it?
Cain turned his gaze away from her, and instead focused his vision on the blue, brown, and green kaleidoscope of colors that made up the motel room’s carpeting.
Cain : Six.
Girl : In the morning?
Cain wanted to reached back and choke her for asking such a stupid question. Even last night at the height of their cocaine and alcohol induced fuck-fest her stupidity at touched the wrong never in Cain. It was easier to deal with when his head was floating in a Jack Daniel’s pool but, now that he was sober, he wished she would just get her things and go. However, instead of choking her, Cain just sighed and nodded once.
Cain : Yeah, in the morning.
The girl pulled her sheet covered knees up to her chest and wrapped her long freckle covered arms around them.
Girl : Well what are you doing up? We just went to bed like three hours ago.
She said the last statement with a slight chuckle in her voice as if the two of them had some secret as to why they were both up so late last night.
Hell, it’s no secret, Cain thought. The motel manager, the bouncer at the club where I picked you up, the fat slob staying in the room next to us who no doubt heard the pounding of the headboard, all know exactly what happened last night. It’s about as much a secret as the “Secret Sauce” on a Big Mac.
Cain : Couldn’t sleep.
The girl leaned forward and propped herself up on her hands and knees. She slowly crawled toward Cain’s back, grinning ear to ear like the Cheshire Cat. Cain looked up from his seated position and into the mirror before him. He watches her reflection as she crept up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Then she leaned forward and kissed the back of Cain’s neck while pressing her small, yet firm breasts against his bare back. She moved her mouth to the right side of his head, and then trailed her tongue from his neck to his right earlobe. She nibbled on his ear, giving it a slight tug before whispering to him.
Girl : Well maybe I can tire you out.
Her breath smelled of stale cigarettes and a cornucopia of cheap liquors and beers. For a fleeting moment, Cain considered taking this girl up on her offer, he might as well; he had nothing better to do at three in the morning on a Tuesday but instead…
Knock. KNOCK. KNOCK!
Cain’s head turned to face the cheaply made door to the motel room. A quick scan showed him none of the door’s locks were engaged. He wrapped his hand around the girl’s face and shoved her backwards, sending her sprawling across the bed and almost onto the floor.
Girl : Asshole!
Cain leapt to his feet and grabbed the pistol from off the top of the television set. He turned to look at the girl and held his hand up to her. He whispered harshly to her.
Cain : Shut the fuck up!
The girl’s facial expression showed Cain that she protested to his harsh demands, yet she folded her arms and complied.
Cain backed himself up to the far wall and inched slowly toward the door. He held the gun in his right hand, his index finger wrapped loosely around its trigger.
How did I forget to lock the door,he thought. I didn’t. That dumb cunt probably got up in the in middle of the night to smoke one of her fucking cigarettes and was too stupid to remember to lock the door back.
The thought of this made him wanted to grab her by the hair and bash her head repeatedly off the old rusty air conditioning unit in the room. But there wasn’t time for that now, maybe after he dealt with their current visitor.
Bang! BANG. BANG!
Cain inched forward and leaned toward the door’s peep hole. He shut his right eyes and stared out of the fish bowled glass hole hoping to catch a glimpse of who was so desperate to enter his room. Just as his eye caught a glimpse of the familiar man outside his door, a voice Cain would recognize anywhere called out to him. The voice of Andrew Belle.[/I]
Andrew : Cain, open the damn door. I’m freezing my balls off out here.
Cain sighed and lowered the weapon he was holding. He reached forward, grasping the doorknob and reluctantly opened the door. A strong, cold breeze rushed into the room making goose bumps pop up all over Cain’s bare chest. Andrew stepped into the room wearing a shit-eating grin and surveyed the place quickly. His gaze immediately fell onto the naked blond on the bed that was scrambling to cover herself with the bed sheet.
Andrew : Not too bad Cain. Not too good either.
He turned to face Cain.
Andrew : I like mine with a little more up top if you know what I mean.
The girl on the bed’s mouth fell open and a mixed expression that conveyed both hurt and anger swept over her face.
Girl : Hey asshole! Fuck you!
Andrew turned back with a smirk and looked at the girl.
Andrew : Look sweetheart, I can’t help it if it looks like a couple of mosquitoes just got done drinking their dinner from your chest, maybe you should spend some of that prostitute money you make and go buy yourself a new set of cans.
Girl : I’m not a prostitute!
Andrew : Why not? You’re out whoring around; you might as well get paid for it. Now shut the fuck up will the grown men are talking, if we want to hearing anything else out of you we’ll take our dicks out of your mouth, got that sweetheart?
The girl looked at Andrew amazed anyone would talk to someone they hardly knew like that. Nevertheless, just as before when Cain yelled at her, she folded her arms across her chest and kept her silence.
Andrew nodded, smirked, and turned back toward Cain.
Andrew : Good. Now we can get down to business.
Cain pushed past Andrew and walked toward the bottle of whiskey he had placed on the floor. He snatched the bottle up and took a quick swig of the brown liquid.
Andrew meanwhile reached into the inner lining of his jacket and withdrew a medium-sized manila envelope. He held it out in Cain’s direction.
Cain looked at the envelope and sighed. He placed the bottle down on the dresser and snatched the package away from Andrew. He undid the binding string on the back of the envelope and lifted the flap. Cain then slid the papers out just far enough so he could read the heading.
He furrowed his brow and looked back at Andrew. He read the bold black words at the top of the cover page again, and then looked back at Andrew.
Cain : Is this for real?
Andrew nodded and reached for the bottle of whiskey.
Andrew : As real as a goddamn heart attack my friend. Mind if I have a drink?
Cain ignored his question, which, to Andrew, meant permission was granted to help himself to the whiskey, and he did just that by downing a quick gulp, and grimacing as it worked its way into his stomach.
Cain : Vendetta Championship Wrestling?
Andrew smirked and then took another sip from the bottle.
Andrew : Fitting name no?
Cain : I thought this stuff was fake. All staged.
Andrew shrugged.
Andrew : I’m sure most of it is.
Cain pulled the stack of papers the rest of the way out and let the envelope fall to the floor. He flipped through the papers, skimming their contents rapidly.
Andrew : It’s just a basic application. It’s just a formality really. We have a guy in the inside that pulled a few strings and you’re already hired. The application is just to make sure the paperwork is all in order.
Cain : I’ve never done this before.
Andrew : Don’t sweat it. You’ll learn as you go. Plus, it’s not exactly like Hulk Hogan is knocking on the door to get a job at this place. It’s small and a good place to do what we have to do. Very low-key know what I mean?
Cain nodded.
Cain : Yeah.
Cain placed the application on the dresser beside him and scanned over the next page. He looked up at Andrew, who had just finished helping himself to another drink of the whiskey.
Cain : There’s a lot on names on this list. More than usual.
Andrew nodded and wiped his mouth with his jacket sleeve.
Andrew : Yeah, I noticed that too. But you gotta do what you gotta do right?
Cain rolled his eyes and tossed the remaining papers on the dresser. He then placed the gun back on top of the television. He wearily made his way back to the edge of the bed and sat down.
Cain : When do I start?
Andrew : Soon. You got a chance at the first one in a few days. The names Fyper or Fytor or some shit.
Andrew chuckles shaking his head.
Andrew : And you’ll love this. He dresses up in a fucking blue rubber suit.
Cain looks at Andrew puzzled.
Andrew : Yeah, a blue, rubber bug suit. He thinks he’s a super hero or some shit. It’s all in the papers along with info for the rest of the name son the list. We figured it’d be best to start you out easy, so take care of this guy first.
Cain leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and letting his hands hang between his legs. He tilted his head forward, letting his hair fall into his face, and sighed.
Cain : How much longer Andrew?
Andrew shook his head and set the bottle of Jack Daniel’s back onto the dresser. He placed a hand on Cain’s shoulder.
Andrew : You know I can’t answer that. Just know the end is closer than it was yesterday.
Cain said nothing and silence fell over the room. An awkward silence that made both men feel very uncomfortable. After a few moments, Andrew patted Cain’s shoulder then turned toward the door.
Andrew : Anyway, work on the list. God knows there are plenty of names to keep you busy. I’ll drop in time to time. You know the deal.
Cain nodded. He knew all too well.
Andrew opened the door and another gust of cold air swirled around the room. Andrew took a step out of the door, then stopped and turned back around.
Andrew : Oh and make sure you’re wrapping your shit up before you go plunging into that whore’s infested hole. I’d hate for you to catch something.
The girl, who had managed to remain silent this entire time, just as she had been told to, finally spoke up.
Girl : FUCK YOU ASSHOLE!
Andrew laughed hysterically.
Andrew : Not on your best day honey.
Andrew stepped out into the cold, giggling to himself, and slammed the door shut behind him.
The girl in the bed immediately turned her rage onto Cain.
Girl : Who the fuck was that guy? I can’t believe he talked like that to me! Why didn’t you fucking say something to him?
Cain said nothing and this only fueled the girl’s anger.
Girl : Well fuck him AND you. Fucking losers. You can’t talk to me like that!
She reached over onto the nightstand and grabbed her nearly spent pack of Newport cigarettes and her hot pink lighter. She flicked her thumb under the top flap of the hard pack and quickly withdrew one of the few remaining smokes. She popped it into her mouth and then quickly lit the flame on her lighter.
Cain heard the lighter ignite and turned his head back to look at her.
Cain : Put that shit out.
The girl paused in the action of lighting her cigarette and looked him. She then snorted softly and shook her head.
Girl : Fuck you.
She held the lighter’s flame up to the end of the cigarette and began to inhale sharply. The flame began to ignite the small fibers of tobacco at the end of the smoke. Cain quick leaned back and nimbly snatched the almost lit cigarette from the girl’s mouth. In a single motion, he crushed the cigarette in his hand and threw it across the room, sending little strands of tobacco everywhere.
The girl look at him shocked that he would do such a thing. However, the feeling of shock was quickly replaced by a feeling of rage and anger. The girl balled up her fists and began to swing them at Cain’s head and shoulders. Cain held up his arm, managing to block most of the blows.
Girl : You fucking jerk! You can’t fucking tell me what I can and can’t do! Who the fuck do you think you are?! You ain’t my fucking daddy!
Little did she know that “daddy” would be the last word she ever spoke. Almost as soon as that word crossed her lips, Cain’s hands were around her throat. The girl’s eyes widened as Cain squeezed her windpipe shut. He grinded his teeth together as he squeezed her neck harder and harder.
The girl clawed and scratched at his hands but to no avail. Tears filled her eyes and fell down onto the bed sheets that were now crumpled in her lap as she gasped for air. Cain watched with sadistic pleasure as her lips turned from a shade of soft pink to a deep purple. Her eyes bulged from her head and Cain could actually see the small capillaries of blood burst and promulgate throughout the whites of her eyes.
She wrapped her hands around Cain’s wrists and gave one last desperation tug, but his strong light brown hands never budged. A sick gurgling sound escaped her throat, which as Cain had found out long ago was a sure-fire sign of death. He released his grip and she fell backwards, her head smacking the headboard with a thud. Cain reached out and brushed her blond hair out of her face. He stared at the expression of shocked horror on her face for a moment longer then, leaned forward and retrieved his blue jeans from off the bedside floor.
He buried his hand into the back right side pocket of the jeans and pulled out a folded up piece of white paper and a black ink pen. He quickly unfolded the paper and scanned down the list of five names under the reached the last one. The only name to not have a single line marked through it. He read the name aloud.
Cain : Angel Peters.
He turned his head to look at his most recent victim.
Cain : That’s right. Now I remember. Your name was Angel Peters.
Cain clicked the ball-point pen open and then slowly drew a single line through the girl’s name on his paper. He laid the paper across Angel’s chest and stood up.
Cain slid his pants on quickly then, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head. He walked over to the dresser and gathered the stack of papers that Andrew had delivered to him and his pistol off the television set.
Cain tucked the pistol away in the back of his jeans and pulled his shirt down over the weapon in order to conceal it. He then grabbed the bottle of Tennessee Whiskey and took one final drink before making his way back to the bed where the now lifeless body of Angel Peters lay. He held the bottle of whiskey over the girl’s head and slowly began to pour the brown liquid over her face and chest. He then trailed the whiskey down her stomach and onto both of her legs before the last drop fell onto her foot.
Cain tossed the bottle over his shoulder and it crashed into the corner behind him. He reached down, snatched the little hot pink lighter off the bed, and gave its flint wheel a quick flick with his thumb. Cain held the tiny flame to the corner of the whiskey soaked paper on the girl’s chest. It caught fire instantly. Cain dropped the lighter and made his way for the door.
He paused for a moment and looked back at Angel, as her face caught fire and her skin began to melt away from her skull.
Another name on another list, he thought to himself. Such is his life.
Now he had a new list with a whole slew of new names. Fytor, he would only be the beginning of the punishment bestowed upon Vendetta Championship Wrestling by the hands of Cain Ravid.
|
|
|
Post by Mortus on Feb 6, 2008 13:42:02 GMT -5
"Oh John! John!"Her voice shakes me from my train of thought; not that to be thinking of anything but her was entirely appropriate. What the hell. I'm only human.
Judging by her constant moaning and writhing, I figured she was just about finished. I raised my head from the warm confines of between her thighs to see her serene, half dreamlike expression.
I can't seem to remember her name. I'm stuck in the mindset of a soldier; another girl, another night. All to satisfy the burning desires originating from the damn testosterone injections.
They're a necessary evil, however. I can't become too timid, can't lose that aggression, that edge. It's required for what I plan to do in the future.
I feel her slip away from me, giving me space. She gestures for me to lie down. I comply. Lovely as she may be, a monument of beauty no doubt... She just can't seem to hold my interest...Two figures flash; in a wrestling ring. A thin, pale man with raven black hair wearing a green moleskin jacket, the other blonde, slightly shorter...
They're standing up upon the turnbuckles of the ring. They're holding something in the air...
The crowd screams. These men, these men are their champions...My Brother, Matty. The eldest of the Dunn family, and the first of us to hit the ring.
His as of then partner, Nick Rijkaard.
These two men, despite their current differences, will always serve as idols to me. Specifically now.
Though both men, Nick more so, received a fair amount of success down in the development of their federation, their tag team debut ended with a huge upset.
No one expected the green duo to shake the foundations of Full Metal Wrestling's tag devision. No one expected the British Lions to be the first team to steal the titles from the established SoCal Connection...
These men, those moments of history, burned into my mind, will motivate me more than ever. No more than now. They're who got me into wrestling, considering myself as a wrestler, rather...
And they're my main source of motivation now for my very own first match...
And this is why, despite this young, curvy, Latino Goddesses grinding, I cannot keep my mind on this; this moment of carnal pleasure..."Is this what you want? Do you like this?"What the fuck does she want now?
I'm finding it somewhat difficult to keep focused, as you can imagine, with so much on my plate. A chance to qualify for the number one title in all of Vendetta Championship Wrestling. A chance to step up in this Seraphim Falls tournament.
Though, out of politeness, I should give a little something back..."You know I do, you dirty slut; this is exactly what I want."It's the same process everywhere, every time. Go to a bar, say you're a soldier. Talk dirty, enjoy yourself, leave.
Thank god for talking fucking dirty.
I don't think my vocabulary is particularly geared towards tender, sweet, pillow talk.
Far too long have I spent my months, days, hours screaming obscenities at the men who were shooting at me; at the drones on the other end of my headset and internet connection, at the inbred social failures that roam the streets back in my home town.
I'm desensitized to it all. And despite the magic I can work with my mouth, a whole crock of shit tends to pour out more often than not...
Thank the lords.The same two men as before, though significantly further on down the line, flash past.
Matt has grown his hair a little, and seems to have completely lost his mind.
His ring attire has changed; no longer sloppy and laid back. No. All pristine whites now. Tighter, smarter...
Matt Dunn lays his partner to rest with a vicious move, a signature move of his innovation; the Major System Overload.And this is my cause for concern. My match. The main event of the first ever VCW show, with so much at stake, is a tag match.
Management has grouped me up with the ridiculous side-show freak that is quite possibly the worlds only two headed wrestler.
The fact that he has two heads, despite the fact that it generally makes me feel a tad uncomfortable just in looking at him, is I am not one hundred percent one whether I can trust them. Either of them.
This match is everything.
Call it sibling rivalry, but if I can have one over on my brother in terms of the elevation of the title I hold compared to the tag team title that he and Nick dropped, and the Abandoned Title which he now seeks...
Well. Brotherly competition is healthy, right?
But these heads, Sam and Max... One of them, I'm not sure which, I don't care, is not a wrestler. He has no desire to wrestle. He is the weak link of the body.
The other, is quite frankly, an amateur...
I should probably pay a visit to my two partners tomorrow, or the day after...
At least before match day..."Yes John! YES! I'm cumming John! YES!"I could only believe that my lover for the night was reaching the end of her run. All well and good. I can barely contain myself. There's something about women and shared orgasms which I will never truly understand, or, hell, give two-fucking-shits about either.
I'm surprised I haven't been called on the fact that I've been all but ignoring her. She's either dumb as fucking shit or my thoughtful expression has conveyed itself sufficiently as sheer pleasure which she has latched upon.
Maybe she's been using me to get hers as much as I've been using her for mine.
I feel her collapse on top of me, I feel her pressing her face to my chest. I feel her pulsate, writhe...
I feel everything, as I feel the same biological reactions in myself...
Now is the time for rest...
I'll address everything else as and when the time comes...- - - [/b] It's night, another night, the scene has changed.
Johnathon 'Dunnsville' Dunn is sat at the wheel of his jeep; but of course, given the man's obsession and his financially stable brother, it's not any jeep.
It is, of course, one of the fifty Halo Warthog replicas. Admittedly, the chain gun had been removed, but it was still the perfect car as far as John was concerned.
Another man is seen; standing by the vehicle. A two headed man. Sam, and Max.
The scholar of the pair, Sam, seems terrified by John, who sits in his complete ring attire, war mask and everything.
Max on the other hand, seems quite excited..."Look, you fuck-holes. I don't think I need to stress how im-grand-mother-shit-hole-fucking-portant our tag match is. Do I?"
"No, sir, of course sir."
"Quit being a fucking pussy Sam. Yeah, we're ready for this cutie..."What the fuck?
I reached for his throat... Throats... I think I may have grabbed the teacher-head by mistake. His eyes bulged in his tiny, irritating head."Look, you fucking wank-lord-pyrophilic-time-waste-horse-shag. Don't get fucking cute with me. I will stress this once and only once. I am in no way interested. Do not push me to demonstrate just how much I want no part of you touching any part of my tip-fucking-top physique. Comprendé, you fucking worm?"
"We get the point. Come on Max. Don't make this any more awkward for us."[/color] I release Sam as even now my doubts start formulating in my mind. This collective of consciousnesses cannot even fully co-operate with itself, let alone with a third, none attached sentient. This worried me considerably.
Thankfully it didn't show. "Fucking A. Now get the fuck in the fucking ride now before I change my mind and slide my boot up your shared arse." I watched the two get in as I tapped the track changer button of the cars sound system a few times... I was looking for something in particular.
I'm sure one of the heads, the one that wasn't likely to completely cave when shit hit the fan and cost me what I deserve, Max, said something containing the phrase get my bonk on, however...
The track started, WWVII (Part 1 and 2). I had... No... We had work to do..."I hope this doesn't become common occurance; Lucy will not be pleased at all."[/color] Shut up."Quit your belly-aching Sammie, it's no different than the time we, that bow-legged guy and the chick with mountainous tits got it on..."
"I would hope not... Say... Urm, Mr... Mr. Dunn?That head would annoy me. No more... No, considerably less so than the other head, I suspect, but still...
I rolled the volume knob down a touch as I skidded round a corner..."Call me John...""John, where are we actually going?""And when will I get my bonk on?!"What I wouldn't do for a nice handgun right about now. All the bullshit tends to stop dripping from their maws when there's a nice shiny chamber of death printed right into their fucking skulls..."Listen, fucking tweedle-fucking-shit-face-dee, if you ever utter that word again, I'll be forced to introduce the object which I, pho-fucking-netically associate with the word to your fucking bollocks."I spied the grin fade from Max's face. Sam looked petrified."And you, tweedle-book-fuck-dum; we're going to our opponents apartment. You seen that bullshit Michael-fat-fuck-Moore documentary with the army? Might have been the nine fucking-what-a-fucking-pity eleven related one."My lack of sympathy regarding the terrorist attacks of New York seemed to unsettle the smarter head. Ah well, such a shame. I've had too many friends die because of America's war. I've had too many friends killed because of American's friendly fire for that matter. "But yes. That documentary. You're nodding your head so I gather you've seen it while wank-face over there isn't molesting a shitting-dick-nipples-picnic-table or some shit." Another left here, another right there....
I hope to god this answer statisfies him to a point where I no longer need to speak...
I need to turn this music up... "Well, you've seen the American's playing loud rock and or metal to disorientate the opposition or some shit. Think of this as a wake up call..." That would have to do. The house was round the next bend, and thanks to an amazing amount of convient time, and skipping the track back to the start a few times mid-conversation, the vocal kicked in just as I turned in to Ribz and 13's street...The volume from the open jeep exploded as the vehicle tore around the corner. The Metal stylings of Pain for Pleasure/Sum 41 roared at ear bleed level; loud enough to wake the team's opponents, if not the dead themselves.
Before long, the entire street were up, lights were on, people were yelling, and the Warthog was busy turning donuts on the front lawn of 13's apartment...And it really was as simple as that. I just kept on spraying mud and grass at whichever cunt-wash-pig-ram-price-is-right-bruce-forskin-fuck's place this was until the very last chorus.
I think Max was enjoying himself over the entire situation; Sam didn't seem to want to be there at all. Pfft. Damn desk jobs make you soft...
But yeah, I'm sure the sexually deviant head was singing along before long.Have we created, our own demise? They're out to kill, using their minds! You'll feel the chill, run down your spine, Tell me! Since when has being human been a crime? Couldn't have said it better myself, and if situation dictates I may coin those very words as my own.
I saw the Brandon Lee look-alike tumble out of his dwelling. I was amazed that he sleeps in all that corpse paint but there you go. "Gonna hunt you, gonna get you, your time is up! See you tomorrow night. Rest tight you fucking necro-sack-twist-wannabe-mysterious-bounty-hunting-seed-stain!"
- - - It took the drive back to Es-n-Em's place to explain to Sam why I had just roused an entire block.
It took a further twenty minutes after I had pulled up before Max told him to shut up.
I think the man desired his, shall we say, 'fix' for the night, and having failed at all attempts thus far, he was planning on something slightly normal and just laying with his brothers wife...
I know. It will always strike me as a tad strange. But there you have it. Despite both heads grating at my last-tit-wank-nerve in their own special way, tonights activity has succeeded in two things.
Men cannot possibly strive to compete at their best if they're tired, and I have at least a little faith in the Siamese-skank-sores which they displayed, though in Sam's case, somewhat begrudgingly, by accompanying myself on our little, somewhat illegal 'disturbing of the peace.'
Fuck them. It disturbed my peace of mind to not do it. Fuckers.Dunn
|
|
|
Post by Mike Forrest on Feb 6, 2008 16:24:29 GMT -5
A New Beginning The Winnebago coasted down a long stretch of road. Seated in the back was Colt. He seemed lost in a book while he short statured manager Mitchell drove and talked with Colts’ wife Annabelle. Mitchell pulled over to the side of the road. Annabelle: Why, may I inquire, did you pull over. Mitchell turned to Annabelle.Mitchell: Because sugar-tits I need you to go get another phone book from the back for me to sit on. I am riding pretty low and can barely see the road. Annabelle: Goodness Mitchell, Colt is right in back. Don’t use that vulgarity around him he might catch on to our arrangement. Mitchell: Listen sweet thing, it don’t matter if he hears us. He is to retarded to know the difference. Annabelle: Well I still don’t think its wise. Just then they both heard Colt stir in back. Colt: You thought you could trick me didn’t you? Thought that cause I’m not that bright no more I wouldn’t figure out your game.
Both Mitchells’ and Annabelle faces went white. Annabelle: What ever do you mean dear Colt? Colt ran up to the front, book in hand. Colt: I found that Waldo fella. He thought he could hide but I tell you I still got my eyes. Right there in the middle of the page he is. Boy he sure is good at that hiding. A new spot every page. Mitchell: Colt show me where he was I couldn’t find him when I looked. Colt scanned the page and slowly a disgusted look crossed his face. Colt: I swear he just done moved around on the page cause for the life of me I can’t find him. Damnit. Mitchell: Colt you know better then to use cuss words in front of a lady. Now you head on back and find that Waldo. Colt gave Annabelle a sheepish look and she smiled back. Annabelle: Why Colt it’s fine, I may be a lady but I have heard those words before. Colt: Well I am surely sorry anyway Annabelle I would never intentionally offend your ears that way. Colt turned and walked to the back of the Winnebago.Mitchell: Like I said sugar-tits go get me the phonebook so we can get to the fucking arena. Annabelle: My Mitchell you sure are authoritative. Did I ever tell you how much I am attracted to that? She started walking to the back and Mitchell slapped her ass. She turned and gave him a wicked smile and kept walking.
A few hours later after numerous more Waldo sightings the trio arrived at the arena. The three sat there discussing what would take place at the press conference and during the match that night.Mitchell: Colt, listen close. We got this press conference in about 20 minutes and we want it to be good so do you know what I want you to do? Colt: Yes boss. You want me to stay quiet because I ain’t as smart as I once was and I might embarrass myself. Mitchell: And people say you are retarded. You are a smart guy Colt. Colt: People say I’m retarded? But why? I mean I musta found Waldo bout nine times during the drive. Show me 10 other folks who can do that. Annabelle: My dearest Colt, no one feels you are retarded. People are just cruel and enjoy hurting others. We just want to protect you, love. You just let Mitchell talk and I’ll sit with you till it’s over ok? Colt smiled at his wife warmly and nodded his head. They all stood and left the van, making a beeline for the arena. It was quite a spectacle to see the giant man, the midget, and the beautiful woman all walk with purpose to the press area. In any other forum the trio would seem to have to business together but in wrestling it all seemed to fit. The entered the room and immediately the flashbulbs went off as photographers stole pieces of their souls for whatever rag it was they worked for. The picture taking died down and the three were seated at a table next to a podium. Craig Christ stood next to them and tried to maintain some sort of order. When everyone was settled he began to speak.Christ: Ladies and gentleman of the press, I would like to offer my deepest thanks for you all coming here today. But really its not like you losers had anywhere else to be. Vendetta Championship Wrestling is a fledgling organization, and as such we have searched far and wide for the best talent to build upon and make this company what it should be. None of them will never reach the degree of excellence that i have but non the less some of them aren't complete shit. We have all sorts of workers here dedicated to putting on a great show for our fans. We have roughnecks and technicians and high flyers and power specialists. We have people who can do all of those. To this point what we haven’t had is a mainstream figure who could come in and give VCW the credibility that we think it deserves. We think we have that now. Ladies and gentlemen, It is with great pleasure that I introduce to you, three time former World Heavyweight Boxing Champion, “The Classic” Colt Conrad. Craig walked away from the podium and stopped in front of Colt and whispered. Christ: You had better make me look good you overgrown sack of shit or I promise I will make you wish you never left that god awful little coal town in West Virginia, you fucking got that retard?
Colt shook his head yes as a pale was cast upon his face. His wife Annabelle heard all this and squeezed his hand, letting him know everything was ok. Colt relaxed and smiled and waved to the press as Mitchell got up and pushed his seat to the podium. Mitchell: Hey Colt, A little help? Colt jumped up from his seat and ran walked over to Mitchell. He picked him up so Mitchell could stand on the chair so that he could see the people as he spoke. This elicited muffled laughter from the crowd and when it died down Mitchell went into his spiel. Mitchell: Hello esteemed members of the press. I am Mitchell Kane and I am Colts manager. I have prepared a short statement and after I will field questions on Colts behalf. You all know Colt and you all know his accomplishments so repeating them would be futile. We are here for a couple reasons. 1. The boxing commissions across the country have said that under no condition will they let Colt fight again. This is ridiculous as he isn’t a danger to himself anymore. He is however a danger to others, as all boxers should be. Mitchell smiled.
2. Colt still has something to prove. He has bested the greatest fighters in his field and needs a new challenge. Boxing skills alone will not help him accomplish this and that is why for the past several months, he has been training in both MMA and wrestling. We feel that Colt can become a champion here and at some point down the road make the boxing commissions notice and let him fight again. Colt was not courted solely by VCW. There were offers on the table from both LPW and FMW but we decided to go this way in part as a way to give back. Colt has a name, marketability. Simply put, Colt is a brand that VCW can build itself around. Along with his contract we have entered into a marketing agreement with VCW in which colt will appear in both commercials and on billboards advertising for this company, hopefully bringing wrestling into the mainstream. Colt is rich almost beyond comprehension and as such he will be giving half of his salary to assorted charities to benefit underprivileged children and at risk children get the schooling and direction they need. This is Colt Conrad folks and hopefully he can help establish VCW at the forefront of the wrestling industry. I will now open the floor the questions. A large part of the press raised their hands and began chattering at the same time and Mitchell got annoyed quickly. Mitchell: Ladies and gentleman, one at a time please. You sir, in the first row you first. Reporter 1: When did it occur to you that wrestling was an option? Mitchell: To be completely honest colt and I have been talking about this for some time. Not always seriously but it has been discussed since Tyson did his little bit in WWF. We had always talked about taking it a step further but no offers were ever extended. We first decided we would do this about 9 months ago. Colt, his lovely wife Annabelle, and I had dinner with one of my associates who at the time was representing FMWs Michael James. James was going through his well publicized drug stage and his manager had decided that he would bring him to dinner with us to slap him with a sense of reality. When James saw Colt he was immediately after him to start training and get into wrestling. So we thought about it and decided it was a good idea. Next question? Reporter 2: It has been leaked to various publications that tonight you will be facing seasoned Indy wrestler, Eric Ares. He has all the experience. How will you combat that? Mitchell: I can confirm that that will be Colts debut match for tonight. To answer your question though, we just feel Colt is better. You said it yourself, he is an Indy wrestler. He hasn’t seen the big time, the bright lights. Colt has experienced all that. Its a lot like Colts first professional boxing match. Here Colt is, this cocky kid who just came off winning the golden gloves thinking no one can touch him. He underestimated his opponent. Through the first three rounds Colt is throwing punches with reckless abandon. He is landing left crosses and right hooks seemingly at will. Then the fourth round came around and Colts arms started to get heavy. And then his opponent started dancing around the ring, picking his spots and eventually he caught Colt with a straight right that put him on the mat seeing stars. Colt lost that match because of a miscalculation. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ares goes into this match and underestimates Colts. The spectacle of it all will get to him. And plus lets be honest, Colt has made a career out of putting guys down for the 10 count. You don’t think he can put this kid down for a three? That’s all the time we have for you folks. We have a match tonight. See you then. Colt got up and helped Mitchell down. The three walked out of the room looking quiet pleased with themselves. Tonight it would all start
A New beginning
A Classic it would be
|
|
Austin
Lower Midcarder
Posts: 172
|
Post by Austin on Feb 6, 2008 17:38:43 GMT -5
We are in the parking lot of VCW headquarters, and a camera is following a mysterious man from behind. The camera never gets a look at his face, but judging by physical appearance, he looks to be an in-ring employee. This man begins to speak out loud, as if aware of another's presence.
Man: When I was younger, all I wanted to do was wrestle. I wanted to come out, slapping hands with the fans, hearing them chant for me. I thought nothing else mattered. Then, LIFE happened, and I was overlooked, unappreciated, and someone always tried to tell me what to do. It changed me. I went from this skinny, awkward, goof to this smart, handsome, womanizing, masterpiece you see before you.
I became a renegade. I never let anyone tell me anything, I always felt I knew the answers, and even though that has been proved otherwise on occassions, I STILL feel that way. I refuse to fail due to the advice or guidance of others, not again.
It was a situation unlike any other, and it cost me my pride, and my first crush. I lost her based on the advice of a friend, only to discover that he wasn't a friend. He used my naive nature to take her away from me. She wasn't technically mine, but we did everything together. We grew up next door, we were the first of the opposite sex that we met, we were close, oh so close. Or, so I thought. She let him corrupt her views of me, Views I thought would remain through any and everything. Well, they didn't, and that fateful day was known to me as the birth of "The Radical"
Now "The Radical" has arrived in VCW, and you all are a part of the impending movement set to take place. My journey, my Exodus, if you will, begins, now.
We are inside VCW headquarters, and we see various superstars wandering the halls, apparently looking for a particular person of executive status. Through all the commotion, the same mysterious man walks into the halls, now with a camera panning to his face. He looks to be sculpted by Michaelangelo himself. This man looks rather young, yet a smug, confident, almost cocky grin never leaves his face. We soon find out that this is Chris Austin, The Radical.
R.C.A: So, this is the VCW headquarters, the land of order, and calm. Well, looks as if they need to work on the latter, this is a fuckin' madhouse. But, no matter, I am just here to find out my first opponent, and begin my path to the VCW championship.
While he is walking down the hall, ever so calm, an unknown man bumps into Chris, almost moving Chris. The unknown man realizes what he has just done, and tries to muster up an apology. Sadly, the man's voice can't put together the right words, as he sees the confident grin of Chris fade into a dark stare of anger.
R.C.A Do you realize what you just did? You almost injured the next VCW champion, you know that? You realize you have fucked up, right?
Intern: Wait. I-I---I am so...
R.C.A What? Sorry? Of course you are. You are a sorry human being, a pitiful use of human space. I bet you run up and down these halls, trying to do everyone's work, kiss everyone's ass, just for that one pat on the back, huh? Don't ya?
The Intern is scared to speak, but surprisingly is holding up pretty well.
R.C.A: Now you can't talk? Look, I'll let you off the hook, young one. Get back to work. If your boss is upset with your tardiness, tell him you met the next VCW champion, if that don't work, come find me. One day, this will all be worth it, huh? Go ahead, get outta here.
Austin offers his hand, and the intern shakes it with businessman-like firmness. The intern then leaves, and soon after we see that Austin has come across the match listings for VCW 1.1, and see that his opponent is a man who calls himself Exodus.
R.C.A: Exodus?? What the hell type of name is Exodus? Oh well, I am sure this retard will be a challenge, I hope. Either way, he's going down. Hard.
Chris then begins to leave, and on his way out, he meets Craig Christ, the GM of VCW.
R.C.A (extends hand) Chris Austin. I assume that you are Craig Christ, the GM of VCW?
GM Christ: (shakes hand) Yeah, I am the boss, the Messiah of VCW. What's it to ya, punk?
R.C.A: You'll recognize soon that I am hard to throw off of my game. Just so you know, I am the future of VCW, and will be the VCW champion sooner or later, preferably sooner. I wanted the authority figure to get a look at one of his future stars, and a man who will bring stability, recognition, and alll that jazz to VCW. I know I won't do all that on my own, but I will be a driving force behind it.
GM Christ: Big words from a rookie. What makes you think that all of that will happen? You are nothing. You are unproven. You as of now, suck.
R.C.A: What makes you think that you are the New Age Messiah? Simple, I think therefore I am. It is one of the staples of the Movement of Radicalization, a movement that will be known as a significant era in VCW.
GM Christ: The Movement of Radicalization, huh? Sounds stupid. But, be warned. make sure you can back up what you say, otherwise you'll be a laughing stock, and I do like to laugh at others expense.
R.C.A: Only people you'll be laughing at are those who think they can beat me when I am on my game, only to fail spectacularly.
GM Christ: Ha! I like you kid, you've got something, and I love the cockiness.
R.C.A: It ain't cockiness, it's fact. When I am on my A game, I am hard to stop. Sir, it was nice meeting you, but I have a journey to prepare for. (extends hand)
GM Christ: (Shakes hand) I'll have my eye on you.
Chris and Christ part ways, and Chris walks out the door, as the scene fades to black.
We return to see Chris in his home. His stuff is packed, and before he leaves to go to the Staples Center, which is in the hometown of Chris Austin, he decides to take a moment to prepare himself for the task at hand.
R.C.A: Wow, it's almost here. My debut, my time, my first impression. I have so much on the line. I must back up everything I have said, not only for the Movement, not only for my hometown fans, but for myself. Exodus, this mysterious man who is designated as my first test, my first obstacle, must fall at my feet. I recognize his talent, but he still must be defeated.
I want him at his best, then my win will be genuine, should I acheive that win. But, if he beats me, in front of my hometown, he will have earned it. But, a loss in my hometown destroys all of my credibility, derails my path, and temporarily supresses my Movement. I could say the cliche, "Failure is not an option", but without that as an option, success doesn't mean anything, as it would be expected for me to suceed. So, failure must be in my head. The possibility of me not suceeding must exist, then I won't quit as easy, and I will be better in the ring.
Chris then looks at his watch, and realizes it is time to go. He grabs his bags, and says a quick prayer and walks out the door, as we fade to black.
We are now backstage. Chris is fully dressed to compete, and is standing by with an interviewer.
Interviewer: We are standing in the back with "The Radical" Chris Austin, a man making his debut on VCW's debut show. One question, Chris. What are your thoughts on your debut match?
The camera then pans to Chris, with the ever confident grin on his face. He makes eyes with the interviewer, who begins to blush. Then Chris begins to speak.
R.C.A: My thoughts, huh? Well, my thoughts at this moment are that you and me need to do something later. But, right now it isn't about that. It's about Chris Austin, Exodus, and only one of us going on in the VCW championship tournament.
What is an Exodus? Well, it is defined as a departure of a large number of people, particularly the Israelites leaving Egypt as led by Moses, who was one of God's chosen ones. Well, like Moses, I am also a chosen one. I am the one who will help lead VCW to prominence, and that will begin tonight, in MY HOMETOWN of Los Angeles, California.
The crowd roars in approval, and chants of "Austin" and "Ra-di-cal" begin to surface. Chris acknowledges the crowd, nodding his head in approval.
You see, my opponent is named Exodus, a man apparently driven by a "higher power" beneficiary, who intends to go crazy on any one and every one in his path. They put me first, as if I am a sacrifice for him. Well, the only sacrfice here is you, Exodus. See, the biblical Exodus explained the plights of the Israelites, the oppression they took from Pharaoh, and how one of their own led them to freedom and salvation after living in exile. I wasn't exiled or anything like that, but I am here to lead VCW, and all of you(points at crowd) to the promised land. The promised land is me as champion, and the promised land will be reached one day. But, that's later.
Exodus, who do you think you are? This isn't the bible, you are one man, and you have me in the ring. You are my first step to greatness, and I will get there, one way or another. I respect your abilities, because you had to have some talent to be signed. But, some talent will not get you past the future of ths place, me, "The Radical" Chris Austin. I am usually a man of few words when it comes to match time, but since is this my first match, I'll make an exception.
Do you realize what "The Radical" represents? I represent extreme, unique, militant, and aggressive. I represent whatever it takes, any means necessary, being your own man. See, you fit a category of a man I despise, a man controlled by another. You can't realize your potential when someone is in control of how and when you let out that potential. You are incomplete as a result, while I am complete, and complete beats incomplete. Every Single Time.
So, Exodus, an Exodus begins tonight. The Movement of Radicality begins tonight. My rise to the top begins tonight, VCW begins tonight. Everything begins tonight. But, for something new to begin, something must end. The Movement begins, while Exodus ends, compliments of "The Radical" Chris Austin.
Chris winks at the lady interviewer, and calmly walks off. The camera goes to black.
|
|
13
Developmental Talent
Posts: 38
|
Post by 13 on Feb 7, 2008 21:10:37 GMT -5
I apply my face paint in my truck with tinted windows. It is a quite and dark night at around four in the morning. The makeup that I am applying hides my identity as well as who I am. I was slowly calming my thoughts. When collecting a bounty it is best not to think of anything. It would be hard this time. My life is finally going to take the turn it needs. I’m going to live my dream of being a pro wrestler and I’ve found a partner.
I step out of my truck slowly and begin to make my way to the prison. It’s not exactly the most up to date or big prison. It’s a small prison holds maybe a hundred people. It’s mainly used to contain criminals that need protection for snitching and those like me who are special cases. Its got barbed wire circling the top and from my research and basic knowledge of the prison; it’s very undermanned with most of the security guards being corrupt. It is pretty easy to break out of for these reasons; if you have people willing to help you on the outside.
As the wind blows, the rustling of leaves can be heard in the distance. I see an easy way in; it’s the guard’s only entrance. To my surprise when I go to pick the lock, it is already open. The room has a desk and chair, walky talky, and phone. The carpet is a shade of red and there is another door that leads to the halls. I remember this place quite well. I especially remember this room though. It was were they first brought me to make sure I wasn’t hiding anything after one of the inmates was found dead. Sure it was me, but I don’t need weapons to kill. Plus, the guy deserved it. I open the door and take a quick survey and see a security guard talking on his cell phone while getting a snack from the vending machine.
The guard: Yeah, tonight is boring, nothing has happened… and I don’t think anything will. The inmates have been very well behaved, Warden. Almost as if something is going to go down tonight. I am sure that won’t happen. O and the drug lord has been moved to The Hole like you wanted. That’s probably why they are so quiet.
He stands there not knowing I’m there. Just a security guard at this prison, sucks for him one of the inmates needs to be brought alive to an airstrip in the next hour. As I approach the man silently in the hallway. The hallway of this prison that I know all to well. The bars are the same that they were when I left my position on top of the inmates. They feared me and soon many others will. As I reach him in the run down hallway I pause and wait for the absolute right second. I want him to notice me and yet I will kill him before any sound can leave his mouth. The last second of fear that they get before they die is all too sweet. The wind blows through an open window and the little bit of sweat on my head falls on to him. He looks behind to see me. He goes to open his mouth to say something but in a half a second my arms are around his head and his neck is snapped. I prefer to kill without weapons… It’s just more fun, that’s why I don’t bring any. DUNN! The name popped into my head which just reminded me of one thing.
This job was special for many reasons. One, I was in my old Kingdom, the place I ruled and the place everyone feared me. Two, this was my last job. I have been hired by VCW and will wrestle my first match against a two-headed freak and someone I’ve never heard of. I’ll give them what is do they must know what they’re doing to get into the company. Third, this is my biggest job yet. Columbians have hired me to get to one of there men who snitched for a reduced sentence. The problem was that he has his own people and to the Columbians I’m expendable, they can lose me. I don’t care though. This job will give me the money to get to the first show and begin getting paid. Also, instead of killing the guy they want him alive at an airfield not to far from were I am in under an hour.
I continue to walk down the hall silently. My thoughts are not of what they should be. They are on my match. My first match in the new company known as VCW, this company was soon going to become my home. My opponents are two men, well maybe three. One is a freak known as Sam and Max and the other is known as John Dunn. Dunn apparently a freak just like Sam and Max except he was obsessed with Science Fiction and pretends to be threatening in a suit. But I’ll give it to him that he seems pretty menacing besides that nothing about him sticks out. Sam and Max I had a little worry about as my partner was worried about him and I didn’t know to much about him. I had only done research on Dunn thus far.
I approach were I need to turn to make it to The Hole. I hear a gunshot. I slowly look around the corner and what I see, I know makes my job much harder. The target is out of his cell with two men. One freakishly big and the other small but he has a gun. A guard is lying on the ground dead. They turn around to begin to leave; I slowly begin to follow them.
As I step over the body of the dead guard my cell phone goes off. I freak out, as I know that all the work I had done and all the research I had done was worthless. I had been caught. Now everything my career as a wrestler, my chance to make a name for myself, all of this was gone cause some client, no some idiot called me. Of course it was somewhat my fault. I had forgotten about my phone while researching my opponents for my first match.
The Target: Randall!!!!!! Get him.
The big fucker, apparently Randall, charges me. Now he was bigger than me so my first thought is how to take him down. I jump around him and on to his back. I rush him into the steel bars of the targets cell. I take this moment to throw a few punches and then I back off and grab the dead guards nightstick. I swing at the Randall’s head multiple times and it breaks the fourth time it hits his head. I now slam his head into the wall. Finally, he is out cold. I steal the guard’s handcuffs and begin to make my way out. Unknown to the target who already left I know this prison very well and the way I came in is the fastest way out.
I run down the halls praying to myself that I can beat them out of the prison. Inmates look at me with their angry and hopeless eyes as I run by them. I feel sympathy for them as in this very prison I was once in their position. The lack of security makes it obvious to me they had been paid to let everything that happens go. I knew what was going on.
I finally make my way out of the prison and peer around a corner of the prison. To my luck the escape car is right there and the target is already loaded into the car. I sneak up on the man who killed the guard. I grab his arm that is holding the gun and break it before he can react. The gun drops. I follow up with an elbow to this mans face and a discus punch that almost decapitates him. I finish him by throwing him through the window of the car.
The target tries to make a run for it, but I get a hold of him faster than he was expecting and snap him to the ground. His head bounces off the pavement with a sickening thud. I grab him and handcuff him with the cuffs I had stolen earlier. I throw him over my shoulder and bring him to my truck. After making sure he is knocked out I start my truck and begin to drive him to the airstrip.
I drive slowly and, as I travel their I decide to check who the hell called. I open my phone and see whom…. It was Ribz. I call him back; he is the only man I will talk to.
Ring, Ring, Ring…
Ribz: Hello?
Ribz, Its me.
Ribz: Hey big guy, I just thought I would let ya know I have arrived in dis town and thought I would ask ya were ya are?
I’m in the middle of a job that you almost cost me.
Ribz: How?
You called while I was in the middle of a the job and they saw me.
Ribz: Well where are ya now?
Almost at the reliance airfield, Look, did you look up anything on the other guy that is our opponent?
Ribz: yah dis fucker is a freak; man yah would get a kick out of him, he has two fucking heads. Tis great. Dude, I got ta go I’ll meet ya at the airstrip.
No wait don’t com-
He hangs up. I knew now that if I didn’t get the target there soon the whole operation was in jeopardy unless Ribz got me more money or something but that won’t happen. I couldn’t shake my mind of this Sam and Max guy. As I watched the trees every time I went by the trees I felt happiness and for some reason the darkness made me feel better that surrounded the area. Sam and Max some freak that we must face. With the little we knew about him or them. Either way it didn’t matter, as soon we would get our chance to shut up the critics and show them what we can do. But sadly I needed to know more. I open my laptop and got to VCW’s website and look at Sam and Max’s roster page. What I see brings me a chuckle. Only one of his heads was fully into the business and on top of that he is a complete pussy. To me this means I have something I can exploit.
I approach the airstrip and here a stir in the back as the Target is slowly coming to his senses. The strip has one plane that looks like it is about ready to take off. I pull up to the plane get out and hand the target over to the Columbians. There are three of them; one man who I could tell was the leader and two henchmen. There are two briefcases on the ground one for me, the other I don’t care about.
The leader: Ahh yes I knew you were the one I wanted. Your good as you got the man here alive. I say you truly are the best.
I stare at him. The leader makes a face of discomfort.
The leader: What is it?
I motion money to him. He glances at the suitcase and startles to chuckle. He covers his mouth with his hand to hide his hideous teeth. I suppose he was self aware of them. He pops his neck and straightens his back out. I don’t think this was quite the place to worry about a proper posture.
The leader: O that’s what you want.
He grabs one of the briefcases and holds it up. He motioned with his eyebrow if that is the briefcase that I want. I nod, but in a way barely noticeable. SAM AND Max! The thought suddenly came to me. I blink. Not that quick blink that you barely notice but a long, drawn out, heavy wink. He notices licks his lips and hands the briefcase over to me.
The leader: Good doing business with you. Who the hell is that?
I turn around to see Ribz slowly making his way up the airstrip. I shake my head. Ribz walks closer and closer towards our small group of businessmen. Compared to how I look; he looks like he would fit in.
Ribz: Allo dare my friend. Ya 13; not ya. Don’t know ya yet.
He points at the leader of my associates.
The leader: Who the hell are you?
Ribz: Meh name is Carlos Carrolla but ya could just call meh by da name of Ribz. Proud citizen of San Anton.
The leader: What? I thought he was an independent worker? He never mentioned a boss before.
Ribz: To be honest with ya; he never really talks. I suppose ya should have asked some more questions. Ya don’t ask; he wont tell. I personally prefer not to press any issues with 13 here. So about how much is in da case?
The leader: He’s got about-
Ribz puts his hand out to stop the leader in the middle of his sentence. He points to the case that was about to be handed to me and makes a cross slash with his hand that means not that one. He points to another briefcase on the ground.
Ribz: Not dat one. Dat one.
The leader: That’s the money I just made selling some products.
I could almost bet that it was drugs. This guy seemed slimy with his words alone. His posture was nice, except for his teeth, but I knew he would do devious things.
Ribz: Interesting, we want that case too.
Ribz looks at me and winks. I knew what he was trying to do. It was almost as if I knew his plan all along. I knew everyone else’s plan as well. You stop talking for a while and you learn to read people.
The leader: What was that?
He makes a very low level signal. I knew the signal. He used it all the time when there was a third party person we were dealing with. The fool thought I couldn’t remember. DUNN! I once again blink. That guy was almost nothing to me. I couldn’t believe that he was intruding on my thoughts. This was a sign that I couldn’t do this job anymore. I had started thinking of too many things and it showed. Ribz could tell what was on my mind.
Ribz: Meh main numbha over hear is the best. Not a good catch but the best catch.
The leader: Well you’re about to find out that’s I’m in charge.
The henchman is right next to Ribz and goes to pull out his gun. I am quick to knock Ribz out of the way; followed by the swift breaking of the mans wrist. I follow up by kicking him in the head. I point my gun at the other henchman, as he doesn’t make it in time to get his weapon out. I hate holding the weapon though. It isn’t how I work, but under these circumstances I guess it’s needed. I felt proud too. I was quick enough to beat one man down and hold another at bay with a weapon.
Ribz: Looks like we got ourselves quite the predicament. Could be rather easy the solve for us.
The leader: It would seem so.
Everyone goes quiet; the only sound is the hum of the planes engine. The sun starts to come up and I begin to wince. I hate the light, it doesn’t hurt me I just prefer darkness. Call it gothic but we all have our preferences. Some guy with two heads was deciding to wrestle. I guess he would get sympathy points from the crowd.
Ribz: Why don’t you just give meh that briefcase and we’ll be good?
The leader: Fine
He slowly walks over to the case and brings it to Ribz. But I see what Ribz doesn’t; I see what he won’t see. I see what he doesn’t see in all our opponents. I see that moment when they signal for help. Just like Sam and Max will as well as just like John Dunn will. This man just makes a slight move with his hand and I see the other henchman begin to pull out his gun.
Ribz: Not today!
I fire off two deafening shots that kill the henchman and point the gun at The leader. The leader is massaging the inside of his mouth with his tongue out of anger with the current situation. I just killed someone with a gun. The convict I saved earlier was looking at us through the window of the plane. Ribz grabs the case on the ground as well as the one in The Leaders hand.
Ribz: I thank ya for da money. It will go to a great cause. Well it might; you aren’t in the position to judge dat.
Ribz punches The Leader in the face who falls to the ground. His jaw is broken; I can tell. He can’t talk. Ribz gets to his knees and puts his face right in front of The Leaders. I love when he does this. Everything always leads up to this. He plans it ahead of time and I can tell.
Ribz: Today ya lucky numba wasn’t 13 and neither will it be for dose who pass us on our road to victory. Our time hear has been overdone so we bid you fine fellow fear well.
|
|
ribz
Developmental Talent
Posts: 41
|
Post by ribz on Feb 7, 2008 21:18:39 GMT -5
Open
A car quickly pulls into the parking lot of a local sports bar. “Leslie’s” is visible in blue and green flashing letters. The Crown Victoria is rusted from age and its window is shattered in the top corner of the passengers side. The windows tinted only allowing us to see the shadows of the passenger and driver. The shadows of the occupants are barely visible thanks to the light being given off from the “Leslie’s” sign. The pitch black surrounding almost makes it seem as if the car is the sole focus of the earth. The drivers door opens and a figure steps out. We can tell from the build of his body that it is Ribz. He cracks his neck and makes his way for the bars entrance. The second figure stays in the car, still. Ribz tugs on the door but its locked. He knocks and gets no response. He looks back and forth but no one is visible. Ribz steps away and starts to walk back toward the car when a door in the building right besides “Leslie’s” opens. He is motioned to come in which he obeys.
Cut Scene.
Interior Smoke Filled Room
The door opens in a smoke filled room to which Ribz comes through. We are then greeted by the face of Savana Prescott. A heavy man with almost 3 chins resting on his large chest. His wheezes clearly points out any bad habits he has. Ribz takes a seat right across the table to which Prescott is sitting. His hair is brushed to the side. It is greasy which shows that he fails to wash it daily. Prescott licks his lips which only leaves the once dead skin slimy and white as if he has cream stuck to his lips. Ribz hardly notices and starts to stare Prescott in the eyes. Prescott lets out a slight chuckle and pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. He sets it on the table and thumps his index finger on it.
Prescott Got this paper earlier in the day, and can you guess what it says?
Ribz smiles for a second and cracks his neck once again. A faint smile forms over his lips. Prescott raises his eyebrow and swallows any saliva he contains in his mouth.
Prescott Let me ask you once again. Do you know what the paper says? Do you have any goddamn clue what the goddamn paper says? Don’t play with my Ribz; not today.
Ribz grabs the paper and pulls it towards him. He chuckles again and crumples up the paper.
Prescott I take it that you too am not happy with what the paper says. Now, I am sure you remember our deal and the thoughts that continue to flow through my brain are now circulating around in yours. So please tell me what the hell your going to do to solve this issue.
Ribz is slowly tapping his finger on the table staring down Prescott. Prescott forms a frown over his face and slams his fist on the table. Ribz moves his hand in the air motioning for Prescott to settle down. He wags a finger.
Ribz I have da current sit-u-ation unda meh control. Do you dink I would be foolish enough to mess around with ya money? Tell meh ya don’t dink that. Listen here Prescott and listen well. I’m fucking taking on a Siamese with two heads and some oda fool. Now, I know ya asking ya-self how da hell someone as small as meh self is going to deal with such threats. Excuse me, such nuisances. No mada how odd day are, there is always one muh than meh. Ya see, I have a …
Prescott bangs his hand on the table and quickly gets to his feet. He flips the table over. Ribz is still sitting in his chair.
Cut Scene.
The shadow on the passenger side of the car is still there. The lights from “Leslie’s” turns off leaving it almost pitch black. The shadow is no longer visible. The moon emerges from behind the clouds and lets us see the top right part of the shadows face. A very pale white. Not for long because it is soon covered with makeup. Two figures then come from around the building. They are barely visible in the intense darkness. They sneak slowly beneath windows and to the door of the building besides “Leslie’s”. They get to the door but the first figure suddenly grabs the arm of the other. The shadow stares in anticipation of something. We don’t know what.
Figure 2: What?
Figure 1: Does it feel like we're being watched or is it just me? I mean, no one is here but me and you; I just got that feeling though.
Figure 2: I feel fine. Get the hell inside before the boss kills us. Literally too. Guy is off his rocker now and days. I fear for our safety.
Figure 1: Our safety? Think about the poor sap inside. No idea what’s coming for him. No idea at all.
They open the door slowly, enter, and then close it just as slowly as when they opened it. The moon then is submerged behind a cloud leaving us with no view of the figure. Seconds pass by before the car engine then starts up.
Return Scene.
Ribz is still in his chair with a cocky smile on his face. Prescott is on his feet heaving as his chest rises and falls quickly in order to keep the right amount of oxygen in him. His face has a sign of intense anger. He points his finger at Ribz but can not get any words out. He turns to the wall and then returns his attention to Ribz. He points again and manages to say something.
Prescott You…better…not bullshit me Ribz. I am not in the current financial situation to be fucking bullshitted. You’re bullshitting me and I can tell. I can tell these kinds of things. What makes you think that has changed at all? Nothing has changed. You’re the same person. San Fran is the same goddamn place as Houston or San Antonio. Listen…
Ribz steps to his feet rapidly and puts his hand out to stop Prescott from talking.
Ribz First of all, don’t flatta ya-self with the assumption that San Fran is anywhere as good as San Anton. Secondly, ya didn’t even give meh da chance to finish. Ya didn’t even give meh da chance to finish telling ya what da plan wuz. Dare is a plan and ya got to stay calm if ya want to hear it.
Ribz licks his lips in a cocky manner and cracks his neck. This time he cracks his fingers along with his neck. He takes something out of his back pocket. It is a wallet full of cash. He brandishes it in front of Prescott whose eyes follow it like a dogs would follow bacon. Ribz drops it on the floor to which Prescott’s eyes follow too.
Ribz I came hear to put meh money down on da table. I’m gambling on meh match at the first eva VCW live show. Yeh, my first match is against Sam and Max along with dat fool Dunn; but that is allright. Two heads beta din one? Dat so? No two people always agree on da same thing all da time. Neva, eva. Dey going to disagree eventually and dat is going to cost dim. Soona or lata dat is going to cost dim.
Prescott takes a gulp and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. Ribz takes notice of how much longer it took for him to wipe his mouth than it usually would. Ribz picks up his wallet but as soon as he does that; there is two people behind him with guns to his back. Ribz smiles.
Ribz Ya didn’t even let meh tell you how I plan on dealing wit dat full Dunn. I can’t believe ya didn’t let me finish. It was actually da most important part of da explanation.
Prescott motions for Ribz to hand over his wallet. Ribz obliges without an hesitation or disobedience. Prescott opens the wallet and counts the cash. For each bill he flips through; he licks his finger. He finishes counting the money and looks satisfied with the result.
Prescott It isn’t that I don’t believe you can defeat the Siamese freaks along with Dunn but it is that I just happen to know your going to fail. Call it a hunch. I hear those two bodies are some of the most athletic that the company has. Tough luck that you get put up against them. Quite the touch of the bad luck. Sorry but your time has come.
Ribz smiles and holds out both hands seemingly pleading with Prescott to allow him to talk. Prescott rolls his eyes and then nods.
Ribz Why must ya keep interrupting meh before I get da chance to tell ya meh plan. Dare is a plan I got for ya. I have to say that ya jumping da gun by knocking meh out of da pictura so soon. I know ya don’t want to do that but with ya it is all about da price. Ya think that Sam and Max along with Dunn are going to out do meh. Think for a second my friend. Think! I aint going into dat match by meh-self. I got a partna. Meh partna actually has someding in common with ya, Prescott. That’s right; I found a partna that is almost modeled exactly afta ya. Ya should feel honored.
Prescott rolls his hands in a circular motion trying to get Ribz to hurry up.
Prescott You’re only pushing back the eventual by couple of minutes. I think you should just man up to a couple of things. Just two I should say. One, man up and admit that these two are going to outdo you in the ring. Admit that I am right for the decision that I am making. Me and you both know that you are no match for those two. Two, man up and admit that I’m going to whack you in just about a minute. Admit those two things. It will make you feel like you left this earth with some dignity.
Ribz Aw. Cum’on Prescott. I know ya plan on whacking meh pretty soon. I know that…but I will not admit my lack of confidence in meh self ova meh next match. Ya see; meh client always has that one thing that will let him know just wut da hell is on da line. Like you Prescott. Just like you. It is that one dang that lets yeh know yeh beta bust sum balls to finish ya job. I dink ya know wut da hell I’m talking abut. I guess not. Allow me to show ya and tell ya.
Ribz looks over his shoulders to see the two guys pointing their guns at him. He smiles and jumps so the left. Prescott pulls a gun out and tries to shoot him but misses and hits one of the guys. As the guy flies backwards from the shot; a car crashes through the walls burrying the other guy under ruble while the guy who got shot is hit by the windshield of the car sending him to the feet of Prescott. Ribz quickly pulls a gun from his ankle and shoots the guy as well as the hand of Prescott. Prescott screams out in agony and pain. Ribz puts the gun to his head.
Ribz Listen up, Prescott. Ya didn’t let meh finish. Da job is gunna get dun at da event against Sam and Max along with the fool Dunn. No problem that is. Keep da money I gave ya. Bet it on us. Do it…ya know why ya going to bet it on us? Do ya? The same reason dat I am going to win da match. The same reason two of ya guyz are dead. The same reason you hire me and I respond.
We focus in on Ribz’s face. His eyes piercing our selves with darkness. 13 steps out of the car from behind Ribz and watches Ribz talk to Prescott. We then focus back on Ribz’s face.
Ribz The same reason 13 is meh lucky numba. May be those two fools unlucky numba but not mine. It is da reason good thingz are gunna happen. It all goes back to dat one thing.
Ribz pops his neck. 13 almost lets out a smile after Ribz says that but fights it. His makeup is masterfully added on. It bends with his facial expressions. Back to a close up of Ribz face.
Ribz With 13; da price is always right.
Cut.
|
|
|
Post by clodious on Feb 7, 2008 23:20:09 GMT -5
It is a windless night, the sky brightly illuminated by the stars that due to the lack of electricity are allowed to fully decorate the sky. The stone streets of the kingdom of Ergos are empty for they all know that tonight is their future king’s last night. It seems as if it were only yesterday, when in fact it had already been a week that their great heir was given his great task…
The great hall is filled with townsmen, at a magnificent mahogany table that can seat as many as the eye can see. Everyone eats, drinks and gives cheers to the joyous music playing for the festivity. At the head of the table is a man with rather simplistic figures, his wrinkled skin fails to betray his age for the crown above his head reveals him as the king of Ergos. To his left sits his wife, whom at a glance anyone is capable of seeing that at a much younger age her beauty was the greatest in the kingdom. To his right his only son, Benedict, to who’s right sits the most gorgeous woman in Ergos today. The beautiful Esperanza Du Fe.
The king rises from his seat together in one motion he also rises his goblet as he says,King: To my son, the future king. May he rule as fair as I have, and let the people rejoice upon his ascension. To this the people raise their own cups and in unison yell,Towns People: May the Gods bless his rule. They wait until the king has taken a drink from his goblet and when he pulls it away from his lips as a cue the rest of the guests take a drink of their own cups. Esperanza leans into Benedict whispering into his ear.Esper: When the time comes, I will go with you. Benedict quietly replies.Ben: Not now, we will discuss this when we are alone. The king, who had not yet sat back down, signaled with a nod of his head to the musicians and the music together with the people’s voices began to die down. Once settled he spoke.King: As all of you know, my only son is to be king after my passing. But before he can take the throne, he must walk the path of trials. Only upon his return, with proof of his passing of the trials can he succeed me. My son will walk into the gate a few days from now. The king’s speech is briefly interrupted by a town’s man.Town Man: And within a day as a champion he shall emerge. A prudent smirk rearranges the king’s face as the rest of the townsfolk yell in agreement, the king acknowledges the vote of confidence towards his son and thus looks at him as he speaks.King: Have you anything to say, as you accept your challenge? Benedict rises from his seat.Ben: I do this for all of you, but above all, I do it for you. He looks directly into Esperanza’s eyes as he caresses her skin...It was a great feast that day; the great hall however, is no longer filled with a large mahogany table. Today, there are no townsmen walking, drinking or dancing. And the tapestry has been rearranged to a ritualistic blood red with the image of a large circular object at their center. Instead of the enormous table, a carpet runs down the center from the entrance to the far end of the hall. At the very center there is a gigantic circular frame which stands a top of a four step pedestal. Lined up along the carpet on both the right and left side are men dressed in robes, each holds a white candle. The king stands at the bottom of the steps with a book at hand.
The door to the great hall opens revealing Benedict dressed in a pearl white armor, a small humming from the robed men begins to fill the room while Benedict walks towards his father. As he reaches the steps he stops and the king’s voice cuts through the humming.King: Tonight, I let you go forth and face the trials that will turn you from my son into my successor. He reaches over with one hand, takes hold of Benedict’s head, and brings it towards his mouth. Benedict leans forward allowing his father to easily kiss his forehead.King: Return to me as a Victor, or do not return to me at all. Benedict faces the frame and takes the first step onto the pedestal.King: Prove your integrity. The second step.King: Prove your righteousness. The third step.King: Prove your honor. The forth step.King: Prove of justice. And as Benedict stands at the top of the pedestal directly facing the magnificent circular monument, at the very center a bright blue light begins to glow, rapidly it expands to the entire circumference of the frame. The air in the hall begins to be sucked in towards the now open portal, forcing the tapestry, and the robes to be pulled towards the gate. Benedict remains unfazed as he prepares to enter the portal.King: PROVE YOUR BIRTHRIGHT!! A loud thunder strike can be heard right above the castle’s sky as Benedict steps into the light which quickly and easily absorbs him. But suddenly, one of the robed men sprints towards the gate. All too stunned to react simply watch as the hooded individual jumps into the portal. At that very moment of entrance, as if massively overloaded, the portal’s light escapes the circumference of the frame and begins to engulf the entire room. However the wind, which up until now had been going into the portal, takes a radical turn and violently blows in the opposite direction throwing everything in the room in every direction away from the gate. When the lighting finally subdues, the circular frame stands there, cracked and discolored, its fascinating azure blue had now turned into a degraded onyx black. (o) (o) (o) The continuum can be a fascinating place of existence, the problem, is that only those that understand what is happening to them posses the ability to appreciate its beauty. Benedict did not understand what was happening, and therefore he was more concern with learning of this new sensation that actually appreciating it. Passing through the continuum is no more than a brief second, even if it does feel eternal, thus why very little time is given to think about what is happening before you emerge on the other end.
In the middle of a backstage area, wind begins to blow the staff walking around, papers fly off desks as the portal begins to open. Rapidly and very awkwardly Benedict is ejected from this blue light which materialized in the middle of a backstage hallway. He raises to his feet, but no sooner does he rise than another portal opens right behind him, a hooded man is ejected, as the individual tumbles on the floor his hood falls back revealing a face of immediate recognition.Ben: Esper?! He runs towards her as she also begins to get to her feet.Ben: You shouldn’t have done this?! Esper: I will aid you in your trials; no longer shall we be separated. Not even in death. Benedict stares into her eyes witnessing the passion behind her words.Esper: There is nothing you can say or do, that will make me return to Ergos, I am here for you. Ben: Esper… He only whispers the words as he notices that her attention has already switched to something of slightly more importance. He looks behind him where a poster, barely hanging after the gusts displays a list of names.Esper: This must be the place. Ben: The place? Esper: For your trial, look. She rips the paper from the wall and points out to Benedict some of the written words.Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match Esper: This is a tournament. Surely you can gain prove of your accomplishment here. A staff member passes by next to the two, he looks at Benedict who still wears his pearl white armor.Staff: Who the hell are you? As if out of simple instincts Esperanza automatically replies.Esper: Be careful how you refer to the future king. Staff: Him? A king? Well you’re in the right place, for all your crazy mumbojumbo. Ben: I beg your pardon on behalf of her, but if you may answer a question for me. Staff: Go ahead. Ben: Who is the headmaster in charge of this? Benedict rises the poster into view.Staff: Oh, the General Manager, his office is right down the hall. Second door to the right. Ben: Thank you, kindly. Staff: No prob. The staff parts with the both as they turn the opposite direction in search of the General Manager’s office.Esper: You should not let anyone speak to you in such manner Benedict. You are to be the future king, you must impose your strength on all who you intend to rule. Walking slightly behind her, Benedict’s eyes show the pity he possesses for his future wife.Ben: Part of the trial is to show, justice, honor, righteousness and integrity. Sometimes we must forfeit our heritage in order to do something more grandeur. Esper: That must be Clodious’ teachings speaking through you. You are so much more my love, and I will help you achieve it. They arrive at the door labeled General Manager, Esper without a knock simply opens the door, Craig Christ sits at his desk. As the door suddenly opens he looks up from the papers lying before him.Christ: Who the hell are you? To this Esperanza seems to take offense and begins to charge into the room, but Benedict reaches for her hand and squeezes it. She stops but her stare remains directly at the GM. Benedict walks up to the desk and places the poster on top.Ben: I am here for this tournament. Christ looks up at Benedict and back down to the poster, he does so a few times before replying.Christ: Sorry, we’re booked; the schedule has already been made. Besides I don’t even know who you are. You can’t just walk in here and get a contract. And what’s with the armor. We don’t do sword fighting here. Ben: I don’t understand, I am supposed to be here for my trials. To gain prove of my success. Christ: Look. Esper: No, you listen. This is Benedict Victor, the great prince of Ergos. You will address him as such. Your warriors would be fortunate to do battle against his excellence. You will place him in this tournament. Now! The GM looks at Esperanza a bit surprised, angry and intrigued by her determination.Christ: Nice story, I guess that’s what the armor’s for? Does she always carry your balls for you? Ben: My future wife is only trying to be protective of me. Christ: Future wife eh? Say no more. Well I tell you what; I was going to leave one of my wrestlers out of the card tonight. But since you’re here, I’ll give you a try out match, if you perform good I’ll give you a contract and you can advance to the next round for the championship. You fail… Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Esper: You should let your warrior know that he does not stand a chance. Christ: Yeah, everyone says that. Head to the general locker room, and change into something more flexible. Ben: So this will be more of a physical contest. Christ: A test of you athleticism if you wish. Both Esperanza and Benedict exit the locker room. (o) (o) (o) Benedict begins to remove his armor in the mean time Esperanza searches the lockers for an outfit for her fiancé to wear. Just as he finishes removing the chin guards Esperanza turns around with a pair of white underwear.Esper: Perfect. Benedict finishes removing the rest of his armor and puts on the tights, elbow and knee pads, together with low cut wrestling boots. His attire is white and red, Esperanza stands before him adjusting his pads, when he makes a sudden observation.Ben: There is a drawing on these. He tries to catch a glimpse of the image imprinted on the rear of the underwear but Esperanza stands on his way. All he manages to see is a red shape similar to a wing.Esper: It’s the phoenix. Benedict abruptly pulls back his arm from Esperanza’s hands, she stares at him.Ben: Find something else for me to wear. Esper: My love… She places a hand on his chest, gently caressing it.Esper: You did what you had to, if not for his heart. I would be dead. Ben: The gods will not take this lightly. What I did was one thing, but to bear his mark is a grain of salt on an open wound. Esper: You took his heart, his title belongs to you. Ben: So what? She reaches for his arm and he lets her continue readjusting his pads.Esper: Abandon your family name while you are here, be what we are now. Ben: My family name? I love you Esper, but at times you ask too much. Esper: While here you don’t have to be a Victor. Be a Phoenix, rise as you raised me from my eternal slumber. Esperanza places her hand on Benedict’s face she tips on her toes as he leans down and they gently kiss. As the fire between the two slowly dies down, Benedict pulls back still staring into her eyes.Ben: Then no longer Benedict Victor, until my return to Ergos I shall be, Benedict Phoenix. Esperanza smirks before Benedict’s eyes, which simply stare straight into hers.
|
|
|
Post by kennithnoisewater on Feb 8, 2008 2:57:31 GMT -5
Generic television newscast music is heard through the televisions sets of thousands of people across the greater San Diego area. Voice: Welcome San Diego to the Channel 6 news. I am your host Ron Kingston. Ron: On campus at the San Diego State University, a man was viciously attacked by a rabid dog. Eye-witnesses say that the man was eating beef jerky, and that the dog came out of nowhere and started biting the man. It took five people and a stick to get the dog off of the man. The man is now at the hospital and is in critical condition. HA. Someone forgot to give Rover is Purina today. In other news a sail boat was hit by a massive wave off of the coast. There were no survivors. HA. And they say I’m washed up As you all know, yesterday was California’s Primary. The voter turnout was expected to be somewhere between 20 and 40%, but on the day of the primary it was much less than expected at a disappointing 14 ½ perce…(whispers to the director) Bill. Bill! How did we get a half percent? What kind of freaky ass people do we have in this state? (clears his throat) Excuse me… but on the day of the primary it was much less than expected at a disappointing 14 ½ %. The results saw Republican John McCain continuing his campaign with a win here. On the Democratic side of things, Hilary Clinton cried, therefore she won… again. We will be right back after this commercial break with Emmy nominated reporter Kenneth Noisewater, in his newest project which takes you inside the world of professional wrestling. We are calling it… Behind the Curtain: Professional Wrestling’s Dark Secrets Ron: Welcome back San Diego. Here with me now is Emmy nominated reporter Kenneth Noisewater. Kenneth. Ken: Hello Ron. Ron: Why don’t you tell us a little bit about this new project you are taking part of. Ken: Well Ron, the world of pro wrestling is one that is very secretive, and not much is known about the performers other than what we see on television. I am here to give everyone an inside look at this. Ron: That is where it gets interesting. Go into further detail with the people as to what you are doing. Ken: Well Ron, in order for me to get as close to the action as possible, I have to be in the middle of the action. Ron: What do you mean by that? Ken: It’s very simple. In order to give everyone personal and as close of a look to this business as they want. I had to become a part of it. I’m disguising myself in the upstart promotion VCW that’s Vendetta Championship Wrestling as none other than a wrestler. I have my own character, my own move set, and my own finishing move. And I know what you’re wondering. The camera’s will blow my cover. Wrong. All the channel 6 camera’s that will be following me around are all made to look like VCW property. Ron: Genius, pure genius. I’m pretty sure that its not legal, but its still smart. Ken: That’s the beauty of it Ron. VCW has pre approved all of this upon signing me. Everything we are doing is all in a contract. Ron: Amazing. Ken: So I guess that it’s about time we get to the first part of Behind the Curtain: Professional Wrestling’s Dark Secrets. Take a look. The intro begins as footage from various different wrestling promotions shows while “ “You’re The Best” by Joe Esposito plays over it. Behind the Curtain: Professional Wrestling’s Dark Secrets The scene opens up focusing on a man’s feet walking. The camera zooms out revealing Kenneth Noisewater walking down the street the camera focuses on Kenneth while flashing back to various footage of wrestling. Ken the narrator speaks. Professional wrestling is a business with many characters. Some more real than others. Some the product of a great imagination, some a branch off of ones personality. What I am setting out to do is find out where the character ends, and where the person begins. What goes on backstage when the camera’s are off? And what are the people that so many of us look up to like when no one is around. To do so I must become the exact thing I am so curious about, a professional wrestler. I will train, I will fight, I will trash talk, I may even bleed. Throughout its history, pro wrestling has been tainted by accusations of pill popping, alcohol abuse, and of course steroids. I’m here to uncover the truth, and maybe to have some fun along the way. It will be a long journey, one of pain, and suffering, and hopefully one of success. Welcome to the crazy world of professional wrestling. The camera continues to follow Kenneth as he walks to his destination. He walks Through a door, and the camera pans upward and reveals that Kenneth has just walked into the FMW PowerPlant. The scene changes and shows Ken in the ring being held in a headlock by FMW PowerPlant’s head trainer Nick Bryson. Nick than throws Ken into the ropes and hits him with a vicious clothesline. The voice over continues while footage of Ken training with Nick plays. I played football in high school, I was on the amateur wrestling team, I even studied the martial art Jeet Kun Do, but I didn’t even come close to taking as much punishment in those sports as I did in my first week for training. The bumps take a lot out of your back at first, and after you bounce off those ropes so many times, you get rope burn. If you’ve ever slid down a rope and burn your hands, its kind of like that, but on your back. It is one of the most tiring workouts I have ever been a part of, and I am not a lazy out of shape person. But after I got out of that first week, after I learned the basics, there was no going back. The scene changes as we see Nick Bryson sitting with Ken talking about Ken’s new found ability. Nick: Ken is a very talented individual with an amazing upside. In his first few weeks of training he has surpassed all of my expectations. He has a lot of agility, and a lot of speed, and strength. All key elements of any professional wrestler. He has a huge upside and a great future ahead of him in VCW. He came in here with a purpose, just as he is coming in to VCW with a purpose and that is to be the best wrestler that he can possibly be. And I believe he can do it, its only a matter of time, and patience. The camera fades out on Nick Bryson’s image and comes back in at the VCW arena where Kenneth Nosewater speaks to the camera. Ken: Here I am outside the VCW arena, we’re waiting right now for the first VCW card ever to go up. To my understanding there will be some sort of tournament to crown VCW’s first ever heavyweight champion. I will most likely be in this tournament because I was one of the first people to sign up, and I have been doing a lot of trash talking. Trash talking is the art of verbally abusing someone in order to provoke. It is done in the wrestling world to help get peoples attention and get you noticed. Though the character I will be portraying inside the locker room and in the ring does not begin the verbal abuse, but reacts to it. That is because I will be portraying a face character a.k.a. the “good guy”. Meaning I want the crowd to cheer for me, instead of boo me. This is the easiest part of what I’m doing here, the hard part is will I be able to keep a straight face when all of these guys with there crazy looking costumes start verbally attacking me. It will most definably be interesting. Now our team has set up camera’s in the locker room, where most of the talking goes on. Which is where you will get all of the inside scoops as to what goes on. Right now I have to get myself in to character. In VCW I call myself “Magnum”. I am a very laid back, “chilled out” type, but will still lose his temper when provoked. Gold. Lets go in and see how things fair, and lets see if that first card is up yet. The scene switches to inside the locker room. We see Kenneth sitting in a chair as different wrestlers walk around in the room, the camera does not pick up sound so a voice over is played throughout the video. The locker room is a very intimidating place. It’s hard to keep your composure when there are five different behemoths standing over you trying to pick a fight. Especially in an upstart promotion like VCW, everyone is trying to get a spot at the top. There are no main guys, no main eveners, no jobbers a.k.a. the guys on TV who don’t have entrance music. Me I sit, listen, and observe as much as possible so I can see what these men are really like. And what they do for fun. I’ll find out how these people really are, nothing but a bunch of drug fiends, and pill poppers, and I’m going to expose it. But for now, I’ll sit, and wait to make my move. And this is where things get kind of ugly. The screen shows a tall figure in a dark jumpsuit wearing a mask, the camera shows Kenneth speaking to the figure but no sound is heard. Right here is where the first bit of trash talking went on. As you can see things were getting pretty heated in the exchange and we almost came to blows. I’m really glad we didn’t though because quite frankly… that man scares the hell out of me. You see in his character, he claims to be trying to get to heaven to take the place of God… and he would make for a very intimidating opponent. Then there is this other guy, who thinks Dungeon and Dragons is real life, and no one can snap him out of it. These guys are quite different, and it amazes me the kind of imagination that they put into all of this. It makes my job very interesting, and dangerous at the same time. The camera shows Kenneth getting up and going off camera for a few seconds. He grabs a piece of paper and the camera fades out. Back in with Kenneth driving talking about the piece of paper. Ken: On this piece of paper is the first card to ever take place at VCW. I have the honor of being in the first match ever. It will be in a…what is it called? Ah yes, a fatal five way match pitting me against iSav, Captain Courage, Adam Wylde, and Deacon King. I don’t know any of these guys, for I have never talked to them. Hopefully after the match we can sit down and get some food or something. Right now I’m on my way back to the arena, I have to cut a promo for the camera guy there to show before the match. I’m nervous but excited at the same time. Nervous because I’ve never done this before, and excited because… well I’ve never done this before. As for the match… I’m not too sure how I will fair, hopefully I can pick up the win. I know I was trained good enough, and I know I have the skill, but the question is. How much more skill do they have than me? Really, what I’ve learned in my first few weeks here, is that one, you never turn your back because you never know who will be there to stab it. And two which goes along with one, don’t trust anybody. I’ve heard that before I started, but in my first week I found it to be completely true. It’s kind of sad actually. No one here is really anyone’s friend, we’re all enemies, and right now we all have the same goal. World Heavyweight champion, hmm maybe I’ll use that in the promo. As for my match though. If I win, then I continue on, if I lose, well I’m kind of curious myself what will happen. Alright its time for me to go in there and promo. I’ve got camera men set up in there to catch all of it. The scene fades as Kenneth walks into the arena. In the arena we see Kenneth in front of a big VCW backdrop. Director: Ok who are you now? Ken: I’m Magnum. Director: Magnum? Ken: Yes Director: Ok… Magnum, get on your mark right there and wait for my queue. Ken: No problem Director: Ready! In five, four, three, … … Ken: Well here we are, VCW Live. Very last episode…shit! C… Can I try that again? Director: Lets go man you’re supposed to be a professional, we don’t have all day, and I have a lot more guys to do… Ken: Wait… you have… a lot of guys… to… do? Director: Shut the fuck up man you know what I mean, now can we get this thing done already? Ken: Yeah lets do it. Director: Ok. Ready! In five, four, three, … … Ken: Finally! The time has come. VCW’s very first episode of VCW Live. And what is in store for you tonight? Something that I Magnum call the Tournament of Champions. 23 men, 23 matches, one goal. That goal is to be the best of the best of the best, to be THE VCW Heavyweight Champion. And when I go out there tonight, I’m going to make damn sure that I walk out going into round two. And from there to three, from three to four, all the way up until my name is announced as the new… VCW Heavyweight Champion. If you SMEEEEEELL WHAT TH… sorry, I got carried away at that last part, we can edit it out right? Director: Douche bag, yeah we can edit that out, just stand there, breath heavy, and uhh… flex or something. Ken: Ok. The scene fades out showing “Magnum” flexing for the camera’s. And Kenneth says his last words via voiceover. So my first promo didn’t really go that smoothly. I imitated a wrestler from the past, and I messed up a little. I don’t think it’ll hurt me that much though. We’ll see when we talk next week on. Behind the Curtain: Professional Wrestling’s Dark Secrets. Back in the news room Ron: That was some impressive training you were going through there. It looked very difficult. Ken: Yeah Ron, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. Ron: Well Kenneth, when is the first match? Ken: The first match is coming up in about three days or so. So I’m starting to get a bit nervous. Ron: Well you have everyone here rooting for you. Just…don’t die ok? Ken: Thanks for the support. Ron: Well we’ll be back next week with more from between the ropes as we continue to bring you Behind the Curtain: Professional Wrestling’s Dark Secrets. We’ll be right back after these commercials. Someone get me some scotch!!!
|
|
Adam Wylde
Developmental Talent
You know that guy that can pick up any girl in the bar? Well, I'm him. On speed.
Posts: 16
|
Post by Adam Wylde on Feb 8, 2008 7:07:01 GMT -5
Coming back from commercial the camera stays black… words are spoken.
Voice: They told me there was nothing. That there was nothing to fear. I have spent far too long looking for it ever since. I have traveled the world in search of it. I have searched in all the shadows and around every corner. There is something out there in the darkness, something absolutely terrifying, something that will not stop until it gets its vengeance...
Broken glass litters the floor from where vandals have smashed out windows. The pale moonlight shines through the windows onto the floors and walls to reveal years of neglect. Outside the building, huddled around an old hole-rittled barrel, a group of three homeless men are seen trying to keep warm on the cool spring night. Across the alley lays other homeless man, passed out from a night of drinking, his empty bottle lies on the ground beside him. Inside the old warehouse, holes have been punched in the walls and floors by vandals and time itself. A rat runs along a board that has been laid down over a hole in the floor. The camera looks down through the hole to reveal the level thirty feet below. Looking back up, the camera catches a glimpse of a spider web through the moonlight, it screeches as it flies through one of the broken windows and into the night. The camera pans to the right; passing the smashed out windows to show Adam Wylde sitting down at a table. A single overhead light shines down on him, creating an eerier feel to the already ominous warehouse.
In the middle of the table sits a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels and a single glass. Wylde takes a long drag on his cigarette and exhales the smoke slowly from his nostrils. The smoke billows up through the light and into the darkness above.
You have traveled the world, but now, you must travel inward. This shining city built of gold is a far cry from innocence. There is more than meets the eye around here. Nothing is really as it seems. What you believe you fear is actually an illusion. You must journey inward to what you really fear. Inside of you, inside of your own head, it’s a dwelling place for demons. It’s inside of you. There is no turning back. You must search deep inside of your mind for what you truly fear in life. You will quickly learn that your training is nothing but that the will is everything. People will be jealous of your ability to act. Jealousy is an ugly word but you don’t seem to care. They converse behind your back but now you are here. You must look within if you wish to rise above them. Are you ready to begin?
You have to become more than a man in the mind of your opponents. You have to become their nightmare. The way your life turned out is not your parent’s fault. It was yours!
Wylde: They treated me like shit. My father beat the tar out of me every time I turned around!
Wylde takes a shot of the Jack sitting on the table, shaking his head as it burns its way down his throat.
That does not change the fact that you failed to act.
Wylde: There was nothing that I could do!
Would that have stopped you now?
Wylde: I’ve had training.
The training is nothing. The will is everything. Training or not, you failed to act. You must have the will to act. Without it you are nothing. If you’re lying with your back on the mat and one of those losers that you have to fight against is about to pin you, all the training in the world won’t save you.
Wylde: Then what can?
Wylde begins to study the bottle of Jack closely. He studies the way that the liquid moves in the bottle as it is tilted and swirled around. As he studies the alcohol filled glass bottle, a noticeable rage is building in his eyes.
The will to act. If you admit defeat then you are a coward. You must have the will to continue on even if the odds are stacked against you. Let me ask you this. I can see it in your eyes that there are very few people that you trust in this world. There is one question that still plagues me, and really, I should know the answers, considering I’m the voice in your head, why the big tattoo of a spider across your back?
Wylde: Because spiders frighten me.
But WHY?
Wylde: It is time that my enemies shared my dread.
Exactly! There is the will. You could be standing back doing nothing but you have taken it upon yourself to strike fear into the hearts of your opponents. The spider has become the symbol that will consume the thoughts of your opponents. People need dramatic examples to shake them.
Wylde: Things won’t get much more dramatic than the way in which I deal with my opponents in VCW. The entire roster will feel my presence. As a man… a man of flesh and blood I can be ignored… but as a symbol I am immortal. I can be everlasting. Something eternal. Something terrifying. They should run from us before we tear them down. My opponents have chosen the wrong side. We will not help them. We will let them rot away. Run towards the light, my little cowards. Run towards the light, exposing your souls. I can’t trust anyone, witness and see it in my eyes. I understand now what drives these cowards to the path that they have chosen. It is sorrow, sorrow that feeds their lies. Their salvation is dying.
That’s exactly what I am talking about. You must learn to rise above the flesh and blood. You must enter the minds and memories of the people. The symbol of the spider must be permanently etched into their minds. He who makes a beast out of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.
With that the light above Wylde shuts off and the room is dark.
Again there is no sound, no movement.
Out of the darkness we hear a voice.
Voice: They told me there was nothing. That there was nothing to fear. I have spent far too long looking for it ever since. I have traveled the world in search of it. I have searched in all the shadows and around every corner. There is something out there in the darkness, something absolutely terrifying, something that will not stop until it gets its vengeance... That something… is me!
KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!
|
|
cc
Developmental Talent
Posts: 37
|
Post by cc on Feb 9, 2008 13:53:45 GMT -5
The Start Of A Super Hero's Journey The scene opens up in what looks like a basement but their is a banner on the wall saying 'The Justice Cave' on it. In the middle of the room stands Captain Courage, he seems to be talking to a sock puppet.Courage: You'll never guess what Mighty Sock, I got my very first match on VCW! Sock: Thats great Courage but do you even know how to wrestle? Courage: At first no but with my ultra-fast learning power I managed to learn enough to get me by. Sock: Tell me the story again of how you got your super duper powers! Courage: OK, it all started out when I was driving home from work. The roads where icy so I slipped off the road and hit a tree. Now to a normal man, that crash would have killed him but to me, it gave me super powers. Most people dont believe me but I can do anything I want and we all know that with great power comes great responsibility. Courage strikes a heroic pose as he says the last sentence.Sock: Isn't that from Spider Man? Courage: Of course not Mighty Sock, you of all people know that I come up with original lines. Hell do you hear anybody say 'Its Clobbering Time!' or 'Hulk Smash!' Sock: But.... Courage: No need to congratulate me, I already know I'm a genius. Now where was I? Oh yes, well after I got my super powers I decided that I would come a super hero, so I did. Shortly after that I made the Justice Cave.... Sock: Its the basement of your house. Courage: Nonsense, I made this place entirely out of diamonds. Then I decided that I needed a side kick, after hours of hard work I created you, yes the all powerful Mighty Sock. Sadly you do have some flaws, like how you think that this place is not made out of diamond but oh well not everything is perfect like me. Sock: Now that story is over, aren't you meant to be fighting super villains instead of wrestling. Courage: Thats where your wrong Sock, you see that world of wrestling is full of super villains and they must be stopped. Before you ask I found this out by going onto my super computer. From there I used my villain database which I like to call Google and found loads of villains that are in the wrestling world. Eventually I found the location of VCW and decided that it was the first place to be struck down by the fist of justice. Sock: You mean you used the internet to find out about wrestling? Courage: How did you guess that I called it that, you must have been using my super computer without my permission again. Sock: Everyone has one. Courage: I'm sure they wish they did but I'm the only one who owns a computer, mainly because I invented it. Now enough talking we need to prepare for my first match. Sock: Who are you facing? Courage: Oh just a fatal fiveway against iSav, Adam Wylde, Kennith Noisewater and Deacon King. You know one of them....whats the word, oh yeah I remember its called a squash match. Sock: Oh I'm sure your right, either way you need to start preparing yourself. A fiveway isn't easy to win so you need to train and train hard. Courage: What? You need to stay of whatever drugs you are taking. You are obviously forgetting that I am a super hero and not just any super hero, I am..... Captain Courage! Captain Courage strikes a pose as the screen fades black and Sock shakes his sock like head
|
|
Exodus
Lower Midcarder
A mystery wrapped within an enigma
Posts: 112
|
Post by Exodus on Feb 11, 2008 0:35:33 GMT -5
Like the coldest winter chill Heaven beside you... hell within – Alice In Chains And so I fear that Heaven is no longer beside me. Entry Number One – The BeginningEons ago, before this Fourth World was truly formed; there sat the Third World, the Third attempt at Creation by the God now and always called Jehovah. The Third World was a world based on a less strict set of basic laws and stipulations, a world that allowed the mortal citizens the chance to do so much more with their feeble frames. However, it all went wrong. With the less strict guidelines standing over these worlds, the people in the Third World evolved far too quickly, far quick then any of the previous two lands of Creation. It came to a point where the peons of the Third World not only had forsaken God but they began to challenge Him. If one thing is ever to be taken out of history it is this; God is not the loving deity preached by so many misguided fools but a vengeful being of Wrath and Fury. Thus, He created a new being out of Himself, a being with infinite power, to protect the Heavens from this Third World. He gave birth to Exodus. Exodus blindly embraced his role as God’s living wrath; he was simply content to serve in punishing these beings that have evolved too far as to challenge the might of Heaven. The anger of me, the cries of women, the confusion of children; none of those factored into his actions. All he did was guided by one simple truth. God was never wrong. The Divine was infallible and would forever be infallible, an assumption on which all other facts are based in the universe are based. God commanded that Exodus eliminate this Earth so that Creation may start again with a Fourth World, a world where the people would be more strictly guarded from advancing too far without the guiding hand of the Father. And so, just as commanded, Exodus came down upon the world and did battle with these beings of seemingly infinite ability, the beings that seem to be the perfection of what modern people could become. They were defeated soundly. Some of the beings were able to flee into the deepest crevices in the Heaven, some fled to the shattered remains of the Second World, the world that has come to be known as the darkest corners of Hell; a world that’s only surviving fractions rest at the bottom of the eternal lake of fire. However, most were slain and the Third World was tucked away from all sight of the Divine in Heaven as a Fourth World was crafted. As this Fourth World was crafted, God still assumed that the beings of the Third World were all deceased and their spirits tucked away with the remains of their world so Exodus was free from his divine task, free to live an immortal life in Heaven. Exodus; so named due to the fact his duty was to begin the journey, or exodus, of the divine from the Third World to the Fourth; began to study deeply within all realms in Heaven, his thirst for knowledge was eternal. Like all beings, he knew that he came from God, he was actually ripped right out of the side of the Divine, but he had a larger and more pressing question. Where did God come from? Before the Third World, there had been obviously two before. The First World was the beginning of God’s reign, He created this First World to experience love and oh how did He experience it. God loved this world and everything about it. As the world progressed, it began to gain sentience itself and slowly; the entire world took shape as the Father’s true Son, Christ. The Second World was an attempt by the Father to give His Son the responsibility of running a world, of crafting life. However, something went wrong; horribly wrong. The Second World is only spoken of in Heaven in a hushed whisper; the only being to have ever uttered it in any form was Lucifer when he cursed God for casting him into the remains of this Second World, the remains that would become known as Hell. But what came before? Where did God come from to create this First World? This is a question Exodus could not seem to allow to escape his mind, he thought about it at all times while the Fourth World was being constructed by the Hosts of Heaven. However, once the new world was finished, there was once again a need for Exodus for; not even a decade could pass without Sin rearing its dark head upon the Earth. Sin was unheard on the First World; it was rare on the Third World. However, it was the Second World that introduced it to Creation, the Second World that allowed the plague to escape free. When Lucifer was cast out by God in the early times of the Fourth World towards the remains of the Second World; a move that to many in Heaven proved that this world was something different, something important; Sin was released. Sin had festered during the entire existence of the Third World and was now ready to annihilate humanity to strike back at the God who despised it. Sin consumed the first inhabitants of the this Earth, it devoured Adam and his bride Eve alive; causing the couple to be cast out the Garden of Eden, the epitome of perfection in this world full of flaws. And it was this introduction of Sin into the world that caused the rebirth of Exodus, caused him to be called upon once again by the Almighty. Man was too easily swayed by Sin and thus the Father needed a way to strike at them for their failures as a race. Exodus committed atrocity after atrocity as Wrath, all done in the name of God. He burned Sodom and Gomorrah to the Earth; he slaughtered the first born of Egypt. Exodus struck the rain clouds with his blade and caused forty days and nights of rain; he toppled the Tower of Babel to the ground with a blow of his mighty breath. However, he knew in his heart something was still wrong. While the Third World was tucked away, the inhabitants that once lived upon it that escaped soon began to flood into the Fourth World, calling themselves gods and goddesses. They each seemed to migrate to different regions of the Earth and developed cult following among the local denizens. Exodus was once again called forth to annihilate these tribes of Third World “gods” to finally purify the Fourth World of this plague that seemed to invalidate the true God by its mere existence. And so it began, Exodus hunted down and annihilated each of these beings; these supposed gods all fell upon his blade. Zeus, Osiris, Vishnu, Odin; none stood a chance when the Wrath arrived to take them down once and for all. However, during this time, something weird happened; something Exodus could never understand and something that began his eventual decline into decadence and madness. The Father gave His only Son to these accursed people. When Christ was sacrificed on the cross, a new covenant was born with the people of Earth between God and His children, a new understanding forged. This new understanding gave Exodus no place in this world; the pagan gods were dead and the Father no longer needed a spirit of Wrath to strike upon the sinners for Christ, the fabled First World, had laid the seeds for the death of Sin upon His time on Earth. Exodus was no longer needed and thus was retired into the crevices of Hell once held by those with rebellious attitudes against God and His court so that the tempting nature to use the Spirit of Wrath would never cross the mind of the Almighty. It was here that Exodus began to go mad. When the angels of the Morningstar were cast out of Heaven, much of their writings and beliefs were cast out with them, removed before it could spread into the immortal beings still residing in Heaven. However, some literature still existed and it was all that was there for Exodus to read, to spend his time with. The entire world was passing underneath him and all he could do was read and digest this material that seemed so foreign but truly struck him as right. Finally, Exodus became sick of his unspoken expulsion from the court of God and he ventured back and stood against the Almighty. Exodus demanded to be given equal rights as a part of God, the wrathful side who needed to strike against the unrighteous. His greatest crime, however, was demanding equal responsibility in the Creation of Christ as Exodus was a part of God at the time of the First World. The Hosts of Heaven were not pleased with Exodus’s outburst and he was subdued before he could strike at the Almighty by the armies of angels and spirits of men. A military tribunal was held to determine the fate of Exodus; his future was in their hands. Destruction was not a possibility as he was immortal due to his nature as a former part of God. Instead, he was sentenced to spend eternity wandering the Fourth World, forced to watch as the people of Earth evolved closer to God while he would be pushed only farther away. Heaven would not have him, Hell would never house him. Exodus would be the only being in the universe who is truly alone. Exodus was given flesh and cast to Earth is a fiery ball, he fell harder then even the Morningstar before him for at least Lucifer knew he had a place to rest in Hell. Exodus would instead wander the world simply because he dared question what should never be questioned; he dared search for knowledge in a realm where knowledge was dangerous. As he was shoved from the Golden Gates towards Earth, he had only a few words for his former companions…[/i] Exodus:[/color] So may I fall but I shall return in glory, I shall return with infinite power. And like the time of nothingness we all fear to speak of, I shall usurp the power of He who rules all and become the new Master of Creation! The greatest secret of Creation had escaped Exodus’s newly formed lips, the truth behind the Time Before. And so began the story of the Wrath, the story of a piece of God who is forced to wander among men. Fear him because, at least in some part of him, your Lord…----- [/center][/color] The chapter of Exodus’s story on this world pertinent to this current time and place, his venture through Vendetta Championship Wrestling, begins in with Exodus standing in a place familiar to all in this particular institution; the wrestling ring. Affectionately called the “squared circle” by those who love and follow the sport, this ring was where the varied group of men signed to the VCW shall stand tall and proud in combat with each other, battling for dominance. His face is covered with his hair.Exodus:[/color] And so it begins, my final ascent to the Heavens begins in this place. I have traveled the Earth and looked for my purpose here, why the Almighty felt the burning need to cast me out of the sky and down to this Earth, this Earth that burns with Sin! Exodus:[/color] Sin is the eternal factor in my pursuit; Sin is the beast who caused me to stand here today. For you see, God has been infected with Sin, He has become corrupted by the darkness brought back to the Heavens by His Son when He walked this Earth like I do now. Unlike the Son, however, I shall be man enough to topple the Father for my Master shall not let me fail, he will not let me fall again! Exodus drops to one knee and stares at the mat underneath him. The camera is focused on the back of his head, a head covered with long hair. It is seen he is focusing on his mask on the mat.Exodus:[/color] My Master is all I have now, he is the only being in this world that recognizes my strength and is willing to give me the means to tunnel this strength into conquering the Divine. My Master demanded I take part in this legalized combat in order to gain the title, whatever that may mean. I admit I am not in love with this idea but I shall fight because it is what he has demanded of me. Exodus picks up his mask and examines it.Exodus:[/color] Black and white, the true definition of this world. So many thinkers try to write off the world as a series of shades of grey but that is simply a cop out so that they may commit atrocious acts full of Sin without feeling the guilt they should. One is either full of Sin, like God has become, or pure like myself. Yes, I am pure and uninfected by Sin; one of the few in this world. Like the white on this mask is the combination of all colors in the spectrum, I am the combination of all histories of Creation. I am the First World’s purity, the Second World’s unpredictability, the Third World’s unadulterated power, and now the Fourth World’s blessing. Yes, the Fourth World has been particularly blessed by the God I hate; He even gave His Son to them. HE GAVE THEM HIS SON TO DIE AND SOME STILL DARE DENY HIS EXISTENCE! Exodus rises to his feet and rolls his neck in preparation for the war to come and to call his nerves.Exodus:[/color] God created these beings as imperfect in order to allow Him to feel powerful again after His failures on the Third World and that imperfection shall be their downfall. I see every flaw in their system, every gap in their defenses. My purity in this world of darkness allows me advantages most of them have never stood against. Tonight’s opponent is no different then any in his species. He craves perfection, perfection denied by his biology. He craves victory over all due to the basic need for competition engrained into his DNA. God created man with a need to do battle simply to keep them busy and to keep their minds off the imperfections in the world so that they will still blindly follow His hindered leadership. Exodus pulls open his mask and looks into the darkness within it.Exodus:[/color] Most importantly, my opponent possesses the eternal need to differentiate himself from all others. By calling himself “The Radical,” the man called by such a simple and common name as Chris attempts to place himself in a category outside of the rest of mankind. He tries to make himself seem better, more important. However, a simple truth permeates through it all… He is not. Chris is no different then the thousands I have already encountered in my time on this Earth and the thousands more I shall still encounter until I rage into Heaven with righteous fury. He is a being made of flesh, bone, and tissue; all of which are easily destroyed. His mind cannot grasp what I am, what I mean to be. I am the future God of Creation and if a meaningless fleshy being must be dropped for it to happen, so be it. Exodus finally slides the mask over his face and takes a deep breath. The camera swings around to finally show his front side, his mask and jumpsuit covering all distinct aspects of his appearance. Exodus:[/color] And so it begins, the cycle of combat between the mortal and the immortal starts all over again, man once again locked in combat with what gave him life. Chris Austen, I do not fear you nor do I loathe you. I have not the time for that. I feel nothing for you… Making it so much easier for me to destroy you. Darkness fills line of sight just like it has filled this tortured soul…
|
|
RaTo
Developmental Talent
Posts: 40
|
Post by RaTo on Feb 11, 2008 16:52:56 GMT -5
The shot opens in front of the Staple Center, early in the morning. The site is completely deserted, with the exception of one man, who stands in front of the arena, staring at the entrance.Man: So this is the spot… The man wears a black and white striped t-shirt and carries a gym bag over his left shoulder. The camera zooms in on the bag allowing us to see the number 44 printed on it. Looking down from the building, the man sighs and drops the bag on the floor. The camera focuses on the back of his shirt, where it can be read:Gregory Best
Number 44 Gregory: How the bloody hell did I get in on this mess? Still focusing on the number 44, the camera slowly starts to fade away.The Best Chronicles
Number One
The Starting Whistle Three days ago…The shot returns, now displaying a small soccer field, with poorly treated grass and no stands. The few fans that stand silently watching the game are leaning against the small rail that separates them from the field. Despite the lack of enthusiasm from the crowd the players are giving it their all inside the field, whether they wear black and white striped shirts or entirely blue uniforms. Voice: CAMON GUYS!!! Well what a surprise, it appears that not everyone is dulled up by this game! In fact, a small group of men, every single one of them shirtless and wearing black face paint, stands out from the rest of the crowd by cheering and encouraging the players. Leading these men is a skinny blond fellow, who waves a flag with his right hand and holds a beer can with the other.Gregory Best: LET’S GO, NOTTS!! Meanwhile inside the green rectangle, a missed pass on the midfield allows number 7 of the striped squad, Jay Smith, to get the ball and run with it through the left flank. With a precision cross using his left foot he manages to place the ball for a perfect header by number 9, team captain Jason Lee. As the ball touches the net of the goal, the previously mentioned group of fans becomes ecstatic, celebrating effusively their team’s success. The camera focuses on the badge on Number 9’s chest as he approaches the sideline to celebrate with the crowd.Still filming the symbol, the shot fades away only to return moments later, this time at a crowded bar. There, the group of Notts County supporters drink themselves stupid, after another victory by their club. Everyone’s eyes are set on the blond fellow, Gregory Best, as he talks with his eyes closed, in an effort to remember something.Gregory Best: Albert Fisher… Tom Harris… Tom Featherstone… and finally… ugh… Edwin Browne! The group cheers and chugs down another round of beers. Gregory smiles to himself, proud of his knowledge in Notts County trivia.Gregory Best: And there you have it! All of Notts County’s coaches chronologically ordered from last to first! Now, I was promised a beer for this amazing feat, so where the bloody hell is it?! The rest of the men cheer once again, one of them signalizing for the waiter to bring another round. Perhaps these blokes have had too much though… Gregory himself is starting to feel slightly tipsy, blurry vision and all that.Notts County Supporter: Boy Gregory, you sure were right about this trip! Gregory: I told you Gary and I stand by my words: coming to see Notts tour though the States was well worth it! Gregory raises his pint, prompting another cheer from the group.Gary: Calm down now Gregory, we’ve only played one match so far! And it was against Yale University. I mean, it’s not like they have a professional team, ya’ know! The other men nod in agreement with Gary, much to the shock of Best.Gregory: Miscreants!! That’s what you lot are! All I care is that Notts pummeled through these weaklings today… Voice: I beg your pardon? Notts County only managed to beat Yale by the minimal advantage. Gregory: Shut up Gary! Gary: But I didn’t say anything… From the nearest table 5 men rise, all dressed in blue track suits with Yale’s symbol on the chest. One of them, a tall African American, steps up to Gregory’s table with a threatening look.Black Man: Look man, your team didn’t “pummel” us! In fact, I think that an amateur team faring… Gregory: The fuck are you? Black Man: What?! Are you retarded?! The Black Man is suddenly interrupted by one of his colleagues, who places himself between him and Gregory.White Man: Excuse my friend; he’s still a bit angry because of our lost today. Gregory: I asked: the fuck are you? White Man: Er… well, my name is Anthony and this is my teammate Malcom… Gregory: Teammate? You guys play on the same team? Anthony: So it seems. Gregory: Gays! The Magpie supporters erupt into laughter with that immature joke. Off course this only angers Malcolm even further, who now has to be held by two of his colleagues. Anthony smiles faintly, trying not to further the hostilities.Gregory: Seriously now, you played on Yale’s team right? Anthony: Great, you remember us! Gregory: I never forget the face of an opponent… The sudden change of tone on Gregory’s voice made the Yale student nervous. One minute that man seemed like any regular drunken bastard, yet now he displayed a very serious, perhaps even cold expression. Ignoring him, Best reaches for his beer and drinks the rest of it in one sip.Anthony: So… what did you think about the game? Gregory: I’ve seen worst. Who takes care of that bloody field of yours, anyway? A group of blind gophers? And it seems as though the alcohol calmed him down again. Anthony smiled as he blessed the yellow liquid.Anthony: Yeah, the field was really bad. Gregory: So it’s the field’s fault you lost now, is it? Anthony: What? No, I didn’t say… Gregory: Then it’s the referee’s fault, for sure right? Is that what you’re saying? Anthony: What?! Gregory: Oh, so you’re accusing us of bribing the referee! Anthony: I… Gregory: Just because I went up to the ref at the start of the game and told him I’d fuckin’ punch his face out if we lost, you’re thinking that he somehow influenced the result, aren’t you?! Anthony: No, no! Gregory: Like we’d need the bloody ref’s help to beat the fucking lot of you! Anthony: But… Gregory: Wash’u say about my mother?! Anthony: What?! Gregory: I'LL FUCKIN’ KILL YOU!! Gregory jumps up from his seat, only to be grabbed by Gary and another one of his companions. Anthony quickly hides behind his friends, shivering from the sudden rush of aggression by the British man.Malcolm: That’s it dude, you and me, mano-a-mano, right here, right now! Gregory: Sorry peach, I don’t swing that way! Another immature joke makes the Notts supporters erupt into hilarity once again. Gary and the other man release Gregory, who orders another round of pints, now with a much more relaxed face and completely ignoring Malcolm.Gregory: Camon’ boys, we ain’t done celebrating Notts’ victory! Malcolm’s face mirrors the mix of confusion and anger he’s feeling right now.Malcolm: What the hell?! Hey man, don’t forget about me! Gregory: Ups, sorry. Waiter, another beer for my friend over here! Feeling he’s been finally pushed over the line, Malcolm grabs Best by his shirt’s collar and holds him up to his face.Malcolm: I don’t want your fucking beer! I just want to kick your ass because you insulted me! Do you understand?! Gregory: Oh, that’s it? Well lad, you could have just said it earlier. It would have saved us a lot of trouble! The shot shifts to the outside of the bar, fixed directly on the door. All of sudden, it swings open, pushed by the dead weight of one of Malcolm’s friends. Another one comes flying out the bar right after him, followed by a third. Malcolm and Anthony rush out of the bar (apparently unharmed) and tend to their partners. The group of soccer hooligans slowly joins them outside headed by Gregory, who is smiling from ear to ear while cracking his fingers.Malcolm: What the fuck, man!! Gregory: God dammit, what’s the problem now? Malcolm: It was supposed to be only ME and YOU!! What part of mano-a-mano don’t you fucking understand?! Gregory: Mano. Malcolm: ARRRRRGGHHHHH!!! In a(nother) sudden rush of anger, the Yale student rushes towards Best, holding his right fist back, preparing to punch him. However when he tries to do so, Gregory easily blocks him by grabbing his fist. The black man tries a left uppercut which Best simply steps back to avoid. Despite the opportunity to attack, the British man simply stands there smiling. His partners observe him while leaning against the bar; they’ve seen their leader fight far too many times to know they should not interfere. Gregory finally releases Malcolm’s hand and shoves him away, taunting him with a cocky smile.Gregory: Camon lad, that can’t be all ya’ got, now can it? And with that Best holds his fists up, protecting his face just in time from another strike from his opponent. Malcolm punched again, and again. He tried to strike lower, in the rib section. He tried kicks. Nothing seemed to work, Gregory’s arms seemed to be everywhere he stroke, protecting the target body area. Finally, the aggressor backs off, panting heavily, his energy drained by his attacks.Gregory: Don’t be so hard on yourself. Malcolm: *pant* What the fuck *pant*are you talking *pant* about? Gregory: The fact that you can’t break my “Italian Stance”. Don’t worry, many men have tried and failed. I mean, given the number of beatings I took, the number of fist fights I’ve been, I had to learn a thing or two about defending ma’self, hey? So don’t worry about it, kid. The “Italian Stance” is virtually unbreakable… Making the best of Best’s distraction, Malcolm throws a desperate punch, which surprisingly connects with his opponent’s nose, drawing blood.Gregory: … but apparently not effective against cheap shots. Gregory quickly steps up to his foe and headbuts him, causing Malcolm to collapse on the floor. As the black man tries to get up again, he notices that Gregory’s stance has change. His arms aren’t protecting his face as they were before; instead he’s simply cracking his knuckles, apparently defenseless. Malcolm gets up to his feet and attempts to strike Gregory once more. This time he fails not because Best blocks his strike, but because he manages to attack first. A simple kick to gut is sufficient to make Malcolm bend over, holding his stomach. Gregory backs away a few steps, slaps the hands of his mates and runs back towards Malcolm, kicking him straight in the chin, prompting a “Goal!” cheer by his aforementioned comrades.Gregory: Good Ol’ “Brazilian Stance”! I tell you, it’s worth letting your defenses down and only focusing on your attack if you’re gonna beat up a wanker like this! Best’s mates quickly surround him and put him on their shoulders, celebrating his victory.Gregory: Onwards lads! To the bar! The group cheers and heads to the door of the bar. That is until a voice makes them stop.Voice: Er… Mr Best? Gregory: What? Who’s there? You want your arse kicked as well? Wash’u say about my mother?! From the shadows steps out a frail middle aged man holding a briefcase in his hands.Man: Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Patrick Livingstone and I’m a road agent for a company called Vendetta Championship Wrestling. Gregory: So? Patrick: Well, we’re a relatively new federation and thus I’ve been ordered to scout for potential talents. And let me tell you, your performance really impressed me! I have here a contract you might be… Gregory: No! Whatever you’re sellin’ I’m not buying. Thanks and have a very pleasant evenin’! Gregory’s friends put him on the floor and he makes way for the bar.Patrick: Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider? Gregory: Nope. Patrick: I’ll buy you a beer… Best stops in his tracks and turns around. As for Patrick, he simply smiled, certain he had said the magic words.Gregory: Where do I sign??? Patrick opens his briefcase and hands Gregory a contract.Patrick: Now, this is a standard contract we give to all our employees. Be sure to read it and tell us what… Gregory: Done! Patrick: Wait, did you even read the contract? Gregory: No, now let’s get that beer!! Patrick: Are sure you don’t want to read it? Gregory: BEER!! Patrick shrugs his shoulders and puts his hand over Best.Patrick: You know, I have a feeling this is going to be the beginning of a great partnership… As the group enters the bar the shot changes to the present time, showing Gregory sitting backstage at 1.1. Too pass the time he decided to write down a strategy for his match. However, it seems that he has reached a mental block that cannot allow him to further devise his tactic. Sighting, he raises his head from the piece of paper and locks at his surroundings. Soon after, one of his coworkers walks inside the shot, Sir Feyd Brisbane to be more precise. He stops halfway through his stroll, takes a dice out of his pocket and rolls it.Sir Feyd Brisbane: Excellent! Lady luck is with me today! He picks the dice up and continues walking, with a confident look on his face. Not soon after he disappears through one of the corridors, another familiar figure waltzes into the shot, talking to sock puppet: Captain Courage.Captain Courage: Come Mighty Sock! I bet this place is lurking with villains! And after doing a superhero pose, Courage also walks away. Visibly shocked with what he had just seen, Gregory shakes his head slowly. “I ended up on an asylum!” he thought, “A bloody asylum!”Voice: Here he is! Best turns around to see the man who signed him, Patrick Something-Something (he forgot his surname already…) heading towards him with a big smile on his face.Patrick: Guess what, its payday! Gregory looked at the road agent a confused.Gregory: I'm getting my payment, right now? Patrick: You really didn't the contract, did you? From behind his back, Patrick takes a can of beer. Smiling from ear to ear, he hands it over to Best. Gregory drinks it with a raised eyebrow, a bit suspicious.Patrick: Good, right? Best nods his head, his suspicion raising.Patrick: Enjoy it, it’s your payment! The last statement makes Gregory spit out the beer in his mouth.Gregory: WHAT?! Patrick: Hey, don't waste your salary like that! Gregory: MY SALARY IS A FUCKING LOWLY BEER?! Patrick: Off course not, don’t be stupid! Gregory: Thank Go… Patrick: You’re getting paid a beer per day. Gregory: … Patrick: Just thank your lucky stars, your pal Patrick didn’t take advantage of you! Gregory: Yeah Patrick, thanks a fucking bundle… Patrick: Oh, cheer up! You’ve got a match later tonight! That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Gregory: That reminds me; with so many bloody idiots in this federation, did you really have to pair me up with the technical wizard? Patrick: No, we didn’t, but it’s much more fun this! Giving Best a slight pat on the back, Patrick walks away.Gregory: God dammit… The Magpie looks down again to the piece of paper in his hands. Sighing, he re-reads the lines he had written:Best Gameplan1 – Punch his head 2 – Protect my head 3 – Kick his arse 4 – Protect my arse Gregory’s gaze stays on the paper a few while longer. Finally, he shrugs his shoulders and writes a final line on the paper.5 – Repeat numbers 1 through 4 Fade to black
|
|
|
Post by iscariot on Feb 11, 2008 17:09:02 GMT -5
Entry 1: Despair
Deep in the night a teenager is shaking in his bed, he’s sweating and sinking his fingers into his own flesh, the pain is immense but the nothing can compare to the unbarable chaos that is his mind.
It’s been like this for seven days now, despair has been his only company for the last week, and in a morbid way, his best friend.
It’s raining, not on the streets but inside him, there’s a hurricane of emotions bringing him closer and closer to madness.
He whispers:
Halford ( Despair ): Shit, this can’t go on anymore..I need help.. quickly..
I can feel it burn.. deep down inside..
Halford ( Despair ) : How did I get this deep?
Halford ( Despair ) : Just what the hell is this?
Halford ( Despair ): Why can’t I just stop?!
Halford ( Despair ) : Why are these thoughts bothering me so much? Why can’t I think about anything normal? Why can’t I be normal? What the fuck is THIS?!
You always had complete control.. a heart as cold as ice..
Halford ( Reason ) I know.. I need to see a doctor.. he’ll get something to fix me!
Halford ( Fear ): But what if even he can’t help me?!
Halford ( Reason ) : Wait.. he has to, he’s my only hope..
Halford ( Fear ): But what if..
Halford drifts into sleep, slowly, finally he enters the only place he can find some peace, his own dreams.
The next day comes, another day of struggle, his head is now filled with morbid repetitions of his own thoughts, over and over again.
Halford his wokep up by his mother, he sees a small glimer of hope, maybe she can help him!
Mom: Hey, wake up! You’re gonna be late for school again! You’ve been like this all week! Is something wrong with you?
His heart skips a beat, he knows this is the chance he needs to escape his torment Halford: Err..
He hesitates, it’s too humiliating, what will she think of him?
In his own mind a war is waged
Halford ( Fear ): Don’t do this to her, you know she’s having a hard time with your dad, you’ll just be a burden to her!
Halford ( Reason ) : But she loves me, she should know about this!
Halford ( Fear ): No! You’ll manage to get out of this alone! Remember you’re invincible!
Halford ( Reason ) : You fill me with doubt..
Hey what are you doing?
He comes back to the real world
Mom: Hey! What are you doing? Snap out of it!
Halford: Oh sorry! No mom, nothings wrong, I’m just feeling a bit sick today, give me a minute or two to get myself up!
Mom: Sure dear, but hurry up, the bus isn’t gonna wait for you..
Halford tries his best to fake a smile
Thinking to himself..
Halford: Wow.. I even forgot how to smile..nice
5 minutes later he enters the kitchen, there’s his usual bowl of cereals waiting for him.
He eats it furiously, he crunches the cereals with rage, as if trying to let some of his own anger go away, it’s pointless but if there’s anything that can calm him, he’ll take it.
Suddenly a new feeling arises, nausea
Halford: Shit!
He runs franticly to the bathroom, hoping he makes it in time, he crosses the hallway and enters the bathroom, he feels his stomach boil, the stomach acids are burning his insides, with a last effort he manages to hold it and finally he throws up every single thing that he ate.
He stays there, kneeling, completly defeated, the one who defeated him? Hi greatest enemy: himself.
He cries out, he needs to be freed, the pointless suffering has been going for too long
Halford: MOM!
She comes running
Mom: What’s wrong son? Mom: Oh god ! You’re a mess ! What happenned to you?!
Halford: I need help..
Mom: Sure I’ll help you get up, come lend me your hand!
Halford: No, not that kind of help..
Mom: Then what?
Halford: I need a psychologist, I think I’m going crazy!
His mom hugs him strongly, she knows exactly how he feels, she had phsychiatric help once too, but he only found out about later..
They talked for a long time, the words have already been forggoten but the feelings of peace and calm returning slowly to him were sensations he can never forget, because for the first time he felt that he wasn’t alone, that the battle was just beggining, and with his new found strenght he would manage to turn the tide and win the war agasin’t whatever was tormenting him.
After comforting him, his mother soon dialed the number of a psychologist who could help him, doctor Nelson Oak
Some hours later, under heavy rain, young Halford was giving his first steps torwards his freedom, he stoped in front a builing, there was no mistaking it, this was the first step torwards salvation.
Halford: Doctor Oak eh? Reminds me of Pokemon..
He smiled, the first true smile in a week, somehow his head was clearing, the thoughts were dessipating, life seemed to be geting on track again.
|
|
fytor
Developmental Talent
Posts: 17
|
Post by fytor on Feb 11, 2008 20:34:07 GMT -5
The Metropolis.
My Metropolis.
You see, from the moment the giant flaming ball called the sun decides to creep its little rays of love over the iron giants of our city, I stand atop her roofs, watching, EVER WATCHING! I stand here surveying this city like the master of all I survey, yes, the MASTER!
The scene fades in. A large man donned in skin tight blue spandex is crouched atop a city building rooftop. Slowly he rises, his eyes squinting as the morning sun pours onto his face.
He takes in a large breath and stretches out his large arms, his muscles practically jump out of his suit.
His super suit.
With a mighty roar, more like a-[/i]
Hero: HEY OH!
He leapt from the roof, lunging forward with a mighty thrust, landing on top of the next roof. He ran forward, leaping again to the next roof. He took a few more steps and leapt again, this time grabbing a fire escape and sliding down the rusty metal.
With a thud he landed in the middle of a back alley. The gargantuan man stood up in the darkness-
Hero: And amidst all the garbage of this still sleeping city I rise a beacon of light! WAKE UP CITY! For you are my mistress, my spouse asleep in bed. WELL I AM THE BACON OF JUSTICE! SMELL ME CITY AND WAKE UP TO GOODNESS!
Then, with keen, trained, maybe even animalistic like senses, he turns his face to the side, and then-
Woman’s Voice: HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP
Hero: Oh yes, you have awoken…
With cat-like agility, the behemoth shot forward out of the alleyway and looked down the streets. A few flyers and trash rolled in the wind. Our hero gazed down the empty streets until making a decision to charge forward, leaping into the windowsill of a building, reaching up with his might, and pulling himself onto the rooftops again.
Woman’s Voice: HELLOOOOO!? HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!?
Hero: FEAR NOT FAIR MAIDEN!
His feet pounded the concrete as he ran forward and leapt off the roof and crashed through a window, the glass shattering and exploding into tiny sparkling shards. He rolled through and stood.
His head hit the ceiling of the small apartment. A quick observation revealed the apartment to be shabby, full of rundown, beaten furniture, milk carton box tables, and various holes in the wall.
Hero: FOR I AM-
Woman’s Voice: Can it, goodie.
The hero turned and examined the woman. She was donned in a pink nightgown, a little hole ripped near the stomach. Her blond hair was ragged, like she hadn’t washed it in months. She had a cigarette in her hand, a beer can in the other, and she wore pink bunny slippers.
Hero: Pink bunny… slippers… E-GADS! YOURE THE PINK BUNNY SLIPPER MISTRESS!
Pink Bunny Slipper Mistress: Yeah, I am.
She didn’t cover her mouth as she hacked and coughed. The hero flinched back
Hero: What the hell happened to you?
Pink Bunny Slipper Mistress: You want to know what happened? I went broke, can’t you see? I ran out of schmucks to swindle, that’s why.
Hero: Well I’m sorry, but I don’t have any cash on me, but even then I wouldn’t give you-
Pink Bunny Slipper Mistress: Can it moron. You may be a physical god, but you have the brain of a three year old, Jesus Christ. I didn’t scream for help so you would give me money.
Hero: Well then what do you-
Pink Bunny Slipper Mistress: Oh, you see, this is my plan! I’m going to kidnap you, yeah, and then, I’m going to hold you for ransom. There is no way this city would live with you kidnapped, and the mayor would be willing to pay big bucks. So prepare yourself, honey, because you’re about to be- ENSARED!
Suddenly, a door shot open and a thin man with a large handlebar moustache shot out of what seems to be the closet.
Hero: EGADS! ITS EN SNARE! THE FRENCH KIDNAPPER!
En Snare: OUI OUI, MONSEUR! ET NOW ITS TIME FOR YOU TO FEEL A BREATH OF FRESH…
SNARE!
Hero: That’s your tag line? A Breath of fresh snare?
The villain threw his body forwards and his arm shot out of its socket like a rocket. His hand then exploded out into a large net. It wrapped itself around our hero as electric current shot through the net, bringing him to his knees.
En Snare and Pink Bunny Slipper Mistress: Ha! Ha Ha HA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
They hugged for a moment, relishing in their apparent success.
Pink Bunny Slipper Mistress: You see, when I lost my millions from the fools like you I duped, and the kidnapping business just hit a low with everyone trying to do it their selves, we hit a low… but now, you big blue freak, you’re our ticket out. Enjoy captivity!
Suddenly, our hero looked out with hope. Quickly he shot his arms out, the net becoming ripped to shreds as his muscled body shot forward.
Hero: Not so fast, evil doers, for like the morning winds I have new life breathed into me! Your cheap French trickery wont work, nor will your seemingly ever soft bunny slippers seduce this beacon of justice!
The two cowered in fear as the blue behemoth lunged forward, grabbing En Snare by his shirt collar and throwing him at the wall, which he broke through into what seemingly was the kitchen. He then turned his sights on the Pink Bunny Slipper Mistress, and pounced. He grabbed her in a bear hug, then lifted her high above his head and flung her into her villainous French lover. He grabbed En Snares arm and quickly ran circles around the duo, binding them together with their own tools of Villainous destruction.
He stood and wiped his hands together, a job well done.
Hero: And that is exactly why evil will never triumph! For you use the forces of evil to try and dupe the forces of good, but that will never work, for evil is like the last donut of the bunch, the one that has that hair fall on it maybe, or has one too few sprinkles, but is always the one that is most over done and least tasty, but justice, NOW THERES A DONUT!
He leaned right into the couples faces, pointing at them with his mighty finger.
Hero: JUSTICE IS LIKE THE FIRST DONUT YOU GET IN THE MORNING, SOFT AND FRESH OUT THE OVEN! THE ONE YOU BIGHT INTO AND GET THAT GREAT FEELING OF WARM, GOOEY, SATISFACTION! AND I AM THAT DONUT!
He stood up and flexed his muscles
Hero: For I am justice! I am mighty, I- AM- FYTOR!
His muscles bulged as he flexed before-
Fytor: What is this!?
He picked up a piece of paper. It had action shots of high impact moves, big bold letters, and it thoroughly intrigued Fytor.
Fytor: What is this? A tournament! To crown a champion? Hmm…
He stared at the paper.
Fytor: YES! I WILL ENTER THIS TOURNAMENT! For I have mighty justice on my side…
He turned to the two crooks, who were still slightly dazed
Fytor: Egads! Imagine me, Fytor! World Champion, NO! CHAMPION OF WORLDS! YES, THIS IS DESTINY!
Fytor crumpled the paper in his hand and looked out the window.
Fytor: AWAY!
He leapt out the window, the one that wasn’t smashed of course, and continued to jump off into the distance. Police Sirens ring out as the shot fades to black.
|
|
|
Post by Sir Feyd Brisbane on Feb 11, 2008 22:42:56 GMT -5
("What's your name?"
"My name is Feyd Brisbane.")
Feyd wandered the streets of L.A. Receiving strange looks from the pedestrians, he paid no mind. The repeated clang of shod hooves landing on concrete rang out over the din of the busy city. The rustle of chain links as he rode gave him a sense of comfort shielding him from the queer glances of the passerby.
("No. I mean your real name..."
"Feyd Brisbane.")
He rode along the sidewalk, standing out amongst the common people, an edifice of anachronism bulging from the mesh of the mundane. At his back, his shield. At his side, his sword. The crowds of natives and tourists alike parted to make way for the strange man atop the horse. In another city, perhaps this would seem out of place, but in the City of Angels, the masses would conclude it must be some publicity stunt, especially as he neared Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street.
("Where are you from?"
"I was born in the country of Solamnia on the continent of Albanasia."
"You were born in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. Your name is Charles Knight. I'm looking at your birth certificate right now.")
He rode down Wilcox Avenue, and seeing the majority of people moving crossways with him, he turned east, moving with the flow of the crowd. He continued down the street that he saw being labeled as Hollywood Blvd, looking around with interest. He had always been taken in by the hustle and bustle of the common folk, and now was no exception.
("Tell me about your time on the US Navy warship, the USS Paladin."
"I have no idea what you are talking about, sir. I have never been a part of a crew for any warship. You must be mistaken."
"Fey- ahem, Charles, you were kept on the naval craft for nigh three years. You're saying that you have no recollection?"
"I have never been on a ship. Are you sure that you're not the crazy one?")
The crowds spread to ease his path of travel, and he looked down, nodding in thanks to the various and asundry people who made his travel that much easier. The sun gleamed off the buildings and sidewalks, sending refracted light everywhere. He was showered in dim color of strange hues. He stopped abruptly, having seen the sidewalk. The walkway that these people tread upon was covered in plaques with names.
(“Charles, you killed twenty-two men on that ship. When they finally subdued you and locked you in the brig, you had already killed their captain.”
“I only strike down the wicked. What need would I have for killing the defenders of the people?”
“Why do you think that you have to come to see me, Charles?”
“It was one of the circumstances under which I was released from the institution.”
“Do you want to go back to the institution?”
“Is that a threat?”)
Horrified, Feyd led his horse off the walk and into the street. His horse whinnied and bucked as cars flew past him, the drivers honking angrily at him. He looked to the people, who stared at him, distraught. He yelled, “Have you people no shame? To walk on the markers of the deceased is a desecration!” He pointed down to the walk with the stars and names. “Do not disrespect hallowed ground!”
(“Tell me about your father.”
“I never knew him. He sent me and my mother into exile to protect us from the tumult in Solamnia.”
“Charles, Solamnia isn’t real. Your father was a transvestite streetwalker who sold you into child prostitution.”
“How dare you say such lies? I was born in Solamnia. It says so right here on my character sheet.”)
Racing away from the sidewalk, he was regarded by the people as possibly having some kind of psychotic break. He rode hard down the road, his horse weaving through the traffic. After he had ridden away a considerable distance, he brought his horse to a halt. He looked around, not sure where he was. A man walked by him, trying not to show that he was paying attention.
Feyd looked to the man, “Sir, I seem to have lost my way. Could you point me in the direction of the Staples center?”
(“Charles, Feyd Brisbane is a figment of your imagination. You created him.”
“Such insults! You were smart to have them take my dice from me. Fate is on your side, presently. But I warn you not to test the strength of my resolve.”)
The man finally looked up at Feyd, flashing him a hideous jack-o-lantern smile. “I know who you are! You’re Feyd Brisbane! I saw you on the television.” The toothy grin slowly faded form the man as he walked in pace with the man on the horse.
Feyd was intrigued. Television? He had never heard of such a thing. Breaking the word into its parts, he determined that it must be some device to let him to see distant sounds. He looked the man over, in his dirt shirt and worn trousers. How could a man like this wield such sorcery?
(“Charles, you don’t want us to have to use the sedatives again, do you?”
“I… No. Your magic is strong. I shall acquiesce, for the time being.”)
The man continued, “You’re a wrestler in that new federation that just got started up. The only reason I know is because I used to know your first opponent.” The man glowed with a sense of accomplishment. “I roomed with him in this half-way house back in the day.” Seeing Feyd’s confused look, he explained, “You know, a rehab clinic? People go there when they want to quit drugs and stuff.”
Feyd regarded the man, intrigued. What was wrong with smoking a pipe? If nothing else, it was relaxing to smoke after a long journey. “Why would someone want to quit? I don’t see anything wrong with it…”
(“Charles, what do you remember about the institution?”
“Little more than a prison. They threw me into a ward with truly insane men. One of them though he was a porpoise, another ranted about mind-controlling devices in his head.”)
The man looked at Feyd as though he were from another planet. “For one, it’s illegal. Not to mention the financial strain it takes to support a habit like that…” Was this guy for real? “I mean, just look at Japhy, there was a time where he would smoke, swallow or inject just about anything. From what I hear, he used to disappear for days at a time and turn up in the oddest places, all because of his habits.” Feyd thought about it. Making a plant illegal? Surely it was an overstep of authority. But alas, that was a battle for another time. “It is a shame that something recreational would cause a problem with one’s finances. What drugs did - Japhy, use?” (“It says in your file that you recanted your statements about being this Feyd person. They were convinced that you had truly been cured. What happened since then?”
“Well, doctor, how else was I supposed to get out of that place? It is rather easy to convince your captors that their wishful thoughts have been accomplished.”)
“Well, like I said, he was into just about anything. But one the first time he came to the rehab center, he was on opium. It’s sad, if you think about it, that a man can throw away his life for the illusions induced by a substance.” The man lowered his head, melancholy washing over his face. “I wonder how he’s doing now…”
It was at this time, Feyd had decided to retrieve a gift for his opponent, a token of goodwill. It would not trouble his finances, for he had just received a sizable sum of money for his agreement to perform in a weekly match of strength and athleticism. What better way was there to keep in shape than to combat others? Moreover, perhaps he could get into this man’s good graces and make an ally of him.
(“If you’re not truly cured, then what is to stop me from having you taken back to the hospital?”
“Nothing. But I would appeal. I know a few people who are versed in this nation’s law, and apparently I could argue that it would be a miscarriage of justice to imprison me twice for the same crime that I was charged with.”)
That night, Feyd walked the streets of the less desirable parts of the city. Clad in boiled leather armor and cotton breeches, his eyes danced over the nameless figures in the dark. He wore his sword on his left hip, half-hidden beneath the cloak he had fastened over him. Turning into a dim alleyway, he scanned the area. The sordid streetlights gave a sick yellow glow that somehow had navigated itself into the alley, giving the same kind of illumination as a candle behind thin parchment.
There was a figure, what Feyd supposed was a man, in the far end of the alley. His guise was clever, but he was given away by wisps of rising smoke captured by the light. Feyd approached, careening through the shadows. As he neared the man, he stepped into the light, as to not startle him. He looked upon him, he was struck with a sensation of fear, his hand clutching the hilt of his sword beneath his cloak. His eyes glimmered as he looked over the man.
(“You have me at a loss Charles. What am I supposed to do with you? Wait until another man ends up dead?”
“Sir, if you believe that will happen, then I suppose the only thing you can do is wait. But I wouldn’t keep my hopes up if I were you. I have never harmed an innocent man.”)
The man eyed Feyd, irritated by his gawking, “What are you looking at, asshole?” The man gripped a cane tightly, obviously ready to use it on Feyd if it came to that. He spat, and spittle ended up in his long whiskers.
Feyd disregarded the blatant show of disrespect and wiped the saliva off his cloak with a gloved hand. He looked over the man’s fur coat, a tiger-striped print. But to Feyd, it was as though the man wore a second skin over himself. “I apologize, sir. I find myself in need of certain wares and was told that I may find someone here who may be able to help me. I apologize for my stare, but for a moment, I thought you were a rakshasa.”
(“You cannot kill men, no matter how evil they might be. Vigilantes are criminals here, Charles.”
“And what of knights?”)
The dealer gave a sordid look, “A rak-what?” His cane tapped impatiently against the ground. This guy was wasting his time, and he didn’t take kindly to that.
“A rakshasa. A tiger-demon who charms men with magic and drugs to bend them to his will.” “That’s fucked up.” He was struck with the question that most who met Feyd were, ‘was this guy for real?’ He shrugged it off, saying, “Whatever. What’s your poison?”
“Opium.”
“I think you’ve already had enough!” The man gave a diseased laugh at his own joke.
“It’s not for me. It’s a gift.” Feyd ignored the feeble humor, stifling the reflex to roll his eyes.
(“Charles, knights have no authority here.”
“Authority must be taken, doctor.”)
“Whatever man, I don’t ask questions.” The man pulled out a bag and held it out. “This stuff is expensive. Straight from the Taliban, if you know what I mean. It’s been mixed with a bit of tobacco for ease of smoking. Fifty bucks.”
Feyd pulled out a few bills and handed them to the man, who promptly snatched it away and thrust the bag into Feyd’s hands before slinking back into the shadows. Feyd turned away and made his way out of the slums. As he left, the dregs of the city watched him, interest in their gazes.
(“Is that what you intend Charles? To take authority?”
“If that is what it comes to…”)
When Feyd had finally tracked down the Staples center, he was escorted in and his manager explained the layout to him. After having insisted that his manager refer to him as ‘master’, Feyd departed with the man and went to the locker room. He flattened the bag and eased it through one of the venting slots in Fixx’s locker. On the locker, he attached a note, “A gift from your friend, Sir Feyd Brisbane.” (“How do you plan to do that?”
“With respect.”)
|
|
|
Post by Super 'Mella Bear on Feb 11, 2008 23:50:05 GMT -5
I’m a victim of misfortune. I became one of those guys that I felt sorry for - their lives abruptly taken away from them, due to some mysterious and shady circumstances. I go from trying to save a life to being locked up for being wrongfully accused of murdering the very same individual that I sought out to save with a good deed. How in the fuck could this have possibly happened? And why to me? What fucked up thing could I have done to someone that would cause that person to avenge whatever I may have done to him or her, in this manner? And even more so, to have them brilliantly manipulate all of the evidence in the crime scene to point to me...
It’s been a while now since the day that my world has completely fallen to shambles. Since the day I wound up in the one place that I feared more than death – prison. All of my cries and pleas of innocence fell on deaf ears, and I’m reminded of it every single time I’m forced to wake up to this miserable existence.
Fortunately, I’ve managed to survive long enough to keep my sanity, and maintain my well-being. I’m not exactly sure how I’ve managed to, but as silly as this may sound, I almost feel as if someone has been looking out for me these past couple of months. Pretty much, ever since I got involved in that fighting ring. It’s almost as if I’ve had a guardian angel looking over me. I mean, there’s just no other way that I can explain why I haven’t been on trial yet, or why I’m still living as I continue to go undefeated. Or even how my prayers were finally answered recently in the most peculiar of ways possible…~~~ The scene opens in a prison hallway with the camera facing the back of an inmate and the Correctional Officer that is guiding him to his intended destination. They both stop in front of a door, in which the CO unlocks, allowing both of the men to enter the unknown room. The two men end up walking past many tables and chairs, until stopping at an occupied table. The man situated at this particular table is shown with his head down, involved in the sketching that he had decided to do to pass the time as he waited patiently.CO: *to the inmate* Go ahead, and take a seat. *to the visitor* You have 30 minutes, Mr. Tavarez. With the camera still facing the inmate’s back, the convict takes a seat, while the CO turns back around towards the door. “Mr. Tavarez” then finally lifts his head up, revealing his identity – FMW’s Hostyle.Hostyle: It's been a while, old friend. We have much catching up to do... Inmate: Excuse me? What the fuck are you doing here, Jose? Hostyle: What does it look like I’m doing? I’ve come to visit an old, incarcerated pal of mine. Inmate: Why now? Why not when I was first locked up? I didn’t do it, Zay! I’m fucking innocent! Hostyle: Dude, chillax. The inmate's anger begins to rise, as he raises his voice in his next reply.Inmate: Chillax? That’s all you could say? Where the fuck were you when I was being shat on from all directions? It was YOUR father that I being accused of for murdering, man. Hostyle: There’s a reason why I haven’t shown myself until now. Inmate: Really? ‘Cause I would sure like to hear this fucking reason of yours right about now. Hostyle: Look, I believe whole-heartedly that you didn’t kill my pops, but my word wasn’t going to be enough to help you regain your freedom. Inmate: I could’ve really used your support, though. It’s been 10 months, Zay. Ten fucking months and there was no fucking sign of you. Hostyle: I was doing some investigating of my own, ok? Inmate: *confused* Investigating? Hostyle: Yeah. That’s why I haven’t visited. This whole time, I’ve been trying all I could to find out who framed you, and I think I might’ve found a lead! The convict becomes silent, but with the camera still behind him, we’re unable to gauge his expression. Hostyle, on the other hand stares at the inmate with a stern expression etched on his face.Inmate: Why did you wait all this time to finally tell me? Hostyle: I didn’t want to bring any attention to myself. Laying low on the whole murder case seemed like the best way to prevent this. Again, silence from the inmate. Hostyle is then shown reaching down under his chair, where he pulls out a folder of documents from a briefcase, and passes them off to the inmate.Hostyle: While doing my research, I stumbled upon an anonymous source, who informed me that he or she is in possession of some evidence that could clear your name. Inmate: Are you fucking serious?!? Well, where is it? Get me the fuck out of here! Hostyle: Well, there’s a catch. I don’t have it, and the anonymous source isn’t relinquishing it without getting something in return. Inmate: You gotta be shitting me… Hostyle: Unfortunately, I’m not. Inmate: So, what does he or she want? Hostyle: Look inside the folder and check for yourself. The inmate does as Hostyle suggests, and peers into the folder, revealing a contract for VCW.Inmate: I don’t get it. What’s the deal with this contract? Hostyle: Well, it seems to have something to do with your wrestling past, and current undefeated streak in the secret prison fighting ring… Inmate: *lowering his voice* Whoa, whoa, whoa – how did you find out about that? Hostyle: It seems like the anonymous source is an avid fan and sponsor. Whoever it is must be one rich ass fucker! The inmate runs his hand through his hair and takes in a deep breath.Inmate: Ok, now back to the contract. How the fuck would me signing work out? I’m incarcerated, therefore unable to compete. This shit doesn’t make any sense. Hostyle: Allow me to disclose the details of said plan. The anonymous source would obviously like you to sign with VCW, but here’s how it would be possible for you to compete. Hostyle sifts through the extra documents within the folder, and pulls out a page containing photos of a black costume.Inmate: This foam rubber costume will make it possible how? Hostyle: By completely concealing your identity. No one would suspect you of being a convict. They’ll probably all assume that you’re some obsessive lucha nut, who still takes the Mexican tradition seriously. Inmate: Gotcha. So all I need to do is sign this contract, and the anonymous source will hand over the proof of my innocence? Hostyle: Well, almost. In order to be compensated with the evidence, you’re going to have to gain success in VCW. For instance, the faster you win the World title, the closer you become to gaining your freedom! Hostyle reaches out to the inmate with a pen in hand. The inmate glares at the pen for a moment before grabbing it from Hostyle's hand.Inmate: Fine, I’ll sign. The inmate begins reading the contract, as Hostyle looks on with a devilish look. The inmate then goes to sign the document, but before adding his signature, he pauses.Inmate: Fuck! Hostyle: What’s the prob? Inmate: What name should I use to sign with? Hostyle: Hmmm… For a while, both men sit in silence pondering a name for the inmate to use, until Hostyle finally blurts out:Hostyle: I got it! “Anon Ehmus.” Inmate: Hmmm…That’s actually pretty clever. I like it. The inmate then finally signs his new wrestling pseudonym onto the VCW contract, and places it inside of the folder from which it came. Hostyle then pulls the folder towards him. Hostyle: Now, on to the fun stuff. Time to innovate your moveset… ~~~ The scene switches to a shot backstage at the Staples Center, where the first ever VCW is taking place. Anon, who completely clad in his black, full body suit, is shown roaming around the hallways and corridors. Many of the other competitors are lounging around backstage, as well, and can be seen shooting perplexed glances towards Anon. He completely ignores the gawking as he makes his way around the vicinity, until he eventually finds himself in seclusion from the rest of the roster members - inside the boiler room.And so it begins. My opportunity to be free again, and to clear my name begins inside of a wrestling ring, of all places - the one place that I once considered an occupation, before I wound up where I did. Unlike most of my competitors, I’m not here for any materialistic gain, to make friends or foes, nor for a chance to stroke my ego. My reasons are all legit, but will remain in the dark.
Eric Ahriman, my livelihood is literally at stake. And while I’m completely ready to do anything possible to make sure that I’m successful, you won’t be hearing any threats to life from me. That’s just not my style. But heed me, Ahriman. I’m not called the Soldier of Misfortune for nothing.
And if misfortune is what you’re in search of, then by all means, allow the fear of the unknown to consume you, and I’ll be sure to grant you what you so desire…
|
|
|
Post by Deacon King on Feb 12, 2008 5:32:55 GMT -5
"It truly kills me to say that my passion has left me in pieces. The drugs were only puppets and their strings... were pulled by music.
Music has delved into every part of my heart and soul. It made me feel invicible. That's where the drugs came in. I honestly didn't think that a little cocaine here and there would do what it did."- Hit Parader magazine, 2001 "Oh yes, I've made a great recovery and so has everyone else in the band. No drugs, no alcohol... it's all gone.
Ha, yeah... well maybe some nicotine here and there, but for the most part... straight edge.
No, no... the new album won't be anything like that. It's still about problems and perseverance. It's gonna' kick some major ass."Associated Press, 2004 "If I could take back anything I've done in the last two years? Wow, uh, almost everything.
I destroyed my band, ruined my music career, and wasted half of the profit I got off the last album.
Yeah, I won't lie... it was the drugs. The drugs, drinkin', and rock n' roll.
People say that being a rockstar has to be easy... full of fun and games. Well, you want the truth?
It's F**king deadly."-Rolling Stones magazine, 2006 Present Time... The sound of the down stairs shower fades out as Deacon King cranks the surround sound to full blast.
What? StarShip Troopers is a bad ass movie.
Completely lost in the "Ahead of its time" special effects and Oscar Worthy acting performances (Well, maybe not) King's eyes glaze over. It was always nice to get lost in someone else's world for an hour or two. There was generally nothing better than two hours of guts, guns, and alien scum.
There's always the powder...
King squashes the thought almost immediately and goes back to the movie. Truth is, he'd been off the stuff for a year now. He'd been fighting so desperately to keep it that way and if he slipped up now...
Wasted time...
King, finding himself a little too antsy, leaves the plush, leather recliner and shuts the entertainment system down. Sarina had to be done showering by now; their training session wasn't terribly brutal.
Her ass sure could disagree with that...
King smiles a bit at the last thought and goes to retrieve his personal trainer/girlfriend from the downstairs bathroom. Oh, the glory of busting your balls in the gym and then busting her ass... well, in the gym too.
A swing around the corner and there she was; her long, gorgeous legs peeking out from under the towel that was wrapped around her and the scent of a goddess floating around their bedroom.
King lands a kiss on the back of her neck and recieves a sultry sigh.Deacon King: You taste like heaven, baby. Sarina: Calm down, Rockstar. You're not done yet. You've still got three cool down sets and some crunches to do. King steps back from Sarina, tears off his tank top, and puts on a show. His slender, yet perfectly toned, physique almost seemed to glow.Deacon King: Does it look like I need a cool down set? I mean, of all people, me? Sarina steps up to King and pats him on the shoulder.Sarina: You're full of it today, aren't ya'? Deacon King: Actually, I'd have to say you were full of it today. King smirks and winks at Sarina, but she just rolls her eyes and takes an all too sexy stroll to the walk-in closet. King keeps his eyes glued to her backside until she walks in and disappears from sight.Sarina(From closet): You think you're ready for the big VCW debut show? King pauses from the examination of his right bicep to smile and answer the question.Deacon King: These nobodies will have no idea what hit them. Who are these nobodies anyway? Sarina exits the closet carrying her outfit for the day and slips off her towel.
King, being the horn-dog that he is, doesn't bother to turn away and instead, indulges in the eye-feast.Sarina: Hmm... I went over the card the other day and... it's kind of ridiculous. King takes a seat on the "D-King" size bed and stretches across it.Deacon King: Interesting, maybe? I would hate to go as far as calling these people ridiculous from the get go. Sarina glances over to King just as she finishes with her bra and gives him an "Yeah, whatever" look.Deacon King: Okay, so maybe I'm just hoping these guys won't be a bunch of super heroes and anchor men. Sarina, unable to hold it in, erupts with laughter and drops her mini-skirt in the process.
King raises up from his position on the bed, slightly expectant of what Sarina has to say.Deacon King: Noooo.... no way, man. Are you serious? Sarina: They aren't all like that. You've got "Captain Courage" and "Kennith Noisewater". The super hero and the anchor man, respectively. King flops back down onto the bed and grumbles to himself.Sarina: I wouldn't get so puffed over it just yet. The other two in the match... look like real competition. King raises up with a smirk on his face.
Thank God!
It's never good to go from ruling the rock kingdom to beating a bunch of nobodies in a wrestling ring. Now though, it would seem as if the tides have turned, the ball is in his court, the chicken's have hatched...
One cliche after another...
Anyway, Deacon King's debut match will actually be something to hold high... and not something to sweep under the rug.
King then pauses... what the hell was this match about, anyway? King quickly turns to, sadly, a fully dressed Sarina, but gets hushed before he can even speak.Sarina: The match is just one in a long line of tournament style matches. Although, yours is the only five-way match on the card. The top two advance while the winner gets to choose his next opponent. King nods his head in silent agreement with the set-up of the match and really the set-up of VCW in general. Sarina, who just happens to be the younger sibling of Hannibal Frost, gets reports from him every now and again.
VCW runs very well and could rival FMW one day; it was a happy thought.
Sarina, fully clothed now, turns and makes her way to the bathroom across from the bed. King watches as she enters and shuts the door. King sighed and came to the conclusion that he'd never understand women; Sarina would be in there for at least an hour and half.
Cosmetics and women; both a good waste of time...
King jumps from the bed and heads out into the living room. He hated it that he had to keep procrastinating, but hey... he hated packing. Plus, if he waited long enough, Sarina would do it with minimal bitching.
Keeping with the procrastination, King grabs the universal remote and switches on the flat screen. No surprise, the channel that came into view was Fuse TV...
And of course, one of his music videos was playing. As if the scar running length of his chest wasn't a painful reminder of what he'd gone through.
Now, reminded of it, King rubs at the scar and winces at a soft spot on it. It was easily the weirdest day King had ever experienced... and it was never going to stop haunting him.Sarina: Deacon! King rolls his eyes and leaves his scar alone for the time being. Maybe another time would suffice for a trip down memory lane.Deacon King: What in the hell could you possibly want now? Sarina: Get your shit packed! We have an after-party to go to and we won't have time to pack afterwards! King hissed at the remark and followed it up with a little grumbling. He should've known he wouldn't be able to con her into packing for him.
Women will suck the meat off your cock, but they won't pack your clothes. At least it made sense on the drugs.
King grabs one last look at the flat screen as his music video fades to black and makes his way into the bedroom. Of course, once he got there... he still wasn't going to pack.
Probably just gonna' hike her skirt up and get a little pre-party nookie.
King quietly slips into the bedroom and then into the adjacent bathroom where the unsuspecting Sarina was making herself spotless for the party.
A quick hand and Deacon had a palm full of ass cheek. Sarina jerked in surprise, but quickly settled down into his grasp.Sarina: Are you serious? Right now? King laughed, pulling his hand out from under her skirt. With his arms now tucked about her waist, King figured he'd settle for some cuddle time instead.Sarina: While holding back your libido for my sake is cute and all... hun, I have to get ready. King smiles, kisses Sarina at the nape of the neck, and backs over to the door frame.Deacon King: I can't believe you're letting an after party take precedence over my first wrestling match in VCW. Keep in mind, we didn't even go to the premiere of the movie! Sarina: Oh, shut up. Rockstars are allowed to do that kinda' stuff. King slinks away from the bathroom at the last remark. Anytime anyone referred to him as a rockstar it brought back memories that just flat out suck.
Taking a seat on the bed and hoping Sarina knows she struck a chord, he opts to change the subject.Deacon King: You think I've got a chance at 1.1? Sarina: By chance do you mean that you might leave on your own two feet? King lets his head hang low and sighs. He figured as much from her. As much as Sarina pushed him to better himself... she never really believed he could do it.Deacon King: Be fucking serious. Sarina: Fine, I say you'll probably be knocked out of the match second or third. Deacon King: Wow, I feel soooo much better. Finally, done with her make up, Sarina exits the bathroom with the glow of an angel. King, taken aback for just a moment, loses his train of thought.
That is, until her harsh words bring him back to reality.Sarina: I'm not trying to get your hopes up and I'm not trying to say it's hopeless. It's just... going to be tough. Compared to some of these guys... you just don't measure up right now. Deacon King: What are saying? Are you trying to imply that my penis is smaller than theirs? Sarina rolls her eyes and grabs her purse from the dresser.Sarina: Oh yeah Deacon, every single one of them are giants compared to your shriveled mass of a vienna sausage. King dives into a pillow on the bed and begins to mock cry while kicking his feet.Deacon King: Why? Oh why has God chosen to curse me with such a shriveled member?! King suddenly jumps off the bed with mock enthusiasm and throws a fist into the air.Deacon King: But fear not! This is why man has bestowed upon us such medicinal miracles as Enzyte! As King keeps the pose held Sarina looks on with a smile.Sarina: You're a jack ass, you know that? With his fist still held high...Deacon Frost: I... know! But seriously, the five-way, I've already won that. Metaphorically speaking.
|
|
|
Post by Deacon King on Feb 12, 2008 5:36:47 GMT -5
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Fatal Fiveway: iSav vs Captain Courage vs Adam Wylde vs Kennith Noisewater vs Deacon King * Top 2 advance * Soul survivor gets to choose opponent for Round 2
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Chris Austen vs Exodus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Eric Ares vs Colt Conrad
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Gregory Best vs Rivers Atwood
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Halford vs Benedict Phoenix
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Sick Fixx vs Sir Freyd Brisbane
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Eric Ahreman vs Anon Emus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Fytor vs Cain Ravid
Main Event: Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Tag Team Match: 13 and Ribz vs Sam & Max & Johnathan Dunn
|
|
|
Post by sickfixx on Feb 12, 2008 12:07:13 GMT -5
"Sick Fixx is back! And this time, I know who I am!" I said as I signed my name over to this fresh, no, alien new company. But do I really know who I am or am I as lost as ever? Ever since I betrayed Falcon, I've found myself lying in a bed of curses. My hip had been growing continuously worse, an injury I shouldn't have worked matches with.
I turned to massive amounts of painkillers, heroin and crack to treat the pain. I let Celio down. My tag team partner, who confided everything in me and I in him, who saved me the first time from a life of debauchery. I was exiled from his church along with my fiancee, Cheyenne. After overdosing on the drugs I had rediscovered, I woke up to find no sign of her. No note, nothing. She was out of my life. Probably for good, this time. It goes without saying I was terminated from my lofty position in PWA, and my half of the United States Tag Team Championship was awarded to the young man I had been training to become a Witness. Looking back, I'd say this was a blessing for him, and one of the few shining graces of my downfall. White Falcon's final act of generosity to me was paying for my hip surgery, so that I could walk again, and not have any more excuses for my hedonistic drug use.
I worked the seven week program offered by LPW, formerly PWA, for former employees who had lost their way with drug addiction.
"Hi, my name is Japhy and I'm an addict."
This became my prestige, no tag team championship to brag about, not even a tag team partner. No more veteran status in the workplace. Just a bold declaration that I have surrendered to vicodin, percocet, heroin, crack, coke, valium and many other devious substances no doubt inspired by the Devil. I told my stories of taking two extra vicodins to fixx my shallow breathing, to subdue my screaming, swollen kidneys. Truly, my body had become dependant on these pills. I could inwardly feel my organs deteriorating, and my answer was to take more, to hide from the truth. I even took Datura, a dangerous plant that induces violent hallucinations. It takes two weeks to truly get back to normal after a dose of Datura, the Witchweed. Yes, I dabbled in it all.
But I have been given a third chance. I don't plan on tempting God again. Relapse is not an option. It's important for a man to have his work, a job to place his life in context. Vendetta Championship Wrestling will be my pride. This is my chance to lend my starpower and name value to an upstart organization. I can 'give the rub' to this company, the same way Flair did WCW, Angle did TNA. "Hi, my name is Japhy, I'm an addict" will become "Hi, my name is Sick Fixx and I'm a CHAMPION."
Which brings me to my opponent, who deserves as much elaboration as I have given myself. Freyd Brisbane, a tragic figure much like myself. Just as I have, he has compromised his well being for the sake of hiding in a lie. He has abandoned the reality that surrounds him for a non-existant one, one in which he is a knight. He uses dice to determine his moves, just like a D&D player. Like Don Quixote, he chases windmills thinking they're dragons. But he has no Sancho to entertain his delusions. He is all alone in the world, just like me. I understand his pain. If I could, I would absorb his pain so that he could live a normal life. But he seems too far gone. Maybe, just maybe, I can teach him some things in the ring, if he is willing to learn.
On the other hand, while I am free from the spell of my feverdream, he is still enthralled in his. His delusion has probably yet to hit its peak. Brisbane, I will be one hundred percent truthful now. I will look past the hope I cling to, the faith that keeps me alive and look at you through blatantly honest eyes. You frighten me. Not you, exactly, but what you represent, that deceived life I left behind. I haven't wrestled in a very long time, two years to be exact. There are no tapes of you for me to study, because this is your debut as far as I know.
If I win, I can start to realize once more my dream of attaining that most elusive concept, the World Heavyweight Championship. If you defeat me, then I must continue to follow the yellow brick road to recovery, which is longer than I thought. My fans expect a certain degree of valor from me. But I need them to be patient. I don't know how much of the magic is left in me. For all I know, I could be going against my Lord's wishes by even being here. But this is my job. And the needle marks on my arms are finally starting to scab over. A new organism is growing in me, an organism of hope, faith, dreams. I have a chance to pick up where I left off in PWA, in a tournament, with all roads leading to a world title.
Can it be true? Can a lifetime of human folly be erased by a jewel encrusted, gold plated leather strap?
|
|
|
Post by Eric Ares on Feb 12, 2008 17:19:12 GMT -5
The scene opens to Eric Ares sitting behind a glass screen twitching every so often. The straight jacket holding his arms to his sides bulging as he attempts to use the power of his mind to escape, more commonly known as struggling to break free.
Eric: Purple tacos!
It also appears Mr. Ares may actually be going insane, but that’s beside the point the man has been diagnosed with ego maniacal tendencies and a deep suited desire to take over the world and/or sleep with your mom.
Eric: Fuck you!
No fuck you Eric, she was my mom how could you do that to her?
Eric: Easily, first I put the condom on, and then I spread her open and shoved in harder than Mike Tyson punches his wives....
Hey, do you want me to narrate this promo or not?
Eric: Fine, fine, how is Ms. Buttsex anyway?
I fucking hate you, do you mind if I continue now?
Eric: Sure, I’m not paying you to whine like your mom did when I shoved it in her Hershey hole...
Moving on then, the story behind how Mr. Ares arrived at this local is an intriguing and powerful one. Full of drama, sex, rock n’ roll...
Eric: Your Mom!
Alright fuck this, just skip to the flashback.
Man, I’ve always wanted to say that, anyway let’s take our story back a few days. Now we see Eric Ares standing in the middle of a training facility on the phone with someone else.
Eric: ….that’s when I tried to buy the horse a prostitute.
He pauses for a second listening to the cell phone, which because we don’t have our ear to the receiver we can’t hear.
Eric: No, no, your line is supposed to be “I love this guy” don’t you ever get anything right. Anyway I suppose you’ve heard I was signed by VCW to compete as their first World Champion.
He pauses again.
Eric: Well no, they haven’t given me the title, but they might as well have. My first opponent is some retarded boxer from West Vagina, Comrade Constipation or something along those lines. Seriously if the commie is the best they can do the title is all but min…
Eric stops mouth half open at being interrupted.
Eric: Don’t “bye” me asshat, of course I have been training. I just don’t know what else I can do to get ready; I mean how do you prepare for a hands heavy idiot savant.
One more time he falls silent and listens intently to the phone, his brow furrowed in concentration, finally after a moment he breaks into a smile.
Eric: I knew there was a reason I hired an east coast hick like you as a trainer. I need to find someone similar to train against, thanks bud, I owe you huge!
Eric drops the phone and rushes for the door grabbing his coat on the way out. Right before we change the last two letters on the cell phones display are shown “on”. Of course this means absolutely nothing and you have no reason at all to think about it.
Moving along we see our “hero” standing inside of the local Halifax insane asylum for former sports stars. He shudders as he stares at all the white sterile walls and people dressed in white clothes that end before their wrists. After a moment he walks over to the receptionist and smiles his most charming of smiles hoping the slightly elderly woman behind the desk would notice.
Sadly, she is probably sterile.
Receptionist: Can I help you?
Eric: Why I hope so ma’am. You see I am looking for some sort of mentally retarded boxer to face in an exhibition bout and wanted to see what you had in stock.
Receptionist: Excuse me!
Eric: Oh I’m sorry; I mean I am here to visit my uncle former five times Rubiks Cube Champion of the World Jimmy Mctwistnlick.
Receptionist: I am fairly certain there is no one here by that nam….what are you doing now?
Eric: You’re kind of hot for an older woman; under other circumstances I would probably do you.
Receptionist: I don’t get paid enough for this. Fine, if you sign these papers I’ll let you in…..don’t you want to read them first?
Eric signs the papers and the receptionist takes them back behind the desk.
Eric: Reading is for suckers and communists, those were probably just visitor sign in sheets right?
Receptionist: Something like that, GUARDS!
Suddenly three very large and hairy men step up next to Eric and grab hold of his arms.
Eric: In hindsight reading may not be as over rated as I had assumed.
The guards begin to drag the suddenly struggling Ares back through the doors.
Eric: DON’T BE A FOOL KIDS, STAY IN SCHOOL!
So now VCW’s resident asshole, and probably least insane wrestler on the roster has been committed to an institution right before his first official match. Will he make it on time, will he truly become the destined VCW champion, and will I ever get a bathroom break.
Eric: NO!
Fuck.
I think I just soiled myself.
Any who, despite what you may wish to think about him Mr. Ares is probably smarter than you and this was all part of his master plan. Skipping over several boring scenes where he re-enacted Mission Impossible and stole the records of every inmate ever interned in this lovely place of insanity. Several hours of searching and a quick visit to the sex addicted women wing and Eric had found his candidate.
Eric: Adrian, Adrian Comrade?
Yes, there is someone with that name actually, the more you know. Adrian Comrade, the former eight time golden glove winner, undefeated champion of the world, and now part time vegetable slowly turns to look at Eric.
Comrade: Zaboomafoo?
The former champ raises his boxing gloves and bounces around the ring and looking at the arriving Mr. Ares. Oh, I didn’t mention that they were in a ring did I? Yep, the insane asylum has a ring, plot device mother fuckers!
Eric quickly shucks his shirt revealing his Adonis type physic as he steps up closer to Comrade.
Eric: Alright Adrian, I need to see how a retarded boxer fights, you’re going to show me, capeche?
Comrade: French Toast?
Eric: God you are fucking stup….
You may think Eric stopped because he felt bad for mocking a retard, but no Adrian Comrade just sucker punched the future of VCW right across the jaw. Eric crumples to the ground quickly holding his jaw tightly. He looks up at boxer who is serenely bouncing back and forth between feet throwing jabs at phantoms. Eric spits out a mouthful of blood and stares up at the inmate with hate in his eyes.
Eric: You cheating son of a dirty fucking whore.
Suddenly Eric explodes and performs a Double A Spinebuster and throws the man down hard to the mat. Comrade tries to throw some hammer fists before Alex grabs hold of the arm and locks in a tight arm bar yanking the elbow as hard as I can. Comrade screams in pain trying to free his arm as Ares pulls back harder and harder. But sadly a man with little wrestling training cannot stop a man with phenomenal talent as a sickening snap echoes through the room.
Eric releases Comrades arm and goes back to his feet as he looks down on the former champion writhing around on the mat in pain. He pokes the man with his toe, reminding him that he is still there. Adrian Comrade struggles valiantly and slowly pulls himself to his feet with only one arm, his other hanging limply down his side.
After a second the boxer screams something unintelligible and throws a jab with his good arm that Ares easily dodges. He tries again and again as tears of rage fly from his eyes. Suddenly with the quickness of a cat or man more godlike than you Alex steps back and unleashes a devastating Eric Ares Greatest Hit Superkick right to the jaw of Comrade. The Adrian’s head snaps back and he falls to the ground like a sack of mentally handicapped shit. Eric smiles as he looks down at the fallen retard.
Eric: Foot trumps fist. I can almost see why he uses that move now.
Eric being the great sportsman that he is cannot just let Comrade lie there, he goes for the kill and pins him. Slapping his hand once, twice, and thri….NO! The large hands of orderlies pull Ares off of Comrade and yank him seething away.
Eric: Interference! Where the fuck is the DQ ref! This is so fucking bush league! ADRIAN! ADRIAN!
Which brings us back to here; Eric Ares stuck behind glass in a straight jacket. You happy now?
Eric: Very, I have finally completed my training. I now know that no retarded former champion of boxing is a match for my superior technique and talent. As well I plan to bring a game of boggle to the ring to confuse him with it’s big words to win easier. But that aside, I'm not worried about this match. In fact you could say this entire thing was a waste of time, with no real point to it.
Don't you think that will piss a lot of people off?
Eric: Why? I never made them watch this. All they need to know is that I am going to be the first VCW Champion. Everything else, is just filler.
Only one problem, what if you aren’t able to make it to the match.
Eric: Not a problem.
Why not….wait, who is that? MOM!?
Narrators Mom: Hi Hunny, it’s good that Eric finally made you get a real job.
What the fuck are you doing here?
And why are you opening his cell?
Eric: She’s setting me free of course. I told you I couldn’t miss my match.
Narrators Mom: Baby, do you have time to….
Eric: Yeah baby I have a few hours to kill, you spread it and I’ll get the juice bottle.
Oh god no!
And this is where we cut...
Narrators Mom: OH GOD! GIVE ME THAT JUICE HARDER!
….but not fucking fast enough.
Fade to Black.
|
|
|
Post by sickfixx on Feb 12, 2008 18:35:25 GMT -5
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Fatal Fiveway: iSav vs Captain Courage vs Adam Wylde vs Kennith Noisewater vs Deacon King * Top 2 advance * Soul survivor gets to choose opponent for Round 2
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Chris Austen vs Exodus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Eric Ares vs Colt Conrad
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Gregory Best vs Rivers Atwood
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Halford vs Benedict Phoenix
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Sick Fixx vs Sir Freyd Brisbane
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Eric Ahreman vs Anon Emus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Fytor vs Cain Ravid
Main Event: Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Tag Team Match: 13 and Ribz vs Sam & Max & Johnathan Dunn
|
|
|
Post by kennithnoisewater on Feb 12, 2008 22:19:07 GMT -5
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Fatal Fiveway: iSav vs Captain Courage vs Adam Wylde vs Kennith Noisewater vs Deacon King * Top 2 advance * Soul survivor gets to choose opponent for Round 2
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Chris Austen vs Exodus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Eric Ares vs Colt Conrad
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Gregory Best vs Rivers Atwood
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Halford vs Benedict Phoenix
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Sick Fixx vs Sir Freyd Brisbane
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Eric Ahreman vs Anon Emus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Fytor vs Cain Ravid
Main Event: Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Tag Team Match: 13 and Ribz vs Sam & Max & Johnathan Dunn
|
|
|
Post by Erich Ahriman on Feb 12, 2008 22:27:16 GMT -5
A bench occupying a small space of grass sits lonely in front of a lone bus stop, sitting upon the bench is a respectable yet old and grey haired man. Once the peak of physical perfection, this man is now frail and hunched over reading the days paper slowly taking in every word he licks his finger through habit as he turns the pages, upon reaching page 6 another man; much more healthy looking clad from head to toe in black walks along inspects the bus timetable before placing a large bag upon the cracked concrete at his feet and taking a seat next to the old man. He glances over at the paper in the old mans hand before leaning down and opening his bag, from it he pulls out a neatly bowed box of chocolates. He pulls the bow free and discards it carelessly and removes the lid. This man is Erich Ahriman, he takes a big sigh before speaking indirectly at the man although never looking at the man. Erich Ahriman:[/b] You know what phrase I hate? Life is like a box of chocolates. The by-product of a lacklustre film in which the Academy saw fit to give its seal of approval too by awarding it the Best Actor, Best Film, Best Director and who knows what else. If anything mere proof of what this world is coming to, a world where the words of a slightly retarded fictional characters outlook on a few ‘historical’ events mixed in with how a box of chocolates is metaphor for life touched enough people for some other people in bow ties and dinner jackets to award it with some award that lost meaning eon’s ago. Erich picks up the small piece of paper looming in the box which directs the eater to which chocolate is which, he scans it for a few seconds before picking one out and taking a bite out of half of it. He begins talking again at the man who never once looks up from the paper.Erich:[/b] Lets take this one for example; Strawberry cream. A creamy sensation of strawberry flavoured nougat and pink food coloring. In what way could this worthless chocolate relate to life? Has life ever been creamy and full of strawberry goodness? I doubt it, the only thing that remotely relates to life is the food coloring, because my friend lets face it, every event in the country is shrouded by a smog of make believe happiness as seen in everyone’s favourite film ‘Forrest Gump’. John F Kennedy gets shot and Forrest tells him he has to go pee. An American everyone can look up too there. I was there that day, and as the Presidents brain was smeared thoughtlessly over his wife’s lap the only thing remotely amusing to me was the power shift. How one of the most powerful men in the World was quickly one of the weakest in a mere matter of seconds. Heh, I still remember the fresh smell of cut grass and blood in the air on that day. Erich discards the strawberry cream in a bin next to him and begins digging around the layer of chocolates for another one, he picks it out and again takes a half bite out of it.Erich:[/b] Ah, here we go. Peanut butter cup, a smooth lump of peanut butter covered in chocolate. A personal favourite of mine, the bitter taste of peanut butter strangely compliments well with the sweet of the chocolate. I would say it reminded me of when negro’s were out for civil rights, we gave them what they wanted, yet it wasn’t enough, it never is. Then one extremist by the name of Martin Luther King decided he wanted everyone to hear his say. Before long it was another smeared brain upon the chest of a nearby woman. And then no one cared what he had to say. I tell you my friend, those people out there. Erich points to across the road where a busy street harbour’s a handful of people.Erich:[/b] ‘Society’ if you will, are a virus, a plague. They are HIV incarnate, they walk around with no feeling, no remorse but when there is a local lottery on they clap two hands together and begin to verbally suck their ‘God’ off. I tell you my friend; God left here a long time ago, their saviour isn’t coming, they should burn their books now cause Jesus was a con artist, The Virgin Mary had been banged more times than Sharon Stone and Judas lived long and prospered. I could yell it out to them, but you think any of them would care? Of course they wouldn’t, cause I’m not Britney Spears, or Paris Hilton or any other whore on the front of the tabloids I’m a nobody sitting on a park bench. Erich proceeds to pull out a spoon, two syringes, a lighter and a small unknown brown powder from out of his coat pocket. He pours a few dabs of the substance onto the spoon and begins to burn it until it begins to bubble into a dark shade of maroon, he carefully pours the liquid into the syringes.Erich:[/b] Take this man for example. He turns his head to the right and points towards a hooded figure walking towards the bus stop. The mans eyes are shrunk back into his skull, his pale complexion shows off the little sweat beads upon the mans head off distinctly. Erich:[/b] That man right there is a recovering drug addict. As long as he got his fix he was fine. Obviously he didn’t realise about his ex girlfriend and mother of his son. She shot her son and then herself, he’ll probably get a call about it later, but until that time he won’t care because he’s too busy being sorry for himself. As the man walks past he places the syringe into his hands as the man gives a confused look at Erich who doesn’t show any emotion back. Erich:[/b] Ah here we go another useless person. A self proclaimed soccer mom, speaking on her cell phone as her child runs amok round a park with for all she knows paedophiles. Any person could take that kid without question or reasoning. And who would know? Where are the police, I just prepared a Class A drug in broad daylight yet all I got was a few disapproving looks. Even if they got called up by one of these disapproving people, I’d be gone before they could reach me. They’d never find me, ah the joys of anonymity. The soccer moms kid begins to make his way towards Erich who holds out his box of chocolates and offers one to the grateful child. He picks one out and begins to chew on it happily, whilst doing this Erich grabs the child’s arm and injects it into the child who jumps slightly at the pain before stumbling off unsure as to what just happened.Erich:[/b] There you go, that’s how easy it was to drug a child with heroin. Oh what a perfect world wouldn’t you say. And as for life being like a box of chocolates apart from the jaw cracking nuts and the teeth breaking toffee pennys, I’d say life is more like a cancerous tumor, black and unforgiving ready to take your life within any second, Always getting worse, never getting better. It tightens its grip upon your lung, or your heart or brain and it squeezes that last bit of life out from you. The bus pulls up at the bus stop and Erich proceeds to get up and step onto the bus he waves a goodbye at the old man who is still blissfully unaware at the departing Erich Ahriman. Erich takes another look back and spy’s the hearing aid he first spotted upon sitting down. He smirks to himself before taking a seat next to an old lady. Old Lady:[/b] Lovely day isn’t it? Erich:[/b] Oh defiantly I don’t know how it could get any better. THUD! Oh my god! Fuck! He just stumbled out right in front of me!Jamie! JAMIE WAKE UP PLEASE! Erich looks outside the window as the body of the drugged young child is now smeared across the road. The soccer mom is kneeled over the young boy openly weeping, to the right of her a man runs his hands through his hair every so often checking the front of his Porsche that has just hit the kid for damage. After letting everyone on the bus get a good look the driver begins to drive off. The scene reopens to the desk of a small convenience store, two clerks stand behind the counter, one is reading a tabloid news paper and making conversation with the other, a long haired bearded man walks up to the counter and places down a few items, the man begins to scan the items as the other one continues conversing about some articles, he places his attention to the customer and asks him if he believes in any of the tabloid articles. Clerk:[/b] Do you believe in this shit man? I mean they claim in here that they know of a dude whose been alive 2000 years. I mean come on how stupid do you have to be to believe that? :[/b] Very fucking stupid. Pack of smokes too. Clerk:[/b] They even got blurry photos of him at loads of major historical events, I swear these papers are such bullshit. The man pays for his items and walks out the door lighting a cigarette on the way out, we can now see that this man is Cactus Sam. He blows a smoke ring in the air before turning to walk off however before he can turn away he is met by the figure of Erich Ahriman.Erich:[/b] Those things will kill you. Cactus Sam:[/b] Well if it ain’t Mr Fountain of fucking Youth himself. Erich:[/b] Good Evening Samuel. How are you keeping? Cactus:[/b] Cut the crap what do you want? Erich:[/b] I came for a favour. Cactus:[/b] Why should I do you a fucking favour? Erich:[/b] Considering I helped in deleting all of your criminal records, trained you as a wrestler and helped you find a certain someone I think I am pretty deserving of a favour from you. Cactus takes a long drag on his cigarette and blows it through his yellow mis-shaped teeth, he sighs slightly throws down the cigarette before replying.Cactus:[/b] What do you want? Erich:[/b] Follow me, we have much to discuss…
|
|
|
Post by Mortus on Feb 13, 2008 9:04:02 GMT -5
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Fatal Fiveway: Kennith Noisewater
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Exodus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Eric Ares
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Gregory Best
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Benedict Phoenix
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Sir Freyd Brisbane
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Eric Ahreman
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Cain Ravid
Main Event: Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Tag Team Match: Sam & Max & Johnathan Dunn
|
|
fytor
Developmental Talent
Posts: 17
|
Post by fytor on Feb 13, 2008 11:04:26 GMT -5
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Fatal Fiveway: Deacon King * Top 2 advance * Soul survivor gets to choose opponent for Round 2
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Exodus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Eric Ares
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Gregory Best
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Benedict Phoenix
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Sir Freyd Brisbane
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Anon Ehmus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Fytor
Main Event: Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Tag Team Match: Max & Johnathan Dunn
|
|
|
Post by Super 'Mella Bear on Feb 13, 2008 11:10:23 GMT -5
iSav vs Captain Courage vs Adam Wylde vs Kennith Noisewater vs Deacon King Chris Austen vs Exodus Eric Ares vs Colt Conrad Gregory Best vs Rivers Atwood Halford vs Benedict Phoenix Sick Fixx vs Sir Freyd Brisbane Eric Ahriman vs Anon Ehmus Fytor vs Cain Ravid 13 and Ribz vs Sam & Max & Johnathan Dunn
|
|
|
Post by Eric Ares on Feb 13, 2008 11:15:16 GMT -5
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.1 Live from the Staples Center, LA
Tonight’s card: Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Fatal Fiveway: iSav vs Captain Courage vs Adam Wylde vs Kennith Noisewater vs Deacon King * Top 2 advance * Soul survivor gets to choose opponent for Round 2 [/color] Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match:[/color] Chris Austen vs Exodus Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Eric Ares vs Colt Conrad Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Gregory Best vs Rivers Atwood Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Halford vs Benedict Phoenix Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Sick Fixx vs Sir Freyd Brisbane Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Eric Ahreman vs Anon Emus Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Fytor vs Cain Ravid Main Event: Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Tag Team Match: [/color] 13 and Ribz vs Sam & Max & Johnathan Dunn[/center] Promo only until Tuesday, 12 February 11:59 PM EST. Voting & Promo until Thursday, 14 February 11:59 PM EST.[/color][/quote]
|
|
Mr. Thomas Hookton
Lower Midcarder
If Heaven Rides Against Us, Then Gods Be Damned
Posts: 117
|
Post by Mr. Thomas Hookton on Feb 13, 2008 13:21:31 GMT -5
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.1 Live from the Staples Center, LA
Tonight’s card: Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Fatal Fiveway: iSav vs Captain Courage vs [/color] Adam Wylde vs Kennith Noisewater vs Deacon King * Top 2 advance * Soul survivor gets to choose opponent for Round 2Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match:[/color] Chris Austen vs Exodus Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Eric Ares vs Colt Conrad Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Gregory Best vs Rivers Atwood Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Halford vs Benedict Phoenix Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Sick Fixx vs Sir Freyd Brisbane Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Eric Ahreman vs Anon Emus Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: [/color] Fytor vs Cain Ravid Main Event: Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Tag Team Match: [/color] 13 and Ribz vs Sam & Max & Johnathan Dunn[/center]
|
|
Austin
Lower Midcarder
Posts: 172
|
Post by Austin on Feb 13, 2008 14:46:07 GMT -5
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.1 Live from the Staples Center, LA
Tonight’s card:
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Fatal Fiveway: Kennith Noisewater
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Exodus(I'll admit, his was way better)
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Eric Ares(Hard choice)
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Gregory Best
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Benedict Phoenix
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Sir Freyd Brisbane
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Eric Ahreman
Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match: Cain Ravid
Main Event: Seraphim Falls Tournament Qualifying Match - Tag Team Match: 13 and Ribz
|
|