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Thread: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

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    FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    Post your promos for the 01/18/2020 Fight Night card here. Promos are due Saturday, January 18th, at midnight Pacific time, which is Sunday, January 19th at 3 a.m. Eastern time and 8 a.m. British time.

    If you'd like a 24-hour extension, please request one in the promo discussion thread. Please make this request prior to 12 hours before the original promo deadline.
    Last edited by The Golden One; 01-14-2020 at 12:21 PM.


    "The Golden One" Devin Golden

    3x FWA World Heavyweight Champion
    2x FWA X Champion
    4x FWA Tag Team Champion
    Final record: 94-58-10


    Shannon O'Neal
    2x FWA Women's Champion
    1x FWA World Champion


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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    MVH
    VOLUME 22
    “SLUMBER.”

    “That’s the problem with everyone now,” she said her ill-fitting clothes wrapped tightly around her as she walked on under the moon’s pale light, “With everything, with everywhere."

    The sand was wet, the tide gently breaking into foaming crescents beneath her odd shoes. They were both black, at least. The wind was out for her tonight, incessantly bombarding her ghostly white skin. She shifted her hands around the bundle she was carrying, trying in vain to keep its contents warm. She herself was used to worse, but that was another story.

    “Nobody really knows who they are anymore. And it’s because they aren’t really anyone or anything. They define themselves only by the things they consume.”

    The moon had already climbed high, but it was weak and cowardly and seemed to shy away from the task. Its only task. The stars were distant and sparse, the city lights forcing some of them into retreat and overpowering the ones that remained. Before her, the Chandeleur Sound spread itself toward the horizon, a shimmering column cast by the moon presenting itself like a road to the very edge. Beyond that was the ocean. She shivered at the thought.

    “All they talk about is things they’ve done - the films that they watch, the countries they’ve been to, the books that they’ve read and didn’t understand. They talk about these tepid experiences so much that it’s become what they are. Consumers. Mindless and insidious and spawning at an alarming rate. All-the-while taking whatever they can, whatever they want. Using and watching and clicking and scrolling. A world of knowledge is at our fingertips, and we choose to swipe left.”

    She had been here before, on this very beach. It must have been five years ago, and a little closer to Summer than it was now. The sun had been higher and brighter than the moon was tonight. Tourists and residents alike swarmed around it. Fat old men read books about sports stars. Young lovers poured suncream on their hands and gently stroked it into each other’s skin. Children ate ice creams. All of that shit. She preferred it as it was now. Except for the cold. Again she pulled the bundle tighter towards her, quickening her pace and beginning to turn inland.

    “You’ll learn this for yourself soon enough.”

    She lit a cigarette, looking around to find her bearings. Everything was unfamiliar. Street names, landmarks, people. She couldn’t remember the short time, five years back, that she called this city home. It was an uncharacteristic bout of nostalgia that had caused her to get off the bus. New Orleans lay right on the Greyhound route between Lafayette and Mobile, and she felt that she needed a break from her makeshift travel companions. Greasy-handed American pigs shovelling fried chicken into their fat fucking faces, offending her by their mere presence, or rather their lack thereof. At one stage on the journey, a young girl had managed to lock herself in the bathroom, and a man with a shaved head and tattoos where his hair should have been was required to break her out of it with a credit card. ’There ain’t a lock in America that I can’t get through,’ he had said, a huge smile plastered across his shit-eating face. An odd thing to be proud of. She had heard once that, upon release from prison, criminals in this country were given a free Greyhound ticket to get home. The result was a cross-section of America’s underbelly hurtling across its highways, the limit of their ambitions being to get home without committing any more crimes. Still, it was better than flying. Fuck flying.

    Eventually, she found what she was looking for. Beneath an illuminated gold sign advertising fried shrimp, to the right of the smashed window of a pawn shop, she found the staircase that led to her motel. She climbed the steps, sucking at her cigarette, dragging the last few draws out of it before she reached the door. The old fat man on reception nodded at her as she pushed through the door. He didn’t bother smiling, but this wasn’t a problem. She’d caught a glimpse of the few yellow teeth he had left when she’d paid for the bed, and had no great desire to see them again.

    She reached her room and closed the front door behind her. The sign on the back of it advised her to keep this door locked for your own safety. She drew the dusty, off-white curtains (she assumed they had been white at one point, perhaps decades ago) across the single-glazed window and sat on the end of the bed. The duvet was stained in various places with various fluids, as was the sheet beneath it, and the mattress itself beneath that.

    “Home sweet home,” she said, to herself and to the bundle that she still carried. “What more could a girl ask for?”

    At length, she lay back onto the mattress, being careful to avoid the largest and most unidentifiable of the stains. From the cabinet next to her bed she retrieved a small bottle and emptied a handful of the little white pills into the palm of her hand, throwing them down her throat and swallowing with only her saliva to lubricate their passage. Closing her eyes, she waited for them to do their job, and for her body to be transported to another world. A better world. There, her dreams awaited her, and she stretched out her arms to greet them like an old friend.

    ***

    Michelle ran her hand through her short blonde hair, her back to the camera, as if she was pondering the images before her. She wore plain, black clothes - skinny jeans and a hoodie at least four sizes too big for her - and surveyed the polaroid pictures that she had arranged into neat rows. She was barefoot. To her right was a waste basket, and low but strong flames were flickering above its rim. The sounds of the city could be heard through the open window: the low rumble of exhausts, a murmur of conversation, the occasional siren. More close by, the slow crackling of the fire permeated the silence of the room. But Michelle just ran her hand through her short blonde hair, her back to the camera, as if she was pondering the images before her.

    “It’s almost funny, the place we find ourselves in now.”

    The place we find ourselves in? Her words concerned the men and women that populated a locker room she intended to infiltrate, but her mind was concerned with only herself. The place she found herself in would be closer to the truth. And where was that? Back in America, the same country she’d fled three and a half years ago. For months or maybe even years after she had left, she’d convinced herself that she had no other choice. But when the phone call had come, beckoning her away from the Land of Opportunity, she had welcomed it with open arms. She had a reason to leave, she’d told herself. A reason she had to leave. But the reality was that she was looking for an excuse.

    She attempted to re-focus. Dwelling on the past would do her no good, especially in this very moment. It was time to think about the future.

    “And yet this is where we are, my estranged tulips,” she continued, reaching out and taking one of her photographs off the wall. It was from the top row, where four pictures became three. She turned and faced the camera, holding it up towards its lens. Nova Diamond stood in the ring, celebrating his victory in the Carnal Contendership. “A relative unknown debuts to little fanfare, gets a few wins under his belt, and then shocks the world by winning a battle royale. He will go on to face the champion in the main event of the biggest show of the year. Sound familiar? I am not impressed by this, and neither should you be. Diamond’s victory in the Carnal Contendership match proves only this: that the old crop is dying fast, and that the new one is weak. It exposed the soft underbelly of the FWA. But you can thank your novus Diamond for one thing: I am drawn to an ending like a moth to a flame. His victory, and the doom it foretold, was what brought me to your beloved little sinkhole. I have come to peer over the edge.”

    She turned back to the wall, but as she did, she reached out with her right hand and, with a deft flick of her wrist, the photograph fell into her makeshift firepit. For a moment, the flames seemed to grow as they devoured it, yet the room seemed to darken. Michelle reached for a second photograph.

    The Fallen Goddess, she calls herself, and make of that what you will. I understand what she’s trying to do. An idiot would understand what she’s trying to do. A fall from grace. Lost divinity. But that moniker is certainly an eye raiser. It suggests that Gabrielle had some grace to begin with, but the lady is protesting too much. I’m using the word lady in the loosest possible terms, and that isn’t the first or even the millionth time the word loose has been used to describe Little Miss Caramel. I remember the first time I was in this nation, with one eye perpetually roaming to the other company from my home. At best, Gabrielle was already a part-time attraction, a shadow of her alleged former self. But there came a time when I didn’t have to watch from afar. You might not remember, but Gaby came to me at the end of 2015. She showed up at the Wrestle Royale to great fanfare, and I dumped her over the top rope like the washed up punk that she is. She will not save you. She cannot save you.”

    Gabrielle joined Diamond in the fire, and Michelle resolutely turned back to the wall. She collected two more photographs: Devin Golden holds the FWA World Heavyweight Championship aloft in one, whilst Cyrus Truth has the same belt around his waist in the second.

    “And then we have our ‘first time ever’ extravaganza. You know, last week, after I’d bludgeoned a trio of pretty little skulls with my pretty little chair, I made a throwaway comment about this pairing. Competing over their legacies and longevities, or something like that. Maybe I should expand on this. Both of these men are perceived legends, one born elsewhere and the other here. Both former world champions, both fierce competitors when operating at their peak. But both of their primes are long behind them, retreating into the distant memory of their nostalgiac fans. They are still here, and still near the top of the card, but they themselves know that they are only waiting for their replacements to arrive. Well, she’s here. It’s time to move on.”

    Truth and Golden joined the main eventers in her flames, and for a second she found herself transfixed by their movements. Ever since she was a child, she had been fascinated by dancing fire. Until this day, she felt certain that there was nothing else like it. Nothing that moved, sounded, or devoured in quite the same way. It took great care to master it, and even those who knew its ways could just as easily become its victim.

    Suddenly, she was no longer in her New Orleans hotel room. She was back in Rotterdam, and the year was 2016. It had been one week since she’d left the United States, beckoned by a single phone call from her last living relative. Since she’d run away. The drab walls of the motel were replaced by the sterile, white walls of a crematorium. Slowly, two rectangular holes opened up in one of them, and the two wooden boxes were slowly sucked into them. For a moment, the doors remained open, and she watched as the fire began to gnaw on the wood.

    “What will you do with the ashes?” her cousin had asked. Michelle didn’t remove her eyes from the fire.

    “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug.“What do people usually do with them?”

    The holes in the crematorium wall closed once more, and just as suddenly she found herself back in New Orleans. She sighed audibly, before taking the next series of photographs down from the wall. She moved to the second row, collecting three images that were arranged next to each other. The first was Dave Sullivan, a shit-eating grin on his face and the FWA Championship held proudly above his head. Next to him was Mike Parr, his newly won North American belt slung over his shoulder. And on the third were the Undisputed Alliance, on their way to the ring with the Tag Team straps clutched tightly in their hands.

    “Championships everywhere!” She declared, with a knowing grin emerging onto her face. “The belts certainly look the same as when I was last on these shores, but are these the same championships? It’s been a while since I paid attention to the exploits of our self-appointed King, I must admit, but this is the man that leads your company? An impetuous, pompous fool with an ego so heavy his body cannot support it? He is a poor man’s Atlas, and the world that he carries upon his shoulders is barely worth the effort. His star shines the dullest, and we are all quite aware that he is not the man to drag us away from the doom. But who else? Parr? A man so wildly inconsistent that, even as champion, he enters every match with a look of sheer uncertainty plastered upon his uninspiring face? Or perhaps the Alliance? Felix is a nobody, and I proved my dominance over Savage on a weekly basis when we both plied our trade elsewhere. These bottom-feeders are fortunate in only one respect: that they carry the most insignificant trinkets, and I have no reason to challenge them.”

    She shook her head and sort of shuddered, as if the thought of these men rising to the top of any company was giving her convulsions. They joined the others in the fire, momentarily smothering the flames until they too were consumed. She addressed the third and longest row, removing the images one by one. The Elite and the Cheshire Cat Clan, the Valanders and the New Breed, the Wave, Cromwell, and Princeton. All of them were posing, throwing up signature taunts as they came down to the ring. Before saying a word she tossed the pile into the bin.

    "Nobody likes tag team wrestling," she declared with a roll of her eyes. "Friendship is weakness."

    Once more, she turned to the board, and this time she paused. Eight pictures remained, and she began to collect the six that lay in a neat row above the final two. All of them were clutching foreign objects: chairs, kendo sticks, ladders, or tables. Some of them had blood on their faces. None of them were particularly memorable.

    “These men, these six, they sit towards the bottom of our card. Their matches will be quick, they will be brutal, and they will be oh so much fun! It’s amazing that, two weeks before the biggest show in the calendar year, the most interesting thing under our big tent is six disparate nobodies bludgeoning each other with various steel objects. This is why I find this whole situation almost amusing. I speak for you all when I say that I’d rather watch Jason Randall throw Kayden Knox through a table than see Mike Parr attempt a wrestling hold. I would give up a month’s salary to watch Eli Black fold a kendo stick around Izzy Van Doren’s head instead of Cyrus Truth’s psuedo-intellectual and oh so serious mumblings. Who wouldn’t sooner see Captain El Franko diving off a ladder onto Donovan Moore’s prone body than yet more of Dave Sullivan’s sanctimonious and repetitive bullshit?

    “Now, don’t misunderstand me: I’m not saying that any of these men deserve to be any higher up in any self-respecting company. Franko is about the only one worth even an ounce of your respect. The others are a combination of unproven boys like the Man of the Minute and never-have-beens like Randall. But who doesn’t love a bit of the ultra-violence? You may not know very much about me, but my reputation is one built on the blood of shallow men who didn’t see their future coming until it was throwing a steel chair into their faces. These pigs overlooked me. Underestimated me. But they found themselves unable to withstand. I find it almost laughable that my own match, against Dominick Dust, will not be contested under the same rules. One of two things is true. That the string-pullers see me as a weak little girl and want to protect my delicate frame, or they know what I am and want to protect whoever the fuck Dominick Dust is.”


    Almost in disgust, she threw the six images into the bin. The smoke that now emerged from it was black, and she felt it fitting. Only two remained. One was of her opponent, a pretty boy with rangey limbs and a slender frame. In the photograph, he was laid on his back, staring at the ceiling lights as the referee counted three. Next to him was her own image. She was clutching the CWA High Voltage Championship, a title that she had only stolen and never truly earned.

    “You see, Mr Dust and I do share a few things in common. We have both only ever had one match in an FWA Ring, although mine was three years ago and his only last week. We can both only really talk about things we’ve done somewhere else. We have both declared our intention to carve a new path for the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance. But that’s where the similarities end. Our match count may be the same, but our solitary result is quite different. I watched Franko drop him on his head and then pin him for three. The Captain could’ve paused for a cigarette before hooking the leg and the result would have been the same. We may both talk about our prior accomplishments, but mine have more relevance to my new adoring audience. Search the backs of your minds, my tulips, and you’ll remember that I made Bell Connelly tap out live on pay-per-view. I pinned WOLF clean in the middle of a CWA ring. The only reason I haven’t maimed and emasculated more of your heroes is because I haven’t yet had the chance.”

    The corners of her mouth curled up, the suggestion of a smile only amplified by the widening of her eyes. The crackling of the flames was interrupted by the thin sound of a child crying. She continued, unmoved and resolute.

    “Dust, you are, quite unfortunately for you, almost entirely replaceable. I have been insulted by the people who control your destiny. They have judged me unsuitable for their little X Rules warm-up matches, and as such a point will have to be made at your expense. I intend to show the Blackbird why my name belongs on his championship belt. You have declared your greatness, and your intention to carve out a new path for this company, but you have quickly receded into the background. Two weeks after you were announced to the world as the prettiest little debutant in the FWA, you will be forgotten about entirely. I do not intend on suffering the same fate. The pen is mightier than the sword, they say, but you appear to have lost both. And now the sword that hovers above your neck must surely fall. In time, you will turn to ashes, and then to Dust.”

    She drops his image into the flames. It is swallowed almost instantly, and the infant’s moans immediately abate.

    “You are only the first. Soon, the others must be shaken from their slumber, too. The time for rest is over. It is time to wake up.”

  3. #3
    The Maniacal Martyr
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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    The cameras of FWA are backstage, noticing one of FWAs newest tag teams.

    The Valanders are talking to each other, discussing their last match.

    Louis: You see that, man, we kicked ass last week in the match. Man we were so good.

    Mike: Yeah we were, little brother.

    Louis: I mean, I had my moves and you did too.

    Mike takes a sip of water to catch his breath

    Mike: So yeah, what about it?

    Louis: What about it? We're unstoppable.

    Mike: We only had one match, how can we be unstoppable if we only had one tag match together?

    Louis: Don't ya get it? We're unstoppable because we're family, we stick together no matter what.

    Mike: That's true, so we got a match next week.

    Mike grabs a piece of paper showing the match card.

    Mike: It says here we're facing The New Breed of "The Protégé" Sean Hughes and The Prototype

    Louis has a smirk on his face

    Louis: See we can beat them, they're new but we're brothers, we have more history than they do.

    Mike: Once again that is true, but I hear they're dangerous, we shouldn't you know ignore them, they can capitalize on that.

    Louis: You're right, we have to focus on the task at hand, and prove to the FWA that we're a good tag team.

    Mike: Right, and if we can focus more, we can move one step forward towards.......

    Louis: The Tag Team Championships.

    Mike: Exactly, if you can get distracted, then those titles will disappear within the blink of an eye.

    Louis: Why are you saying that to me? You can get distracted too.

    Mike: I do not, I pay attention.

    Louis: Yeah yeah, we know you have paid attention to other things, like elsewhere.

    Mike: Look, lets just get ready, right Louie?

    Louis: You bet, its going to be a good match.

    Louis leaves and Mike puts his hand on his face.

    Mike: Oh my goodness, we do argue a lot.

    Mike put his hand away.

    Mike: But he is my brother, and we have to make mom happy, and possibly get gold on both me and my brother. We'll be dominant, if we're focused, and we'll be the Champions.

  4. #4
    The Flow
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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    The Dawning of the Hour

    It's 6:03 PM. Mobile, Alabama. We're at a busy restaurant where a man sits at a table. He's wearing a designer suit, not looking at the camera. A beautiful man, he converses with fellow beautiful men while beautiful women sit on their laps. The man still doesn't look at the camera but he drinks some Crown Royal out of a short glass on ice, because that's the only way to drink it. He's also wearing a designer watch, and we have to stress he's extremely beautiful. Like an absolute 10/10. This man is an important man. His name is Donovan Moore. Cocky, brash, arrogant, all of the above. Donovan Moore doesn't give a shit about what people think about him because he knows he is better than them. It's an absolute fact. This is Donovan Moore's preparation for matches. It's all in the mind. He's already done his physical training now it's time to kick back because Donovan Moore knows he's always going to win. It's just what he does. Donovan Moore is the Man of the Hour. When Donovan Moore steps into the ring, the Hour begins. Donovan Moore will talk more about the Hour but let me (not Donovan Moore) tell you: The Hour will put you in awe. Donovan still doesn't look at the camera but he knows it's there. He's so silly he's playing games with it now. He puts on his glasses. The lenses in his glasses look like clocks and finally, all of a sudden, Donovan Moore looks at the camera with a smirk on his face.

    Donovan Moore: I suppose I'll talk to you now. Did the narration guy say who I am? Yeah I'm Donovan Moore. Quite possibly the greatest fucking man to ever live. But lets not talk about me right now. Lets talk about time, lets talk about the Hour. You see time is just an abstract. The Hour is part of time and it is an abstract as well. Because the Hour can last however long I damn well want it to. The Hour is my absolute favourite part of the day. It's when I inflict pain on my opponent whoever it may be. You see The Hour is my fucking time. I run shit when The Hour begins. The ring is my fucking playground and the opponent is my fucking victim. Time is my favourite thing in the world. I studied it. I fucking know it. I've read A Brief History of Time 12 fucking times. I may be obsessed with it, but that's just a rumour started by some fucking whack. I fucking love The Hour because it's when I can show people what I think of them. It's when I can show who I truly am. I'm a fucking asshole and I know it but I'll wait for the Hour to show it. You're probably wondering how I can afford this fancy dinner with beautiful people and delicious food. Well it's because I'm fucking me. These guys pay for this, I don't pay for shit. These people know I'm the fucking best around. I'm just like Daniel fucking LaRusso. I'll even kick a guy in the fucking chin if I have to motherfuckers. Lets have a drink to that. That drink is also fore more than one reason. Because it's just a matter of time until I ascend. You see I'm going all the way to the top in this fucking company. All the way to the fucking top. Think of all the motherfucking victims. Jason Randall, Kayden Knox, Michelle von Horrowitz, Kevin Cromwell, The Calendars, or Valenders I don't really give a flying fuck, Eli Black, Krash, Gabrielle, Cyrus Truth, DAVE MOTHERFUCKING SULLIVAN, I'm gonna beat all those fucks including the ones I didn't mention. I'll tell you a secret: The Hour is when Captain El Franko gets his ass handed to him.

    Donovan Moore takes another sip of Crown. The girl on his lap waves goodbye and he winks at her. Another girl shows up and he smirks at one of his friends. You see Donovan Moore gets whatever he wants. He's the ultimate man. Donovan Moore finally gets his food. It's a 40 oz prime rib and he is in absolute fucking heaven. He decides to switch drinks and goes to red wine. Pinot noir, the fucking good shit. Donovan Moore takes a sip of the wine and just smiles. He knows he picked the right choice and an awesome wave goes over him because he was bit panicked he chose the wrong drink. Donovan Moore takes a bite of the prime rib and it is absolutely divine. Cooked to perfection with just the right layer of sauce on top. Donovan Moore looks around and he knows how good he has it. He continues eating his food, once again ignoring the camera. Some people say he doesn't deserve to live but he's actually a great guy just grossly misunderstood. Donovan Moore finishes his dinner and decides to stand up, knocking the girl on his lap to the floor. I mean it's Donovan Moore, he loses one and then he gains one. Another girl wraps around him and they go outside for a smoke. Donovan Moore lights his cigarette, it's a Dunhill. Dunhills are expensive and this one was also paid for by one of his friends. Donovan Moore holds the lit cigarette in his hand and he leans back to the wall. Like he knows the camera is there but he really doesn't give a shit. He high fives somebody walking by, they know who he is and they get it. Donovan Moore finally looks at the camera again and just laughs.

    Donovan Moore: Alright, alright. I'll talk about me. That's what you wanted, right? My name is Donovan Moore. Son of a plum...naw just kidding dawg. My past isn't relevant. What is relevant is the present. What is relevant is Captain El Franko. This fucking fuck just thinks he's funniest fuck in the world. Naw man you got another thing fucking coming. The Hour is gonna get you, motherfucker. But wait lets talk about Mobile, Alabama before anything. These fucking city, this fucking state, is an absolute motherfucking shithole if I've ever seen one. The fucking hicks that live here are so god damn ugly I had to get these girls from another damn state! I can't wait until I leave this shithole because nothing good ever happens here. Wait. Except for The Hour. When I fucking lay waste to that piece of shit Captain El Franko, or Cap. I'm just gonna call you Cap. I will make you fucking bleed, motherfucker. You see I know what will happen. You'll waltz in with your stupid ass comedy shtick and I'll fucking kick you in the shin. And then I will beat your ass down. I'll hit you with some clotheslines. I'll chop you to fucking death. I'll probably even put you in a god damn sleeper. You won't go to sleep though. You'll likely fight it. But then the DDT will hit you. But you'll kick out. Then a Boston Crab, you'll grab the rope. Then I hit a dropkick once you stand up. But I won't let you kick out this time. I'll make sure you don't kick out. I grab your head. I stand us both up. I hit a crippling back breaker. Then it's my time. Time. The Hour. Where I control everything that happens. This is where both my paragraphs meet, conjoin, cross paths, whatever the fuck you want to call it. The Hour could end. Or maybe I just delay your demise. I have some fun. A few more clotheslines here and there. Maybe I'll hit the schoolboy. Cap whatever I fucking do, you will feel the consequences.

    Donovan Moore notices his smoke is out and decides to just flick it away. He leaves the girl and goes back inside where everybody just loves him and hugs him. You see he's just so damn lovable. One of the fucking best around. He mentioned Ralph Macchio correct? Well I'm the narration guy. I'm like his Mister Miyagi. But enough about me. Donovan Moore goes back to his table where ANOTHER girl sits on his lap. If I can't stress it enough this guy is the fucking man. He kills it every night and day. There's nobody like him. Not even Dave Sullivan. Donovan Moore decides dessert is in order for tonight. He orders a slice of cherry cheesecake, really the second best type of cake after ice cream, and it comes out very quickly. Because they know who ordered it, they know. He takes a bite of the cake and he is in love. This cake is the motherfucking bees knees. He finishes the slice and looks at one of his friends. He winks at him and his friend orders shots of Crown Royal. The shots come quicker than the cheesecake did and everybody grabs one. They do a cheers to Donovan Moore's FWA debut and Donovan Moore winks at the camera.

    Donovan Moore: Cap you son of a fucking bitch. Did you think I was done talking about you? SURPRISE MOTHAFUCKA! I'm never done talking. I was just hungry again. I haven't even mentioned the big moves yet silly! I talked about the schoolboy, right? Well, well, well if it ain't the invis..wait what was I talking about? Oh right Captain El Fucko. Well you're gonna find out about Time's Arrow. You'll see what it is because I will one hundred percent hit it on you. And if that doesn't do the trick, which is very unlikely because I'm so much better than you at everything, you will feel the Lock of Time. You will literally be locked in The Hour. No fucking escape except for one. You tap out it's all over. The Hour is over. But that's not what I want to happen. You see Cap, I kinda like you. You're somewhat funny, you don't look terrible. Your name could use some work. Dude I'm just kidding I fucking hate you and everything you fucking stand for. You will, and I FUCKING STRESS, YOU WILL meet The End of the Hour. The only really practical way to escape The Hour. But I will tell you. You will feel it. You will experience it. You will know it. THE END OF THE HOUR. This isn't just some motherfucking clothesline. This is The End of the Hour. This is where you end and I begin. When you know your time is up and my time is now. Because I am the motherfucking man and you are just some motherfucking loser. The fact that my first match is against pisses me off already. But I know I'm going to beat you. I have this shit in the fucking bag. I'm better than you end of fucking story. Captain El Franko, The Hour is motherfucking coming for you.

    Donovan Moore decides enough is enough. He gets one of his friends to play rock, paper, scissors for the bill and the loser he smacks upside in the head. He laughs and then winks at the camera. Another girl goes up to him while the one on his lap "loses her balance" and falls to the ground. Donovan Moore doesn't really care about which girl who gets. He's not a complete loser like Risky Douglas who cared about a girl then lost her due to him putting powder up his nose. He gets another bottle of wine. This time it's Pinot Gris, the fancy white shit. He looks at the camera and does a smooch.

    Donovan Moore: Everybody should be afraid of The Hour. It's the fucking best. Captain El Franko is OBVIOUSLY the first victim. But who will be the next? Who will be after that? I don't really give a shit cause I'll motherfucking beat their ass. Just like my boy Dak. They will meet The Hour. I will introduce them to the End of the Hour. That's just what I fucking do. I beat ass, take names. I control time. I will take Captain El Franko's title. I will be Captain Donovan Moore. Don't you forget it. I repeat, don't you fucking forget it. I will absolutely fucking take control of time. Y'all better watch the fuck out. Jason Randall after this waste of skin I'm coming for you motherfucker. Maybe I'll bring Zachary Kazadi back just so he can be a victim of The Hour, I'll whip his fucking bitch ass I tell you. I'll even beat up KAIZEN. I don't fucking care, I'm a future world champion. But no. Wait a minute focus. El Franko (what happened to the Captain LOL) is the focus. He's a victim just like all of you. Mu next victim? Already? God fucking dang fine! Wait you'll have to on the next edition of FWA Card! Because I'm not some god damn motherfucking mind reader. But I guarantee you I will beat his motherfucking ass. You will fucking see. You fucking know what? I'm motherfucking out!

    Donovan Moore makes out with the girl on his lap. He tells her to leave and she leaves acting VERY upset about him telling her to leave. Donovan Moore signals for the server (it's server you fucks) and asks for the bill and points at his good friend Joker. The server hands Joker the bill and he splits it with Donovan Moore's other friend (and his friend) Dak. They gladly split bill because they know who Donovan Moore is. He winks at the camera again, but this time the camera fades out.


    The only time WWE came close to a good story line post Attitude Era was Undertaker/Mordecai - Dakstang
    [06:01 PM]Dakstang
    :
    Yeah I guess you are right. And I only want to be Daddy to my own kids. Sorry.

  5. #5
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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    Peaceful, that’s the best way to describe the scene currently before us as the camera’s begin to roll. Just a nice relaxing day, with a quiet ambience. No cars, no sounds of Industry, just a few chirping birds and the playful sound of a child’s laughter. It’s hard not to be enveloped by this calm scenery. Green grass, a few tree’s here and there, and Gabrielle Montgomery’s Estate in the background. It stands as a testament to all she has done as a Pro Wrestler, a Model, and an Actress. She may be more down to Earth thesedays, but she’s still accomplished so much and leads what is an enviable lifestyle. So while that ‘monument’ to all she has done takes pride of place in the background, immediately before us things are much more simple. Carmella Kennedy, the now nine year old daughter of Chris and Gabrielle runs around being playfully chased by her Golden Retriever. A mixture of giggles and squeals emanating from her being as her faithful Dog bounds after her. Her Mother has a smile firmly plastered upon her face as she watches her little girl happily play. As Carmella finds a stick to throw for her Dog to fetch we in turn focus more upon Gabrielle. The Former Goddess who lived and breathed that Moniker, it wasn’t just a cute little Nickname to sell tickets, she was a Goddess. She carried herself like a Goddess and demanded to be revered as such. But that is no more, and we can fully sense just how much she has left that mentality behind. Everything feels different just by looking at her. Not a deity, she’s just a proud Mother sitting on her expansive manicured lawn. She’s even dressed casually for the colder Winter months; a pair of slim fit jeans, and a tight grey sweater. Well…casual dress for her standards at least. She smiles as the camera crew approach her, smiles and turns her attention down to the book in her lap.

    Gabrielle:
    This all feels so right, so perfect. For so long I was never able to just enjoy the simpler things in life. I had so much glitz and glam…so many luxuries, so many suiters, even more friends. Endless invites to Parties, to Balls, to Gala’s. Life was a blur at times, now I feel like I can stop and appreciate more of the little joys in life. Like sitting here watching my daughter have so much fun. Or even the simple enjoyment of looking through a photo album.

    She takes a moment to bask in the sunlight, it’s not very bright but it’s just warm enough. Gabrielle may have her long dark brown hair tied back into a ponytail and have most of her sweetly coloured skin hidden away but she’s still gorgeous, still stunning, still intoxicatingly beautiful. She could never hide that, and the camera loves her for it as she tilts her head back slightly enjoying the contrast of the warm sun and the cool breeze as the two camera men kneel down either side of her.

    Gabrielle:
    I really think this is something we’ve lost to the past. Phones thesedays mean that we can take a photograph anytime we want too, anytime of day. Sure it means we can capture every little thing that excites us, but when I was a little girl photographs were saved for those truly precious moments. While thesedays we have hundreds, even thousands of images on our phones…this book, this photo album contains a lot less. Its full of nothing but the big moments in my life.

    This album is one started in my infancy. My parents would put precious moments in here, all those firsts that a baby, a toddler, a child experience’s. I found it over Christmas while back at my childhood home with them…and have added to it now.

    She opens up the photo album, the first few images are those of a very young Gabrielle and little moments that her parents cherished. Her first tooth is an image of a six month old Gabrielle in her Mums lap proudly showing off her first small pearly white. Her first steps captured in a slightly grainy image of a young, lightly haired Gabrielle. Her first words; it’s an image of her beaming Father holding her tightly with the word “Dada” written underneath. A small tear of joy rolls down her cheek as she looks through these first standout moments of her life. Her first adult tooth, her first day of school, even her first haircut. Pivotally there’s a photo of her on her feet in front of the TV watching Kerry Kennedy; her first ‘Wrestling Experience’. Her first day of Gynmastics, her first game of Soccer, her first Horse ride. The Montgomery family captured so many stand out moments in their daughters life. Then we get to her first Championship.

    Gabrielle:
    Some people might think this would be the FWA Women’s Championship. But no this was the under 15’s Archery Championship for the North Island of New Zealand. My first real taste of singles success. I played Soccer for years before this, and won as a team…this was different, it was just me.

    The self proclaimed 'Dreamer' flips through a few more pages. Her first day of Wrestling School. Her first Wrestling Match; at a small organisation in New Zealand.

    Gabrielle:
    I was eighteen when I had my first match. If you could go back and tell that idealistic, hopeful Gabrielle everything I would go on to achieve, and where I would be sitting in fifteen years time I wouldn’t believe you. I hoped I would get what I have, I hoped I would do what I’ve done. But never to this scale, I never actually imagined I could possibly do everything I have done. The World Championships, the Mile High matches…the Trial By Fire matches. The Movies…I never thought I could be a Movie Star.

    A blissful sigh escapes her lips as she looks at that image of a very young Gabrielle in the ring.

    Gabrielle:
    I didn’t know it at the time but my Parents kept adding to this album after I moved to America. Look at this…my first TV appearance.

    It’s an image of a very scantily clad nineteen year old Gabrielle standing outside the GWA ring and cheering on ‘Diamond’ Jack Severino. Her first love, the man she came to America with both chasing their dream of being Professional Wrestlers.

    Gabrielle:
    Everything starts somewhere right. This was my first time ever being on TV, I’d won Soccer Championships, Archery Titles, Gymnastics Events, but it was putting on a pair of shorts that were about two sizes too small for me and a sports bra that was about four sizes too small for me that got me on TV. My Dad was mortified…and I don’t blame him. His little girl moves to the other side of the World and next time he see’s me I’m wearing that, strutting around outside the ring shaking my ass. But he was still proud of me, he still put that moment in here.

    I remember wondering if that was my ceiling at the time. I was young, attractive, and didn’t have any hang ups about flaunting my curves. Jack told me I’d do more, Julian Knight guaranteed me everything would come in time but I remember thinking that maybe this is all Pro Wrestling would be for me, accompanying Jack down to the ring and showing off my tits.

    She chuckles to herself and then turns the page.

    Gabrielle:
    My first televised match was a loss…

    This photo is of an upset looking Gabrielle as Jack consoles her outside the ring.

    Gabrielle:
    This was right before the FWA had a rebirth, wiped everything clean, vacated everything and started over. Myself and Jack in one corner, Alexx and Anyanka in the other corner. I haven’t looked at some of these photos, not since they were taken, I haven’t thought about some of these moments since I lived them. But just think about everything I’ve done in the last fourteen years. It all started with me shaking my ass outside the ring, and losing when I actually got into the ring.

    She flips through a few more images. Her first televised win which was over Becky. Her first Wrestling Championship; the FWA Womens Title. The very first FWA Womens Champion at that. There’s her first Tag Team Title. History is kind to her, but Sinful Sensuality were handed those Belts by G-Rich and Matt Boudreau. Gabrielle and Jenny Ignito made history as the first ever female Tag Team Champions, but it wasn’t a storybook coronation.

    Gabrielle turns the page and takes a deep breath and then smiles, happily but awkwardly.

    Gabrielle:
    My first Wedding. That’s not a statement anyone imagines themselves saying. Girls always dream of their Wedding Day, its meant to just be one day though. A one time occurrence, and at the time I thought it would be, but Jenny and I didn’t last. And that leads me too this…

    Gabrielle turns the page and reveals a photo of herself and Jenny hugging one last time.

    Gabrielle:
    Despite everything we parted on relatively good terms. We don’t speak anymore…but we stayed civil enough for long enough. I added this photo here, I felt it needed to be here. This was a big moment in my life, and one that while it hurt so much at the time it led to so many good things for me…

    She turns the page…and the colour almost drains from her face. It’s an image that is familiar to much of the FWA audience, an image of something that has been viewed millions of times in every corner of the internet. A still capture from her sextape with FWA CEO Matthew Robinson. The page is open just long enough to see it, and while the sensors will blur much of it before this goes to air, it is there.

    Gabrielle:
    I…that should not be there. I did NOT put that in there. Ummm…God.

    Gabrielle takes a moment to compose herself.

    Gabrielle:
    This is what I meant, these moments. My first World Championship. As a part of The Great Siege I did something I always dreamed of doing but never really expected to do. I became the FWA World Champion…and did so by winning the Mile High Massacre match. The biggest match of my career at that point and I shone brighter than I ever had before. Then there is my first Back In Business Main Event. This is the pinnacle of everything that everyone aims for. This means more than just being World Champion, you want to be World Champion at the end of this match…and I was.

    Another few pages turn and then Gabrielle’s entire being lights up.

    Gabrielle:
    But more amazingly than any of that. My first child…my daughter Carmella. Chris and I we’ve done so much wrong together, but we’ve done one thing so right, so perfectly together, that’s our daughter. It’s amazing to think that she’s so grown now, but I’ll always see her as being my tiny little bald headed baby girl.

    She looks over at her daughter and sighs happily, just watching her for a bit longer.

    Gabrielle:
    But this is sort of where many of the ‘Firsts’ stop. I’d done everything for the first time by now. Well there was my first retirement four years ago I suppose. But I don’t have many firsts anymore.

    There’s a tease of a wicked little smile at the corner of her mouth. The old Gabrielle would probably regale us of a few more firsts in line with that little surprise ‘First Sex Tape leak’ that someone snuck in there. But this Gabrielle leaves those moments unmentioned.

    Gabrielle:
    There are still firsts I chase though; my first Trial By Fire victory, my first Carnal Contendership win, a first match with Michelle Von Horrowitz. And some smaller firsts I still do have; my first match with Krash, my first match with Dave Sullivan, my first match with Izzy Van Doren. By the way I happened to win all of those. But I cant possibly put all of those individual firsts in here.

    But I do have one of those such firsts this week. My first proper match with Nova Diamond, and it also is a chance to get some revenge for my first Carnal Contendership win not being in here yet. We’ve been in the ring before, it came down to just he and I facing the possibility of headlining Back In Business.

    Gabrielle sighs again, loudly, but not happily this time though.

    Gabrielle:
    Nova…you got the best of me on that night and have set yourself up to challenge for the FWA World Championship at the biggest show of all. What that means can’t be understated, and cant be taken away from you. It was impressive. I could put it down to luck if I needed as in a match like that you need a bit of luck to come out on top. But I was hoping to be the lucky one after all, so I cant begrude you for it.

    What I can do though is beat you properly.

    What did you do after all Nova, send me over the top rope…big deal. What is with people bragging about such a small act so much lately? I’m aiming to put you on your back for a three count and have no doubt left that I’m better than you. And you have to try and do the same. But this isn’t just any regular match for you, this isn’t just any regular ‘first’ for you. But it is for me. Champions, Contenders, Challengers, Pretenders…I’ve faced them all before. Male, Female, Rookie, Legend, Tag Teams, Brawlers, High Flyers, I have faced them all in my illustrious career.

    I’ve seen them all, I’ve beat them all. I’ve stood tall time and time again, first match after first match, after first encounter, after first face off…on and on.

    Gabrielle pauses for a few moments. Composing herself as she watches her Daughters Dog eagerly chase after a tennis Ball thrown by Carmella.

    Gabrielle:
    This is just more of the same for me Nova, another first time one on one encounter with another arrogant…git…to coin a phrase from your Motherland. I mean this might be the first singles match between Gabrielle Montgomery and Nova Diamond…but you’re so familiar to me Nova. You’re so unoriginal, so usual. I’ve been in the ring with so many people exactly like you. So confident, so arrogant, so totally sure of themselves that they try and look past me.

    I’ve dealt with it so much before, I’ve dealt with exactly who Nova Diamond is so much before. Tom Princeton, Darnell Porter, Phillip Jackson, Ryan Hall, Dave Sullivan, Cyrus Truth, the list goes on and on…and on…

    And on.

    People just like Nova Diamond. Cocky to the ninth degree. So full of themselves, and so unable to ever admit any faults or deal with any set backs in a healthy manner. You might think your relative youth, your quickness, your wiles, your mind for fighting might somehow pose a different threat to me, but I’ve seen it before. This is far from being my first match Nova, its far from being my one hundred and first match.

    So anything you think you’ll do differently to everyone else, I’ve seen it before. Maybe it was in my first match with Drew Stevenson, or my first Steel Cage match, or in the very first match I had against a Man. But I’ve seen it before. This is our first ‘date’ as you’ve but it but I know exactly what you’ll do. I know how you’ll compose yourself…I know how you expect to have me on my back by the end of our date.

    This wont make it into my photo album. This isn’t pivotal enough, it isn’t important enough. And I don’t say this to belittle you or to discredit you. But what does beating you give me? What does losing to you do to me? What do I have on the line here?

    Gabrielle sets the Photo Album aside and raises an eyebrow quizzically, silently further questioning Nova Diamond.

    Gabrielle:
    You see this is a big match, don’t get me wrong. Gabrielle vs Nova Diamond is a marquee match. A former World Champion, an Icon, a Revolutionary vs the man who seeks to dethrone a King. Its big Nova, I wont dare pretend otherwise.

    And you are a challenge, but as I’ve said one I’ve seen so many times before. But you cant say the same Nova.

    I’m not trying to ‘big’ myself up here, I’m just focusing on one very special little bit of information. I’ve beaten Dave Sullivan, for the longest time I was the only blemish on his record after I beat him the very first time we ever faced off against each other. While he hoarded more and more gold in the back of his mind was a constant reminder that I had put that lone ‘L’ in his record. When we faced off again…he very nearly suffered the same fate…before going on to fracture Cyrus Truth’s ego and walk out with the Championship that you are seeking to rip away from him.

    If you’re wondering what all of this means to you Nova, it is simple. Dave Sullivan has turned away so many challengers to his Titles, I’m one of the only people he’s worried about, so can prove to be as good as me, comparative to me…maybe even better than me? What happens to your confidence, and your chances at Back In Business if you lose to me in a few days time Nova?

    If the ‘Goddess’ as I was then who defeated a ‘King’ now breaks a Diamond…will that shatter you?

    Again she raises her eyebrow, silently furthering the question, demanding that Nova consider what it would all mean.

    Gabrielle:
    If you cant get past me, what does that say for Back In Business? Can you beat the woman who beat the supposed King? And if you cant…then can you actually dethrone that King?

    You have to face all these questions Nova. This isn’t just some match that you walk in to, and back out of win, lose, draw unaffected. This matters for your immediate future. This matters, because of everything you claim to be, and everything you plan to do. A lot hinges on this, a lot hinges on you standing across the ring from me, and trying to get the better of me. A lot hinges on what you can do on our first date.

    Will you go all the way?

    Or will you be sent home blubbering to yourself about a missed opportunity.

    For a moment there’s a flicker of that ‘old’ Gabrielle. That playful ,teasing, mesmerising Gabrielle that would seek to get people under her spell. But the sound of Carmella giggling as her dog licks her face snaps her out of it.

    Gabrielle:
    But you get it don’t you Nova? This is just another first time match for me, just another in a long list. For you this matters, for you this is how you set the tone for your Back In Business future. This is how you send a message to Dave Sullivan after he took you out of that North American Championship match. What will the message be…will it be that you could do what Dave couldn’t, or will you be just like he is…be beneath me?

    Gabrielle relaxes a bit more now, with all of that off her chest she goes back to just watching Carmella enjoying life, creating precious moments and memories of her own. Carmella has so many first ahead of her in her own life, while Gabrielle is focused on adding the few last remaining first to hers.




  6. #6
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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    Exile Chronicles (Volume 2)
    Chapter 16: Truth is Truth

    Our scene opens in Mobile, Alabama...the site for the latest edition of Fight Night. We zoom in towards the arena playing host to FWA hours before the start of the show. We cut to inside, as we see various productions crates and FWA materials scattered around, as it seems the crew has worked tirelessly to get things ready for the broadcast tonight.

    However, while you’d expect there to be countless production associates and crew members coming and going...it’s strangely quiet. The only sound we hear is footsteps...heavy, slow, but deliberate.

    Emerging from around the corner is the familiar figure of Cyrus Truth. Despite it being nowhere near time for the show, Cyrus is already garbed in his wrestling gear, complete with his long tights and ring jacket.

    Things have been...tense...for Cyrus the last couple of weeks. Venting his frustrations at the lack of a Back in Business match as well as his perceived slights at being tethered to Gabrielle Montgomery since Carnal Contendership, Cyrus has made it clear that he wants nothing more to do with the former “Goddess” and desires something more worthy of his time than pointless tag matches.

    More than that, however, Cyrus has been attacked on multiple fronts by people like Gabrielle as being “delusional,” with her and others saying that Cyrus doesn’t practice what he preaches. In fact, as Cyrus silently walks through the empty bowels of the arena, you can almost hear some of those words from Gabrielle echoing through the halls, like a ghost taunting the Wayward Warrior.

    Cyrus ignores the whispers, ignores the frustration and presses on, heading out through the gorilla position and onto the ramp leading to the ring. The arena, aside from the whispers, is completely empty. Not a single soul, wrestler or production crew, is around. Cyrus makes his way down to the ring and heads for one of the corners facing the entrance ramp, and has a seat on the mat.

    As he does that, the whispers stop. The arena is now completely silent. And Cyrus’s expression softened, becoming less tense, more relaxed and focused. It’s as if this ring, this place among all others, is where peace and sense return to The Exile. This is where he thrives...not with verbal barbs or hyperbole from those who seek to undermine him. No...the wrestling ring is home...the only home he has.

    Cyrus takes a deep breath, clearly enjoying the peace he finds in this place absent of any distractions or indignities. When he finally speaks, there’s no anger or bile in his voice. He speaks clearly...purposely.

    “Imagine my surprise when I look up the matches for this Fight Night and, for once, I’m not burdened by the albatross that is Gabrielle Montgomery. It seems that FWA officials were actually listening...a talent that seems to be lacking in a lot of my colleagues lately...and have finally given me something worthwhile to do while I wait to see what lies in my future regarding Back in Business and the World Title.

    “Although...to say that this match is a pleasant surprise is a bit of an understatement. Regardless of what the actual supposed ‘main event’ of this show is promoted as? My match against Devin Golden is the true main event. On any show, on any given day, the first head-to-head match between The Exile and The Golden One is a bonafide show-stopping, monumental matchup.”


    There’s a certain...anticipation in Cyrus’s voice. If one didn’t know any better, you could say he was a bit giddy as he spoke about his upcoming match. The faintest hint of a smile creeps across his lips as he looks up to the main screen above the entrance ramp.

    As if on cue, the screen flares to life, showing clips of Cyrus’s past matches. Specifically, his matches against FWA’s legends and Hall of Famers...of which Devin Golden is a member of.

    “In my time in FWA, I’ve been fortunate enough to share this ring with many of this company’s elite. Stu St. Clair, Ryan Rondo, Chris Kennedy...and yes, even the shrew. But Devin Golden was always one that eluded me. Granted, much of that had to do with Devin Golden’s temporary retirement, but he’s always been around. See, the thing about Devin and one of the things I do respect about the man is that, despite what may change in FWA, he’s never too far away. The man loves this company something fierce, and no matter what storms may come to shake up the company’s foundations, he is always there. Even when content to sit back and let others take the reins, Devin remains on-guard and prepared to step in when he feels it’s necessary.

    “And the thing of it is...at this point in his career? I don’t think he’s doing it because he’s looking for one last run at the top. The man has done a great many things in his time in FWA. Three World Titles, several Tag Team Championships, and a Hall of Fame induction. Devin Golden has built a very impressive legacy and, from most accounts, would have been perfectly fine winding down his career as a commentator had certain individuals decided to think rationally instead of blindingly and foolishly trying to beat their chests in a war that was never truly a war. Yet when others were in the wrong and others still refused to pick a side, Devin took it upon himself to set down his headset and step up. He didn’t have to. I didn’t ask him to. But he did it anyway, because he felt it was necessary.

    “Principles and conviction are a rare commodity in professional wrestling, and seem much rarer in FWA. But Devin Golden has them. And that is worth my respect.”


    Cyrus exhales as the screen showcases some of Devin Golden’s biggest wins and most celebrated moments. It also includes snapshots of his recent exploits...in particular, when he left the commentary booth and stood up for Cyrus and Krash during the conflict with Michael Garcia, Chris Kennedy, and Dave Sullivan.

    However, when we zoom back down to Cyrus’s face, there’s a certain darkness to his expression.

    “But...Truth is Truth. We don’t just get to ignore it when it’s convenient for us. It doesn’t stop being Truth just because we really wish for it. And with Devin Golden, there is certainly quite a bit of darkness in his long and tenured career in FWA. “The Rotten Gold,” as he is called, has not always stayed true to the principles...and in many cases, cast them aside to chase after gold and glory.”

    The screen changes, showing Devin Golden once again...but not as “The Golden One.” Rather, it is a montage of Devin Golden’s more devious, disgraceful, and treacherous side...that of the “Rotten Gold.”

    Cyrus, for his part, seems to be taking no pleasure in watching this, but is very deliberate as he continues.

    “Devin’s legacy is not without its tarnishes. At times, he has sacrificed his principles and dignity at the altar of false glories, cast aside his pride and honor and done terrible, unforgivable things all for the sake of chasing titles or his legacy. As much as I respect Devin, I cannot...will not let the world forget that for every good and honorable thing he has done in FWA, for every accolade and praise he’s received...there is, was, and will forever be many black spots on his legacy that no amount of time will mend.

    “I say this because this is something that Gabrielle and Dave Sullivan have failed to grasp. I’ve heard them and so many others talk about their legacies, how much they’ve had to sacrifice to build those legacies and everything they’ve done towards that goal. But fools like them miss the point of a legacy completely. They think that winning matches and acquiring championships are what make a legacy, and nothing else matters in that regard. The problem is that matches and championships are but a part of one’s legacy. Yes, I still pursue the World Title. Yes, I will continue to fight for the rematch that I’m owed. But the World Title does not define me. No championship, no one single match defines Cyrus Truth. Winning means next to nothing compared to how you win. Building a legacy beyond reproach is hard...the single-hardest thing to do in this business. For everything men and women have done in pursuit of titles and accolades, do you think any truly realize that the methods and actions taken in those pursuits don’t matter? The ends do NOT justify the means. They never have. They never should. What pride is there to be taken in a legacy if that legacy is marred by betrayal, vanity, and fear of losing what you’ve acquired?

    “Devin’s record is no different in this regard. But the thing about Devin that separates him from others like Gabrielle and Sullivan? At his worst...at his absolute most “Rotten,” Devin was never as bad as Gabrielle or Sullivan. And at his best? Devin Golden is a true example of what we as wrestlers should aspire to.”


    The screen cuts to static as Cyrus stands up, wringing his hands pensively. There’s a hesitation, a slight pause that creates a heavy atmosphere in the empty arena before Cyrus speaks up again.

    “Devin...I wish that this first match of ours had been under different circumstances, in a different time. In spite of your blackened past, I still see that beneath the darkness exists a man who shares some of my principles, and has done a better job of not letting ego drive him than even I have. But...at this time? You’re yet another example that needs to be made to a company that doesn’t understand what principle is. I’m still excited for this match. I’m still eager to test my mettle against one of this company’s very best. But the need to show FWA that my failings haven’t beaten me, haven’t cooled the fire in my heart to press forward towards my undeniable legacy...it’ll push me, prod me towards defeating you wholly, soundly, and without any hesitation or remorse.

    “Truth is Truth, and we don’t get to ignore it.”


    The screen flashes back to life, this time showing still images of more recent events. Cyrus slowly walks over to the ropes and grabs the top one tightly as he watches the images cycle.

    Dave Sullivan scoring the pin in his first match against Cyrus Truth.

    The end of the Six-Man Tag Match that enabled Dave Sullivan to get the shot at Desert Storm.

    The climax of Desert Storm’s main event, where Dave Sullivan pinned Cyrus to secure the title.

    The tail end of Carnal Contendership, where Gabrielle tossed him out of the ring.

    Cyrus watches this slideshow, eyes fixated on it. He doesn’t turn his gaze, doesn’t look away. He looks at this presentation of his most recent failings...and glares it down defiantly.

    “Despite what others have insisted on, I have never balked at my own shortcomings. I have never not accepted the burden of responsibility for them. Truth is Truth, and I AM Truth. But my failings do not define me. Nor are they a blemish on a legacy that’s still being written. This is what so few truly grasp. Stumbles will happen. Failures will occur. But as long as one remains true to themselves and walk the path that must be taken rather than the one that gets you towards the goal the easiest, those shortcomings will never define you. I have lived, fought, won, and lost on my own two feet. So too has Devin Golden. And I refuse to be lectured to or demonized by those who cannot say the same.

    “Devin...thank you for this match. Thank you for stepping into the ring with me and giving me a respite from Sullivan’s rants and Gabrielle’s nonsense. I have to crush you, to continue forward with this Reckoning until those who would tarnish and belittle everything I’ve accomplished are struck down and eliminated. But I hope that you can see that whatever punishment I inflict on you is not out of any anger towards you. It’s due to our peers who cannot understand and are too proud and arrogant to listen. At the very least, I can promise you this: you will get my absolute best. It’s what you deserve. This may not be the best time and place for this match, but I refuse to let such a confrontation slip through my fingers. If I am to reclaim what was lost...if I am to strike down the pretenders, charlatans, and monsters that wish to ruin everything I helped build in FWA since I arrived, I have to know that I am still capable of beating the best...the strongest...the legendary.

    “For one night, FWA will get to see me at my very best, not burdened by a leech struggling to maintain her past relevance. For one night, I remind the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance what makes me great. For one night, on Fight Night...Cyrus Truth and Devin Golden collide in a match transcending any petty arrogance and untainted by ego. Two men, two champions square off and show the FWA faithful what this business, this sport should be. And words cannot express just how much I am looking forward to this. This contest...its weight and simplicity. This is something I’ve been missing for a long time…”


    Cyrus hops over the top rope onto the floor of the arena as the slideshow disappears back into static. The Exile seems...calm, at peace that at least for one night? He can have a straightforward, worthy match unmarred by anger, greed, or deceit.

    However, as Cyrus walks back up the ramp, he stops just about half way there. The camera zooms in as The Wayward Warrior has a puzzled look on his face.

    “...There is...one question I do have.”

    You can almost feel the air being sucked out of the arena as a menacing aura seems to be invisibly exuding from Cyrus.

    “This match is...huge. Gigantic, in fact. This is a first-time confrontation between two multi-time World Champions. A Hall of Famer steps up to challenge a man who has ruled over this company for the majority of his time here. It seems odd to me that this match isn’t the main event...however, given Nova Diamond’s destiny at Back in Business, I can understand that. But more to the point? Why is this match on Fight Night? A match like this doesn’t need hatred to make it appealing. It doesn’t need a grudge to sell tickets. I still don’t have a match for FWA’s biggest show of the year. Why not have this match at Back in Business?”

    Cyrus’s expression darkens tremendously as a scowl crosses his lips. Up until now, Cyrus has spoken in a tone absent of anger and bile. Now? All of that is rising as every word The Exile speaks is laced with venom and hate.

    “Of course, I know the answer. I’ve known ever since the first time FWA decided to team me with her. I’m fully aware as to what this endgame is. And I know this because FWA refuses to tell her ‘no.’ FWA wants to appease her by giving her something she thinks she wants, but are dooming her in the process.

    “This doesn’t end the way they or she thinks it does. The only way this ends is the same way it ended at the Anniversary Show...and should it come to pass? I will not be as merciful as I was back then…”


    Cyrus resumes his stride as the screen flickers back on...but this time, it only shows one thing. It loops over and over and over again, driving home and punctuating what Cyrus just said.

    It is the image of Cyrus Truth delivering Journey’s End to Gabrielle, and standing over her the victor...

  7. #7
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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    It’s a long road ahead

    Several moments after his match with Kayden Knox and Eli Black, that he won, Jason Randall is seen walking backstage to the locker room area. He’s being congratulated by several workers and colleagues for the win, but he doesn’t feel any sense of elation despite winning the match, why? Maybe it’s because he knows that if he gets any sense of excitement about this he’ll just find a way to come up short in his next match, or the match after that. He knows he’s been inconsistent as of late, and he wants to change that and find himself like Vincent told him; and even if he did find a bit of himself in this last match, it’s a long road ahead to finding the rest of his old self.

    He reaches the locker room, grabs a bag from his locker room and sits down on the bench as he’s shoveling through the bag. After digging around some he finds his cell phone and notices a notification for a text message from an unknown number, curiously he opens it up and the message reads:

    Meet me in the parking lot in 15 minutes, come alone.

    Randall begins to wonder if this is some sort of prank being pulled on him, he has become the butt of the jokes in the locker room as of late so he wouldn’t be far off in thinking that.

    “This better not be what I think it is”

    He mutters to himself as he begins to change out of his wrestling gear when the scene fades out momentarily.

    *****

    15 minutes later and Jason Randall is seen handling his gear bag as he’s walking in the parking lot when a limo drives up in front of him nearly running him over, and the back door swings open on it’s own by the looks of it but obviously someone opened it. He shrugs and enters the limo and shuts the door behind and throws his bag on the seat next to him, sitting across from him is a figure that is shrouded in a bit of darkness. There’s a moment of silence as the limo drives out of the parking lot and into the busy streets of Lafayette, but eventually the silence is broken by Randall himself.

    “Okay, is this some sort of joke? Who put you up to this? That jackass Michael Garcia? Chris Kennedy? Sullivan? Come on, spit it out!”

    Randall spouts off, agitatedly as he adjusts in the seat. There’s a light chuckle from the figure sitting across from him, the figure is staring out of the window as the streets pass by.

    “You’re laughing! See, I knew this was a joke! Of course I was too much of an idiot to fall for it! Tell your driver to pull over right now!”

    The figure laughs some more and finally begins to speak.

    “This is no joke Mr. Randall”

    Randall glares at the figure, trying to make out who it is.

    “Then what’s so funny? What is this about?”

    “What’s funny is how little you believe in yourself. You see Jason, I’ve watched you on the TV on Fight Night, and watched you tonight. I saw how that fire was lit underneath you by Vincent Blackbird and how you went out there and put your opponents to rest…”

    The figure pauses for a moment while Randall curiously listens.

    “And I can see that as soon as that match was over, that fire that was lit has soon gone to smoke. You’re back to doubting yourself, you feel like you’re just going to lose again come your next match so what’s the point, am I correct?”

    “Yeah, I guess so”

    All Jason can mutter out at this point, knowing that this person is right just like Vincent was right.

    “I can help you, no scratch that; I want to help you Jason”

    This piques Jason’s interest somewhat as he arches an eyebrow.

    “How can you do that? Why would you even care enough to do that? I don’t even know who you are”

    Spoiler:



    The figure leans forward in the light and is revealed as a man with blonde, slicked back hair, suit shirt and tie along with a vest.

    “Allow me to introduce myself, Steven Stark; although you might remember me as “The Man with no Fear”, Ghost”

    “Yeah, that name rings a bell”

    “It should because I was in the FWA for a short time, and in that time I became a tag team champion along with Lord Dog, under the team name Ghost Dog. Before that though, I was in the position you’re in now. I was beginning to get down on my luck and developed a lack of belief in myself, that was until I found the aforementioned Lord Dog. He helped me find belief in myself and and helped me find my way, even though that all unfortunately had to come to an end as all good things do; I still am forever grateful to him and I’m choosing to pay it forward by helping you. I want to help you how Lord Dog helped me find my way, I want to be the Lord Dog to your Ghost so to speak”

    Randall takes this all in as he thinks in silence.

    “I realize that this is a lot to take in, and it’ll take some time to think about; but I want you to know that I truly do believe in you Jason. You have every right to find disbelief in what I’m saying, but know that I am one hundred percent truthful and honest with you right now. Like I mentioned, I was in your spot; I’ve been there and it’s no picnic…”

    He pauses briefly as Jason still sits in silence.

    “Look, I’ll give you time to think this over. I know that you have another match coming up soon and you’ll need to give that your one hundred percent attention, but please consider my offer”

    The limo pulls over to the hotel where Randall was staying while in town. The door opens automatically and Jason looks out at the hotel.

    “Here, why don’t you take my card, give me a call when you can”

    Stark hands Randall a card and Randall takes his leave out of the limo.

    “I hope to hear from you Jason”

    Stark says before the door shuts and the limo drives off leaving Jason just standing there before the scene fades out.

    *****

    Backstage of the arena in Mobile, AL where Fight Night is being held and Katie Lynn Goldsmith is standing by with Jason Randall. The two stand in front of a backdrop with the Fight Night logo plastered across it.

    Katie Lynn Goldsmith: Jason, you asked for this time to speak?

    Jason Randall: Yeah Katie, look I uh, haven’t exactly been myself as of late that’s obvious. I may have won last week on Fight Night but there’s no use in getting excited about that, because there’s a long road ahead to recovery and there’s bound to be some bumps along the way…

    Katie Lynn Goldsmith: One of those said bumps in the road would be your opponent tonight, Kayden Knox. Last week you defeated Knox and Eli Black in a triple threat street fight, so there’s no doubt that Knox will be looking to exact some revenge tonight at your expense

    Jason Randall: I don’t doubt at all that Knox will be out for my blood, believe me I’ve been there I’ve been in Knox’s shoes but if I’m to get through this long road to recovery, there’s no way that I’m going to let Kayden Knox stop me in my tracks and force me to take a U turn.

    Randall shakes his head at that before continuing.

    Jason Randall: Enough road references for now, I digress…

    He faces the camera now with a serious look in his eyes.

    Jason Randall: Kayden Knox, like I said I’ve been in your shoes I know what it’s like to have hatred at the world after being shunned by it. Believing yourself to be some joke, hell I’m still in those shoes and I’m looking to find my way out of them just like you. I also said that there’s no way that I will allow you to stop me from finding myself, unlike our last match with Eli Black I need this win. That win allowed me to open my eyes and see that these wins do matter, maybe that pep talk from Blackbird had something to do with it too…

    There’s no more throwing self pity parties for myself. I don’t want that and I know that these fans sure as hell don’t. That’s not me, that’s not who I am. I’ll save the temper tantrums for the likes of Sullivan. I need this win in order to show Blackbird and everyone else that I belong in that X-championship match coming up at Back in Business, you’re already in Knox; you have your opportunity so you have nothing to lose but I have everything to gain.

    I will win this match tonight and maybe become more than a consideration for that match, and then maybe I’ll go on and win that match but that won’t be possible if I can’t win tonight. I may not sound like I’m making sense right now, but believe me when I tell you it’ll all make sense in that ring tonight when I take Knox down and get one step closer to redemption. I’m sorry that you’re the one that’s in my way Knox, but then again I’m not sorry…


    Katie Lynn Goldsmith: Thank you Jason, good luck tonight

    Katie walks away as Jason remains there for a moment, pulls that card from Stark out of his pocket. He looks at the card and then walks away as the scene fades out.



    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business

    Quote Originally Posted by Ed
    Stop the hating of the E-Feds. If you don't like something, that's fine, just ignore it and let the people who do enjoy what they're here on WC to do. Mocking them to make you feel less of a geek for being on a geek on a wrestling forum is lame. If you want to not read their posts, I can fix that for you.

  8. #8
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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    It’s just a minor hiccup

    Backstage of the arena in Lafayette, LA after the match between Nate Savage and Trevor Ocean where Trevor Ocean was victorious, Savage and Fenix are in the locker room and obviously upset over the loss; especially Savage who is in a rage as he punches a locker.

    “Can you believe that crap?! He made me tap out! How could I have done that?!”

    “I mean, tapping out consists of slapping your hand on the mat or whatever is nearby to give up”

    Savage glares at Fenix.

    “You’re not helping Jackson!”

    Savage roars in a rage and looks like he’s ready to rip someone’s head off. Fenix stands up and tries to calm down his enraged partner and friend.

    “Look, big man relax, it was just a minor hiccup”

    This anger Savage even more.

    “A minor hiccup?! Seriously?! Have you lost your mind?!

    “No, my mind is still in tact. What I mean is that, yeah it’s disappointing that you lost, you tapped out there’s no going back from that. It’s the first loss you’ve suffered, the only blemish so far…”

    “You’re still not helping, as a matter of fact you’re just making it worse”

    “Would you let me finish? What I’m trying to say is that as a team, we’re still undefeated. We’re still unbeaten, no one can touch us as a team. We’re untouchable and if you can get your head back on straight we can remain untouchable.”

    “That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one that lost out there!”

    “Well if you lose, then technically that does mean I lose to even if doesn’t go on my record. Anyways, I’m not making much sense, what I’m trying to say is don’t dwell on it. Move on, we’ll get The Elite when it matters most”

    Savage takes a breath and sighs, he sits down on the bench.

    “I guess you’re right, no need to dwell on it”

    “Of course I’m right, but now that I think about it, you can use that pent up frustration in our next match. Boy, do I feel sorry for the poor bozos that gotta face us next!”

    *****

    Jackson and his big mouth

    “Me and my big mouth”

    Jackson Fenix blurts out as he and Savage stand by for their next promo.

    “You got that right, Dave Sullivan and Mike Parr are our next opponents. Champions vs Champions match”

    “Look, it may sound bad now but we’ve dealt with worse. Besides, we have beaten Prodigy’s boys to get these beauties around our waists”

    He motions towards their tag team championships.

    “If he’s anything like them, it should be a walk in the park”

    “What about Sullivan? We’ve never faced him before”

    Jackson snaps his fingers and a light turns on revealing an empty king’s throne behind them.

    “How did you do that?”

    “It doesn’t matter, and the king’s throne thing is all I could think of at the last minute. I couldn’t think of anything relating to Mike Parr”

    “He is pretty unrelatable and unremarkable”

    “True, and as for Sullivan, well that’s where in lies our pickle. Well not really, because you see Sullivan and Parr don’t exactly get along, they never have. They have a deep rooted hatred for one another, both professional and I think personal although I’m not sure on the latter”

    Fenix sits down on the throne and looks towards the camera.

    “Where do I even begin? Every good kingdom has a ruler and eventually that ruler will fall, and his kingdom will crumble with him. Dave Sullivan is the ruler of this FWA kingdom, he has ruled this kingdom with an iron fist for the better of a year and a half at least; but slowly it has started to crack. First, he was stripped of one of his championships, and then on the same night he lost his championship to his partner in this match; Mike Parr. That’s gotta eat away at you, right Sully? To know that Parr has the championship you once held so dearly. You put up this facade that you’re not really that upset, you look at as a blessing in disguise but deep down you’re still salty about it. I don’t blame you if you are, I mean I would be too if I were in your position but I’m not, you see my partner and I would never do that to each other, right Nate?”

    “Right”

    Is all Nate can say, he’s just as confused as the rest of us reading this.

    “I’d be downright furious but I have a partner I can trust, and I have a partner that’s still pissed off about tapping out last week to Trevor Ocean”

    As if on cue, Nate is suddenly scowling at the thought of that loss.

    “Remember, save it for Sullivan and Parr buddy. What I’m trying to say Sully is that you know that you can’t trust Parr and he can’t trust you either, so do you two really think you have a shot at winning this match with us? You have about as good a chance as the Vikings did against the 49ers”

    He makes himself laugh at that remark while Nate doesn’t quite understand the reference.

    “You’re kingdom is already starting to crack, Sully. Before it completely falls to the ground and there’s nothing but dust and rubble, why don’t you jump off and save yourself and focus on what is in your rear view, Nova Diamond. Do yourself a favor and ditch the dead weight in Parr, it’ll be in everyone’s best interest”

    With that he stands up and kicks the throne down, and motions for Nate to leave with him.

    “What just happened?”

    That’s what we all want to know Nate, what just happened? We’ll never know for sure, probably just a case of the writer having a case of writer’s block...who knows?

    End scene.


    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business

    Quote Originally Posted by Ed
    Stop the hating of the E-Feds. If you don't like something, that's fine, just ignore it and let the people who do enjoy what they're here on WC to do. Mocking them to make you feel less of a geek for being on a geek on a wrestling forum is lame. If you want to not read their posts, I can fix that for you.

  9. #9
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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    Hunger drives the wolf out of the woods. -- Old English Proverb
    @AmadeusFWA
    The most amazing thing about this recent conversation is that I've learned AON is even more of a waste of space than I thought he was previously

  10. #10
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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    The sound of a chime coincides with the appearance of a tall grandfather clock, with beautiful dark brown wood around the exterior and a glass case right in the middle. The grandfather clock has seen decades upon decades go by, existing for more than 70 years on planet earth. But it still ticks away with each second, and at each hour chimes to the number pointed to by the small hand.

    Another chime. And again. 3 o'clock, and the daylight sneaking through the blinds covering the window indicate it's daytime. With each second and each ticking and tocking sound, the pendulum inside the glass case swings back and forth. Back and forth. It's mesmerizing, and this old clock has put many a watcher to sleep.

    Pulling further away, now there are three grandfather clocks. Each is shaped slightly different, with their own distinguishable features. One has a lighter shade of brown for the wood exterior. The other is rounder. Then we pull further away to see five grandfather clocks. The two new ones are unique in their own right, one with a perfectly square appearance and the other with a black paint over the wood.

    Further and further and now it's a room full of these retro, classic clocks, timekeepers from a past era when watches and smartphones and computers and anything else used to keep time was either an idea, still in creation, or not yet conceptualized since the maker was nothing but sperm in their father's body. All of these clocks tick and tock with each second, albeit not in unison. Expecting unison would be expecting perfection, and age wipes away perfection every time.

    Fittingly, the door swings open to sound off a bell, just like you'd imagine for a clocks shop. This business couldn't be younger than 50 years, and businesses that old always have a bell attached to the door. It's like one of those understood aspects of the world.

    Walking through the doorway, the person who sounded off this little bell alarm, was a man with black eyeliner, black hair with red highlights on the bang tips, a black "My Chemical Romance" shirt with a skull in march formation, and black pants with a chain attached to a belt loop and hanging down to the right pocket.

    It's far from a classic look -- unless you think of late 90s/early 2000s goth as classic -- but perception isn't always reality. External looks don't always describe the internal mindset. And this person's mindset … is definitely classic. It's old school. It's worn and tired in some ways, or experienced and molded in others.

    These descriptions are true because the person himself … is old, classic, worn, tired, experienced and molded.

    The person doesn't match the looks, he matches the mindset. You have to look closer than the color of wood or the shape of the object. You have to see the scratches, the imperfections, the pace of the ticking hand.



    "You can see just from this where I'm likely going. Or you can have a good idea, knowing me for the past 12 years, where I'm going. You know my style, you know my mindset.

    But I'm not here to compare just myself to what I'm looking at. This metaphor isn't just about me.

    I tried to think of a common ground between myself and my opponent this week. I tried finding a bridge, a unifying concept. This is where I landed. And if you've known me for 12 years, then you know this: I never make it just about myself. Never."


    Golden slowly walks through the shop, examining each clock with intent. He seems to be ... listening ... more than looking, though. His ears are pointed toward each one, moving his hand gently along the wooden surface and glass case that covers each round-shaped time-telling feature.



    "Cyrus Truth versus Devin Golden. 'The Exile' versus 'The Golden One.' Maybe 'The Rotten Gold' is more fitting since Cyrus views himself as viewed as rotten. Cyrus has always victimized himself in the FWA, but that's none of my concern. What is my concern is history, legacy, namesake.

    Cyrus Truth is a THREE-TIME FWA World Champion. He came INTO the FWA as a main-event star. He didn't work up the ladder. He didn't fight through the X Championship or North American Championship divisions. He never cut his teeth as a Tag Team Champion to make a bigger name for himself and prove he'd stick around. He entered Carnal Contendership as a surprise and won the damn thing, strapping a rocket to his ass and sending him to the moon. That was Cyrus' trajectory in the FWA, and it hasn't dropped at all since."


    Golden reaches the very back corner of the shop and shakes his head as he continues listening to each clock. Then he turns along the back row and heads back down the second (and last) row.


    "I am ... also ... a three-time World champion, just with a different World championship belt. I'm a three-time FWA World Heavyweight Champion, three times the top wrestler on Crossfire. Three times considered either the best or equal to the other best in the FWA.

    But ... I have more accolades.

    Longest-reigning -- at that time and for the next six years -- X Champion ever. When it broke six years later, I was the one who ended the new record reign, of KAIZEN, when no one else could. I'm a four-time FWA Tag Team Champion. I've main evented Back in Business, Desert Storm, Winter Wasteland, Mile High, Trial by Fire, the Anniversary Show, Red, White & Bruised, and any other pay-per-view trialed between 2011 and 2015.

    I've been a household name in the FWA since 2009, and a name at all since 2008. I've seen people come and go, yet I stick around. I wrestled and competed and stood the test of time for seven long years. Then I retired. Then I was yanked out of retirement to defend ... you ... and Krash. And now I'm back as if I've never left, picking up singles wins against Krash and tag team wins against Mike Parr and Michael Garcia.

    And I don't intend to leave again until I hit my fourth World Championship reign. So I imagine you and I, Cyrus, will cross paths more than just the one time before us now."


    "The Golden One" -- or "The Rotten Gold", whichever you wish to call him on this day -- continues walking, listening, examining. Until ... he stops walking. He senses something, hears something. He turns and examines one of the grandfather clocks. A short, stubby-looking clock that rises no higher than Golden's knees. And next to it is a starkly different clock, one that stands almost as tall as the 6-foot-1 Golden stands.

    What is more notable is their age and appearance on the wood and glass. The short clock is ... older, easily older. Some of the light brown wood paint has chipped away. There are scratches on the glass casing. There's even a crack on it, and some of the wood along the right side of the clock is cracked as well. There's a smear of liquid or some other stain on the left side and up at the top, above the glass.

    The taller clock looks to be brand new. The dark brown wood paint is chipless, smearless, stainless. The glass casing is without blemish.

    As Golden sticks his ear closer to each one, he notices something.


    They tick and tock at different rhythms. The tall one ... the one that is brand new and has no imperfections ... its second hand moves ever so slightly faster than all the other clocks in the room. Its cadence is just a liiiiiiiiiiiiittle off, a smidge too speedy.

    And the shorter one ... the one that is aged and worn ... is the opposite. The second hand ticks just a little slower than its companion grandfather clocks. Its cadence is just a little off, a hair too delayed.


    "You and I aren't so different, Cyrus. We've never crossed paths. We've never been in the FWA at the same time until recently. Hell, we'd have no reason to compare ourselves to one another. We came about stardom and success in the FWA completely different from one another. You went fast. I went slow. You came in as a star. I entered as a nobody. You've accomplished winning a World Championship in four short years what took me seven years. You've become a shoe-in for the Hall of Fame, something people spend half a decade trying for and failing.

    Hell, Michael Garcia has been in the FWA since like 2012 and he's never even won a singles championship. That just shows you how anomalistic your success is.

    Cyrus, you rose so fast, got to the top so quick. Everyone who comes to the FWA dreams of doing that. Hell, I dreamt of it!

    But there is value in grinding, falling, failing, losing, doubting, questioning. There is good in winning the X Championship first, understanding its history, the legacy of the FWA, where it comes from. Then winning the Tag Team Championships. Learning a new style of wrestling. Forming bonds with others. And then forming rivalries that last a career. People like WOLF, Thomas Princeton, Aut Pax Aut Bellum, Ryan Rondo, Moira Crawford, Ashley 'O Ryan, Xander Xavier Xerxes, Carmine Reaper, Bullseye Johnson. Not fighting for the World Championship but fighting because your paths crossed for better or worse and you're still trying to learn something new every match, every day.

    So that when you do finally make it to the very top, and you do get your title shot against Stu 'The Snake' St. Clair … it means a little more. Because you had a long road to get there.

    Cyrus, you may have had that in CWA. But in FWA, you didn't. You missed out, and I feel sorry for you."


    Golden takes a pause in his speech but quickly picks it back up.


    "I stepped in a few months ago to defend you and Krash because I felt it was the right thing to do. I felt you didn't deserve to be victimized by hard-headed people like Chris Kennedy and Dave Sullivan. How I felt then ... matters nothing to where we are now, beyond those petty squabbles and faced with our own separate issues. You have Gabrielle. I have Michael Garcia.

    Now, for one match, we have one another. And the similarities are striking."


    Yet, Golden still picks up the shorter clock, the one with age. Because this clock has seen more, experienced more, and has more knowledge.


    "But the slower the rise, the more appreciation for it. I would take my formative years of grinding and doubting and almost quitting ... before finally breaking through and STICKING ... over your immediate gratification. I would take it every single time.

    Because now, in 2020, as we finally face one on one ... you and I are not so different. Put the cards on the table and what do you have over me aside from speed?"



    Golden examines both clocks yet again and notices their similarities as well. Both have gold-colored hands, both with a gold pendulum, both with a curved top shaped like two mountains rising and dropping with perfect fluidity.


    "You beat Ryan Rondo? I made Ryan Rondo. I built his confidence up from X-Championship hopeful to the alpha of one of the greatest tag teams in FWA history. Then I turned him from middling midcarder into a World Champion. And then I pushed him even further, possibly further than no one had ever gone before. He unified the World Championships and defeated me in my last match.

    He and I are forever intertwined, but make no mistake about it: I am always the teacher and he is always the student. There will always be a little bit of me who is better than him, no matter what he accomplished. He got it all from me."


    A pause, albeit a momentary one. The tone of Golden's voice picks up, his volume rises, his intensity grows. He's now looking directly into the camera, no longer paying his eyes' attention to the clocks. He's speaking directly to Cyrus Truth, driving each sentence at him like a sword.


    "Oh, you beat Chris Kennedy? I strike fear into Chris Kennedy. We've never faced one on one, and I don't think we ever will. But listen to him speak of me and his voice reverbrates respect, admiration, and even some yearning. He appreciates my reputation, legacy, and path. Chris Kennedy has beaten just about everyone in the FWA. He has even beaten people in matches when he was outperformed, sneaking wins from the skinniest of margins. His victory list includes Gabrielle, Ryan Rondo, Wolf, KAIZEN, yourself, Stu St. Clair, Duke Drazin, Ryan Hall. All of them, and many more.

    Not me. Not yet. The one time he and I were in the same ring together, he put a superkick into my jaw. Why? He cheap-shot me all the way to Saturn. Why'd he do that, Cyrus? Because I'm different. I'm made different than everyone else. Kennedy knows this, too, and he doesn't want anything to do with me. He doesn't want me talking, wrestling, nothing.

    Oh, you beat Stu St. Clair? Cyrus, I made my name from beating Stu St. Clair! I did it nearly a decade ago! It was 2010! I repeat that. TWO THOUSAND TEN. Mile High. I was a hot-shot upstart and Stu was … well … he was 'The Snake.'

    And I kept beating him. I've beaten him many times over, multiple times before you ever made it to the FWA. So congratulations on beating Stu when you first got here. Congrats on beating him in his last match, when he was a shell of his Hall of Fame self and in the last breaths of his wrestling life. Congratulations, but I feel nothing for it. I beat him at his apex. When he hears your name, it's a blip on his mental radar. When he hears mine? He remembers the wars we fought."


    Golden now looks red in the cheeks. His temperature is rising. He is moving closer to the camera.


    "Oh, you beat Gabrielle? Oh, you beat Bell Connelly? Mike Parr? Shannon O'Neal? Oh wait, you never beat her one on one, did you? The one name that makes you jerk and grimace and tweak like a meth addict who is 12 hours clean.

    I'm the second-longest-tenured member of the roster behind Gabrielle. I've faced Gabrielle in matches back when you were cutting your teeth into the CWA. I am to the FWA on par with what Gabrielle is to it. Bell Connelly was a blip on the FWA's radar when I was retired, and one I disregard as nothing. Shannon O'Neal is the same. Mike Parr is a glorified mid-carder who makes Dave Sullivan shit his pants. And also lost to me just last week.

    Oh, you beat Michael Garcia?

    So have I ... a long, long time ago. And so will I ... soon."


    Golden grabs the camera really close to his face and takes one more look at the grandfather clocks behind him. The short one on the ground next to the tall one. The aged one with a slow second hand next to the new, spotless one with a fast second hand.


    "We aren't so different ... except for time, speed, and the different paths we've taken. And I'd take my long and winding road over yours."
    Last edited by The Golden One; 01-19-2020 at 06:41 PM.


    "The Golden One" Devin Golden

    3x FWA World Heavyweight Champion
    2x FWA X Champion
    4x FWA Tag Team Champion
    Final record: 94-58-10


    Shannon O'Neal
    2x FWA Women's Champion
    1x FWA World Champion


  11. #11
    creatively drained artist
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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    Nova Diamond proudly presents:
    ''TROUBLE IN PARADISE''


    It would be very easy to mistake Nova Diamond for somebody who spends all 7 days of his week buried in luxury, glitz and glamour, going from dandy nightclubs to fancy restaurants, visiting museums and watching concerts from the first row. But Fridays...were for movie nights with Min-Su. Not in proper cinemas either, Fridays were reserved to sitting in home at night, in comfy PJ's, watching a random movie in Netflix, eating home-made popcorn while cuddling on the couch with her. And the plan was going smooth as usual as it did every Friday. The popcorn was ready, the movie had been selected, Nova was happy, Min-Su was happy, PJ's were comfy...so it was a typical perfect Friday night for the Diamond and his lady. The movie for tonight was quite ironic, titled 'The King', starring Timothée Chalamet in the lead. If you asked him, Nova would tell you that he was sure he had enough of 'kings' in the company he was wrestling in. Plus, he had an irrational hatred against Chalamet, though he would probably make up some bullshit excuse if he were to be asked about what he had against Chalamet. It wasn't that bad of a movie, Nova would admit. It wasn't boring at all but he was more interested in cuddling than he was interested in the movie. It was probably the same case with Min-Su as she had not stopped playing with his messy bun even since the movie started. It was the perfect cozy night until his phone buzzed. Nova instantly grabs phone, ignoring Min-Su’s pouting, checking a text message….coming from a name that made him nearly drop the phone.

    ''From: Eleanor Saturday
    To: Nova Diamond

    'Dad had a heart attack. He’s still in hospital. Please come if you can.' ''


    A few days later, St. Mary’s Hospital, Manchester, England…


    There were only a few smells that Nova hated more than the smell of hospitals. It was a distinctive mix of despair, sorrow, mania and melancholia. It hadn’t been a lot since Nova was last inside a hospital, he remembered the plastic gloves touching all over him after Sullivan took him out weeks ago. He remembered being able to see his own breath in the cold hospital room, hoping that the doctors would not be foolish enough to not clear him from competiting in his next match, a hope that had been soon proven false, much to his annoyance. He did not want to remember, but in the wild, you had to remember in order to survive and thrive, forgetfulness equaled death.

    Hospitals reminded Nova that he was still human and it was safe to say that he didn’t like that one bit.

    Nova breathes deeply, slowly getting accustomed to that damning smell. He is aware that he is getting looks from a few people who probably recognized him while he’s walking through the hallway. He doesn’t look back to any of them though, none of them tried to ask for an autograph or tried to catch a quick selfie, so that was enough for Nova to be able to ignore them. It was a hospital after all, everyone was too busy with their own problems.

    He stops in front of the reception, quickly grabbing his wallet and taking his ID card from there before extending it to the receptionist. The receptionist takes the card and stares at it for a few seconds before reading the name written on it.

    ''Andrew Saturday?''

    Nova sighs upon hearing the name he was born with, the name he still used during all of the legal procedures, something he still carries on with him from the dreaded old days.

    ''Yes.''

    ''Here to visit Mr. Arthur Saturday?''


    Nova takes another deep breath in.

    ''Yes.''

    The receptionist checks his computer, pushes some keys from his keyboard and finally turns back to Nova again.

    ''He’s on the third floor, room 4B.''

    ''Thank you.''


    Nova takes his ID back, making his way to the nearest elevator. It doesn’t take much time before he’s on the third floor, reading all of the door signs to find the room 4B. After he finally does, he stops before the closed door, wondering if he really should open that door. He could just go back down, book a spot in the next plane to LA, avoid an entire confrontation which would probably end up making things even worse for him, his sister or worst, his father who just recently suffered a heart attack. Eventually, he grabs the handle, though not pulling it down yet. After another deep breath, he finally opens the door and goes in.

    There he was, the great Arthur Saturday. The strong, just and overly loyal man. Nova wasn’t exaggarating, the man was so loyal to his friends that he named his son after one of his best friends. A few years later, the same friend would name his son…not Arthur, much to his father’s annoyance. One of the earliest memories Nova could remember consisted of his father, with his booming voice, loudly ranting about why would someone would name their son Kevin or another hippie name like that.

    Yet, that strong man was now laying in a hospital bed, still unconscious with lots of equipments stuck to his body. Nova slowly walks closer to the bed when another pair of two eyes met with his.

    ''Didn’t think you would actually come, Andy.''

    ''My name is Nova.''


    The reply comes pretty quickly from Nova, not breaking the eye-contact with the figure while he takes a seat.

    ''And I missed you too, my dearest sister.''

    His lips curl up into the smallest smirk one can ever give. Time had indeed changed his sister, she started wearing glasses, her orange hair was much longer than it used to be, she looked…weaker. Nova didn’t think he could recognize her if he saw her walking down the street.

    ''So, how’s the old man?''

    ''Doctors say he will be alright.''

    Nova doesn’t say anything, just turns his eyes to the bedridden man once again.

    ''Good to know.''

    Then there were silence. A long amount of it. Just two siblings looking at each other, then their old men, then to each other again. Finally, it’s Eleanor who cuts the silence.

    ''Holding a grudge for fifteen years isn’t healthy, do you know that?''

    ''If I still held that grudge, I wouldn’t have come all the way from USA to see how he was, don’t you think?''


    The silence filled the room again, despite it being really clear that the two had a lot to say to each other. Eleanor broke the silence once again. Nova could now see the coldness in her eyes gave its way to sadness and a little bit of warmth.

    ''...I’m sorry. Coming here was probably a very emotional decision for you and you obviously don’t need me trying to judge you.''

    ''Don’t be.''

    Even Nova was surprised with how clear that answer came from him.

    ''It had been so long, Ellie.''

    ''I know.''


    Nova watches as his sister lets go of Arthur’s hand and gets up.

    ''The visiting hours are going to be over pretty soon. Let’s go outside.''

    He nods and follows Ellie to hospital park where they sit on a bench in the shadow of a huge tree. The awkward silence returns again as they both look in front of them like they are staring a thousand miles ahead. Once again, Ellie is the first to talk.

    ''So, how are the things with…you know..that girl..?''

    ''You mean Min-Su?''


    Ellie nods, prompting Nova to smirk. It was no secret that Ellie didn’t like Min-Su, even after all those years that had gone by.

    ''It’s going wonderful. Really, what can I say? I might even start to consider proposing soon.''

    Nova noticed a melancholic smile on Ellie’s face.

    ''I’m happy for you, brother. I’m happy that you’re happy. I’m happy that you’re not miserable anymore. I’m happy that you finally found the happiness you were seeking all along. I just wish it didn’t involve leaving your family behind.''


    Nova doesn’t answer for a while, they both continue to stare ahead.

    ''I did what I had to do, Ellie, and you know that. I needed to get away from all things that made me miserable. I needed to be with people that made me happy. And I wouldn’t have lost contact with you if you weren’t the one who tried to stop me from leaving everything that was suffocating me behind. You antagonized me for finally doing something about my situation, you antagonized Min-Su for trying to help me breathe. What did you expect after all of that?''

    Ellie turns her gaze to Nova, looking noticeably angry.

    ''Are you really the one to talk about antagonizing people? You’ve been antagonizing your own father, you’ve been antagonizing my mother, you’ve antagonizing me ever since that girl had got her claws on you, hell, is there a person that you haven’t antagonized in your entire life? It was you who always said ‘Andy against the whole world’. Believe me Andy, Nova, or whatever you want to call yourself, it could’ve been ‘Andy and Ellie against the whole world’ and we could’ve managed to survive, to do more than survive, to thrive. Instead, you chose a strange Asian girl that you had met in group therapy sessions over your family.''


    Nova had no choice but to raise his tone a little.

    ''It’s because of that girl that I’m where I am.''


    ''Oh, please do tell me where you are now. Did you become the number one superstar yet? You told me you would get to the fucking top once you were free, didn’t you?''

    ''I’m about to be. I have won the Carnal Contendership, entering from number fucking two. I haven’t lost a match since who knows when. I will face Dave Sullivan at the Main Event of Back In Business and once I teach that slimy little dickhead a lesson that his stubborn ass will never forget, I will be indeed the number one, at the fucking top with the biggest prize on world.''


    Ellie rolls her eyes, which causes Nova to frown.

    ''Brother, you know that I love you, you know I was the first one who didn't doubt your abilities, but are you really certain that you will beat Sullivan?''

    Nova gets up in anger, only for Ellie to grab him by the arm, trying to get him to calm down and sit down again.

    ''What the fuck are you implying?''

    ''What I’m implying is that this arrogance of yours will end up exploding in your face pretty soon. You don’t think I don’t know what it feels like to be like that? I thought I was invincible once. That I could beat anyone regardless of who they were. Then…then you know what happened. You happened. You beat me, then I had to let you go. And now, I see you had convinced yourself to believe that you can beat anyone in any conditions. And it already hurts me how you’re going to feel when you find out that is not true.''


    The memories cause another period of silence. But it was Nova who breaks it first.

    ''I beat you back then because I was finally the man who I always meant to be. It was being Nova Diamond who led me to victory, and it still is the thing that made me undefeated, that made me win the Carnal Contendership. Yet, yet, I know that people still doubt me. Even you have your doubts about how I will fare against Sullivan. If my arrogance will explode in my face, then Sullivan’s own arrogance has to cause a fucking nuclear bomb effect on himself. I’m not the bad guy you like to believe I am, Ellie. I’m not the one who attacks people from behind. No, I am the one who has to deal with that type.''

    ''Yet it wasn’t always like this, was it, Nova?''


    Nova could not help himself but let out a laugh which is caused by the anger he is feeling.

    ''You’re right. It wasn’t always like this. I didn’t think I would find myself against someone who is even more despicable like Sullivan. But yet here I am. I did things. I lied, I cheated, I stole. I’m not a hero. At first, I thought I was doing the things I was doing because I didn’t want to get hurt again. So I would not be the victim again. That it was a mask I used to protect myself. Then I found out that I was liking what I was doing. It wasn’t just a disguise anymore. This is who I am now, and trust me, Ellie, I’m liking who I am. If you don’t, then all glory to you. But I’m never going to stop, and I want you to know that.''

    It was Ellie’s turn to laugh as she puts one hand on Nova’s shoulder.

    ''Did I tell you to stop, brother? No, I get it, you are who you are now. And quite frankly, time has given me a whole new perspective. If you want to be Nova Diamond, then be it, be the best Nova Diamond you can be. You know what? I never thought I would say this, but I actually like what I’m seeing now. You stand up for yourself now. You finally walk with your head high, with confidence. You don’t spend nights crying to yourself anymore. Half of the sentences coming from your mouth aren’t self-depreciating jokes anymore. It had taken me very long to realize that, but I’m now finally okay with what you have become. I’m okay with everything that had happened. I finally let go of my grief and anger. And I suggest you do the same. Because let me tell you what am I looking at. You’re scared. Scared of failure like all those years ago. You get bothered about the slightest misstep. Everything was going flawless for you until Dave Sullivan decided to knock you out with a scepter. Then, they stripped you out of an opportunity, then Kevin went along and lost to him again. Not to mention the fact that everyone had been doubting you since that Carnal Contendership win. The odds aren’t exactly in your favour and you know it bothers you. Am I right, Andy? Is there a detail that I missed or got wrong? Please do enlighten me if that’s the case.''

    Nova’s silence essentially tells Ellie all she needs to know.

    ''It’s all okay, brother. I’m not expecting you to give me a clear answer. But what I expect is you to fix it before you go to the biggest stage to have that biggest match of your career. I don’t want to see you fail again, not especially in your biggest opportunity. I’m at your side here, and you need to get that in that thick skull of yours.''

    Nova raises his head and looks at Ellie in the eyes again, the antagonistic tension between them now seems to be broken completely.

    ''I don’t know what to say…really.''

    Ellie doesn’t say anything, she just pulls his brother for a surprise hug, though her grip is much weaker than Nova used to remember. And that eventually reminds Nova that the changes in her physical appearance, which he eventually asks after Ellie breaks the hug.

    ''So…what have you been up to? I forgot to mention earlier…but you seem…different.''

    Ellie sighs.

    ''Not a lot had happened actually. You already know how I retired from wrestling after our last match. After that, I didn’t have much reason to keep up with my gym routine or keep my build at all. I lost a lot of my muscles, I lost weight, my eyesight got worse and I just didn’t bother to cut my hair short again.''


    Nova can’t find any words to say while Ellie smiles again.

    ''It’s okay though. I managed to find a decent job as a kindergarten teacher too, it pays well, and you really should see the kids there. They are simply the cutest! When they misbehave, I tell them Nova Diamond is my brother and they fall in line pretty quick.''

    The two share a laugh after that.

    ''Glad to hear that you’re doing well, Ellie. If you ever need me to visit the kids, just call me and I’ll see what I can do.''


    And another laugh.

    ''When are you going back to the US? You won't be staying the night, will you?''

    ''I’m afraid not. I have to return quick and get on my routine again.''


    ''So, you have a match for the first time since the attack. Who is it this time?''

    Nova chuckles.

    ''Gabrielle.''

    ''Oh shit.''


    They laugh simultaneously again.

    ''That match is going to be something important for you, isn't it? I mean, the old posters of her, all of the merchandise you bought and even her Playboy issues are still in the attic. The plots and schemes we pulled to keep them hidden from mom and dad…''

    Nova jokingly punches her in the arm.

    ''Will you shut up?''

    ''Will I?''

    ''Gabby was an old teenage crush, nothing more, nothing else. She will be nothing more than an opponent when I face her in that ring. An opponent I have to beat, just like how I did to many others before her.''


    Ellie notices Nova getting more serious, so she chooses to shut up and let him talk without getting interrupted.

    ''In different circumstances, it would’ve been more of an honor to face her. I mean, I can't deny she was a big crush back in the day and a damn bombastic at that too. A talented opponent who had beaten the best there had been. But I cannot afford that luxury. On paper, it will be a glorified exhibition match, maybe to get her revenge against the person who eliminated her in the Carnal Contendership at its most serious. But I cannot afford that. The time for exhibition is over for me. You were right Ellie, I get bothered at the slightest misstep, maybe I can work on to change that, but you have to understand that I cannot afford a misstep, not especially Sullivan is one show away, and definitely not when I’m facing Gabrielle. She is the only one who managed to pin Sullivan in recent memory, and that is important. I can’t afford just going toe-to-toe with her, I have to beat her. I have to pin her shoulders to the mat, or I have to make her submit. There is no other choice. If I lose, then I damn sure know I’m going to the Back In Business with a big disadvantage on my back. A psychological disadvantage. Losing just before the biggest match of my career, to the woman I needed to eliminate to earn that match. I have to beat Gabrielle, and I need to show Sullivan that I can do things even he can not do. Because that’s how you gain an edge over psychopaths like him. I need every edge that I can get because you and I both know that it won’t be easy to face his ugly mug. To put him down, to take the last thing he has left, his title. He has no honor, no dignity, no, only his title. Before I do that, I need to beat Gabrielle. I need to do it with every fibre of my existence. I need to show not just Sullivan, no, not just that fucker, I need to show everyone, authorities, other wrestlers, even the little trolls at Twitter. I need to show everyone that has the slightest crumb of a doubt about me, that I will not be just an afterthought. I will not be used as an example in the future to show that anything can happen in the Carnal Contendership match, I will not be used as an example about how people deserve to be in the main event of the biggest show when they look at me. I need to show that this is always about me, that it always will be about me, it’s about my story and nothing can take that away from me.''


    Nova’s voice basically growls at the end. Ellie is quick to grab her purse and give a bottle of water to Nova. Nova nods, non-verbally thanking her before grabbing the bottle and drinking a huge chunk of it.

    ''But honestly, I can't say I don't understand Gabrielle. She was aching to win that match so she could finally get her hands on Sullivan one-on-one. She had already beaten him once and she’s certain she can do it again when it’s only him and her. Can she? It doesn’t matter because she didn’t win that match. It’s the same with Cyrus Truth, he’s fuming because he can’t headline the biggest stage against the man he hates the most in this company. They are mad. They are mad at me because I won the Carnal Contendership and prevented them from taking their revenge on Dave Sullivan.''


    He drinks more water, nearly reaching the end of it.

    ''If you ask me, I should be mad at them instead of the other way around. They were the ones who caused this whole Sullivan mess. They could not prevent Sullivan from taking the World title. They are responsible for him being at the top. They were too focused on the hatred against each other that they could not see Dave coming, they couldn’t see him strike. And when they finally did, it cost them everything. Cyrus lost his title, and Gabrielle lost a huge chunk of her ego. Gabrielle claims she’s not a Goddess anymore, that she’s more humbled after that experience. She’s still that girl living her dreams. Because she could not get that title. Maybe she too feels guilty for unleashing that monster to the top he should never have climbed. But regardless, everyone has their doubts about me. They think it should’ve been Cyrus or Gabrielle who should’ve won and beat Sullivan, when in the beginning, it was them who was at guilt. Ironic.''


    He finally finishes the bottle, then giving it back to Ellie. The redness caused by anger in his face disappears and Nova once again breaks out his trademark smile.

    ''Do their doubts bother me as much as I let on to you now? Maybe, maybe not. I am still Nova Diamond, I am still the greatest of all generations. I am still the man of miracles. That means that if I have to do something, then you can bet I will go on and do that thing. I’ve proven that countless times, and I will do it again. I will beat Gabrielle. I will show her that I am more worthy than her, more divine than her. It’s not about me facing an former crush or idol. I have buried Gabrielle the same place I buried Andrew Saturday. In that ring, she will be just another brick in the wall, no different than the others. And she will lose, no different than the others.''
    Du bindest einen Blumenkranz...
    ...wieso siehst du so traurig aus?

  12. #12
    Young Gunz
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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    Chapter I
    Asteroid Blues

    Location: Downtown Sheraton Hotel | Mobile, Alabama

    Noah Stocke slowly swirls his glass of whisky and colas in his hand as the streets of downtown Mobile begin to fill with people exiting the local bars and clubs. It was 1 AM, so last call had to have been called and these had to be the people that either didn't want to return to the normalcy of their lives at home or hadn't quite achieved the goal that they had for the night. Noahs gaze is drawn to the different groups of patrons walking, or stumbling, towards the parking lots and garages. Each group contains their own characteristics and are filled with individuals with their own motives. The men of the groups out tonight attempting to find that special girl that they eventually could call theirs. Or, looking for the special girl that they call call theirs for the night. The women of the groups out celebrating, looking for their future prince charming to sweep them off their stiletto clad feet, or attempting to drink away the pain that some asshole had caused them.

    They all had a motive for being out tonight and they had a goal that they inched closer to, failed at, or succeeded in accomplishing. However, when you view all of these groups and patrons from above, they all look exactly the same and uninteresting. Boldly, uninteresting and not unique when compared to their counterparts in the more lively and entertaining cities such as Los Angeles, Las Vega, New York, and Miami.

    Noah finishes what remains of his drink and turns toward the interior fo the hotel room where his tag-team partner, Trevor Ocean, sits cross legged on his bed scrolling and typing away on his laptop. Trevor had won his match against Nate Savage earlier in the night, but after a private conversation with one of the FWA producers, he had been much different from his normal self. He was more focused, somber, and seemingly deep in thought. This was a side of Trevor that Noah hadn't ever seen in him.

    Noah sets his glass on the nightstand next to his bed before plopping down on the bed and releasing a deep sigh. This would be there life for the next six months (the term limit of their current contract with FWA). Sitting in hotel rooms after a lackluster performance alongside teams and wrestlers that are just going through the motion. He had wished that he and Trevor had set out and wrestled for the smaller independent companies of the United States or signed with a major company in Japan.

    He grabs his phone and begins scrolling through his Twitter newsfeed. A view of his twitter feed gives someone a view into the mind of the often complicated, but focused Noah Stocke. He clicks onto the official FWA twitter thread and begins to scroll, pausing midway though when he something catches his eye.

    Noah Stocke - Thirty three tweets. Thirty three, that's how many times their little social media manager tweeted throughout Fight Night and can you guess how many of those tweets were about tag-teams or the tag-team champions? Zero, this is fucking unbelievable. Not one mention of you and Nate Savage's match at all. But, do you know who they did make sure to tweet about? Cyrus Truth, MVH, Gabrielle, Nova, Krash and a bunch of other people that can't seem to give up the spotlight.

    Trevor doesn't look up from his screen as Noah continues to scroll through his feed and simmer with anger at the lack of representation and mention of the FWA tag-team division. Having endured enough, Noah puts his phone down and stares at the ceiling, reflecting on their night before turning towards Trevor.

    Noah Stocke: You know, I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't even book a proper tag-team matchup for Back in Business. Regulate the tag-teams to the pre-show or something like that. It's bullshit, but I've come to expect it when every tag-team signed here is a fucking gimmick first and wrestlers second. *deep sigh* we just need to figure out how to get the fans and the people in the back on our side and we can change the perception and lack of care concerning tag-team wrestling.

    Trevor Ocean (closing his laptop): You know, I used to not care when you and Shawn would talk about having respect for your craft and abilities in the ring because the checks kept clearing and no one was ever questioning what we could do in the ring. But, things are different now because we're the new guys here in an ocean of talent and everyone is wondering what we can bring and what we have to offer since the other tag-teams...haven't brought anything worthwhile to the company or tag-team wrestling.

    Wrestling companies here in America have been going down left and right or downsizing. The companies that were once big desirable goal worthy organizations are now out of business or have become a part of the independents. If you wanna be apart of the American wrestling scene, the only things that you can rely on is the respect that you've gained in the industry and the opportunities that you capitalized on throughout. Once you lose the respect and the opportunities, there's no value in you anymore and the powers that be have no use for you anymore they just lump you in with everyone else.

    Think about women's wrestling throughout the states. There was no value in it. No one was watching it and no one really respected it because it was sloppy, a joke, and a bathroom break for most fans in attendance. So what did the companies do? They closed the womens divisions and integrated them with the men.

    Now, why would they do that? Because, there's value in seeing a women overcome the challenge of taking on a man. There's interest in seeing a man and a women slugging it out with one another due to the taboo of a man hitting a woman. Integrating the divisions, gives people a reason to watch.

    But, knowing this it makes me sad knowing that the tag-team division will eventually go the way of the women's with the current state of affairs. It's like you said, we've got tag-teams that are more gimmick than they are wrestlers. Take the Cheshire Cat Clan for example. They're trying to get over with a gimmick based on a movie that the primary demographic doesn't even give a damn about. Ask any guy aged 15 to thirty 30 if they know what a Cheshire cat is or if they've seen Alice in Wonderland. The majority of them will tell you no, and that's an issue. But, I've gotta plan...

    Noah Stock: You've gotta plan?

    Trevor Ocean: Yeah, I've gotta plan and I've just scored our first opportunity to begin a change that the tag-team division desperately needs.

    Noah sits up on his bed, staring intently at Trevor as he gets up and begins walking towards the light switch in the room.

    Trevor Ocean: But, we'll talk about that tomorrow.

    =========================

  13. #13
     
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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    King's Focus





    King Dave Sullivan is in the middle of an intense workout in his own private gym. Sweat is dripping down his face, but he looks determined. He looks more determined than he ever has before leading up to a fight.

    This time, Dave Sullivan is focused on winning. Focused more than when he became a triple champion. Focused more than when he defeated all of those he has in the past year. Focused more than anything.

    The King is focused.

    When suddenly, that focus is broken.

    The King's training is interrupted by a familiar face, his former protege Ty Johnson. Ty Johnson is standing there in a navy blue suit, with a bright red tie. He looks dressed almost as nice as Dave looks every Fight Night, and certainly better than the orange jump suit he was wearing a year ago.

    Ty Johnson: Look at you go.

    Sullivan looks a little surprised to see Johnson here, having not seen him since Oklahoma City, where Johnson promised revenge on Sullivan only if he didn't win the FWA World Championship.

    Dave Sullivan: Hey kid. What are you doing here?

    Ty Johnson: Oh no...you're not going to go and act like everything is normal. You're not going to go and act like things are just gonna go back to the way they were. They aren't. I am a different person now, and so are you.

    Dave Sullivan: Okay...fine with me. What is it that you want?

    Ty Johnson: I'm sorry to interrupt. I can see you are hard at work preparing for your tag team fight.

    Dave Sullivan: Yeah...wait, no. Tag team fight? Are you talking about that little throw away match on Fight Night against The Undisputed Alliance? Please, give me a break man. Have I taught you nothing at all? This is a bye week for me. I'm not a tag team competitor. I do not waste my time, my body, and my focus...on tag team matches. Especially not tag team matches where I am teamed with *shivers* Mike Parr.

    I don't know if I even want to show up to this thing honestly. And look Mike Parr in the eyes? Help him get a win?

    No.

    I should leave him to go out there against The Undisputed Alliance all on his own, and get an ass kicking two on one.

    He thinks he's so tough, just because he got a cheap win over KRASH to steal my title.

    But the joke is on him.

    That title means nothing now...once again.

    I did my job. I took back all the singles titles, and I proved how good they can look. But that only works for so long. When you catch a little fish, sometimes you just have to throw it back into the ocean. And that's what I did...I threw back the X Championship and the North American Championship back into the ocean, but I kept the big fish. The fish that matters.

    The fish I own, is the FWA World Championship. It's a title Mike Parr will NEVER have. Look at how hard he had to work to get the North American title back. Do you really think he could keep up with me in a match for the world title?

    Clearly though, the FWA booking team was in need of a good laugh. They thought it would be funny to pair us together and see what happened. I'll tell you what's going to happen...I'm going to stand on the apron, enjoy my night off, and watch Mike Parr get pinned to the floor.

    Maybe...just maybe if I'm bored, I'll go on in the ring and take it to The Undisputed Alliance. Show them what it's like to fight a real man after they got done playing around with Mikey Parr the crybaby. But once Mike Parr's tears start rolling down his face, I'm outtie.


    Dave Sullivan goes back to punching his punching bag...leaving Ty Johnson standing there to his own thoughts.

    But Ty's thoughts can be just as dangerous as his fists...


    Ty Johnson: Do you really think tag team matches aren't worth your time, Dave?

    Dave continues to punch the boxing bag as he talks to Johnson.

    Dave Sullivan: Yeah...I do. I'm a singles competitor.

    Ty Johnson: That's too bad...aren't the tag team titles the only belts you HAVEN'T won yet?

    Suddenly, Dave quits hitting the boxing bag.

    Dave Sullivan: Yeah, I guess they are.

    Ty Johnson: You could be a GRAND SLAM champion, huh?

    Dave Sullivan: ...I could be.

    Ty Johnson: If only you had a partner...a reliable partner that is, not someone like Mike Parr. The Undisputed Alliance? They're the champions? You could beat them in your sleep. By yourself. But if you had someone who was even half as talented as you, and twice as talented as Mike Parr...well then you and that person would be unstoppable.

    But...it'd have to be someone good. Someone who was trained by the best. Someone trained by you even...someone...

    ...I guess someone like me?


    Dave doesn't say anything. He's quiet...but he's thinking.

    Ty Johnson: Look, I know you've got all your focus on the FWA World Championship now. But once Back in Business is over, and the FWA World title is safe...just...think about it. That's all I'm saying.

    Dave Sullivan: Showing up Mikey Parr and beating the tag team champs all by myself would be a good start, huh? But I don't know, I've never been a tag team guy.

    Ty Johnson: See how Fight Night goes. Who knows, maybe you'll surprise yourself. In the meantime, you keep your focus where it's most important. Keep training, champ. I'll find my own way out.

    Ty Johnson walks away, as King Sullivan continues to pound away at the boxing bag.


  14. #14
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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020



    The camera opens to an office, where we see Johnny Devlin sat at a desk wearing a suit. His girlfriend, Ashley Bell is sitting on his desk, in an extravagant red dress, putting on her makeup. The couple are clearly getting ready to go somewhere.

    Andre Mack walks in looking like the physical specimen he is - sweating from a workout, dressed in basketball shorts and a tank top. Dre says hello to Ashley before Devlin gives him a nod as if to say "what's going on?"

    "What's up bro, I wanted to catch you guys before you leave. I wanted to talk to you about our next match. After last week and how we weren't able to finish the job it sparked something in me. I'm more focused than ever."

    Devlin smiles, nodding along with what Mack is saying

    "This week when we take on Thomas Princeton and Kevin Cromwell, you can relax. I'm going to do the heavy lifting this time. It's time to really show the FWA what I'm made of. So you guys enjoy your anniversary, and I'll meet you in Alabama."

    Devlin gets up and gives Mack a handshake and bro hug, before realizing he just got sweat on his suit and brushing it off

    "Hell yeah bro! Let them know. You're one half of the best damn tag team in this place. They're going to lounge in your luster (bask in his glory?). And trust me Dre, we may have dropped the ball last week against The New Breed - and I'll be the first to admit, we should have taken them more seriously. But we will have our day against them soon enough. We have unfinished business there, I'm not letting that go unresolved."


    Ashley gets off the desk, walking over and giving Devlin a kiss, before kissing Mack on the cheek.

    "Trust me, he not lying. I told him if I'm ever hanging off a ledge id want him there to save me.. because he never lets shit go"

    Mack laughs before pointing at Bell, as if to say "that was a good one"

    "You got jokes Ash. I wasn't expecting that. But that's good. That's how I know we're going to be successful together Johnny. I think this is going to be our turning point. You guys enjoy yourselves."

    And with that, they exchange goodbyes once more. Before having that awkward moment where they're also leaving the same direction. They share a laugh as they exit the office and the camera fades to black.


  15. #15
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    Re: FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 01/18/2020

    Our scene opens somewhere in the middle of nowhere. I know, very helpful, right? The expanse of red sand stretching across to the horizon tells us absolutely nothing about where we are. There’s no landmarks, no buildings, nothing. All there is, is a sharply-dressed man, sitting in the sand. Dressed in a snazzy blue waistcoat above a white dress shirt along with brown trousers, with the soft wind brushing against his neat black hair, his expertly cared moustache shining in the sunlight, Krash is immovable, a statue in the desert. One hand resting on the sand, the other laying across a knee, as the Heartbeat slouched in the sun, unmoving. His emerald-green eyes shone, as he stared at absolutely nothing. His chest barely shifted as he breathed in and out, and if you rested your ear right against his chest, you’d have to strain to hear a heartbeat.

    After what feels like a minute of silence, Krash moves, ever so slightly shifting in the sand, before he speaks.

    “For the past... six? Seven months?” He raises a hand in a wishy-washy motion, before resting it back down. “Ever since I walked into an FWA building, Michael Garcia has not, and could not, refrain from spouting his rhetoric about me. My mere presence being in the same vicinity of Garcia causes the man to start frothing at the mouth in a blinding rage. I’m certain that if he were to go Christmas shopping for his loved ones – assuming he has loved ones of whom he feels worthy of giving gifts onto, which at this point I’m starting to doubt – and he found a figurine with a particularly sporting moustache on it, security would have to drag him out of the store because his guttural shrieks of impotent fury were scaring away the customers.”

    A dry chuckle escapes from his features. Krash’s tone is relaxed, casual, easy-going despite the topic at hand. “Yes, since I stepped foot in a FWA ring all those months ago, Michael Garcia has gone on and on about this ridiculous fabricated ‘war’ he’s constructed within his own mind. That my appearance is a herald of the Great War between FWA and CWA. Now, admittedly I’m no military strategist, but surely a war requires two sides, both of whom are currently alive, to be a battle, right? Otherwise it’s just one obscenely angry man shouting at a graveyard, occasionally kicking a headstone or two. You’re not firing shells at the enemy in No Man’s Land, you’re speaking ill of the dead in some vain attempt to...” A brief pause, as Krash squints at the ground. “To what, exactly? What, exactly, is the driving force that stirs Michael Garcia, that causes him to blow the horns of war, to assemble the troops, point them in my direction, and paint me as some sort of enemy parasite?”

    He looks down at his hand, pressed into the sand. The soft wind slowly and gently caresses tiny grains of sand to make their way across his palm. If he were to stay in that position for a day, his hand would become buried in sand. “Is it jealousy?” Krash ponders aloud. “Could it be that Michael Garcia is bitterly envious that, despite his years of work, his accomplishments within the ring can’t be compared to mine in the slightest? That while I have countless accolades, awards and title reigns to show for it, all Michael Garcia has is a list of people he’s hurt inside the ring? I’m a star, a worldwide sensation for more than a decade. I’ve got more titles than I know what to do with. In comparison, Michael Garcia is a sloppy, delusional braggart, who has to hide behind this seven-foot tall shouting bully persona to compensate for that fact that the only way he’ll be mentioned in the record books is with Devin Golden beside him as part of the commentary team retrospective. And for someone who can’t keep Mr. Golden’s name out of his mouth almost as much as mine, that’s got to burn Michael Garcia to the bone. That for all he’s done, his most notable accomplishment will be tied to Devin Golden when it’s all over and done with. Devin Golden has a legacy, what Michael Garcia has is a footnote in Devin Golden’s legacy. Any yet, in spite of those facts...” Krash slowly shakes his head. “I don’t believe jealousy is the sole motivator in Michael Garcia’s smear campaign against myself. It may play a factor, but there’s more aspects that motivate this man.”

    Movement. Not from Krash, no. He’s surprisingly not alone in the desert. A scorpion, thick, black, skittering across the desert, pauses upon spying Krash’s hand nearby, and slowly crawls closer. What a character. Let’s call him Steve. “Perhaps it’s fear.” Krash continued, regardless. “Fear that with the new wave of FWA signees and returns, Michael Garcia and his various misdeeds will soon be forgotten, left in the past. So he quickly jumps on the return bandwagon, wilfully abandoning his agreed-upon commentary duties to steal some of the spotlight people like myself, Nate Savage, Jackson Fenix, Noah Stocke and Trevor Ocean bring in to FWA. But unlike the Undisputed Alliance or The Elite, I’ve come alone without anyone to watch my back, making me a pretty easy target to Garcia to spit at. And you know what? If that was the motivator, if the bottom line is that Michael Garcia started this because he’s afraid of his uncertain future, I would sympathise with him. Really, I would. I’ve done things out of fear, terrible things.”

    Krash stops, his words weighing in the air. His tone has decreased into one of regretful remembrance. Somewhere behind those eyes, lay the mistakes and regrets of his lives. Things he wishes he could take back but never can. Even Steve the Scorpion seems to halt, all twelve of his eyes focusing on Krash intently. “Things I’ve come to regret. Fear is a terribly human emotion, unfortunately, and all it takes for fear to motivate us to do something we normally wouldn’t, is a little whisper inside our minds. See, no-one wants to be forgotten, to be left behind. And sometimes, we do things we would regret, just so we’re remembered for a little bit longer. Trust me, I’ve been there. I cannot condone the method he has taken to prevent himself from being forgotten, but I get it. Honestly, I do. And yet, I feel that there’s still more to the story, more to the motivation.” Once again, Krash shakes his head, and Steve the scorpion, dazed out of his trance, turns his attention back to Krash’s palm, and inches another leg closer.

    “Maybe... Just maybe, and you may have to humour me for this one, but is it possible that Michael Garcia feels genuinely justified in his actions?” Krash asks aloud, frowning. Steve doesn't seem to have an answer. “That he genuinely, within his heart, feels that I have overstepped a boundary, crossed a line somewhere, and that he believes that it’s his duty as a FWA ‘lifer’ to correct that mistake? And if he does take some amount of joy in correcting that mistake, as violently as legally able, so what? His intentions are surely honourable and for the betterment of us all, let him have his joy, it’s the only way he can be happy nowadays. And truthfully, he might have a point. I haven't...” A pause, a beat to find the proper words. “... Conducted myself, the way I’ve wanted to, in my first few months of being a FWA wrestler. I didn’t debut the way I wanted, instead I got swept up in emotions and beat the shit out of Christopher Kennedy. I didn’t arrive expecting or wanting a FWA World Heavyweight Championship shot within my fourth match, but when I was offered the chance to face off against Cyrus Truth – the reason I joined FWA in the first place – with the title on the line, I leapt at the chance regardless. Both of those incidents are not becoming of who I am, and I can honestly see why such acts would cause certain people to view me in a... not-as-fond light as one I would prefer.”

    Steve the scorpion’s claws crackle together, his stinger quivering as it approaches Krash’s open palm, curiously stepping onto it and feeling the soft flesh beneath his legs. If he noticed it, Krash gave no indication, and merely continued his monologue. “And yet, despite knowing full well those two incidents are the reason why I’m in this godforsaken mess to begin with, if given the chance, I don’t think I’d change a thing about them. I’d still assault Christopher Kennedy for dragging the name of CWA through the mud to help him cope with losing to Cyrus Truth, and I’d still accept the title match with Cyrus Truth, because, let’s be real for a moment, it’s a FWA World Heavyweight Title match, who in their right minds would turn that down? Do you have any idea how disrespectful it would be, for me to see the FWA World Heavyweight title offered to me on a silver platter, and turn it away as if it were nothing? If I take the title match, I’m jumping in line, if I refuse, I’m presenting the top title of the company and everything everyone has made to make it so, as not worth my time. Damned if I do, damned if I do. At least the option I chose kept the respect and importance of the FWA World Heavyweight title as it was. I guess, if the bottom line is that Michael Garcia genuinely feels as though I’m in the wrong, then he's an Agent of Karma, settling the balance. I would hope an Agent of Karma would come after me for the bigger mistakes I’ve made rather than this, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.”

    Finally, Krash moves, lifting his open palm out of the sand, carrying Steve the scorpion into the air. Steve skitters nervously, brandishing his stinger and hissing, as Krash gazed upon him with mournful eyes.

    “Michael, if I may make a personal request?” Krash asks. The scorpion, whose name we have decided isn’t Michael, skitters around in a circle on Krash’s palm, suddenly feeling less big and threatening as it did a minute ago. “Kindly drop the ‘FWA vs CWA’ charade. This isn’t about a FWA vs CWA war. If it was, you’d be going equally as hard at The Undisputed Alliance and The Elite instead of making myself your sole ex-CWA focus. No, at the heart of it, It’s about you and me, both of us bitterly flawed, bitterly human. The difference is whereas I look past the blemishes to see the beautiful portrait of myself and others, you dwell on the flaws of both yourself and others, unable to see past them to what they, and my extension yourself, could be. Yes, Michael, as ridiculous as it sounds, I am implying that I believe you can be better than what you are. Maybe no-one has said this to you before, not even a loving parent, but Mr. Garcia, you are what you choose to be. And you are entirely capable of choosing to be a better person. You might not believe that, but much to my own chagrin, I do.”

    Krash slowly places his palm back on the sand. Steve the scorpion hesitantly steps off, hissing all the way in a ‘yeah, that’s right, you’d better put be down’ self-gratifying way. Back on the ground, he turns and looks back at Krash, his twelve eyes slightly less black than they were five minutes ago. If he were capable, Steve would be internalising everything he heard within the past minute, questioning his life and what it was. He felt strangely sad, and didn’t know exactly why. However, given Steve’s incapability of having human emotions, much less dissecting and analysing them, Steve the scorpion instead dismissed the strange feeling he was having within himself as some sort of hunger, and skittered off into the desert.

    Krash watched as the arachnid vanished out of sight, before letting out a sigh. “Tsk. Me and my heart. The amount of times it’s caused a downfall for myself is off the charts, and yet I still choose to listen to it. I’ll see you at Fight Night, Michael. Perhaps finally, we can end this disagreement, and move on. Take care.”

    With that, Krash waves a hand, bidding us farewell for now, as he leans back in the sand and stares up at the sky. Somewhere in the desert, Steve the scorpion feels compelled, for reasons he can't explain, to also gaze up at the sky. For the briefest of moments, Steve's mind imagines itself as something else. Something not to be feared and shooed away with a broom, but something loved and doted upon, admired for what he could be instead of what he was.

    Then, the second passed, and Steve the scorpion continued on with his life, the moment of clarity and thought above his level dismissed and done away with.

    ~FIN~

    A/N: Sorry for the delay. This week was hectic. I know the deadline's expired but I'd still rather throw something up even if it's score is greatly reduced due to the deadline expiring.


    Spoiler:



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