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Thread: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

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    FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

    Promos are due Saturday night, October 10th, at midnight Pacific time, which is Sunday, October 11th, at 3 a.m. Eastern time and 8 a.m. British time.

    There will no extensions, unless it's an emergency (COVID-19 or any other personal/health related emergency).

    Good luck and have fun!


    See how much time you have left exactly by clicking HERE




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    Re: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

    Old Tales




    Prologue

    Bedtime at Sullivan Manor is usually pretty routine. King Sullivan gets his princess dressed in one of her favorite Disney Princess Nightgowns. Tonight she wears a yellow Belle dress. It's fitting, as her bedroom in Sullivan Manor is just about as big and large as a her old school classroom. Boy would her classmates be jealous! Samantha's bare feet run down the hallway from one of the castle's many bathrooms. She jumps into her huge princess sized bed. Her small footsteps are followed by much larger footsteps, as King Sullivan gives chase. He gets to her doorway just as she shoves her head under the pink fuzzy covers.

    King Sullivan: Hey! I KNOW you didn't brush your teeth that fast.

    Sammie Sullivan: I did! I swear!

    King Sullivan looks on skeptically.

    King Sullivan: Then come here...let me smell your breath.

    Sammie Sullivan: WHAT! You don't believe me!? You don't believe your own daughter!

    Little Sammie's eyes begin to fill with huge crocodile tears.

    King Sullivan: Do you think I just fell off the turnip truck?

    Sammie Sullivan: Yes...

    King Sullivan: Get in that bathroom and go brush those pearly whites.

    Sammie Sullivan: But...but...remember last night you PROMISED to tell me a bedtime story! And you DIDN'T!

    King Sullivan: Oh...well...you fell asleep so fast.

    Sammie Sullivan: Uh HUH. You owe me a story, SIR.

    King Sullivan: Fine...fine. I tell you a QUICK story. Then, you go brush your teeth and go to bed. I can't have a grumpy Sammie on the plane to Vancouver tomorrow.

    Sammie Sullivan: Well...I'm waiting.

    King Sullivan: Okay, what kind of story do you want?

    Sammie Sullivan: I know! KINGS...no wait...no...PIRATES...no...no not Pirates...COWBOYS! Hmm, I can't choose. How about you pick one?

    King Sullivan: Okay okay, I got it. Once upon of time, there was a man named Chris Kennedy. He used to be a big bad tough guy, but then your daddy came along, pushed him out of existence, and is now on track to break all his records. The end.

    Sammie looks on in disapproval.

    She lets out a BIG sigh.

    King Sullivan: What?

    Sammie Sullivan: That story sucked Daddy.

    King Sullivan: Oh, you think you can do better? Why don't you tell a story then?

    Sammie Sullivan: Okie dokie!

    Sammie smiles with glee, knowing she's gonna milk this as long as she can in order to prolong her bedtime.


    ACT I
    The Hero



    A long long time ago in a special land...called...Wrestle Kingdom. There were many Kings and Queens who ruled all sorts of different castles. There was King Cyrus to the east, his sidekick Prince Krash. But nobody liked King Cyrus. He was a BIG BIG meanie head, who ruled his land like a TYRANT. He didn't give his peasants any food, and he hogged all the gold in the land for himself. What a JERK. You see, King Cyrus ruled more than half of Wrestle Kingdom's land. The rest of the land was divided up to the other smaller Kings and Queens. There was King Garcia, King Kennedy, and Queen Gabrielle. And then of course...there was our Hero.

    King Sullivan: Oh, I like where this is going. I'm the hero, right?

    Sammie Sullivan: SHH. DO NOT interrupt me again.

    King Sullivan: Oops, sorry.

    SO ANYWAY...

    Our hero was not in the best predicament. He was riding on a weird wagon cart after being just knocked out by one of King Cyrus's soldiers. When a voice interrupted him.

    "Hey you're finally awake..." said the voice.

    Our hero looked up, to see a man with long hair and a beard looking up at him.

    "King Kennedy is the name. At least, it was. That tyrant Cyrus took over my castle. And now look..."said the man, motioning over down the road. The hero looked up to see a large guillotine.

    "GASP" said the hero. He continued "We're going to be executed!"

    King Kennedy responded "It's that bastard tyrant. Anyone that poses a threat to him, he tries to take out. Well have no fear, I HAVE a plan. We're going to fight back."

    King Kennedy shows Sullivan a dagger that was not confiscated by the tyrant's soldiers, and also shows that the rope tying his hands behind his back is almost cut free.

    "Are you with me? Ready to take this guy down?" said King Kennedy.

    "I'm with you." said the hero.

    AND that's just what happened. Moments before death, King Kennedy broke free, and attacked a guard. He rescued our hero, and the stole a two horses to break free.

    "So what's next?" asked our hero.

    King Kennedy responded. "We get an army. A militia...and we take out that tyrant once and for all. THEN...I can rule this land".

    So King Kennedy and our hero did just that. They got together an army. They recruited King Garcia from Big Stupid Head land, and they got Queen Gabrielle from Annoying Lady Land. Together, they had what they needed to take down the Tyrant. On the eve of the full moon, the the rebellion army STORMED King Cyrus' castle on horse back.

    The Tyrant shot back flaming arrows and threw javelins, but our heroes dodged them all. Together, they stormed the castle. Seeing most of his men dead, King Cyrus fled back inside of his fortress, but King Kennedy and our hero were RIGHT behind him! While Queen Gabrielle and King Garcia were busy fighting on the outside, King Cyrus was cornered by King Kennedy and our hero.

    "You've got nowhere to run, Tyrant!" screamed King Kennedy.

    The leader of the rebellion continued "We're taking back what's ours!"


    AND THEN OUR HERO STABBED KING KENNEDY IN THE BACK! He took down Cyrus himself, and took over all of Wrestle Kingdom in a surprise twist. King Kennedy was KING NO MORE. Our hero proved he was the true King all along. Not King Kennedy, not King Cyrus, not King Garcia, and certainly...CERTAINLY not Queen Gabrielle.

    OUR HERO picked up the bloody crown left by the tyrant, and put it on his head.

    "ALL HAIL KING SULLIVAN! RULER OF ALL!" shouted the crowd.

    And he ruled his Ki-

    Sammie Sullivan: STOP. Stop stop stop. You ruined MY ENTIRE ending.

    King Sullivan: What? I made that ending amazing.

    Sammie Sullivan: You botched it.

    King Sullivan: I did NOT botch it.

    Sammie Sullivan: Yes you did.

    King Sullivan: DID NOT.

    Sammie Sullivan: DID too.

    King Sullivan: I DID NOT.

    Sammie Sullivan: YOU DID TOO.

    King Sullivan: Well...too bad. You told your story, now go brush your teeth.

    Sammie Sullivan: No, I tried to tell my story, but you RUINED it. NOW, I have to tell another one.

    Sullivan sighs, knowing Sammie has tricked her way into telling another story.


    Act II
    The Pirate King



    Now where was I. Oh yes, "The Pirate King" Captain Sullivan just took out Captain Brownbeard.

    King Sullivan: Wait no, you were telling a story about about medevi-

    Sammie Sullivan: AHEM...

    Sullivan bites his lip.

    SO THE PIRATE KING was on his pirate SHIP. A huge magnificent Man 'O War that he named "The Jolly Roger". It was one of the most giant ships in the whole wide ocean, and it had more canons than most other ships combined. At the very top of it's highest mast, a black flag with a white crown outline on top of a skull and crossbones. That flag meant The Pirate King meant business.

    And of course since defeating Captain Brownbeard, business was booming for Captain Sullivan.

    In fact, he had all the riches and plunder any Pirate King could want. He had more treasure than any other pirate combined, and possessed all the gold in Pirate Land. Of course Private Parr and that wretch Blackbird had The Jolly Roger some trouble, the Pirate King still took down anyone in his path.

    Captain Sullivan still remembers his first major battle as Pirate King. The seas were rough, and The Jolly Roger was taking damage with each crashing wave. It was out of the corner of his eye that he saw the sparkling Schooner.

    "Blimey!" yelled The Pirate King.

    He continued to shout at his crew through the loud storm.
    "We got company lads! It's Captain Diamond-Eye!"

    Captain Diamond-Eye was not majorly notorious pirate captain at the time, but his reputation was rising. Word in the bars was, Diamond-Eye had taken down several big Captains in the high seas over the last year or so. But those Captains were no Pirate Kings. Legend has it, Diamond-Eye lost his real eye in a fight with a crab in Nashua. He replaced that eye, with a sparking diamond instead of using a traditional eyepatch. With a literal eye for treasure, he was one of the most dangerous prize hunters in the sea.

    Now, his Schooner was nearly at The Jolly Roger, and his crew as ready to board.

    Within minutes, crews for both captains were swinging to the deck of the opposite ship.

    Swords were clanking back and forth, and canons were going off.

    It didn't take long for The Pirate King and Captain Diamond-Eye to meet. Diamond-Eye was after it all, and The Pirate King was on the defensive. Their sword fight begun, and on t-

    AND IT WAS IN THE MAIN EVENT OF BACK IN BUSINESS. That's right. The Pirate King was fighting in the biggest pay per view of them all, in the main event, with the FWA World Championship on the line. If you told some random person on the street that a world champion just retained his title and went on to continue his undefeated Back in Business streak, they would've assumed it was Chris Kennedy. But it wasn't Chris, no, because Chris was pushed aside at Desert Storm. Instead, The King was there...main eventing Back In Business, defending the World Championship, and taking ALL the glory. It was Dave Sullivan who went on to extend his undefeated Back in Business record, and Chris Kennedy who sat at home watching it on his cheap flat screen eating a frozen TV dinner.

    Sammie stares at him sternly...

    Sammie Sullivan: If you keep interrupting, I am NEVER gonna get to bed on time.

    King Sullivan doesn't respond.

    Sammie Sullivan: Are ya done? Okay then. Good.

    As I was saying, the sword fight BEGUN.

    Back and forth Diamond-Eye and The Pirate King went.

    "I'm going to be the new PIRATE KING" yelled Diamond-Eye!

    The real Pirate King shouted back
    "You can't even see straight enough to put on yer on boots matey!"

    The King continued
    "In fact, look...that one's untied!"

    Diamond-Eye looked down, to see his boots didn't even have laces! But that short moment was enough of a distraction for The Pirate King, who shoved his sword right through the heart of Captain Diamond-Eye!

    Diamond-Eye groaned, as he stumbled backwards, and fell over the railing and into the sea!

    The Pirate King's crew cheered and he had yet another victory.

    Sometime later, the storm cleared and the sun came out! The Jolly Roger had just got finished sinking the boat of Captain Black Jesus.

    The Pirate King's crew was looking for the next town to plunder, when suddenly a castaway was found! A woman, floating on a barrel in the middle of the sea.

    "Shiver me timbers!"
    yelled The Pirate King. "We have to rescue her!" He bellowed. His crew lifted the woman out of the water, and she smiled and shook The Pirate King's hand.

    "Ahoy! The names Yuna."

    The King raised his eyebrows. He responded in curiosity
    "What yer doing floatin all out here in the middle of the ocean, Miss Yuna?"

    The mysterious pirate responded to the captain
    "My boat was sunk, by a no good scallywag...Captain Carnivore!"


    King Sullivan: Oh no no no. Yuna? Seriously? That new chick on the roster? She has no business being in my story.

    Sammie Sullivan: Well, I LIKE her. I think she has talent.

    King Sullivan: She wrestled ONE match, against a moose man...

    Sammie Sullivan: Fine! You don't like my pirate story? Well then, we'll go a different direction.

    King Sullivan: No, wait! Pirates are fine! Pirates are fine!

    Sammie Sullivan: No no no...you said it.

    King Sullivan: Fine, but you know what, this time...I'm telling the story! You sit there, and you listen. THEN, you brush your teeth and go to bed.


    Act III
    The Gunslinger




    The King of The West they called him. The fastest Gunslinger anyone's seen east of the Mississippi. Formerly a bank and stage coach robber, our Gunslinger turned a corner when he decided to fight the bad guys instead. Now he's a bounty hunter, and he's looking to make an easy dollar.

    It was a hot dry day in the desert when The Gunslinger strolled into town on his trusty steed, a brute warhorse he called "Koju". He parked Koju at a horses post, tied him up good, and gave him a couple pats on the behind before entering the nearby saloon "Blackbird's Cantina". The music stops playing as he heads through the swinging doors, as everyone in the bar turns and stares at our Gunslinger.

    He smirks, as he continues up to the bar. The spurs on his leather black boots jingling with every confident step.

    "What are ya havin"says the fat bearded man behind the bar.

    "Whiskey" says The Gunslinger.

    The fat bearded man quickly pours his drink, as The Gunslinger gulps it down in seconds.

    Soon after finishing his drink, The Gunslinger takes a folded up handbill out of his pocket. He opens it up, and places it firmly on the bar in front of the fat bearded man.

    The Gunslinger asks"You seen this man?"

    The fat bearded man looks down at the handbill.

    "Gamblin Garcia? Ya. I've seen em. He robbed the bank here awhiles back. You see, they call em Gamblin Garcia on account of him always gamblin, but never winnin. It's why he robbed the bank. Owed some fellas some money ya see?"

    The Gunslinger nods his head.

    "I don't care what he did. I just need to know where he is. You know where I can find him?"

    Suddenly, a loud bellow can be heard behind The Gunslinger.

    "I'm right here, boah".

    The cantina once again gets silent, knowing a fight is about to begin.

    The Gunslinger says with a smile "I sure do love when they walk right up to ya. Saves me energy from the chase. Alrightie now..."

    The Gunslinger takes some rope from his back pocket, and throws it at Gamblin Garcia's feet.

    "Right don't ya put that on for me and make this easy. Handbill says Dead or Alive, I reckon you'd rather go in alive right?"

    Gamblin Garica chuckles, and the rest of the cantina soon follows his his laughter.

    "You'd reckon wrong" says the bounty.

    "Alright then"
    The Gunslinger says...

    "Suit yourself"

    And before you could blink, The Gunslinger fires a quick shot...right between the eyes of Gamblin Garcia.

    The bar gasps, as the smoke is still coming from The Gunslinger's six shooter.

    He gambled once more, and he lost.

    The Gunslinger drags the tall body of the bounty out of the cantina, and across the street to the sheriff's office.

    "Sheriff...got you another..."

    It was at that moment The Gunslinger lost his words. For the sheriff of the town he just strolled into was someone he was certainly not expecting to see ever again.

    Just given a badge and a gun, the sheriff is former outlaw and enemy of The Gunslinger...

    The sheriff...

    Was "Kickin" Kennedy. The last fastest gunslinger east of the Mississippi, you know...before The Gunslinger came 'round.

    Sammie Sullivan: WHAT! Chris Kennedy is still alive? I thought we killed him off way back in the first story.

    King Sullivan: Nope. He survived. Became a sheriff. Just listen to the story.

    The Gunslinger stood in awe at the sight of his former rival.

    "I thought I shot you back in Tumbleweed"
    says The Gunslinger.

    The sheriff chuckles...

    "You thought wrong" says Kickin Kennedy. He goes on "Been waitin for this moment a long time. Folks round here been sayin there's a new fastest Gunslinger. How old Kickin Kennedy aint so fast anymore. Well let me tell ya, that aint the case. I trained you boy. I taught you how to shoot, and I guess I gotta give you one last lesson, by puttin one straight between your eyes. You been goin around, runnin the wild west eh? Thinking I'm dead? Well, I'm here to tell you...I aint dead. I'm back in town...

    And this town...

    It aint big enough for the two of us."


    The Gunslinger stares him down with his squinty eyes, not even listening to a word the man is saying. Instead, anger fills him instead.

    He shouts back.

    "Grab your iron Kennedy! You're right. This town sure aint big enough for the both of us, and we're going get to fixin that problem right now. You and me...outside!"

    It wasn't long before both men were standing in the middle of the sandy desert gulch town.

    About 30 yards or so away from each other, the two stared their adversary down...

    This was a situation where only one man would win.

    Who would it be? Kickin Kennedy? Or The Gunslinger?

    Both men's hands were at the ready...

    Sweat dripping down their bearded faces...

    Sun gleaming in their eyes...

    And.....

    DRAW!

    And in seconds, a bullet is fired! The crowd watching gasps, as The Gunslinger is still standing. It's Kickin Kennedy, who will be Kickin no more as he lay in the dirt bleeding out, gasping his final breaths.

    The Gunslinger slowly walks through the desert ground towards Kennedy, the spurs on his boots once again rattling away.

    He looks down at Kennedy, who's gasping away at his final breaths. The Gunslinger takes a cigarete out of his pocket, and lights it while standing over the dying old Kennedy.

    "You were right Kennedy, looks like this town wasn't big enough for the both of us. But it sure is big enough for me. Since you been gone, I've ran this place. I've taken out folks you never been able to. Like Cyrus The Virus...yeah that's right, I took out that old Gunslinger, just like I took out you. I took out Diamond The Kid, and Aces High Alyster too. Oh and Gamblin Garcia? Well he was the body I just put down before you. The bodies...they're piling up. One by one, even the ones you sent after me. It's been over two years Kennedy, two years and no ones been able to take this old Gunslinger down.

    Sure, you used to be the fastest gun out here. You used to be the talk of the town. Your face was on all the handbills. Well that's over now, 'aint it?

    The glory days are just that.

    Glory days.

    You're an old dog Kennedy. Always will be.

    And some day, sure, there's a faster gun waiting for me. But it's never the old gun. That aint how it works out here in the west.

    I don't even get it man. Why'd you even come out here? What were ya trying to prove? What, if you beat me, people still don't forget your name? It's already slippin to the back of folks minds. You think taking me down is gonna really starve that off enough? No, if you beat me...sure you'd be in the papers, they'd be talking about it in the cantina for awhile, but then you go back to being the old name everyone forgets. You aint the fastest gunslinger no more, and beating me wasn't going to change that.

    So when it comes to risk and reward? The rewards so low. It's nothing...and the risk? Well, look at that.

    Now you're dying.

    Now you're buried.


    Now it's over. "

    The Gunslinger throws his smoked cigarette down in the dirt, right next to the now fully dead "Kickin Kennedy".

    He walks away as the sun sets in the distance.


    Epilogue

    Sullivan wraps up his story with a smile, hoping things play out the same way they did in his story. He was right about everything The Gunslinger was saying after all. Kennedy was old news. Sullivan has taken his spot as Face of the FWA...well, actually, Cyrus Truth took Kennedy's spot as Face of the FWA, but Dave Sullivan did what Kennedy couldn't, and that was to take that spot back from Cyrus. Kennedy should be on his knees thanking him for slaying Cyrus Truth.

    Instead, he's jealous.

    He's jealous that Sullivan has stolen the spotlight, and now he can't handle it.

    But like The Gunslinger pointed out to "Kickin" Kennedy, what does Kennedy have to gain from returning? It's so much less than what he has to lose. Kennedy best case, gets on over on Dave Sullivan and reminds everyone he's still got gas left in the tank, but does it change the fact that Kennedy's career is still in the grave? That he's likely never going to win another world title, and that he's never going compete in a Carnal Contendership match again? Chris Kennedy, best case, becomes another Devin Golden. A washed up Hall of Famer with nothing left to prove, but a whole load of struggle to find SOMETHING to prove.

    That's all Kennedy is doing.

    He is an old man in a retirement home trying to scratch and claw to prove his life still has meaning.

    And maybe it does.

    Maybe he gets a win over Sullivan, and proves just a little bit more.

    Just a little bit.

    Or, he loses.

    And it's the final dagger.

    Sullivan recollects his train of thought, having stared off into space for a moment in reflection of things...he remembers what this was all about in the first place.

    King Sullivan: HEY! Sammie! You need to go brush your teeth.

    Meanwhile, Sammie lays quiet underneath her covers, looking motionless and asleep.

    He shakes her hard.

    King Sullivan: Sammie I know you're awake. You're not getting out of brushing those teeth. We went through THREE stories. Three...

    He shakes her again. She doesn't move, but a smile can very slightly be seen forming in her cheeks.

    King Sullivan: Ugh! You're lucky girl...you are so lucky.

    The King finally concedes, losing yet another battle to the princess.

    She remains the only person who has proven to know how to defeat King Sullivan.
    Last edited by Sulley; 10-08-2020 at 03:19 AM.

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    Re: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

    GERALD GRAYSON and MICHELLE von HORROWITZ
    in
    WRESTLING PROMO.


    We open up on a simple scene. There is no vast landscape. There is no ambiguity. There is no elaborate dream sequence. No forests, no mountains, no lakes. No horizon. There is no elongated metaphor. No gimmick. Michelle von Horrowitz and Gerald Grayson stand in front of an FWA banner somewhere in the back of the Rogers Arena in Vancouver, Canada. The lighting is dim. The surroundings are humble. There are only the two of them and the lens of the camera, pointed in their direction in expectation. Gerald stands perfectly still and in full ring gear at the centre of the shot, his X Division Championship proudly positioned upon his left shoulder. Behind him, a baggy black hoodie covering her battle-dress, Michelle paces slightly, this way and that. There is no championship belt on her shoulder, which is noteworthy for self-evident reasons.

    “Tag team wrestling is a staple of any wrestling promotion. In FWA, this is no different,” Gerald nods his head as he speaks, firmly in approval of his own words. One couldn’t be sure if Michelle was listening, but that didn’t seem to faze our male lead. “I truly admire the tag teams in FWA, and the ones that riddle its history. You get into this kind of business and expect to go at it alone. To go through the trials and tribulations of this business alone. But tag teams? Tag teams have it even harder... simply because of an attachment to another individual. It’s double the work, double the trials, double the tribulations. But if you find the right partner in the ring, just like the right partner in life… knowing that someone has your back? You have this feeling of fearlessness that a singles competitor could never hope to experience.”

    Michelle, still pacing, cocks an eyebrow and shakes her head. Gerald is mid-pause, and he looks down at his shoulder… but not the one upon which his X Division Championship currently sits. Instead, it is his bare shoulder, as if he is contemplating what a second belt might do for his look.

    “So yes, despite the badmouthing we’ve done to several... um, most... tag teams in FWA, I salute you all.” Grayson licks his lips and turns silent for a moment. He doesn’t bother looking at Michelle. He already knows what reaction he is eliciting. Sometimes, it’s fun to poke the bear. “To say that being in a tag team with Michelle has taught me things is an understatement. Sure, I might’ve acquired a better taste for drinking because of...” Gerald motions with an extended thumb towards Michelle. She responds with a rolling of the eyes. “But I’ve gained so much from being in a tag team in general. My ring awareness has increased... my attention to detail couldn’t be more precise... hell, I’m even faster. It also helps when your tag team partner is... competitive. One-upmanship abounds. Honestly, it might be a ridiculous thing to say, but I feel like a superhero!” Michelle rolls her eyes so far that the audience worries they may become stuck in the back of her head. “And that’s because of tag team wrestling...”

    “If I may,” Michelle begins, finally giving her incessant pacing a rest and taking up a position on Gerald’s left. Grayson remains unmoved, his gold softly illuminated by the dim hallways lights. “I cannot disagree more whole-heartedly with the garbage that my partner has been spewing for the past minute and a half. Tag team wrestling is not the great art form - the greatest art form - that The Division have for years been proclaiming it to be. We proved that to them last week. My tulips, you don’t need to hear me say the same things again and again. I have already won this argument. To me, this tournament is not about proving that I am the best tag team wrestler…”

    She almost spits out the words, her distaste quite plain on her countenance. Grayson shuffles his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, turning slightly to face his partner as she continues with her poetic vitriol. He nervously scratches behind his ear, waiting for an opportunity to interrupt. It is quite clear that she has no intention of giving him one.

    “... that is not something that I have ever had any interest in being. I stood in the middle of the ring three weeks before the tournament started and spoke about a match that pitted myself and the late Kevin Cromwell against Cyrus Truth and Nova Diamond. Laziness of the strange bed-fellows variety. But I told you all that 'victory over Truth and Diamond in a meaningless tag team match was better than defeat to Truth and Diamond in a meaningless tag team match'. The same is true now, and has been true of every team that we have torn apart over the past few weeks. Kayden Knox and Michael Garcia somehow proved themselves to be less than the sum of their measly parts. The Division showed us that their previous name was a straight up abuse of the truth, which does explain why they changed it. The aforementioned Cromwell and Diamond? We defeated them so decisively and conclusively that they haven’t bothered to even keep up with the travelling circus ever since. Is that everyone?”

    She rather abruptly turns towards Gerald, as if his time to speak had come. She clearly felt his cue to be obvious. No memorandum had come Gerald’s way on the matter, and so he returned a few moments of silence.

    Finally, Gerald offered an answer.

    “That’s not everyone, Michelle.”

    MOUNT ELBRUS, RUSSIA.
    200 metres from the summit.

    November 14th, 2018.


    Her head swam in the altitude and in the memories, both of which were doing their best to overwhelm her senses. Her vision was blurred. Her balance impaired. Her hearing amplified. Each crunch of her boot in the snow echoed and reverberated against the white walls of rock that rose up before and behind her. The result was the sound of a marching army, intent on her downfall. If she’d had the energy she would have laughed. She needed no help bringing about her downfall.

    She stopped, if only because she couldn’t go on. Looking down, she could see her own reflection in the snow. Her hood was pulled over her head, the faux-fur providing inadequate protection against the stubborn elements. She almost found herself longing for the real thing, but managed to put a stop to the idea in its infancy. Snow was constantly blown into her face by the wind, and now the white powder adorned her eyebrows and the tips of her tangled hair. She looked tired. She WAS fucking tired. And she wasn’t even close to finishing.

    They had told her that the last two hundred meters of Mount Elbrus were the most unforgiving, and many had reached the point where paths were of no real use any more and turned back towards base-camp. Now, standing here, forcing herself to straighten her back and regard the peak in front of her, she finally understood what she'd initially and errantly dismissed as cowardice. It seemed... impossible. Everything else was sucked instantly from her mind. She no longer thought about Jean-Luc. Or the Russian border guards closely watching the roads between her and a geographical location of any real note. Or the hundreds upon hundreds of kilometres on a third class train that stood in her very near future. Or the never-quite-receding feelings of shame and regret that emanated from the continent across the sea. Nothing. There was only the very tip of the mountain towering before her, and she felt suddenly very small.

    A few steps ahead, her guide Dmitry waited with a cigarette in his hand and a smile on his face. He could read the doubt upon hers. He took a single step towards her, half of his shin disappearing beneath the snow with a deafening crunch. He reached into his pocket and produced a small hand-full of mixed nuts. Greedily and thankfully, she took them out of his glove, pulled down her balaclava, and threw them into her mouth. The energy roared through her muscles and coursed through her veins. Momentarily, her head became unfogged, blessed by clarity, and she fancied that she could feel the sun beginning to peer over the wall of rock that lay away to the east. It would be on her back, and would guide her to the peak.

    And then she vomited for what felt like a long time. Afterwards, she took a seat in the snow, and Dmitry sat next to her.
    Finally, Gerald offered an answer.

    “That’s not everyone, Michelle.”

    She smiles, and pats him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. Rather noticeably, the tips of her fingers come to rest upon the gold plating of his championship belt. She momentarily regards the name plate: GERALD GRAYSON. Those that were quick on the pause button would find a rather suggestive picture, but it did not take long for her to regain her composure and address the camera directly once again.

    “I know that’s not everyone. My memory is long, tulip, and the defeat is still scorched onto it. I have spoken already, and at length, about my pride being our downfall on that evening. Our very first match in this tournament, and my own… personal issues… came in-between us and victory. Hell, between me and my partner, even. I’ve spoken to Gerald privately about that match, and we’ve come since to regard it as a cautionary tale. And now we find ourselves more united than we have been since this weird little carousel’s conception, and across the ring from the same pair that exploited our divisions. And my distractions…”

    She leaves it there, but Gerald is immediate in taking up the conversational slack.

    “I want to say that when challenges come our way, it’s a normal thing to struggle with them. But the idea of challenge is what I live for, and Michelle laughs in the face of struggle. So for her to basically cost us that time around… for her arrogance and lack of clarity to hand the match to Parr and Krash... it only makes the challenge that’s presented to us tonight more... memorable.” Michelle stares daggers at her tag team partner, but he stands his ground. “But let’s talk about last week. Last week was momentous... an important night in The Elite Tag Team Classic… when The Grayson and von Horrowitz Connection guaranteed a new champion walks out of this tournament with those belts. When we eliminated The Elite. Trevor, Noah, thanks for playing... but your fight is over.”

    Gerald flashes his stupid, big smile and waves goodbye to the Elite. Michelle shakes her head in disapproval.

    “Say, technically, wouldn’t that make us the champions?” He points towards himself and Michelle. “I could sit here and list off the tag teams that have beaten The Elite this year. The list is pretty bare. Us. Golden and Ramon. The Gang Stars at One Night Only. And Krash and Parr, way back at the start of the year…”

    Krash twice…

    Here, Gerald pauses, as if locked in a tussle of memories.

    DUKE RALEIGH HOSPITAL, NORTH CAROLINA.
    Ward 6B, Room 7.
    August 23rd, 2013.


    The bright white lights woke him from his slumber, and when he attempted to wipe the sleep from his eyes he noticed a bandage on his right hand. He looked to his side and saw that he was hooked up to a machine. A smile crept over his face. The hospital was a familiar place for him: he would need more than two hands to count the number of times he had been there. Despite many (if not all) of his visits being involuntary, Gerald found a rather uncanny peace when inside the sterile white walls of a ward. As he got his bearings, he grabbed the remote that controlled his bed - naturally one of his favorite toys in this place - and pressed a button so that he would be sitting up. Just then, a brunette with big, dark brown eyes and dimples that could kill entered the room.

    “Welcome back, Gerald.”

    Nurse Jamie flashed him a big smile.

    “Happy to be back,” he replied, wincing a bit. The pain was still very real.

    “You know, you’re around here more often than we’d like,” she began, picking up his chart and leafing through the doctor’s notes. ”It gets me thinking you’re wanting to visit me. Am I right?”

    The laughing caused more pain, and the pain caused more wincing.

    Ha, maybe. Why, are you happy to see me back?” he said, with perhaps more confidence than was due. The nurse turned a shade of scarlet in response.

    “You’re lucky,” she said, all the while peering down at the clipboard. Gerald nodded in agreement, prompting another smile. ”All you have are some bruised ribs and a fractured left knee. Your bike landed on it. That’s what knocked the wind out of you.”

    Sensing his confusion, Jamie nodded her head in the direction of the television. Instantly, Gerald remembered why he was here. He was in a race. The Carolina Prix. He was in the lead in lap forty five of fifty, slightly ahead of rider #24, Dixon Michaels. He mismanaged the accelerator and landed on a raised hill rather than flat land. All the pressure forced Gerald off his bike, which promptly slid down the hill and landed on him. He winced again after remembering the accident that brought him here.

    “Here, watch some TV. Something to take your mind off things...” She pressed a button on the remote, ejecting the disc of Gerald’s race and placing it on his bedside table. The patient nodded and positioned his hands behind his head, watching the wrestling show that the television had landed on.

    “This is live?” Gerald asked, shuffling in the bed in an attempt to find comfort. Of course, it was useless. Comfort remained just out of reach.

    “Yeah,” Jamie replied, as she took a seat on the chair next to his bed. A smile locked itself onto her face as she looked at the three men on the television. CWA: Global Collision. It’s in London… across the pond, you know? You watch it?”

    He reached for a bottle of water and took a swig, and - finding that it was slowly but surely returning his strength to him - quickly followed up with a second.

    “Sometimes,” he answered, after gulping the fluid down. “I prefer the other show, though. Who’s on tonight?”

    “The main event’s a triple threat,” she answered, eyes transfixed on the television. Gerald was unsure if she was genuinely enjoying his company or just the respite from her day-to-day tasks. “Blight Radley, Chubby Carlos, and Krash. The world title is on the line.”

    They watched for a while in silence, the match working towards its ultimate conclusion in a fast-paced and altogether lively manner. Blight had mounted Carlos in the corner, reigning down ten consecutive punches, before slamming him down with an impressive jackknife powerbomb. Gerald knew enough about professional wrestling to know who Chubby Carlos was, and he was garnering the same sort of reaction from the British audience as he was accustomed to back in the States. Radley, he’d never heard of. But Krash was the heavyweight champion of the world, and you could never have seen a pro-wrestling show in your life and still know of The Moustached Maverick. When he came into the ring, everything was amplified. Sounds… movements… time itself. He first rolled up Radley, getting a two count for his troubles... and then absorbed most of Blight’s best offence. Finally, he pounced on an opportunity, his opponents occupied with one another, and hit The Kill on Radley whilst he was up on The Chubster's shoulders. The count was academic.

    In just a few short minutes, Gerald was witness to all of the attributes that made Krash world champion in 2013 and kept him there for eight months.

    Technique. Resilience. Cunning. Opportunism.

    Skill.

    In his hospital room, Gerald watched on as Krash was handed his world championship. He proceeded to climb to the second turnbuckle, holding it up in the air as his adoring fans serenaded him.

    “You think he’s good?” he asked, turning to face the nurse. She refused to remove her eyes from the young man on the screen.

    “Best in the world,” she answered, slowly nodding her head. “He’s cute, too.”

    Gerald looked at the television: at first the man, and then the belt.
    Snapping out of his malaise, Gerald struggled to pick up his own thread. He’d listed Krash twice and from there found himself drifting through a tangential memory. But now that he was back in the present, he found he hadn’t the appetite for discussion of The White Wolf.

    “But I don’t want to talk about that. Instead, I want to talk about The New Breed.” A sly smile creeps across the face of Grayson. Time to wind the key. “New Breed. Protege and Prototype.” Gerald looks to his right where he can see a silently-seething Michelle. He lets out a repressed laugh and wags his finger at the camera. You guys done messed up.”

    ”I’m afraid I must address this,” she began, traversing the foreground of the shot, and occasionally circling all the way around her partner. ”Because I do want to talk about the debacle that concluded last week’s riveting edition of Fight Night. We went from the exasperatingly predictable to the exasperatingly nonsensical. From De Sica to Dali in a matter of moments. Gerald and I rather inevitably dumped our now-former champions out of their own tournament, but had only moments to celebrate. And that is in no small part down to The New Breed, who showed themselves to be respectless knaves. From behind, they stormed the ring and justified the unjustifiable. This disgusting and depraved display of cowardice has been the subject of much debate, and now our central mystery has been solved. The New Breed in the pantry with a lead pipe, with the Pink Witch looming over them and pulling the strings.”

    She stops and shakes her head, a smile forcing a way onto her lips. She stares down the lens intently, addressing one person out of the millions and millions watching at home.

    ”Bell Connelly, I am sick and tired of telling you to come to Fight Night. The boys in the back are sick and tired of hearing me telling you to come to Fight Night. I imagine you yourself are sick and tired of being told to come to Fight Night. And so, this silly charade must finally come to a close, and what better setting for this climax than on FWA’s fifteenth Anniversary Show. My promise to you has only intensified since your goons decided to come forward with their truth. Bell, if you do not share a ring with me this week on Fight Night, and allow me to tell you what I’ve been dying to tell you for the last ten months, then you will no longer be numb to your miserable hovel of an existence. I will shake you from this slumber. I will pry your eyes open, and I will reveal the truth of your reality. I assume, deep down, you already know. And I’m certain that you are certain that, one day, you must confront these truths. But that day will come sooner than you wish if you continue to defy me. If I have to burn you out of your fucking hole, then I will. That you have taken my title away from me…”

    Here, she points at the FWA X Division Championship, without even bothering to regard the man whose shoulder it sits upon. It is an interesting visual, and Grayson’s discomfort does not go unnoticed.

    “That you have taken my title away from me is only the very fucking start of this bullshit. It’s the jumping off point, if you will. Bell, you have shown your hand too early, and the world now sees you for the morally-devoid craven that you are. That I have always known you to be. The fucking New Breed?! Come on, Bell - - have some fucking self-respect! But the message has been received, and cannot possibly be considered an end to hostilities. This is not the end. This is not closure. Before I deal wi - -”

    A slip-up, and a pause in recognition of this slip-up.

    “Before we deal with Mike Parr and Krash, you will answer for your crimes. Against me, and against this ring that you once claimed to love.”

    With clear signs of heavy breathing, she finally yields the floor. When Grayson doesn't immediately pick up the slack, she looks over to him, and finds him a frustrated figure.

    What?

    She questions her tag team partner, who has his hand on his forehead.

    “Michelle, I know you haven’t forgotten how our last match against Krash and Parr went... you were talking about it earlier. A cautionary tale, you said. Have you forgotten already?” He moves from the centre of the shot, almost disappearing from it in order to retrieve a bottle of water. As he takes a few gulps, Michelle continues to regard him carefully, wondering where he's headed. “It’s like you haven’t learned anything from all the tag team matches we’ve been in. Let’s not forget the shenanigans you pulled before that match even started. I knew I was going to have a difficult time with you but you took it to the next level with your disappearing act. But it wouldn’t be The Michelle von Horrowitz experience if you didn’t cause some drama, right? I’m not used to a scavenger hunt before I get chance to talk tactics. How insane is that? You took me into your world and honestly, I was frightened out of my mind. To know that someone could hold that much anger and that much hate, it was scary. I guess I have myself to blame for giving you even a slight benefit of the doubt.”

    Michelle can be heard, just, mumbling about how she
    doesn’t love trouble, trouble loves me, but Gerald either doesn't hear or chooses not to. He takes a deep breath before staring directly into Michelle’s eyes. Her skin is as pale and soft as snow, but her eyes are as fierce as fire. They give him pause, but continue he must and continue he does.

    “We know how good Krash and Parr are. It’s gonna take a lot to beat them. That 'team' they faced the first time around, it doesn’t exist anymore. It was a laughable effort on our part. But we are better now… in all facets of the word. We’re an actual team. I don’t want to find you reverting back to your old self.” The comment brings a suggestion of a snarl from MvH. “This Bell character… this whole saga... wasn’t the whole point, you know, getting her to reply? Well, there you have it. You got what you wanted.” Grayson shakes his head and lets out another sigh. ”I won’t ask you to focus on Krash and Parr alone. That would be selfish of me. If I were you, I wouldn’t even be here right now. But we are here, and you need to balance your focus.”

    She thinks about his words carefully, and decides against a direct response.

    ”It is an unavoidable fact that we have returned to a similar impasse, a few months down the road. The same four people, the same ring, the same fans. But it’s not the same, is it? Since we lost that match... since I lost my first match in FWA… we’ve been condemned to this purgatorial domain euphemistically entitled the Redemption Bracket. And then, thanks to The Artistic Truth or Golden Showers or whoever it was, you decide to keep us company here. By definition… by its very nature… there is more on the line in this match than there was back in June. There is now a sense of finality to proceedings. You know…”

    She has long stopped pacing, and has taken up a position directly next to Gerald. He listens carefully, as interested as the audience as to her direction. She makes him wait, and is lost in a thought.

    MOUNT ELBRUS, RUSSIA.
    At camp. 1,100 metres from the summit.
    November 19th, 2018.


    The fire cast oddly shaped shadows onto the crisp snow, and she found herself hypnotised by the dance. With each passing second, as each seemingly random limb of flame was caught upon the relentless wind, she somehow felt less cold and less alone. Of course, she wasn’t exactly alone, anyway. Dmitry had found them a reasonably quiet spot to pitch the tent, and she was thankful to him for that. But, of course, even if he had managed to reduce the footfall in their peripheries, it was an unfortunate fact that she was forced to spend most waking moments in his company. She cherished the minutes when he would disappear for a piss, and she could be truly alone with her thoughts. That was, after all, the whole point of this expedition. It wasn’t that Dima was a bad person, but he had a distressing habit of puncturing almost all elongated periods of blessed silence, and usually to pester her with requests that they try the peak again tomorrow.

    ”Are you ready to try the peak again tomorrow?”

    She sighed, the spell of the fire conclusively broken, and watched the cold air rise from her pursed lips. She had run out of cigarettes two days ago, and Dmitry - or Dima, as he suggested she call him - only had a meagre stash of menthols (which are the Devil’s cigarettes, and should ONLY be considered when one is stricken with a bad cough for purely medicinal purposes). The thought of a glass of amber and a pack of Camels was tantalising, and caused her heart to plummet into her stomach in an unmistakable display of despair. She looked at Dima, and found him quick to read her.

    ”It has been four days now.”

    She took a sip from her flask, and lamented the taste of water in her mouth.

    ”I know how long it’s been,” she said, shortly after forcing herself to swallow. 'It’s important to remain hydrated, if you wish to reach the peak', Dima had constantly reminded her. ”Not tomorrow. I’m not ready to leave yet. The day after, maybe.”

    Dima set his can of kidney beans and bulgur wheat to one side, and produced a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He pulled down his balaclava and placed one between his lips. He offered the packet to the young woman, who hated herself for taking one and allowing him to light it for her. She forced back each drag, grateful for the nicotine but lamenting the mentholated vehicle in which it travelled.

    ”You know, I once had this Uncle. Stepan. When I was young man, he was already forty years of age. But he was still handsome in Slavic sense. Strong features. Very stern. Very proud. When I was twelve, he began to bring this woman to our house when he visited. We have many holidays in Russia. Always some relation here to visit for some holiday. You live in москба, you know this already. Anyway... Svetlana, her name was. And for years she would come and sit at our table, and share in our food. And then one day, she vanished. She stopped coming to dinner. No more Christmas presents arrived at our door from Svetlana. It was as if she had never been part of our lives. One dinner, when Stepan was visiting for Victory Day, he told us that she had asked him to ask her to marry her, and he had declined. She was not the right one, he told us, and he never spoke of her again.”

    He puffed away at the cigarette, looking beyond her, as if watching the events play out in the smoke or taking visual prompts from the stars.

    ”I remember it was particularly cold Winter in year that followed. Things were not good for me or for my family. My baby sister, Katya, was kicked in head by mule. My mother was never same after Katya died. Mother’s grief is grief like no other. But my father was different, also. He was sullen... removed. As if family was no longer central tenet of his life, like it had been before mule undid his hard work. I remember one day, when we were taking pigs to slaughterhouse, he told me that Svetlana was not first woman that had asked Stepan this question. First there had been Anastasia, and then there was Polina, and then Sasha. Ksenia and Alisa met same, unkind fate, and disappeared from all but vaguest recollections.”

    Another pause. More smoking. She had begun with little interest and found that it was waning. She had no time for parables and she had too much time for parables.

    ”As he got older, Stepan remained handsome, and his wealth only grew. But he also remained grounded, and generous, and kind. No shortage of women were upon his arm in his later years. My favourite was Ekaterina, or Katya. She, of all of them, was most comfortable when breaking bread with my family at our honest but humble table. She was from St. Petersburg, and had been actress in her youth. And she too came to love Stepan, and asked him to make honest woman of her, but still he said that she was not the right one.”

    He shook his head, and - after one last drag - threw his cigarette into the snow.

    ”It was Summer when he died, and we had gone to Volgograd to see him before he passed. We had little intention of seeing him AS he passed, but fate conspired against us. Three days before he moved on, my father asked him… ‘Stepan, you die here alone, but for chance visit of your brother and your brother’s family. Do you not recall Svetlana, or Anastasia, or Katya? Do you not wish for embrace of your spurned lovers, instead of uncomfortable words from uncomfortable people?’”

    He fell silent for a while. In spite of herself, Michelle prompted the continuation.

    ”And what did he say?

    The guide smirked, and turned towards her.

    ”He just laughed, and said he hadn’t found the right one. Three days later, he dies.”

    She thought about his words for a while, uncertain whether they warranted a response. His intentions were overt and tiresome.

    ”You removed all drama by telling me you 'once had this Uncle',” she began, stubbing the remnants of the cigarette against the sole of her boot. “I knew he was going to die from the first sentence.”

    ”Death is end of most stories, especially Russian stories. But that is not my point,” he said, re-focusing his attention on his beans. ”And you know this. You think you are only one that sees? Little Dutch girl comes to Elbrus alone. No tent, no sleeping bag, no food. Wants to climb to the peak, and in Winter no less. This is not a person that wants to succeed. This is person who wants to fail.”

    He allowed his words to settle upon the young woman. She felt certain that, if he looked her way, he would see right through her. But he gazed only at the sky.

    ”Tomorrow,” he said, carefully but forcefully. ”We try the peak again.”
    Michelle finds herself staring down at the floor, at her shoes, and at the impatient and involuntarily tapping of her foot against the concrete. She regains control, considers her surroundings, and then picks up her thread.

    ”When I first entered into this tournament, I almost thought of it as an intellectual and athletic exercise. A challenge. A riddle to be solved. I hope, my tulips, that you’ll forgive me a moment of candour. Before the draw and after the draw, I considered my tag team partner to be nothing more than an appendage...
    a footnote. Grayson or Cromwell or either of the Blacks... I didn’t think it really mattered. And in many ways - -” she shoots her comrade a sidewards glance. “No offence, but in many ways I stand by that. Regardless of who stands at my side, I would still be going into this match with a sense of absolute clarity. An unmatched self-belief that tells me that this is not the night of Mike Parr and Krash. And that might just be the problem. Because the same is true of our little dalliance back in June. Regardless of which puppet they’d placed in my corner, I would not have tagged them in... and I would have lost. But I do not feel quite so certain that just anybody would’ve been able to guide this team from where we were then to where we are now.”

    One final look at her partner, but with more warmth. Gerald regards her carefully, almost forgetting the camera that stares unblinkingly at them.

    ”The encounters between our two teams, one in June and one in October, will not be viewed as book-ends to our adventure in this tournament. A neat little symmetry between our first and last matches is somewhat alluring. But neatness is to be avoided, almost as a rule. Michelle von Horrowitz does not make the same mistake twice. My date with Bell Connelly is what it is, if you'll excuse the tautology, and will occupy a different plane to our business within the ring. This match deserves respect. Its winners will still have mountains to climb: four matches still sit between us and those championships. Even so, do not think that I… that we... do not feel the gravity of this situation. And Parr... Krash... whilst our bonds have been strengthening... tightening... can the same be said of yours? Whilst Michelle von Horrowitz and Gerald Grayson have been re-inserting themselves into the forefront of this tournament, you only need to look further down the card to see Mike Parr and Krash readying for their inevitable implosion. The time has come, gentlemen. Throw yourselves in. You don't stand a chance.”


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    Re: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

    Spoiler:





    Spoiler:

    Last edited by Shawn; 10-10-2020 at 08:36 AM. Reason: broken link

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    Re: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

    The scene opens up inside of a quaint little church located somewhere in Vancouver, and we happen to see a young man walk into the church looking a bit unsure if he should even be there. He looks about to be in his early twenties, average height, blonde hair, blue eyes. He walks towards the church confessional, but then when he reaches his destination he stops and begins to pace a little, muttering to himself if he should even do this; that it doesn’t even seem necessary. Eventually, he convinces himself to step inside where he takes a seat in the chair and begins to speak.

    “Forgive me father for I have sinned”

    The individual on the other side speaks up.

    “You come to seek forgiveness?”

    The voice sounds a bit rough; like the person really needs to clear their throat. The young man looks slightly put off by this, but he still proceeds on.

    “Yes father”

    “What is it that you seek forgiveness for?”

    The young man is hesitant in answering right away; he’s wondering if he should even be in this place right now but the person on the other side is a bit persistent.

    “Speak up my son, do not worry for you are in the house of the lord and whatever you say here you will not be judged for”

    The young man lets out a sigh, almost feeling a bit of a relief as he begins to speak.

    “Well father, today I feel as though I have sinned. I was amongst a group of friends, socializing and whatnot. My one rather rotund african american friend and the other one is around our age, but looks much older for some reason. Anyways, that is beside the point. Today, we bullied a young woman for no reason at all. It all started with catcalling, but then the young woman stood up for herself and slapped me across the face”

    “What did you do then, my son?”

    “Well, I was dumbfounded by her actions, and instinctively I felt like I had to defend myself so I struck back. She fell to the ground after I struck her, and I immediately felt remorse for my actions while my one older looking friend shared no remorse, and my large friend remarked in saying that it's a scientific fact that men hit harder than women; which I thought was a rather odd thing to say at the time.

    Anyway, I tried to help the young woman to her feet, but she refused my assistance and got up on her own and took off without saying anything. My large friend continued to prattle on more about why women shouldn’t even try to fight men for some reason, while my older looking friend just shrugged it off and carried on with his day. Anyway father, I seek forgiveness for my sins that I have committed today”


    There’s silence amongst them for several seconds until the father is heard clearing his throat.

    “My son, first of all, your large friend sounds like someone I know. A foolish man that talks out of his ass, excuse my language, but I would not take anything he says seriously”

    “Believe me father, I don’t take him seriously, but I still hang out with him anyways”

    “Secondly, my son, your story reminds me of another man that I know. He too committed the same type of action that you did today. This man has continued to commit sin after sin, and he has acquired a taste for his sins. He listens to his only two friends, despite the fact that neither of them actually care for him, he’s a puppet on a string of a tennis shoe and when they get bored with him they’ll cut him loose.

    This man is too blind to see that though, he’s too blinded by rage that he holds deep within him that he blames on his past. His past is what keeps this rage boiling up inside of him. He was a user at one time but now he’s the one that is being used, yet he can’t see that. He uses that same rage and takes it out on others that have done no wrong, all just to make himself feel good. What this man doesn’t realize is that there will be consequences for his actions. He will have to pay for the sins that he has committed, whether he likes it or not”


    “Excuse me father, but what does this have to do with me? Will I get the forgiveness that I seek?”

    “My apologies my son, yes you will be granted forgiveness for the lord is forgiving but you see, I am not so forgiving…”

    The young man looks confused now.

    “Kayden Knox will learn that I am not so forgiving and that I haven’t forgotten what he has done. He will learn that no matter how hard he may have tried that I will not die. Try as he might, it will be fruitless. I will make sure, no matter what it takes, that he suffers for what he has done. He will feel the same pain that she felt when he struck her down. He will beg for mercy but there will be none for him. He will show regret and then he will have remorse for his actions, but by then it’ll be too late for him…”

    The window to the confessional opens up revealing none other than Jason Randall with an eye patch on the other side. The young man is a bit startled by this and moves in his seat before leaving the confessional.

    “Kayden Knox, there will be hell to pay. There will be no mercy, there will be no escape from my wrath. You want the monster inside of me to come out? Don’t wish for something that you know nothing about. You want to see the real me? You will see the real me as I throw you into the barbed wire and I will watch as it rips away at your skin, and I will watch as you cry out in agony and I will feel no remorse just like you felt none when you hurt Penny. You watched as she cried out in pain when you hurt her and you felt nothing. I will return that favor to you Kayden, and you will know the pain that she felt. You will know the pain that I felt as I watched helplessly. Much like you I am now fueled by rage, the anger is flowing inside of me. I didn’t want to take it this far but you’ve given me no other option. You wanted this Kayden...you asked for this...you started this...and now…

    I will finish this…”



    The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee. - Jules Winfield


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    Re: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

    "Sins Of The Past Are The Wrongs Of The Future"

    (This is set before the Knox & Randall face to face)


    We open up with Kayden Knox standing outside his old childhood home he is having a cig smoking as a man comes out we can see the man does not look happy and quickly goes over to Knox grabbing the cig from his mouth and throwing it aside. The man then gets right into the face of Knox his fist clinch and he begins to scream.

    ???: Get the fuck out of here you are not welcome here.

    Kayden Knox looks at the guy and brushes it off ignoring him trying to look past him as the man grabs him by the throat and throws him to the ground. There is a struggle for a second before Knox grabs the mans head and slams it off the pavement. He keeps slamming it over and over as the rage fuels his veins and the blood splatters across the ground Knox gets a smile on his face one that looks more sinister then happy as here's a scream coming from behind him and we see Knox mother.

    That scream seems to wake up Kayden Knox who was day dreaming as the man is heard still screaming at him asking him what the hell does he want.

    Kayden Knox: Fred.

    The man snaps slapping Knox across the face. Knox his anger in his eyes he is clinching his teeth his whole body shaking uncontrollably he looks at the man spitting blood on the ground.

    Kayden Knox looks at the man who is smiling.

    Fred: Come on hit me I dare you, do you really think that anyone gonna believe a punk like you over a well respected man like me. Come on take your shot. I know you want to. Hit me so that way I can throw your ass in jail and then I can get paid to beat the living shit out of you.

    Kayden Knox rises his fist before putting it back down his body is still shaking as the man whispers in his ear.

    Fred: I always knew you were a pathetic little bitch just like your father.

    Kayden Knox looks at the man but, instead of hitting him he smiles.

    Kayden Knox: A long time, I blamed you for everything that was wrong with my life. I blame you for those nights of waking up in cold sweats those nights I didn't sleep because I was so caught up in my own mind playing through the thoughts of killing myself. I went through the nights of sitting awake in the dark basement of that house crying my eyes to the point tears wouldn't even fall from my face because I hated being alive. I hated being in that house.

    How much I wanted to grab a knife slit my wrist or even better yet those nights I stood outside your bedroom door with a knife in my hand looking for the courage to just keep stabbing you over and over until the knife broke or until my arm could not make the motion anymore. You did that to my head you made me feel like those were the only two options I had.

    How fucked up is that to a kid?

    How fucked do you got to be to take a kid whose mental health has been shattered like broken glass on the floor and had him a knife and tell him to slit his own wrist.

    I was a coward that's why it never happened.

    I was a coward because that's who I was a scared coward kid afraid of his own shadow a kid that would flinch when anyone would even rise a hand. I ain't that kid anymore. I ain't someone you are gonna hold this power over anymore... I wish I could say that but, the truth of the matter is I still hate myself whether I admit it or not because I have become the thing I hated I became you. I look in the mirror and you haunt me everyday like a demon trying to drag me back into my own personal hell.

    Kayden Knox takes another look at the man who we now know is his step father who stares back at him. The man laughs again.

    Fred: That is just like you to place the victim isn't you can't accept that in reality you were just not a good person that you were just a piece of shit and I am glad it haunts you. You nearly tore this family apart you almost took everything from me. You were never the innocent victim you were the cause of it you were the one who caused all of this you.

    Knox doesn't hear anymore of this cutting the man off and picking him up slamming him across the hood of the car. He has this different look in his eye now and he seems to almost be a whole new person. Knox throws the man to the ground and places his arm around him in a chokehold of sorts. Knox pulls a cig from his jacket and lights it blowing it in the face of the man as he begins to talk with this sharp tone.

    Kayden Knox: Do you know the things I did?

    I kicked a women in the skull within inches of her boyfriend who I made watch and I want to hate myself I want to be disgusted by what I did the thing is though I am not. The fucked up thing is I enjoyed it, it was this rush over power that over through my body and was like a drug where I now need another fix. I imagine that it has to do with the fact I felt so weak I felt so small because of you.

    It's a doom cycle of abuse the very same thing that Jason Randall is going through. I make him go through every night as he now is the one being haunted just like I was from someone else's actions. I though see Jason Randall and see how strong he can be. I see the anger in his eyes now I see the sick man that can defeat his abuser that can get the justice he is owed. Jason Randall is going into this match I have with him like a rabid animal. I go into this match like Atlas holding the world on my shoulders in a weight of the things you did to me Fred the monster you made me into.

    I can't be held responsible for the sins of a father can I?

    You were suppose to be that and I ain't coming here looking to rekindle and get that bond we never had because you are beneath me. How fucked up in the head am I that I can't even think of forgiven you for what you done.


    Knox rage slowly turns to depression as he lets go out Fred and he stares at himself in the windshield of his car window he grows silent for a few moments before kneeling in front of Fred. He talks in a serious voice and almost voice breaking as he speaks with every other word.

    Maybe... I need Jason to defeat me maybe I feel like I don't deserve any success any happiness because I can't ever set myself free from the chains around me. No matter how hard I try I am doomed to repeat the same thing over and over. I numb myself by becoming what I hate and I do it just waiting for someone to do what I couldn't many years ago and put a bullet in the chamber and blow me away.

    I blame you.


    I look at your face and I am reminded of everything you did I see the way people look at you with respect with glorified dignity and they don't see you for what you are and the monster you created.

    You get to go on living everyday acting as if nothing happens and I am set to live in this world of lies that I can't ever escape.

    I want you to admit to the world what you did.

    Knox says that a few times his voice going from almost depressive to anger once again. Kayden grabs him and starts going towards the house dragging him up to the door and slamming him against it. Kayden is keeping his grip but, clearly you can see the pain in his eyes. There is a few moments of silence a pin drop can be heard and we see the neighbors looking through the windows.

    I want them to see you for what you are. I want them to look at you with distain instead of judging and casting me aside for who I am and becoming you. It won't ever happen though and I will hate you for it. I will be at your grave on the day you die to piss on your tombstone. I will make sure that you are not remembered as a saint but as the cause of the devil you made.

    Knox walks off spitting at the ground where Fred's feet are at as he drives off. Knox feels the weight of the words he has been wanting to say to him for years get off his shoulder's but as he looks in the mirror he can still see his reflection as Fred and that eats away at him as he speeds up the car faster down the road. Knox knows that this weight on his shoulders may never go away. You can hear him under his breath speaking to himself as the car goes into the desert at sunset.

    I gave you the loaded gun Jason pull the damn trigger.




  7. #7
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    Re: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

    “The Past is Always Closer To You Than it Appears"

    Just a few days before FWA's 15th Anniversary, we find ourselves in Victoria, British Columbia at a cafe called the Blue Fox. It's a crisp autumn morning as we zoom inside the establishment, which has a fair amount of patrons already for such a rather quaint locale.

    Sitting at a table far in the corner is Cyrus Truth, mulling over a half-filled cup of coffee and a steaming fresh stack of pancakes topped with walnuts and oranges. And while Cyrus has taken a few bites of his griddle cakes, he seems far more lost in his own thoughts.

    The Division's Tag Team Tournament is starting to wind down as the last few teams remaining battle it out for the right to call themselves the new FWA World Tag Team Champions, and the remaining teams are the cream of the crop.

    For Cyrus and his partner Eli Black, the path to victory is a simple one: two more wins, and the titles are theirs.

    However, the path there continues to get harder and harder...


    "Cyrus! Cyrus! My dear old friend! I'm ever so glad to have caught up with you!"

    Cyrus's thoughts are interrupted as he turns to the source of the voice: a tall, lanky man standing in the entrance to the cafe wearing a very sharp black overcoat...and a increasingly familiar mask to FWA's most ardent fans.

    "Konchu?! W...what the hell are you doing here?"

    "Oh, come now! That's no way to speak to an old friend, now."

    Konchu Hao, the "Mad Wizard" and competitor for Ground Zero's second season, carefully slithers through the throng of cafe patrons to reach Cyrus's table. And while the masked man gets a series of strange looks, eventually the diners return to their respective meals and conversations.

    Without even a second's hesitation, Konchu seats himself across from Cyrus, a big smile evident from his masked face.


    "It has been quite a while, Cyrus! I must say, you're looking well. Especially considering that string of poor luck you had up until recently."

    "How did you find me?"

    "Come now, Cyrus...you're a creature of certain habits. And while I cannot always say where you are at any given point...especially with the more 'interesting' locales you find yourself in from time to time...my sources in this particular part of the world indicated that you like to frequent this particular establishment whenever you're in British Columbia."


    "Sources...you mean spies."

    "Semantics!"

    "What do you want, Konchu? I don't have time to listen to any of your crazy theories or grandiose schemes."

    Konchu huffs at that a bit, but replies.

    "No theories or schemes this time, Cyrus! No, something far more important, far more earth-shaking. I'm here to let you know...wait, those griddle cakes of yours. They smell DELECTABLE! I haven't had a decent breakfast confection since that sojourn I spent in Belgium looking for lycanthropes."

    A waitress approaches the table to refill Cyrus's coffee cup as Konchu looks up.

    "You there! Serving woman! Would you be so kind as to get me a plate of those scrumptious-looking pancakes? Ooh, and a cup of tea if you have any. Black, preferably."


    The waitress looks a bit taken aback by Konchu's forward request as she turns to look at Cyrus. The Exile sighs a bit and nods, as if to tell her to put it on his bill. With that, the waitress jots down the request and heads back to the kitchen. Konchu, meanwhile, looks very pleased with himself as he rubs his hands together excitedly.

    "This little excursion just gets better and better!"

    "Konchu..."

    "Oh, right, right! Reason I'm here. I found something. Something massive. Something important enough that I have to bring it to your attention."

    "Listen, if this is about some shrine to a blood god or a mine of psychic-enhancing crystals...

    "I found a vault!"

    Cyrus's annoyed expression drops instantly when Konchu mentions a vault.

    "What?"

    "A vault! An Observer vault! I found one!"

    "Where?!"

    "You recall the last episode of Ground Zero, yes? The one that took place on Mr. Dave Sullivan's property in Ireland? Well, my assistant Epsilon, as he is wont to do, wandered off and found a strange rock formation a few miles away from the castle. When I followed him there, I saw the markings. I'm no Observer myself, but I recognize the symbols. It's most certainly an Observer vault of some variety!"

    Cyrus, having dropped any semblance of irritation at Konchu's sudden appearance, has now become remarkably sullen and pensive. Muttering under his breath more to himself than to his dining partner, Cyrus says:

    "There's a vault there? How...why?"

    Konchu, listening intently to this muttering, suddenly has a dawning realization.

    "Hold on...you didn't know? Are you suggesting that there are Observer vaults and sanctums in the world that even YOU don't know about?"

    Cyrus looks up from the table directly at Konchu, and while his eyes suggest that he's still not pleased that Konchu's here, a lot of the edge is gone...replaced with contemplation and careful consideration.

    "I'm not an Observer either. Not anymore. And there's countless reliquaries around the world. No one save for the elders of the order have knowledge of all of them. Hell, part of the job of an Observer is to figure out where they are on their own."

    "How positively fascinating! Well, all the more reason to...oh, thank you, my dear."

    Konchu's interrupted by the waitress bringing him his tea before continuing.

    "All the more reason to open it! Who knows what kind of secrets and forgotten knowledge could be buried there? Kehahaha!"

    "No."

    "Beg your pardon?"

    "I said 'no.' I'm not going to open that vault."

    "Why the devil not?!"

    Cyrus takes a big bite of his pancakes and downs it with a swig of coffee.

    "I have other priorities right now, Konchu. In case you've forgotten, I'm in the middle of a massive tag team tournament and I've got Devin Golden and Randy Ramon in my future. Two men who are far more accomplished tag team wrestlers than either myself or Eli. One's a Hall of Famer and the other's a tour d' force when he's at the top of his game. I can't go off with you to investigate a vault right now. And even if I could, I wouldn't."

    "This...this makes absolutely zero sense! Since when have you cared so much about tag team wrestling that you'd be willing to forsake a veritable golden opportunity to expand your knowledge? I understand that the titles are at stake, but you can't possibly think that compares to the secrets that are locked behind those walls!

    "You are the only one outside of an Observer who can get into that vault, and the Observers aren't about to let someone like me in anytime soon...even if I could find one to begin with. No amount of demolition or my own prodigious magical talents can do it. Only you. And yet, you would throw that opportunity away for a tag team match that you're going to lose anyway?"


    Cyrus, who had been nonchalantly eating his pancakes while Konchu rants, stops immediately mid-chew when Koncho says this. He swallows and glares at Konchu angrily.

    "Say that again?"

    "It's true, and you know it. I will admit that you and that young lad Eli have done surprisingly well to get this far, but you cannot possibly think that your string of good fortune will continue past the Anniversary Show. Randall Ramon is my coach for Ground Zero, if you recall. I've seen the man up close and personal these past few weeks. I know that he has fought his own personal demons, but you wouldn't know it just by looking at him. Randall is not necessarily a great coach, but the man is energized. It's as if this tag team with Mr. Golden has given him a new lease on life, something to shoot for instead of downing shots. All he can ever talk about is how he and Golden are destined to run the table and claim tag team gold as in the days of old. And when he's not rambling about the tournament and actually takes the time to train us? I can tell you firsthand that his talents in the grappling arts are nothing to take lightly. The only thing that holds him back is his own shortcomings..."

    At this time, the waitress reappears with Konchu's stack of pancakes. Konchu immediately digs in, pausing only to continue speaking.

    "...and with Mr. Devin Golden at his side, those shortcomings are mitigated quite well. Golden is man who lives and breathes tag team wrestling even if he himself is a former World Champion. Mr. Golden knows the style far better than most, if any, on the FWA roster. And need I remind you that the one and only time you and Mr. Golden faced one another, he emerged the victor? That wasn't even a tag team match. Mr. Golden is the guiding force that drives that team forward. He will not allow Randall to slip. He will keep Randall focused, as Ayla El did for him in years past.. And a focused Randall Ramon is just as dangerous a competitor as Devin Golden himself.

    "Your partner has lost his last two matches, including one against Mr. Golden. All the momentum and every bit of evidence points to their victory. As talented as I am with seeing the future through the wonders of divination magic? Even I cannot see a scenario where you and your young ward emerge victorious. So why worry about it? Accept it! And do something more productive with your time than wasting it on a fool's venture."


    Konchu continues to dig into his breakfast, never breaking eye contact with Cyrus who returns his glare. Cyrus takes his coffee and sips it, letting Konchu's words hang for a few seconds.

    "You know, Konchu...despite your eccentricities, I always thought you were a smart man."

    Konchu's face brightens a bit.

    "Well, I'm quite glad to hear you say that..."

    "But you must be the dumbest man alive if you think that."

    And just like that, Konchu's expression turns into a twisted visage of indignation.

    "I BEG YOUR PARDON?!"

    "You must be a complete idiot if you think there's no hope. That I'm wasting my time on this. This is the path I've chosen, Konchu. And walking a path you choose is never a waste of time. It was in a tag team match that I found my footing again. Was reminded of who and what I was...who the fuck I am. Yes, I'm well aware that Eli and I are walking into a match where the odds are stacked heavily against us. I am fully aware of Randy's talent and have not forgotten my loss against Devin Golden all those months ago. And that's WHY I'm focused on this match. That's WHY I'm devoting all of my effort and attention into this match at the Anniversary Show."


    "But WHY?! I understand that you've grown somewhat fond of that young man Eli, but why? The boy is untested, un-tempered, and has shown in the last few weeks that he is not yet at the level you seem to think he is."

    "Perhaps."

    "PERHAPS?!"

    "Or perhaps those matches were tests. Tests to see where he is, where he needs to be. The finest steel is forged in the strongest fires...so too are men. And what kind of man would I be to abandon him now with odds as high as they are? It's my duty, Konchu. My duty to continue to stoke the flames so that Eli can become as strong as he's able to. I owe him that at least. I owe it to him to help him become strong, and this match is the tipping point. The opportunity to see if he shatters or remains whole.

    "So you can sit there and tell me things I already know to your heart's content. I'm well aware that this match against Devin Golden and Randy Ramon will undoubtedly be the harshest test for Eli and me that this tournament has given us. Garcia and Knox were tough, Krash and Parr were formidable...but this is a challenge unlike the previous ones. I know Devin and Randy will bring everything they have to this match. They'd done nothing less than that since this whole tournament started. I know full well that Eli and I are the underdogs in this tale. But..."

    Cyrus takes the last bite of his pancakes and swallows it, leaving his plate empty.

    "But to not fight with my all is an insult. Even if the challenge is insurmountable, to not give this my full attention and effort would be a disgrace. Devin Golden and Randy Ramon deserve me at my best. Eli Black deserves to have a partner who is fully and singularly committed to the battle ahead. And I will not allow everything that I've done to get to this point be besmirched by me not fighting with every drop of sweat and blood in my body. I am going to the Anniversary Show to fight alongside the young man who has given me his all in the matches prior. I will stand across the ring from two men with nearly twice as many tag team title reigns between them as I have World title reigns in FWA. And I will fight to win. Because this? This is more important to me than some random vault on that asshole Sullivan's property.

    "And Konchu...have you forgotten just who the hell you're talking to? Has it slipped your mind that you're speaking to a man who has made a habit of making the impossible possible? I was never supposed to win Carnal Contendership. I was never supposed to main event Back in Business, let alone three years in a row. I was never supposed to have won the FWA World Title four times and this tag team with Eli Black was never supposed to work. And yet...here we are. Even with all of your predictions or divinations or whatever nonsense you want to spout...you still want to bet against me? Bet against Cyrus Truth and Eli Black? Then you truly are a fool of the highest order."


    The plates of both Cyrus Truth and Konchu Hao are now empty, and it's just the two of them sitting there, staring at one another and sipping their respective beverages. Finally, it's Konchu who breaks the silence with a long, exasperated sigh.


    "Blast you...fine, fine! I can see there's little point in belaboring my point. You seem committed to this untenable dream, and all agree that you are resoundingly adamant once you've chosen a course. Very well...I'll drop the subject for now. However..."

    "Yeah, yeah, I know. We'll discuss it later."

    "Indeed, we will."


    The next shot is outside of the Blue Fox Cafe, with Cyrus heading towards a nearby alley followed closely behind by Konchu...who, apparently, wasn't ready to drop it.

    "Are you quite certain there's nothing I can do to convince you reconsider? I understand you have this match and some lingering animosity towards Mr. Sullivan, but can't you set that blasted pride of your aside for just a...?"

    Konchu's pleas are cut off as Cyrus suddenly stops. Konchu stops himself just short of colliding with The Exile...but before he can complain, he looks over Cyrus's shoulder...

    ...and sees a half-dozen figures in black cloaks, faces obscured by hoods and black mesh face coverings. Konchu looks confused and turns back the way he and Cyrus came...to find more figures in black cloaks. Emerging from the ones in front stands a figure, tall and imposing. Unlike the black cloaks, this figure is dressed in a white coat, wearing a porcelain mask...familiar, but different.

    Seeing this, Cyrus quietly says to Konchu, eyes still focused on the figure in the mask.


    "I think it's time you left, Konchu."

    Konchu, turning back towards Cyrus, sees the figure in white and loudly gulps.

    "...Ah. Yes. I wholeheartedly agree. Well, I wish you luck, Cyrus! I'll be in touch...I hope."


    Konchu immediately fumbled in his coat pockets and produces a pair of vials that he vigorously shakes and slams onto the ground, causing a plume of white smoke to appear. The smoke starts to fade and we see that Konchu is nowhere to be seen...and The Exile stands alone, staring at the masked figure.

    "Hello, Justice. It's been a while. And I see you brought your Shrouds with you. Do I have to ask to what I owe this little meeting?"

    The figure in white, Justice, snarls as a deep yet feminine voice growls out:

    "You've been a constant disappointment for far too long of a time, Truth. But now...showing a vault to an outsider? That is an unforgivable crime...one that I will eventually make you answer for."

    "Eventually?"

    "The rest of the order is debating what must be done about you. Until then, I will wait...and watch. Consider this your one and only warning, Truth. Justice comes for all men...even you."

    Cyrus looks behind him, possibly expecting these "Shrouds" to approach him...but when he turns to look, they're not there anymore. He turns back, and the other Shrouds along with Justice have vanished as well. Only Cyrus remains, alone with his thoughts.

    Thoughts of his actions and their consequences.

    Thoughts of his tag team partner.

    Thoughts of the vault.

    Thoughts of the match...

    *****

    Just a few days before FWA's 15th Anniversary, we find ourselves in Brooklyn, NY. inside of Central Park. Its a bright sunny day, children running around, pet owners playing fetch with their dogs and families barbecuing. Our resident Artist of Chaos and his handler are sitting at a bench. Laurie eating a homemade sandwich while Eli is tracing a picture that cant be quite made out yet. With food in her mouth still Laurie asks....

    “Do you think this guy is still coming?”

    “He is for sure coming. He's an old friend. Probably my oldest friend that I have ever been able to keep. He won't turn down an opportunity to chop it up with me.”

    “You sure you want to be focused on this now with the Anniversary Show just a few days away? When was the last time you spoke to Cyrus?”

    “He contacted me just yesterday to let me know that he was going to out of the country, which is nothing new. I invited him to the reunion.”

    Laurie nearly spits out the lettuce from her sandwich in disbelief.

    “What?!??!? You think a loner like him who barely has a cellphone will go to your family reunion?”

    “Why not? Look, I love tag team wrestling. I’ve always had. When I heard there was going to be tournament for the titles and everyone was going to be involved? I was instantly excited. Some of the most iconic moments in wrestling comes from tag teams. I think the rise of Cyrus Truth and Eli Black will soon be a huge part of that. For this to work, we need to get to know each other on a personal level...and what's a faster way then a family reunion?”

    “Well...your biggest moments so far have been by Cyrus's side. Even with the last two weeks in mind, there's still something to be said about this team-up of yours.”

    Eli grimaces a bit, but shakes it off with a smile.

    “The last two weeks had to happen. They were the wake-up calls, the gut punches to let me know I’m not quite where I want to be...but I'm getting closer. I wasn’t totally outmatched by two of the top guys in the company. Getting a little taste of the Hall of Famer Devin Golden let me know what kind of intensity I have to bring when we face him and Ramon at.......ah, there he is!"

    A shaggy-looking brown-skinned fellow with purple shades, long locks, and chakra beads around his neck and on his hands comes slowly walking up. Eli and Laurie stand to greet him and he hugs both of them at the same time with his long arms. Eli looks content but Laurie looks a bit uncertain. Five seconds past before he lets go.

    “Hi there, beautiful! My name is Maxwell Callender. You must be the Laurie that my boy Eli gushes over all the time.”

    Laurie gives Eli a bit of a sideways glance.

    “You gush over me?”

    Eli rolls his eyes a bit.

    “Don’t take everything he says to heart. Anyway, Max? I am really happy that you came. It's been a long time! We have much to catch up on. What have you been doing since the last time I saw you?”

    “Well...a lot of traveling. Went to the Himalayan mountains to meditate for 30 days, went to the Kingdom in Tutu to learn their native language, Went to China to scale the Great Wall and went to Mexico...well, to have a bunch threesomes. but I digress! What about you, my oldest friend?

    “Wow...don’t think I can match to that, but you have always been more of an explorer than me. Well, I graduated from wrestling school, traveled through Mexico, Japan, and Canada for a few years to try and hone my craft before being invited to try out for FWA.”

    “Have you abandon the arts? You were such a great song writer and painter....wait what is this?”

    Maxwell squeezes between Laurie and Eli to pick up what Eli was tracing. It's a picture of the mask that has been haunting Eli for the past week.

    “That’s why I called you here. I have had...uh, some situations that I am not sure if I am hallucinating or if someone is actually stalking me. I know that you practice forms of voodoo, so I was wondering if you could maybe tap into me to see whats going on?”

    “That"s why you brought this guy here?! I thought he was a doctor?”


    “Miss beautiful Laurie...I am a doctor. But I also a believer in spirits and energy. Yes, my friend, I can help you...but I will need Laurie to stand guard. While we do this, our bodies will be vulnerable. Do you think you can protect us?”

    Laurie, having had more than enough of secrets and mysticism from her and Eli's last foray into Cyrus's work, nonetheless sighs and says with resignation:

    “I dont believe in this mumbo-jumbo, but if Eli trust you to do this? I'll make sure nothing happens to you guys.”

    Maxwell sets up a blanket and holds it down with candles. He sits down close to the middle and stretches his hand out for Eli to join him. Laurie gives a concerned look, but Eli gives her a reassuring smile. Eli sits down with legs folded. Eli grabs Maxwell hands and they both close their eyes. Maxwell says:

    “Nwa-Amadi Omeife Jideofo...”

    The scene changes. Eli and Maxwell are in a dark space with different doors. Similar to the nightmare Eli had a week ago when he first saw the man in the black mask. Maxwell guides Eli through a door, and it shows a memory of Eli as a kid with his parents. Both his mom and dad screaming at one another as young Eli watches. It looks like they're arguing over something he did. Eli’s father pushes his mom to the ground Eli rushes to step in front...

    The memory suddenly comes to an end. Eli and Maxwell are sucked out the room.

    After regaining his senses, Eli ends up in another room...but Maxwell is not with him.

    He frantically searches for him...but he is not to be found.

    Back in the park Maxwell has woken up, but Eli has not.


    “Whats going on?! What have you done with Eli?”

    “I don't... I don't know! This has never happened before...”

    Back in Eli’s mind, he's in an arena...the Roger Arenain Vancouver, BC...and in the ring, a handicap match. It's Devin Golden and Randy Roman versus Cyrus Truth. Cyrus is trying his best, but the two of them is too much. Eli begins to run down the ramp but he's stopped by the man in the Black Mask and White Three Piece Suit, staring deep into the Artist of Chaos's soul.


    “You cant rely on anyone these days...you gotta do everything yourself, don’t we? No matter how prepared or how in-sync you are, if there’s one weak component? Everything falls apart. Do you want to be that weak component, Eli? No...no, you do not. This will just be how the match will be in a few days if you don’t step up. Listen to me like you use to so long ago.You ignored me last time and you fell flat on your back. Listen to me...only then you will rise past just being potential. Only then will Cyrus truly have a partner who is seen as an equal and not someone he has to mentor. Only then will people like Devin Golden and Randy Ramon respect you...”

    Cyrus is on his last legs. Looking around for help as he sees Eli on the ramp, he reaches out. Eli runs to the ring to intervene...but before he can, he is awakened. He wakes up startled like he's seen a ghost. Maxwell and Laurie reassure him that he is okay.

    But the voices of Maxwell and Laurie are just noises. All Eli could think is...


    "Who is this man?

    "Is he right about everything?

    "...Am I ready?"


    *****

    The scene opens up and shows the impressive Rogers Arena in Vancouver, Canada: the place where FWA 15th Anniversary show will be held. It's the day before the event, but the place is crowded because FWA is holding fan events all weekend. We pan a few blocks over where we see a long line for a local Korean restaurant called TAKO. People anxiously waiting when suddenly a cab pulls up and it's Eli Black. He gives the doorman a nod and he lets him in in front of all the other people waiting on the line. Some are upset, but some are excited that an FWA superstar is eating at the restaurant they are going to. Eli sits down at a table for two. He waits a while while scouring the menu when suddenly he hears a roar outside from the line which makes him smile.

    "So you made it!"

    Pushing through the throngs of would-be diners and rabid FWA fans is Cyrus Truth, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here right now. It's no secret that Cyrus has little love for fan mobs or crowds outside of those attending the events in the arena, and it shows on The Exile's face as he manages to get through the crowd and walk up to where Eli is sitting. Cyrus has a seat and huffs a bit, rolling his eyes.

    "We could've just gotten takeout, you know."

    "Oh, come on...there's something to be said for the dining experience itself, Cyrus. And the cuisine here is top notch."

    "Right..."

    Cyrus takes one of the menus and thumbs through it...but stops as he looks at Eli's face.

    "Something wrong?"

    Eli, a bit surprised by the question, looks back at his partner.


    "Wrong? No, why?"

    "You seem a bit...off. Like you have something on your mind."


    "Well, we do have a huge task ahead of us. The tournament match against Devin Golden and Randy Ramon. The main event, no less!"

    "It's not that."

    "Huh?"

    "I said it's not that. I get that this is your first major event main event and this is a match with the highest of stakes for the both of us, but I don't think you're bothered by that. Not exactly. There's something else."

    Eli pauses for a minute, the rather relaxed expression darkening to a more serious one.

    "It's nothing."

    "You'll forgive me if I don't buy that."

    "It's nothing you need to worry about. I promise."

    "Are you sure about that?"


    Eli gives Cyrus a look...a determined look, but a cautious one.

    "100%"

    "Good...because this match is going to be challenging enough as it is if we're not on the same page. Devin Golden and Randy Ramon will eat us alive if we're not singularly focused on the match. We have come farther than anybody ever expected us to...we've beaten teams that everybody said were better fits. But this is a completely different animal. Devin and Randy have far more experience in this kind of environment than either you or I, and this is the team that sent the Division spiraling down to the Retribution Bracket and out of their own tournament. Eli...I trust you. And if either of us want to win..."

    "I NEED to win, Cyrus."

    "All the more reason that you and I can't allow ourselves to be distracted. Can't afford to focus on anything except the roadblock in front of us. We are going to have to be better than we have been to beat Devin and Randy. Better than any tag team has performed in this tournament so far. Do you understand?"

    Eli thinks a bit about what Cyrus is asking him before answering, unwavering.

    "I understand Cyrus. All distractions are obsolete and useless. They have to be. As long as you trust me, I trust you. After all, I've dropped the third person speech. I don't do that for just anyone. See, the thing is? You are a guaranteed Hall of Famer. Win or lose, this does not blemish your glowing resume at all. You would go on and probably face Sullivan or Gabby for the World Title, and probably win because your just that damn good. Just like Golden and Ramon are just that damn good. But this is critical for me. I have to win. A lost here puts me back into obscurity, lost in the shuffle of FWA. So my full focus is on this match so I can prove that not only that I am cut from the same cloth, but that we are the best team in FWA. Honestly I enjoy being your partner and having your insight it has helped me grown as a performer. And I'm not ready for this to end with anything less than us holding the FWA World Tag Team Championships."

    Cyrus listens, contemplating Eli's words. He seems satisfied with the answer, although his expression does belie a subtle concern.

    "All right. I'll take you at your word. But don't think for a second that I don't have anything riding on this, Eli. That I haven't sacrificed a lot to get to this point..."

    Cyrus's voice quiets, becoming something less than a whisper.

    "...and don't think it won't end up costing me dearly..."

    Eli hears this, and looks at his partner's face. For the first time, the Artist of Chaos sees something beyond the stony expression of The Exile. Concern, contemplation...worry? It's hard to say, but in this moment? Eli feels as if he sees past the visage of the Vagabond King to the man underneath.

    However, unlike Cyrus, Eli doesn't press it. Knowing perhaps that saying anything won't yield any answers...or perhaps understanding that Cyrus, like himself, understands that such things can't be given any attention. Not with that task at hand. The past and what decisions either man has made to reach this point may be ever creeping closer, but there's no time to look backwards.

    Always forward. Only forward.


    "Well, at any rate...we've got quite a bit to do, don't we? Devin and Randy are certainly going to make this a tough challenge. But you've said it before, Cyrus...you're the kind of man who makes the impossible possible. So...how do we do it here and now?"

    Cyrus tilts his head up, and flashes a grin. Not a smirk, not a smile...a wry, accepting grin. One that understands the challenge that's ahead for himself and his young partner, understands the mountain that he and Eli will have to scale in order to reach the other side, where the prizes at Journey's End await them...and accepts the challenge that threatens to take away everything he and Eli have worked so hard for.

    The two begin to engage in conversation, discussing Devin and Randy's past tag team matches...not just in the tournament, but during their separate reigns as Tag Team Champions. Breaking down their patterns, their behaviors, their strengths and potential avenues and openings to exploit. Food is ordered, but the conversation continues, muffled so that we as an audience can't hear it clearly.

    But the context is there, clear as day.

    At FWA's 15th Anniversary Show, two titans of tag team wrestling stand across the ring from a team that never should've gotten as far as it has.

    Cyrus Truth and Eli Black, for as different as they are, share the same dream and goal...and carry similar burdens.

    And in spite of the odds against them...in spite of whatever worries and troubles they carry with them...looking at the two men sharing a small table in a random Korean restaurant, discussing their plan for defeating what many feel they can't beat, one Truth has become all-too evident.

    At the Anniversary Show, in the main event...Cyrus Truth and Eli Black will give everything. Will not hold back, will not retreat. Against a Hall of Famer and a revitalized superstar, Cyrus Truth and Eli Black will not back down.

    They defeated a monstrous duo of Kayden Knox and Michael Garcia.

    They toppled the fire-forged tandem of Krash and Mike Parr.

    And at the Anniversary Show...they'll add Devin Golden and Randy Ramon to that same list...and continue chasing the impossible dream.
    Something Witty!

    Cyrus Truth
    4x FWA World Heavyweight Champion
    1x FWA North American Champion
    2x CWA World Heavyweight Champion
    1x PnH International Champion

    Konchu Hao
    1x FWA X Division Champion
    Ground Zero Winner (Season 2)

  8. #8
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    Re: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

    The scene starts in the Home of the Monster, his prior successes has clearly paid off as he own a nice big home with a pool in the back. The camera man walks in like it is an episode of MTV Cribs coming across Mac in his trophy room. On one wall you can see his accolades from the NFL, On another wall you can see a small shrine to his decorated military career and on the other wall is his FWA wall. Replica titles of his reigns with the X Division, TV and Tag team titles, Banners of Over the Edge and The Syndicate, Posters from his movie career with Chris Kennedy. Photos from his vicious battles with some of the biggest and baddest the FWA had to offer. Mac walks around the room showing admiration for his Military medals but disdain for his FWA mementos.

    Mac: 15 years...15 long years this company has been thriving. People come and people go, and sometimes people come back. Last week may not have gone the way I wanted it to but at least i still made an impact. This week is one of the grandest stages the FWA has to offer. The yearly show to celebrate another year of greatness. I have faced some pretty amazing and difficult opponents on this yearly show. What do I have this year? Some redneck hick named Bronco Wells. The rootin tootin cowboy from the deepest inbred parts of Texas. Well Boy, you have arrived. This is the biggest it is ever going to get for you. I bet when you came in off the farm and told your mama that you got booked on the FWA anniversary show she said it would change your life.

    Mac walks towards the FWA wall, seemingly reminiscing over a career long thought to be over. There is a slightest bit of a smirk on his face as he fires right back into his promo

    Mac: She was right Bronco, this night will change your life forever. You feel that rumbling in your stomach? You feel those cold chills? The goosebumps? The cold sweat dripping off your brow? This is the biggest night of your life Partnah! You know what this is for me? It's fucking friday...I've been here before, I've won huge matches on cards like this before, I have main evented huge shows in front of 10s of thousands of people. You on the other hand have entertained dozens on your farm, I mean they were cows but COWS LIVES MATTER! You inbred piece of shit, I hope you invited all your sister wives, Brother cousins, and Daddy Uncles to the arena tonight, I hope you got every 3 toothed person in your hick part of the world tuning in watching on some stolen stream from your auntie meg's basement. I hope you have all of them watching your glorious debut in the FWA....because you are not long for this world. This isn't the goats on your farm that just bend over and let you get your jollies off, this is the big time boy. This is where legends are made and people are broken, and you ain't no legend. You can take your little 12 foot lasso and get yourself some backup, Get yourself some friends, Get yourself some new inbred family members as no one likes a loser. You Texans are a proud people, How are you going to show yourself at the next swap meet or cattle drive after you fall on your face in front of millions of people around the world! See this is a debut for you, but it is a resurgence for me! a Re-birth, a re-awakening and to do that all this has to change.


    Mac starts demolishing the shrine, taking a barbed wire bat that was used against Over The Edge to smash all his mementos from his career. The Replica titles, the pictures, the framed movie poster all of it until it is a heap of rubble. Mac grabs a gas can and pours a healthy portion on to the pile before setting it ablaze in a glorious red blaze of glory. Mac looks on at the flames, seemingly in a cathartic release of emotions you see one small tear fall down his face before he refocuses and launches back into his train of thought.


    Mac: See, for me to really reach my true potential, to unlock the world champion that I KNOW I AM, I have to throw away all that reminds me of the past. For me boy, this is a new beginning. For you it is the beginning of the end. I'll see you at the anniversary show in my home country of Canada! where the intelligence is high, the goat fucking is limited to just Saskatchewan and where you will receive the free health care you will so desperately need by the time I am done with you. This will be the height of your life Bronco, This isn't even a stepping stone for me as I climb my way back to the top of this industry. You say you want to clean up the FWA singlehandedly, Well I will be in that ring in Montreal, I will be standing toe to toe with you in front of millions of people, I guarantee you will fold like the inbred coward that we all know you are. See you Soon Bronco, I hope you enjoy this ride, because for a cowboy like you...It could be your last!

  9. #9
    I'm a Stone Cold Lee Guy.
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    Re: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread



    A SERIOUS PROMO FOR A SERIOUS MATCH

    -
    Come all you gallant seamen that sailed beyond the laguna,
    All you that march to Jolly Roger's drum,
    Let's go and look for Captain Yuna,
    Far on the sea, she roams.
    She is the biggest robber
    That ever you did hear,
    there's not been such a robber found
    For above this hundred year.


    Her ship was sailing from the east
    And going to invade the west,
    Loaded with swords and canons
    And a warrior spirit of the best;
    But waiting for her was Stockes and Ocean- Lords of the ring.
    It was a bad meeting;
    She robbed them of all their dog and dignity
    And bid them tell their king.


    'T'Will be the Anniversary show
    When they began to fight,
    And so they did continue there
    Trying to climb ladders and collect treasure all night;
    Fight on, fight on, says Captain Yuna
    This sport will please me,
    For if you fight this month or more,
    Your master, I will be.
    -




    The cloudy skies darkened and twisted above the Hangman its light varnished oak body creaking and groaning in gentle protest at the steadily roiling sea as it swelled and knocked it to and fro. The ship's grand black sails snapped and billowed on the buffeting winds, ropes and rigging lashing out at the deckhands scurrying across the deck as the first droplets of biting cold rain began to fall.


    "Swab the deck ya useless cur" roared the rough, weary tones of tough-looking man Olivier Corsair above the first rumblings of thunder as he stands above a younger man with stubble and an eye patch: Salvador Mendoza. "And secure that rigging 'lest ya want to be whipped into' Davy Jones' Locker! By Bad Henry"


    His stern directions were, as always, closely observed. Silently as he points acknowledged by a mountain of a man near seven-foot-tall shirtless to show off his sixteen pack as his Hands clasped firmly on the mahogany wheel of the Hangman's helm, thick black leather boots planted firmly on the sterncastle deck; Bad Henry remained tall, strong and resolute amidst the growing unrest in the sea and his crew alike.


    "Do you want to get Bad Henry in a bad mood?"


    "... He's always in a bad mood."


    "No, shit, what do you expect? Do you think his name is "Friendly" Henry" or "Happy go Lucky" Henry? No,-


    Ay' Are you slacking off on your work?! Because if you are...that would be...Bad"


    "No Bad Henry; I'm taking care of it


    I'm going as fast as I can-!


    The captain expects a clean desk, that she could eat your dinner off of. If those decks aren't spotless, things are going to get……


    ….


    …..


    ….


    "Bad"


    Oliver and Salvador share a look momentarily with each other as they set about their business, muttering to themselves.


    I mean, you gotta admit, he's on-brand.


    I just think he's over committing on the whole "Bad" thing.


    "Well, maybe when YOU find a gimmick, you can steer the ship.


    "It's not even a gimmick! He just ends all of his sentences with "Bad" "


    ...Is this because I called you a useless curr?


    ...That was really hurtful.


    "Come on, let's hug it out


    Ah, well this is a sweet moment, nothing is more heartwarming then two pirate friends hugging it out, after an intense situation, if nothing else everyone in the year 2020 can leave from and-


    "YUNA FUNANORI WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED, COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP, AND YOU MAY LIVE!"


    Ah, well, this was problematic.


    Both Corsair, Salvador look up from their heterosexual show of affection to spy off the starboard side what seems to be a great and mighty sea fearing vessel bearing down on the Hangman. Months of fruitless searching, chasing wild rumours and even wilder truths, had led said ship to this place. her bare poles slender brushstrokes against the restless grey-green water and white frot, as it got close enough to almost bump into the hangman


    "Huh…."


    Both Oliver and Salvador turn to look over, at Bad Henry as he stopped steering the ship to see the looming threat.


    "This looks-


    ….


    ….


    "...Bad."


    "Jesus Christ"


    He's seriously milking that"


    "Well-Well-Weeeeelllll"



    What could only be described as a near musical voice resounded through the deck grabs the pirates attention...and why wouldn't they? Invading their ship seems to be two Dandy Foppish looking lords dressed in fine velvet powdered wigs and utterly caked in white makeup, the slightly taller man carrying a large dog.


    "Well this is quite jolly good, wouldn't you say Noah?"


    “YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAASSSS’”


    "You fine fellows have given us the runaround, but our information has not lied and now myself Lord Trevor and Noah have caught up with you ruffians. You thugs who want to ruin, good pure in-ring grappling with your silly silly nonsense, but now the Elite-Division of the navy has caught up with you, and will force back to where you belong, isn't that right Noah?


    “YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSS”


    You're making a big mistake


    "Yeah, if she can find out about this…"


    Oh pipe down; The sooner, your captain surrenders herself to the might of simple and pure wrestling. The sooner she can go down into some kind of woman's Division, and besides-


    SQUACCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK


    With a loud boom, the door to the captains quarters exploded open and out flew the rainbow shaded blur of Patches The Parrot, taking the form of what seems like a missile covered in feathers zeroed in on the fancy pair, and before anyone could even make a move, Patches, attached itself to the hide of the dog and with the dog in his clutches, defying all laws of gravity and physics in general, he flies the dog up like he was made of paper into the tops of the ship while The Division just watch on totally nonplused.


    : "....what just happened?"


    Oh, your dog? He's ours now."


    Yeah, that's how it works."


    Um? Can we get him back?"


    "I mean, you can try, but you don't want to piss off patches


    How do you think we got these eye patches?


    This isn't fair! We-We don't want to be involved in this-We're.. we're serious wrestlers, we don't deserve to be dealing with pirates-


    "...Too...Bad"


    The Division's eyes grow wide, already on high alert but it's too late; The captain has come out of her quarters, her sword was drawn in a flash of silver. The fight was on
    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    "Except none of that happened."


    The FWA head of security had to deal with a lot in his time working in this company, and he's had a lot of people taken into the interview room for one issue or another dispute between wrestlers. Assaults even a kidnapping or two, but she's never had to deal with a straight-up dog napping. Let alone the girl that sat across from him, who needed a translator to communicate with and clad in a full-length white overcoat and pirates hat, her feet neatly on the chair in front of her and her demeanour calm. Christ. Talking about this gave him a headache, and the insane story he just heard wasn't helping. The pale looking Japanese translator could only look on with no small amount of sympathy.


    "Look, I don't know what your deal is...but I'll just cut to the chase; There's no pirate ship. Noah Stocke and Trevor Ocean aren't weird eighteen-century British lords looking to enslave you. You don't have a pirate ship, and your parrot didn't fly away with a fully grown dog. You broke into the man's home and stole his dog. Now I don't know how you managed to get away with all this in Japan.


    "..Pirate."


    Yuna nodded idly, flicked a finger against the brim of her hat, running her hand across it as if this will all the excuse she needed to get away with her choice of lifestyle.


    "Right, but that shit doesn't fly here. You're looking at stalking, endangering animals, dog-napping, breaking into a resident. You've been here a week, and you've broken so many laws! It's almost impressive. You're lucky they don't want to press charges, and this is internal. Look, just tell me where the dog is, and this whole thing can blow over."


    He looks over to the translator who takes that as her cue to jabber on, repeating the same thing he did in Yuna's native tongue to which Yuna seems to consider for a moment before shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders;


    “Sumimasen, anata o tasukeru koto wa dekimasen”


    It's clear the security guard had no idea what she's saying, but he understands the body language.


    "Look, you want me to shoot straight. Ok, here it is. I don't know what you're trying to prove with this; if you think this is endearing or something...but it's not. Quite frankly it's annoying, and you've wasted a lot of people's time. I hate to be the one to break this to you. But this thing with you and The Division is stupid...And a lot of higher-ups think this ladder match goes against the spirit of the company.

    "Why?


    He looks up abruptly somewhat taken aback by the abrupt question from Yuna. In English no less! Ok, admittedly it was just one word but hey; progress!


    "Well it's just silly, you're teaming with an animal-! In a ladder match, it's essentially a handicap match. You're one person against one of the best tag teams in the world, but if you tell me where you hid the dog, you don't have to go through with it."


    As you might expect, The Japanese translator does her, but Yuna seems to look past her and raises an eyebrow clearly meditating on something the guard said, as she starts sounding out a word that stood out to her


    "Sill-ly? What-" She turns to the translator who helpfully provides a Japanese equivalent.


    "Ohhhhhh-! Silly. Yes. I like this." She nods smiling in approval


    "FWA...needs...silly."


    The security guard blinks, not sure how to respond to that, as Yuna rubs her eyes, somewhat annoyed by her lack of communication skills.


    "FWA….so....GRRR-!"


    Yuna makes an exaggerated "Tough" face like she just bit into a lemon.


    "Things...dark...Not...nice. Wrestling...is...fun...fun...fighting...yes? I...bring...good fun. Division? No; Mattaku omoshirokunai. No. fun. Don't want fun. I bring it. Yes."


    She's not exactly Cyrus Truth in terms of mesmerizing storytelling, but she seems to have got her message across, one that flies in the face of The Division's traditional approach.


    "SO...is that why you're doing this? Some kind of message on wrestling philosophies... Couldn't you have done that without..y'know the dog napp-


    "OBJECTION! SQUAWK! I OBJECT"


    As if summoned out of thin air Yuna's tag team partner for the evening lands on the table...wearing what appears to be a tiny suit and tie (I know what you're thinking; whose making suits for parrots? Shut up. Yuna gives a happy squee clapping her hands together while the security guard flitches back noticeably along with the translator.


    "How, the hell did that get in here?!


    "Lawyer….got..lawyer paper."


    "LAW DEGREE ACCREDITED BY HAVARD"


    "Oh, you got to be kidding me!"


    "YUNA'S NOT TALKING. GET A WARRANT FOR INTERROGATION! THIS IS AFONT! HEARSAY. BADGERING THE WITNESS!"


    "See, this is what I mean, you're fighting them in a ladder match, it's such a dangerous match, and this is what you have for back up? A parrot there's no way you should-"


    "I will cut you."


    "Excuse me?"


    "Patches like crackers SQUUAKKKKKKKK"


    Head of security or not, when a parrot tells you they'll cut you, it stops you dead in your tracks particularly as Patches was currently staring at the head of security with cold, dead serial killer eyes. While Yuna listened to the translator


    You know they say if you stare in the eyes of Patches The Parrot for too long, you can hear the tormented screams of all his victims,,,


    But I digress


    "People.. don't know...Patches. Fighting. Very much. Warrior No back up. Division. No have fight. They….. don't expect. Fight. Patches. Give. Fight."


    "MY CLAWS GOT THE DIVISIONS NAME ON 'EM SQUUUUUUUAAAAAAACKKKKK"


    Fascinating. If The Division weren't scared before they probably are now. But at this point, Yuna seems to be leaning forward on her forearms, freezing the head of security with a determined smile.


    "No one thinks. We win. That...I joke. I not joke. I shock the world. I climb ladder like the tops. Like the crows nest...and I will...stun..you."


    Yuna keeps the expression for a moment before her expression melts into a bashful smile.


    "Go..now?"


    "You can go anywhere you want just tell your parrot to stop staring at me."


    Actually leaning back in his chair, to avoid eye contact with the smartest parrot in the world. Yuna claps her hands together, making a vague gesture which is apparently the cue for Patches as he scrambles on Yuna's shoulder as she leaves the room….


    ...but not before poking her head momentarily back inside


    "....Bon Voyage."
    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: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

    Post Fight Night - 18.09.20


    Disheveled, exhausted, depressed and suicidal. These were just some words you could use to accurately describe Alyster Black after the heartbreaking loss Black Caramel suffered on the latest episode of Fight Night. An elbow drop from the man who he called brother did him in. Left him laying down for a three count. A familiar elbow drop from the heaven’s that had left Alyster laying on his back and staring at the lights above more times than he cared to count. There was a chance of pace this time around, after Krash had put him down he was consoled. First by his former partner who had done the deed, then by his current partner who understood his pain in that moment. They were the only two people in the world who got Alyster, who understood what this match had meant to him and how devastating losing it was. Gabrielle tried her best with Alyster, but even at the best of times he was unruly, antisocial and hard to deal with. The moment they had retreated to the back Alyster had pulled himself away from Gabrielle and darted off in a hurry. She called out to him, afraid of what actions he may take in the state he was in.


    As quickly as he packed his things he left the building and found himself on the first flight home. He purchased the only available ticket he could find at a premium price. The middle seat of the middle row of economy class. It was the first time Alyster had not flown first class in seven years. He hated it. And all the people sitting near him hated him. He hadn’t bothered to shower or change since the match, only throwing a long coat on as he left the arena. He had taken off his mask when he entered the airport, pocketing it in his overcoat. He spent 10 minutes before boarding his flight standing by a trash receptacle, debating whether to throw the mask in the bin and quit wrestling forever or to try and rebuild. It wasn’t an easy decision to make and he was self aware enough to realise that he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to make a life altering decision like that.


    The man sitting next to Alyster on the flight had made a comment about his sweaty odor to the man himself but Alyster was in another world. His ears were ringing, he could not hear the man’s complaints even if he cared. His jaw ached, his chest felt like it was going to burst. He could not believe the force in which Krash had come down on him. He had post traumatic flashbacks to battles past. Being hit with that same elbow in the exact same spot. Feeling the same pain, the same soreness. Not recovering fully until days after and feeling like it was the end of the world. He wished the world would end. He wishes that this plane would crash, that he could go out in a blaze, in a tragic accident. His eyes opened wide and he looked around. There were families on board, people minding their own business. He had no right to wish for their deaths just to placate his own self-hatred. The guilt he was feeling made him sink into his chair and bury his face in his hands.


    The plane landed safely at LAX, not in a fiery blaze like Alyster had secretly hoped which came as a relief to him. He pushed passed the man sitting next to him and quickly removed his bag from the overhead compartment then pushed passed the crowd of people trying to exit. Everyone else on the flight was happy to be rid of him. He found his car parked where he had left it and threw his bag inside. He drove home in a hurry. Narrowly avoiding two accidents on the way. He had nearly rear ended someone stopped at a red light when his mind was taken off the task at hand, thinking about the events of the night, and had nearly sideswiped someone when his arm had unexpectedly tensed up making him swerve. He felt the call of the void as he drove, a phenomenon where a driver feels the need to casually crash their car and kill themselves. Most people would brush off such thoughts but Alyster fixated on it. He passed a rather large tree that looked prime for running into head first at high speeds. He thought about the tree for a long time after passing it. The hour long drive home went quickly, he was shocked when he found himself parked in his garage. He had made the drive so many times that he could do it on autopilot but tonight was different. It felt like it had passed in a blink of an eye, even with the two near misses.


    He left his bag in the car and ventured inside. Immediately going for the bar where unlabeled alcohol was calling to him. He picked up a comical looking brown bottle with a taped on label reading “XXX”, he popped the cork and sniffed its contents. It smelled strong, it would make the pain go away. He hesitated, as he lifted the bottle to his lips his reflection in the mirror behind the bar caught his eye. Tears were streaming down his face, his eyes were red, as was his nose and he had a rather large bruise on his right cheek, right where Krash’s knee had met his face. A sigh escaped his lips and he placed the bottle back down on the bar. He sauntered away with his head down low into his bedroom. He finally took off his ring gear as he entered the bathroom. Greeting him was his reflection in a full length mirror. A tall man, in tremendous shape, the best he had ever been in his career. Not being on the road for years had made a difference in his shape. His body was harder and more defined. But his face looked the same, at least its features did. Remarkably handsome for a man who chose to wear a mask. Dark hair, vibrant colored eyes and quite a manly chin. Clean shaven to reduce irritation when wearing his mask. If not for the bruise and faded scars he would be quite the catch.


    “I fucking hate you.” The reflection said. “You’re a goddamn failure and you’re never going to amount to anything.


    Alyster nodded his head in agreement. “I suppose things aren’t really working out.”


    “No they’re not. You keep getting amazing opportunities that you don’t deserve and you drop the ball every time. Nothing’s changed since the last time you made an attempt at this crap.” The reflection was stern, its voice was calm but there was a hint of malice behind it. “You’re better off quitting again, that’s what you do best. Alyster Black, arrive, fail, leave. That’s your motto isn’t it?”


    It frustrated him to no end that his twisted reflection was correct. “I don’t want that to be the case though. I wanted to do better this time around.”


    “You wanted to, but you didn’t. You should have realised it when Dave Sullivan embarrassed you in front of the whole world. You’re a hack Mr. Black. Always have been, always will be. You can’t change.” The reflection was spitting as it hatefully dressed Alyster down. “Look at what sticking around got you. You’ve been labeled as Gabrielle’s sidekick, not her partner, her pet. And you lost to Krash again. You pathetic lowlife piece of shit, you sicken me.”


    Alyster’s eye twitched. He didn’t like what his reflection had to say and he was going to let it know. He raised his voice, puffed out his chest and pointed at the mirror menacingly. “Listen here! I am not anyone’s sidekick, or pet and I am not pathetic. Grabrielle is my partner and my friend and we supported each other as best as we could. I may have let her down but I know she respects me. And losing to Krash, there’s no shame in that. He’s one of the best ever. I know that, the whole world knows that. I…” He gritted his teeth as the words just escaped him. “I’m not taking this shit right now. You’re not getting to me, understand? I’m going to take a shower and go to bed and tomorrow I’m going to get right back to work and I’m going to turn things around. You won’t poison me this time, or ever again.”


    As he spoke his reflection reacted. It rolled its eyes and scoffed but when Alyster came to grips with reality and promised not to let his reflection affect him it stopped being independent and started to mirror his actions. Alyster raised an eyebrow as he examined the mirror, it copied his actions and he was relieved. He could finally relax having put away the notions of quitting again. He would go back to the drawing board and work toward bettering himself and rebuilding his momentum. And for now, his twisted reflection would stay quiet and leave him in peace.



    \\_||_//


    It was a sunny afternoon in the heat of New York city. A familiar masked face was standing in front of the camera and was positively beaming. Behind him was the world famous Rockefeller plaza. With a mic in hand he spoke out in a booming and absolutely positive voice.


    Alyster: Hello New York. Alyster Black is here and he is enjoying himself in New York City. I’ve taken in all the sights, been to all the shows, and experienced the seedy nightlife you would expect from this mecca of culture. A lot of you may be wondering just why I’m here today and the answer should come to no surprise to any of you. At FWA’s 15th anniversary spectacular, yours truly will finally be going mano-el-mano with the one, the only, Danny F’N Toner.


    A voice interrupts the broadcast, a heavy male New Yorker accent screaming loud enough for the microphone to pick up from a distance, “Danny Toner fuckin’ rules!”


    Alyster turns his head toward the direction of the voice but can’t pick out who said it amongst the crowd of pedestrians passing by.


    Alyster: If I had a nickel for how many people have said that to me during my time in this city then I’d be as rich as Danny Toner. Unfortunately I don’t get paid to hear how awesome Danny is. I get paid to kick his ass. And in the spirit of better kicking Danny Toner’s ass, I thought I’d pay a visit to his hometown of New York City and try to understand just why the people here love him so much. So let’s go talk to some of these proud buffoons. Come on.


    He waves his hand at the camera to follow him as he walks toward the crowd of people just making their way through the city. He approaches a couple who are sharing a coffee and hotdog.


    Alyster: Greetings, are you two wrestling fans by any chance?


    The couple are taken by surprise, the woman shakes her head but her partner nods.


    Male #1: Big fan. Love Danny Toner. Nice Alyster mask by the way, it looks authentic.


    Alyster: Thank you, it is. Would you care to take a moment and tell all my viewers just why you’re a fan of Danny Toner.


    The man’s partner rolls her eyes and steps out of the camera shot. He grins and starts to address the camera.


    Male #1: Cause Danny is a New Yorker! And he’s hilarious, down to Earth and I think we could really be buddies if we hung out y’know?


    Alyster laughs and pats the man on the shoulder in a condescending fashion.


    Alyster: I’m sure Danny would get along with you bud. You could sit around and watch the big game over a couple of beers and shoot the shit right?


    The man is pretty positive about it, nodding his head. Alyster shakes his then slaps the hotdog out of the man’s hand.


    Alyster: Yeah fucking right. Danny Toner is a prick and he’d spit on you rather than say two words to you bozo. Let’s move on.


    The man is left flabbergasted as his laughing girlfriend reentered the picture to comfort him. Meanwhile Alyster has found his next interviewee. A small boy, no more than 10 who’s wearing a Danny Toner t-shirt and holding his mother’s hand. Alyster is in mid conversation with the mother when the camera finds him.


    Mother: Would you like to talk to the man Danny?


    Little Danny nods his head and Alyster squats down so that he’s eye level with the boy. Alyster speaks in a soft tone so as not to scare the timid child.


    Alyster: Hey Danny, I bet I guess why you’re a big fan of Danny Toner. Do you like any other wrestlers?


    Little Danny shakes his head then speaks up in a bold confident voice.


    Little Danny: I like Donny Toner too. I hate you Alyster Black! Danny’s gonna beat you.


    Alyster: Oh is he now? Just like he beat me at Division’s Rules, or on the next Fight Night.


    Alyster looks up at the mother.


    Alyster: You’re a terrible parent and you raised a rude little shithead brat. Wrestling’s bad for kids you bitch!


    The mother is outraged, covering little Danny’s ears as she walks away. She says some rather unkind words to Alyster as she’s leaving but they don’t seem to affect him. Alyster stands up straight and casually walks around, looking for another candidate to interview.


    Alyster: As great as this city is, it's sure filled with a lot, and I do mean a lot of really morally and intellectually questionable people. And I really was to put emphasis on the fact that they’re intellectually questionable. It seems to be a requirement in this city that you love Danny Toner, and I really don’t get it.


    Male #2: Danny’s gonna kick yer fuckin’ ass Black you loser!


    That heavy New Yorker accent is back again. This time Alyster finds the culprit. A rather pudgy, balding, stereotypical New York resident.


    Alyster: That coward, kick my ass? Are you serious?


    Male #2: Deadly serious, you got lucky the first time.


    Alyster: Lucky? I beat the absolute crap outta both Danny and Donny, I beat them so bad they were scared to even show up for a rematch and I bet Danny doesn’t show up for this one either!


    Male #2: Oh Danny’s gonna show up all right and he’s gonna kick your ass for all the bullshit you’ve said about New York City. New York is the best city in the world!


    The man has his arms raised and gets right in Alyster’s face, practically nose to nose with him. This doesn’t sit well with Mr. Black but in a tremendous show of restraint Alyster refrains from punching the man out cold. Instead Alyster steps to the side and puts a hand in the man’s back, shoving him down onto the pavement. Alyster stomps on the man’s back and holds him down with his foot. Alyster talks over him as he speaks out in protest.


    Alyster: And I think that’s enough to illustrate the point I wanted to make about New York and about Danny Toner fans. They’re rude, obnoxious and lack any sense of decency. I am looking forward to FWA’s anniversary show for two reasons. To see Gabrielle embarrass that giant walking piece of trash misogynist that is “Big” Mike Garcia and to finally put Danny Toner and the city of New York down for good.


    The man struggles under Alyster’s boot. Alyster quickly gets annoyed by his whining and gives him a sharp kick to the face, knocking him out cold. In broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses. Of course none of them care, they’re New Yorker's!


    Alyster: Danny, it may not come as a shock for you to hear this but I don’t fuckin’ like you. Everyone else on the damn planet seems to. But I sure as hell don’t. I think you’re a scumbag piece of crap yellow coward. If you even have the balls to show up for our match at the anniversary show then I promise you this, I will kick your ass and I’m going to embarrass you. You think you can get away with standing me up? Nuh-uh! I don't forget and I’m not quick to forgive. You have a beating coming your way and I just hope you’re not too cowardly to avoid it again. I’ll warn you now though, you won’t be safe in another city this time. I will come and find you if I have to. No matter where you fly to I will be there. If your plane crashes, I will find your charred body and finally pin you. If you find yourself shipwrecked and lost on a deserted island I will rescue you, nurse you back to health and then I will beat the crap out of you. You cannot run this time Danny, you will not make a fool of me again. And once I’m finally done with you, I’m gonna set my sights on something grand. Maybe something big and gold in the North American championship variety. I feel like I deserve it, don’t all of you?


    The camera fades to black with the image of Alyster standing over the downed body of the typical New Yorker.



    \\_||_//
    Last edited by Rawr is War; 10-11-2020 at 02:10 AM. Reason: formatting

    Spoiler:




  11. #11
    Young Gunz
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    Re: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

    Ungodly Hour

    "You know that I, I've heard it all before. You're hesitant, but you could give me more. I know you like to play these silly games. When you're done, call my name."

    A low hum slowly begins to rise in pitch as light slowly begins to pierce through cracks of darkness. The cracks stay the same as the hum rises into a low buzz mixed with the sound of numerous conversations occurring simultaneously. The darkness goes from a pitch black color to a dark shade of apricot as the light continues to seep through the consistently sized cracks of piercing light. The low buzz and conversations is interrupted by the low, familiar octave of Noah Stocke's voice.

    Noah Stocke's voice: You've already embarrassed me enough tonight, Trevor. The least you could do is not further the embarrassment by pouting like a child directly in front of these opinionated marks reminding me that we're no longer tag-team champions of ANY companies division.

    The light shatters the cracks in the dark apricot coloring revealing the look of an exhausted Noah Stocke staring down with a lock that lacks sympathy or understanding. Trevor had seen this look from Noah grow from annoyance to disgust since the two lost the CWA Tag-Team Championships at the One Night Only event. A united front, the display that the two have routinely displayed throughout the transgressions they have experienced in FWA, has been shattered with the Division's elimination from the Tag-Team Classic. Trevor faces the twenty something year old group of men in the front row berating his and Noah's performance in the match. The fans insults cut deep with each slash of their tongues.

    "Ain't so elite when you face the real elite of the roster, are ya?"
    "You tapped out to a GIRL!!! Are you kidding me, bro?"
    "Fuck the Division!"
    "How's it feel? You two ran your mouths about wanting competition but choked when competition showed up. *laughing* Get the fuck outta here."


    Trevor feels the weight of Noah putting his arm on his shoulder and smirking at his partner. Noah signals with his eyes for Trevor to take his attention from him, and put it on the audience before beginning.

    Noah Stocke: The comments that those boys are making, are the same things that ALL of these people (pointing around the arena) have been shouting since you tapped out to the fucking dyke in the middle of that very ring. They're talking about us, Trevor. But it ain't what we want to hear, and that's your fault.

    Trevor looks over at Noah with a look of agony at the words just spoken to him as he simply smiles with glee at his partner and shrugs his shoulders before saying, "it's over, let's go". A ringing in Trevor's ears begins to increase in volume as he stares at his partner, his best friend, his brother act so callous to him as he reflects on their loss. Trevor slowly begins to raise his hands towards his ears to drown out the ringing but quickly puts them down as a loud "squuuuuuuaaaaakkk" pierces through the ringing.

    Like a mad man, Trevor's head swivels from left to right, up and down, as he attempts to find the source. He spots the source soaring down from the rafters of the arena towards the ring. Trevor scrambles to his feet and lets out an lion like roar of anger, frustration, sorrow, and despair - all the emotions that he has been experiencing since the arrival of this parrot and it's handler, Yuna.

    The parrots descends upon the ring post and wastes no time in taunting Trevor. "Trevor's bitch", it caws. "Trevor's a bitch...SQUAK!!!" it finishes. What the hell was this birds problem? What the hell was Yuna's problem? While Noah had no problem making enemies throughout the companies they have wrestled for, Trevor prided himself in being able to put differences in the ring to the side and find common ground with just about everyone. He's attempted to not rub anyone the wrong way, and has been seen as stand up guy. So, it's very odd that someone would want to torment him mentally, emotionally, and as of late, physically. What was the point in stealing his dog? What was the point in attacking him? To get ahead? To make a name for themselves? What was the reason?!

    An unhinged, Trevor charges at the parrot with fury and rage in an attempt to finally get his hands on his abuser. Just as Trevor gets close, the parrot ascends into the air flying towards the stage. Before Trevor can stop himself he crashes face first into the ring post almost immediately knocking himself out. Before he completely goes out, he looks up and notices Noah Stocke staring down at him. He rolls his eyes before turning his attention away. An embarrassment, again, Trevor completely blacks out. Noah - annoyed at Trevor's lack of control - glances down at his partner in disgust. His attention quickly turns to the righthand side of the stage where a large wooden ship creeps out from behind the entrance. On the bow of the ship stands the recently revealed bane of their existence, Yuna. She stands with a telescope to her eye staring down at the ringside area focusing in on the downed Trevor Ocean.


    Noah Stocke (inner dialogue) - Are you kidding me? We're seriously doing this now? I've already been embarrassed enough tonight and NOW I have to deal with this delusional chick that thinks she's a pirate? Another "gimmick" trying to make a name off of The Division. Honestly, we wouldn't have this issue if it weren't for Trevor...

    Noah sighs deeply before rolling his eyes at Yuna and her ship and muttering "I fucking hate this place" under his breath as he slowly approaches.

    Noah Stocke - Cut the shit. Give Trevor his dog back and keep it moving, little girl. You don't want this. You don't aren't ready for this. Stay in your lane and leave us alone. This is your one, and only, warning.

    Yuna points at Noah with a stern look on her face before making a gun with her fingers and firing. Just as she "fires" a boom comes from the front of the ship and Noah is sent flying back as a bag of flour explodes on him.

    Noah Stocke - Are you fucking kidding me?!?! *cough, cough* Is this...*cough cough* this is fucking flower!?!?!

    A cloud of white powder engulfs the lower entrance ramp area as Yuna stands satisfied with her work. The parrot flies and lands on the shoulder of Yuna as she whistles. As she whistles, a female German Shepherd with a black bandana around her neck rushes from the galley of the ship up to Yuna's side.

    Noah Stocke (yelling) - Fucking bitch! (screaming) You bitch! (screaming) I'll kill you! You're fuckin' dead! You bitch! You bitch! (coughing/screaming) I'll kill you, you bitch! (screaming) Oh, I'll get you! (coughing) I'm gonna...(coughing) Where are you? (continues coughing and stumbling in the white cloud) Where are you? I'm coming, you fucking bitch! (screaming) You're dead!

    Noah continues to stumble around the entrance ramp area shouting up at Yuna coughing up clouds of flour as Yuna waves at the fans in the arena. He flails his arms around attempting to hit someone or something until he is restrained by a force. A familiar voice whispers into his ear causing him to calm down.

    Shawn Summers - Noah, Noah, it's me. Calm down. We need to get you two out of here. This isn't a good look for you. They're grabbing Trevor now and we're heading to the back. Just relax and lean on me. I've got you.

    Noah breathes heavily in anger as he closes his eyes and walks guided by Shawn. The sound of the remaining fans in the arena laughing at them causes Noah to tense up his grip on Shawn who grunts "relax" at him as they continue toward the back. The sound of individuals moving out of there way can be heard by Noah and Shawn Summers muttering to himself as a door opens.

    Shawn Summers - Put Trevor over there and set Noah down by the lockers. Somebody get me a towel! Why didn't anyone grab one before we got in here? It's like amateur hour back here, God....Noah, wipe off your face with this. Where's the doctor to check on Trevor?!?!?

    Noah wipes his face off and can see Shawn Summers - dressed in a white and blue window pain button up shirt under a navy blue suit vest, a brown leather belt looped around a pair of navy blue trousers and brown oxford shoes. Shawn's sleeves are rolled up and he is pacing around the room as the members of the medical team come in and out. He notices that Noah has cleared the flour from his face and glances over at him before shaking his head in disappointment and turning his attention back to Trevor.

    Shawn Summers - Thirty five minutes, that's all the time they needed to take everything you two built for yourselves and the tag-team division and flush it down the toilet. First, they do absolutely zero hype for your match THEN they add insult to the injury that you already sustained by letting this...*flicking his hands* PIRATE come in and disrespect you further. They don't respect you two and it shows each and every time you walk through the curtain. This is bullshit.

    Shawn tosses a chair in frustration, alarming the medical staff in the room tending to Trevor. The door to the room opens and FWA social media correspondent Daniel Oakley timidly walks in and attempts to get a word with Shawn Summers.

    Shawn Summers - You want a word with them? No, you don't get a word with them, Danny. You don't get a word with them until I get a fucking word with Blackbird. This is straight disrespect that the champions, the namesake of this fucking tournament has experienced. Get me Blackbird!

    Shawn continues to talk down to and berate Daniel as medical staff attends to Trevor Ocean who slowly begins to regain consciousness. Throughout the commotion, Noah Stocke slowly creeps out of locker room.The door closes behind him and he walks down the corridor out of view.

    "When you decide you need someone..."

    Trevor stares straight ahead at the empty locker in front of him. Having fully regained consciousness and been filled in on what happened at ringside after their match, he ponders the future. What is to become of the Division? In a span of thirty minutes, he had managed to not only embarrass himself, but also embarrass Noah. Embarrassment is one of the only things that triggers Noah, and Trevor knows it. He thinks back to their first tag-team match together. The two standing in the gorilla position, waiting for their entrance music to start, as they prepare to embark on a journey that would lead them to numerous tag-team championship victories and accolades. The first kick of their entrance theme begins to play as Trevor finishes taping his wrist. He feels the tap of a hand clasping to his shoulder and turns to see Noah, smiling at him. He leans in towards Trevor's ear and whispers "Don't embarrass me out there, alright". He pulls back and smiles at Trevor, who returns the expression, before the two make their way up the three steps and through the curtain.

    He returns to present-day reality and can notice Shawn Summers and Daniel Oakley conversing near the door. Shawn motions back to Trevor, causing Daniel to turn his attention to him before quickly returning his attention to Shawn as he notices Trevor's eyes dart to them. Shawn pats Daniel on the shoulder and opens the door for him to leave. Before leaving, Daniel turns around and begins.

    Daniel Oakley- Hey, Trevor, I'm really sorry for what happened tonight. But, you and Noah are champions. You'll be back on top in no time.

    Shawn Summers (annoyed)- Okay, thank you, Daniel.

    Shawn hurriedly closes the door to the locker room and slowly begins to walk towards Trevor with his head down. Trevor looks up at Shawn who has a grimace expression.

    Shawn Summers - He's not answering his phone, and he's deactivated all of his social media accounts. I...I was so focused on everything with that pirate and her bird that I didn't even notice him slip out of here.

    Trevor Ocean - I fucked up...

    Shawn Summers (looks up at the ceiling and lets out a sigh) - Your...your heads just not in it right now. Your "child" was taken from your home by a lunatic and you've been running rampant trying to find her and get her back. Noah, doesn't understand that because he doesn't build bonds like that easily. He's all about accomplishing his goals and THEN forming relationships. Always has...and...always will be like that. Right now, I'm guessing, he feels like you -

    Trevor Ocean - Fucked up his goal?

    Shawn Summers - Yeah. He wanted to dominate this tournament and he wanted you two to show the singles wrestlers that tag-team or not, you two could easily beat them and take their spots in their divisions, but they could never take yours.

    Trevor buries his head in his hands and lets out a loud groan. He lifts his head up and rises to his feet causing Shawn to take a couple of steps back. He picks up his backpack off the ground and begins to walk towards the door.

    Shawn Summers - Trev, come on -

    Before Shawn can continue, Trevor exits the locker room and begins to walk down the corridors of the arena. The FWA staff are slowly packing up their things as they prepare to hit the road for the next town. Trevor passes by the seamstress tables and notices a young asian woman resembling Yuna packing up her materials. He pauses for a second.

    Is...is that her? Are you kidding me? After what she's done and what she's put me through, she has the gall to continue to play dress up and try to fuck with me more? Am I that much of a joke to these people? They honestly think that they can just disrespect me, ruin my life, ruin my relationships, take my accomplishments away and me being the cool, calm, forgiving guy I am is supposed to just take it? No, I'm going to make an example out of this bitch.

    Wait...she's a female. If I were to take her out right here and then drag her through this whole arena can you imagine the news headlines and the reputation I would have? Trevor Ocean, the woman beater. Former collegiate wrestler, turned professional, assaults and batters woman with mental issues. They will slaughter me, my family, my friends. I can't do this...

    The Asian seamstress turns around and notices Trevor standing, staring at her. She smiles and waves at him before turning back around and finishing packing up her supplies.

    It...wasn't her. See, that could have went terribly wrong. I've gotta get the fuck out of here.

    Trevor exits through the service entrance of the arena and notices there are FWA wrestlers outside signing autographs for fans and taking photos. He puts his head down and continues to walk, attempting to not draw any attention to himself as the exits. He walks down the street, opening up the Uber app on his phone and attempting to find a driver.

    Twenty minute wait...and there's a surge charge. Are you kidding me? I've gotta do it, I just need to get to my hotel and I need to sleep this night off.


    He accepts the Uber and stands on the corner, pacing back and forth. He notices four men, they have to be in their mid-twenties, walking down the sidewalk towards him. He mutters an expletive as it seems they are coming from the arena and he attempts to act inconspicuous. As the men get closer he notices them wearing his "Tag-Team Revolution" shirts and accessories. As they get closer he stares down before beginning.

    Trevor Ocean - I...I like your shirts.

    The men stop and look at what they're wearing before continuing.

    Man #1 - Thanks, man. You a fan?

    Trevor Ocean - Something like that.

    Man #2 - Bro, this isn't a fan....this is Trevor fucking Ocean!

    Man #3 -
    Dude, are you serious!?!?

    Trevor looks up at the three and waves with a short smile as the three begin to fanboy over him.

    Man #1 - Bro, I cannot believe it's you! This is unbelievable. We were waiting for you and Noah after the show, but someone said you two bolted after...

    The mans friend hits him before he can finish his sentence. An awkward silence ensues as the four all stand on the corner not knowing where to go from here.

    Man #3 - Look, you've had a rough night. There's a nice, lowkey bar across the street. Let us buy you a drink.

    Trevor Ocean - Naw...I can't...I just ordered an Uber.

    Man #2 - Bro, that Uber is gonna be like thirty minutes. We live hear, we know how it is. Come have a drink with us. After all the bullshit you went through tonight, a drink is exactly what you need.

    Man #1 - Yeah!

    Trevor thinks about the decision for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and agreeing to go get a drink with the young men. Two hours, multiple drinks, and appetizers later and the four are still in the bar talking.

    Trevor Ocean (slightly slurring his words): They're holding this tournament, and when it's all over they'll go back to focusing on the singles divisions. Then what? Who's gonna save the tag-team division? Who's gonna keep the division going? HUH?!??! I'll tell you who! *Points at himself*

    The three young men laugh as Trevor finishes off whatever liquor that was in the glass in front of him and staggers to his feet.

    Trevor Ocean - It's getting late, call the bartender and tell him to bring us our checks. I've gotta take a leak.

    The three men wave Trevor off as he stumbles towards the bathroom. For a bar, the bathroom was actually pretty clean. He places his hand on the wall to get his balance as he begins to relieve himself.

    I usually avoid meeting fans because it just all seems weird to me. I'm just a normal guy like they are, I'm just paid a little more and appear regularly on TV. These kids were pretty cool and really helped turn a shitty night around. Noah and Shawn give Canadians a bad rep. Canadians are some of the nicest people that you will ever meet, let me tell you.

    He finishes and makes his way to the sink where he washes his hands and stares at his reflection. He notices the lump protruding from his head and attempts to touch it, causing him to wince in pain. He shakes his head to not think about Yuna and losing tonight before splashing some water on his face and drying his hands off. He exits the bathroom and begins to make his way to the table only to notice that his three new friends were gone. He looks around the bar and notices an Asian woman sat at the edge of the bar by herself, sipping from a Martini glass. She smiles at Trevor, and for a second he could of sworn that it was Yuna but he shakes his head and realizes that it's not. He turns his attention to the scruff bartender staring at the TV before turning his attention to Trevor.

    Trevor Ocean (sobering up as the moments go on) - Hey, did you see where those three men who I was with went?


    Bartender - Yeah, they left.

    Trevor Ocean - They what?

    Bartender - They left. But, one of them said that you'd be picking up the tab for them.

    The bartender hands Trevor the tab and he REALLY sobers up as he sees the price. Trevor mutters an expletive under his breath and sits down at the bar. He puts his head down as he hands the bartender his credit card. Embarrassed, made a fool of, again. How could he be so stupid to think they wanted to hang out with him and hear him talk about his problems and the wrestling industry. They just wanted a free meal and free drinks. He should have known that from the start, but he was blinded by their excitement and the thought that he actually had someone rooting for him. Someone in his corner.

    Female voice - You've had a long night, haven't you, Trevor.

    He lifts his head up and stares catches eyes with the young Asian woman who was sitting at the bar alone. She smiles at Trevor who returns a less enthusiastic smile before snapping back to reality.

    Trevor Ocean - Do I know you?

    Woman - No, but I couldn't help but overhear your name when you were talking with your...friends.

    Trevor Ocean - They're...not my friends.

    Woman - Clearly. From your conversation, I can tell you've had a very long night and everything that could go bad, has. How about we change that?
    Trevor Ocean - Excuse me?

    Woman - Let's get out of here.

    Trevor Ocean - *scoffs* are you some type of escort or something? I'll pass, I'm not paying for sex.

    Woman - (laughs) Escort? No, I'm just a girl with a bucket list that needs to check off somethings. One, is pickup a stranger at a bar. The other is sleep with a professional athlete. So, you gonna help me out with that or go home and cry about your night?

    It has been a while... and now I need a distraction from my distraction.

    The bartender returns Trevor's credit card and he places it back in his wallet before standing up from the bar and walking towards the door. He turns around towards the woman and signals for her to "come on". He waits for her to get to the door before the two exit.

    The light from the sun causes Trevor to open his eyes as it creeps through the windows of his hotel room. He reaches to check his phone and the time on his nightstand but feels nothing. He quickly sits up and looks around the room. He moves his hand around the bed frantically searching for his phone, but all he finds is a note. He quickly picks it up and reads it.

    "You're too trusting. Thanks for helping me check THREE things off my bucket list, Mr. Ocean."

    Trevor crumples the note up and tosses it across the room before letting out a primal yell. The yell sounded like something that you would hear from a wounded animal. He looks around the room and notices the mini fridge is open and completely cleaned out. He see's his pants on the ground and quickly picks them up and puts them on. He feels his back pocket...no wallet. He begins to survey the room and notices in addition to his phone and wallet being gone, his backpack is missing as well. He looks out his window at downtown Montreal and can't help but wonder if this is how Bret felt after he lost everything here in '97. Did he feel this defeated? Did he feel this betrayed? Did he feel this worthless? Did he feel this...alone? Did he feel this...dumb?

    In this moment, Trevor had never hated himself more than he did. He hated what he had become. He hated what he allowed to happen to himself tonight and over the last couple of months dealing with Yuna and her parrot. He hated himself for letting Noah down. He hated himself for failing to live up to the potential that he knew he had. He...hated..himself.

    A single tear runs down Trevor's eye as he turns away from the window, picks up hotel phone and dials a number. The phone rings for a while before someone finally answers.


    Trevor Ocean: Hey, mom...it's Trevor...I need help....No...everything's not okay...I need you to book me a flight from Montreal to Laguna...well, I would but...I don't have them....yeah, I'm gonna need you to cancel all of those too....no, mom. You don't need to report them stolen or dispute any of the charges....just cancel them....have them send me new ones....I don't want to talk about it right now, just get me the flight booked, cancel the cards and I'll all you when I get home.

    Trevor slams the phone down in frustration. He pauses for a second before getting to his feet and making his way to the bathroom. He stares at his reflection in the mirror who stares back at him. He looks at his eyes and they are dead. He stares at the lump on his head and internally simmers. He places his hand on the mirror and continues to stare, observe, and mentally dissect himself. He presses hard on the mirror before pushing away. He walks away from the mirror, but our attention stays focused on it. A crack begins to form where his hand rested as the lights in the bathroom shut off.

    "When you decide you need someone (call up on me)"

    Noah Stocke walks down the backstage corridor of the arena towards a door marked exit. He places one hand on the wall to keep his balance as he replays the events of the night in his head. What went wrong? How could they, the tag-team champions, the elite of tag-team wrestling, lose to a makeshift tag-team, again. This was the fourth time this year that they had lost as a tag-team, and this was the fourth time this year that the mistakes of Trevor have caused pain and embarrassment for Noah. Wait, scratch that. This was the fifth time that Trevor's fuck up's have caused Noah embarrassment. Noah dry heaves but manages to stay in control of his body and keep the vomit from surfacing. He continues to use the wall to keep his balance and make his way down the hallway leaving powder white footprint in his path.

    He should have taken care of Yuna the moment that she started fucking with Trevor. He was a fool to believe that this was just a little joke that someone in the company was playing on them. Noah had become used to the jokes that this company constantly presented, so it completley slipped his mind that someone could have been leigitamtely been attempting to play mind games with Trevor and him. He should have handled this the first time they had an interaction with that damn bird. He should have fixed the issue and gotten Trevor's head back in the game. Instead, he was embarassed twice in one night by women. Once, by FWA's newest darling sensation, MVH, and again by FWA's resident pirate princess, Yuna. Why didn't he take control in the ring with MVH? Why didn't he break Yuna when he had the chance. These thoughts race through his mind as he pushes open the door marked exit.He steps outside and dry heaves again. He attempts to supress the vomit but small streams of acid liquid swim from his throat through his pursed lips. Noah looks in horror as the small streams run down his chin to his chest. His body rejected his attempt to supress the urge to vomit? He hiccups again and he attempts to close his mouth but the contents of his stomach come rushing out of his mouth splattering into a puddle below him. Noah had lost control.

    He coughed and gagged as his stomach emptied itself from his throat through his mouth. Once finished he gasps for air and falls to the ground and scoots back to the wall in shock and horror. He touches his chest and his arms before turning his attention to the eyes of one of the FWA technical crew members who had seen the whole thing.

    Noah Stocke: What the fuck...what just happened?

    FWA Technical Crew Member: You just puked, bro. Are you okay.

    The crew member begins to approach Noah, but is met with a finger point from the scared and confused former tag-team champion.

    Noah Stocke: STOP! Don't come any closer to me. Just...just get out of here and act like you didn't see anything...LEAVE!

    Noah begins to breathe heavily as the crew member shakes his head and mutters an expletive under his breath before walking away. Noah looks at his hands and notices them shaking...trembling. What was happening? He hadn't thrown up since he was in high school. He'd always been able to...control himself. This feeling of not being in control was...unfamiliar to him...but then again, not so much.

    Noah, with the vomit on his hands and chest beginning to dry, takes a deep breath and begins to replay everything in his head. From their debut promo atop the roof in rainy Seattle, to the creation of the tag-team tournament, through Division's Rules, he had been in an infinite illusion since the very beginning of his run with FWA. He had thought, just like always, he had been in control. But, in actuality, he wasn't. The man who thought of himself as an individualist had been the furthest thing from it for the better part of a year.

    Noah crawls to his feet and slowly begins to walk away from the arena. He shakes as he reaches for his phone in his pocket. He unlocks the phone and requests and Uber before wandering aimlessly towards the pickup location. Thoughts continue to race through his head. Was it really Trevor's fault that they had lost both of their titles? Was it really Trevor's fault that they had been eliminated from the tournament that they had requested? Was the tournament really even their idea? Or, was it the idea of management who then used them to promote it? Was Yuna just fucking with Trevor or was Noah just too blind to see that she was manipulating, and slowly picking away at his sanity as well?

    A black sedan pulls up to Noah's location and he quickly enters the backseat. The driver, a man believed to be in his early thirties, turns and looks at Noah who stares down at the floor.

    Uber Driver: Noah?

    Noah looks up and forms a half smile at the man before nodding his head.

    Uber Driver: Rough night?

    Noah exhales air through his nostrils and smirks to himself before turning his attention back down to the floor.

    Noah Stocke: What gave it away?

    Uber Driver: Well, you have dried up vomit on your chest...your eyes are bugging out and you're covered in flour or coke. The way your eyes are darting everywhere, I'm going to guess that it's coke.

    As the final word leaves the Uber drivers mouth it's almost as if a record scratch happens inside of Noah's head. Did this bitch, Yuna, shoot him with a giant bag of coke? No, she couldn't have. That would be crazy to waste that much coke just to play mind games with someone...but...what if it wasn't all coke? What if it was flour mixed with coke? Kind of like...the stuff Noah would deal throughout College...but how would she know that? Why would she know that? How well had she scouted Trevor and him? She did know that Trevor's trigger would be his dog, so it's not out of the question to think that she would know about how Noah paid for the portion of his education that his scholarship didn't cover. Noah shakes his head and attempts to snap back into reality.

    Noah Stocke:
    It's flower...I'm just...processing some things right now and not really in the talking mood.

    Uber Driver: What're you processing?

    Is this guy serious?, Noah thinks to himself before looking up at the rearview mirror where he locks eyes with the driver. Noah glares at him and the driver directs his attention back to the road as they approach closer the hotel. Noah exits the car and makes his way through the lobby to the elevator. The door closes for the elevator and Noah feels himself begin to sink. When exactly did he lose control? When exactly did everything fail for him here in FWA? Were did this unfamiliar feeling come from? More importantly, how could he get rid of this feeling?

    The door opens and Noah manages to pick himself up and slump to his room. Hours go by and Noah stares at the ceiling of the hotel room as the lights from the city creep in. He attempts to replay the failures throughout the year over and over again in his head.

    FWA Fight Night: May 01, 2020
    Tornado Tag Team Match
    "The Prodigy" Mike Parr and Krash vs. The Elite (Noah Stocke and Trevor Ocean)

    Krash looks again at Parr, who is getting a boot into the throat. Krash sees this happening and hesitates helping. Then he looks down at Stocke ... but then he turns to help Parr. He puts Ocean in a head lock but Stocke lands a groin shot!

    "The Prodigy" is sitting in the corner as Ocean and Stocke turn their attention to Krash.


    Stocke hits a roundhouse kick o the head of Krash. Ocean hits a fisherman carry cutter. Both of them try a pin!


    .................1....................2.....NO! Krash and Parr kick out together.


    Parr and Krash are grabbed by the necks and whipped to the ropes. They telegraph back body drops and it's a double uppercut. The co-champions hit a shining wizard and spear! Stocke rolls out of the ring and Ocean struggles to his feet. Parr and Krash both focus on him, landing a kick to the gut and lift up together. The co-champs drop him for a powerbomb and both bridge each leg for the pin!!!




    Rod Sterling: Wait a second!




    ...................1




    Daniella Kennedy: Who is pinning him?!




    ...................2




    Christian Quinn: This is WILD!




    ...................3!




    Winners: Krash and "The Prodigy" Mike Parr
    Noah shakes his head as he replay that memory in his head. How could they let themselves be used as plot device to further a storyline for another division?

    "There's only one way to get rid of this feeling"

    CWA: One Night Only
    Three-Way Tag Team Ladder Match.
    CWA World Tag Team Champions.
    The Gang Stars versus The Elite (c) versus The Echo

    Tim Coleman: “Here come The Elite again, Jim!”

    Jim Taylor: “You need an eye in the back of your head in this one.”

    The Elite yank The Echo doesn from the ladder and the begin to trade blows.

    Trevor Ocean and Ethan Connor battle towards a set of ropes, and then Ocean clotheslines him right over the top. Noah backs Drew up into a corner, sitting him down with a series of hard stomps. We follow Ocean and Ethan, who side step a pair of tables that have remained untouched since the start and proceed to fight over the barricade and into the crowd! In the ring, Stocke hits Drew with a snap suplex, and then mounts him to hit a series of hard rights. Ethan and Ocean are fighting through the crowd towards an exit, and Trevor nails the Connor with an STO! He then spots some tables, and begins to fold out two of them next to an exit (and beneath the balcony). After setting the tables up, he goes back to Connor, hoisting him up in a powerbomb position, looking to plant him through the woodÂ…

    But Ethan fights out with a trio of right hands! Stocke drops him, Ethan lands on his feet. He charges at StockeÂ… Spear!! Right through the exit doors! They disappear from view!! Back in the ring, Stocke nails Drew with his Lionheart (rip-cord high knee) finisher, and then looks at the twenty foot ladder set up beneath the belts. He begins to climb, eyes always on the beltsÂ…

    Jim Taylor: "He's got company, Tim!! In rolls Alyster Black!"

    Black comes up from behind Stocke and puts his head beneath Trevor's legs. He walks him away from the ladder, up in power bomb position, towards the side of the ringÂ…

    Tim Coleman: "Powerbomb out of the ring!! Through the ladder! I think he's almost broken in two!"

    Jim Taylor: "He's done, Tim! Stocke is out of this one! He landed right on his neck and folded up like an accordion!"

    We see a quick shot of Noah amongst the debris of the ladder, and then cut to up highÂ… Ocean and Ethan have reappeared, up on the balcony!! They are exchanging rights, battling down a series of steps! We cut back into the ring, where Alyster Black is slowly climbing up towards the belts! Each step seems to be an ordeal, harder than the last. He's fifteen feet upÂ… Twenty feet! He reaches up and his finger tips touch the goldÂ…

    Tim Coleman: "Has he got them?!"

    Jim Taylor: "... Almost! The Gang Stars are going to win!!"

    Tim Coleman: "... No! Wait!! Drew Connor is up! He’s standing at the foot of the ladder!!”

    Alyster Black stares down at Conner, who is slowly pushing the ladder over, and realises itÂ’s too late to do anything. He looks at where heÂ’s heading, and the four tables waiting outside of the ringÂ…




    Jim Taylor: “OH MY GOD!! Through four tables!!”

    Tim Coleman: “Alyster Black may be broken in half!!”

    The camera shows Black amongst the wreckage, but we donÂ’t have chance to linger. Instead, we are taken up to the balcony, where Ethan Connor and Trevor Ocean still trade blows. Ethan is dangerously close to the edge, and - realising this - he simply grabs Ocean, and throws himself off the edge!!

    Noah winces in pain as he remembers the carnage that he went through in that match up. That match was supposed to be a traditional wrestling match, but Noah gave into pressure and agreed to make it a triangle ladder match. Was this where he lost control?

    "You can't lose something you never had. But, there's one thing that you can take control of"

    FWA: Division's Rules
    The Elite Tag Team Classic
    Winner's Bracket Semifinals
    The Division
    vs.
    "Rockstar" Randy Ramon and "The Golden One" Devin Golden

    The
    members of The Division are laid out. "Rockstar" Randy Ramon kneels next to Trevor Ocean. He's about to cover, but "The Golden One" shouts "no ... no."

    Golden can barely find his breath but says, "Make it count. Make it count." Golden pulls himself up, just as Noah Stocke is coming to his feet. Golden blocks a right hand and hits a kick to the stomach. He grabs Stocke around the neck and lifts him up, and then drops him for "The Rotten Touch" sitout faceplant!!!


    Christian Quinn: THEY'RE CLOSE! THEY'RE CLOSE TO WINNING IT!


    Golden points to the top turnbuckle and then to the fallen Noah Stocke. He looks at his partner, who points to Trevor Ocean slowly getting up to his feet. Golden climbs to the top turnbuckle quickly as "Rockstar" crouches down and sizes up Trevor Ocean!

    Ramon seizes the moment and hits "The Bro-Kick" in memory of Ayla El! In perfect synchronicity, "The Golden One" flies off for "The Golden Touch" frogsplash to Noah Stocke!!!

    They plop themselves on top of their foes at the same time, making the covers ...


    Crowd: ONE .... TWO .... THREEEE!!!


    Winners: "Rockstar" Randy Ramon and "The Golden One" Devin Golden
    Noah sits up in his bed and begins to breath heavilly. He walks towards the window and peers down at the city, bustling with life below him. He turns to his right and yanks the threaded cord to the curtains. It detaches, bringing the entire window display down with it. He begins to thread the cord of the curtain before another memory surfaces in his head.

    FWA Fight Night: September 18th
    The Elite Tag Team Classic
    Retribution Bracket

    Michelle von Horrowitz and Gerald Grayson
    vs.
    The Division

    ...
    Ocean stumbles back into the middle of the ring, and von Horrowitz tries to finally climb in through the ropesÂ… but Stocke grabs her legs from behind! MvH manages to cause some separation with a kick to his armsÂ… and then Grayson appears out of nowhere! He flies through the second and third ropes, right next to Michelle, and takes Stocke out with a suicide dive!!


    Rod Sterling: “Where did Gerald Grayson come from! That was out of nowhere!!”


    Grayson continues his attack on the outside, picking Stocke up by the scruff of the neck and throwing him over the announcersÂ’ desk, causing Sterling, Quinn, and Kennedy to disperseÂ… and then he throws himself over the desk in order to unleash a torrent of right hands!!

    Back on the apron, Michelle is waiting patiently on the apron. Finally, Ocean has made his way to his feet, and she springboards up and off the top ropeÂ…


    Daniella Kennedy: “Springboard cross-body!!”

    Christian Quinn: “Picture perfect!!”


    Von Horrowitz doesnÂ’t go for the cover, instead rolling off into the corner and willing Ocean to get to his feet. When he does, MvH charges in at himÂ… BUSAIKU KNEE KICK! Stocke crumples into a heap! She thinks about applying a lateral press, but instead she picks up his ankleÂ… and applies a stretch muffler!!


    Rod Sterling: “Stretch muffler submission! She has it locked in tight!!”

    Christian Quinn: “We haven’t seen much of this move from MvH here in FWA, but she managed to defeat XYZ using this hold earlier in the year… Ocean is desperately trying to reach the bottom rope!”

    Daniella Kennedy: “He’s fingertips away! He’s going to reach them! … … … NO! Michelle drags him to the centre of the ring!”

    Christian Quinn: “And now she begins laying in with stomps to the back of Ocean’s head!! This is brutal!! Ocean has no choice but to tap out!!”


    Winners: Michelle von Horrowitz and Gerald Grayson via submission at 23:3
    Noah stands atop a chair, looking down at the floor below him.

    Trevor charges at the Parrott who quickly flys towards the entrance ramp. Trevor is unable to stop himself in time and crashes into the ring post, knocking himself out. Noah looks up at the area to the right of the stage where a large wooden ship slowly creeps out from the backstage area. On the bow of the ship, Yuna stands with a telescope to her eye staring down at the ringside area. Noah Stocke rolls his eyes and says "I fucking hate this place" as he slowly begins to walk up the ramp.

    Noah Stocke - Cut the shit. Give Trevor his dog and keep it moving, little girl. You don't want this. You don't aren't ready for this. Stay in your lane and leave us alone. This is your one, and only, warning.

    Yuna points at Noah with a stern look on her face before making a gun with her fingers and firing. Just as she "fires" a boom comes from the front of the ship and Noah is sent flying back as a bag of flour explodes on him. A cloud of white powder engulfs the lower entrance ramp area as Yuna stands satisfied with her work. The parrot flies and lands on the shoulder of Yuna as she whistles. As she whistles, a female German Shepherd with a black bandana around her neck rushes from the galley of the ship up to Yuna's side. A completely white Noah Stocke shouts up at Yuna coughing up clouds of flour as Yuna waves at the fans in the arena
    Noah kicks the chair from beneath him and floats in the air, his legs dangling as he gasps for air. He struggles, but eventually stops as he finally comes to peace with things...he was finally...back in control. His vision slowly begins to fade until there is a snap and Noah comes crashing face first on the floor beneath him, knocking him unconscious.

    He awakes to the buzzing of an alarm clock and the rays of the sun beating down on him. He lifts himself off the ground and feels a sharp pain around his neck and his nose. He removes the corded rope from around him and tosses it on the ground as he looks at the wooden beam on the ceiling that had snapped. He turns his attention to his reflection in the mirror. His face is covered in blood and his nose is most definitely broken. He can't help but smile as he thinks to himself "even in the moment where I thought that I had finally regained control, I couldn't realize that I never truly had it". He winces in pain as he attempts to touch his nose before reaching in his pocket and pulling out his phone. "10 missed callls" the screen read. Four missed calls from Shawn Summers - pass. Six missed calls from...Mom?

    Noah quickly presses the word "mom" to call her back. The phone rings once and a frantic voice of woman answers on the other end.

    Noah Stocke: Is everything alright?

    Voice of Woman: Noah, I got a call from Trevor and he...he just sounded so distraught. He had me order him a plane ticket and cancel all of his credit cards. Then he wanted me to order him new ones. I tried to press him, but then he yelled at me and hung up the phone. I've never heard him act this way and it just didn't seem like he was okay. Are you with him? Have you heard from him? I tried to call him back from the number he called me on, but I got the hotel lobby.

    Noah Stocke (in a remarkably calm voice): Mrs. Ocean, everything is going to be okay. I'm here in the hotel room with Trevor and he just...got his wallet swiped at the arena. We had a rough night and he's taking it harder than normal. Don't worry. We're going to go back to Laguna, recover and then he'll be okay. I'll have him call you once he's calmed down, okay?

    Trevor Ocean's Mom: Okay, Noah. I'm just so glad that you're there with him. I can't imagine how you to got on without each other before college. I don't know what he'd do or what we'd do with you, Noah. Please, look after him.

    Noah Stocke (attempting to mask the pain that he is currently experiencing): Don't worry Mrs. Ocean, I'll take care of him. I'll talk to you when we're back in Laguna. Bye, bye.

    Noah hangs up the phone and holds his neck in pain. It feels like razor blades are cutting at his throat each and every time he tries to talk. He attempts to get his mind off of the pain by pondering what the hell could of happened to Trevor. He then stops to think what happened to him? Was...he really willing to end it all because he wasn't in control? Was he really willing to risk it all just regain control of his life? What...what was wrong with him? He has so much to live for. So much to accomplish. So many people depending on him. Could he be...this selfish?

    He enters the bathroom and closes the door. The sound of the shower turning on is heard from inside as the scene slowly fades to black.

    Noah stares straight at a doorbell of a home. He reaches to press it but notices a box on the steps and reaches down to retrieve it. The box is addressed to "Trevor's Bitch". The senders label simply reads "Pirate Princess LLC". Noah tosses the package into the bushes next to house before ringing the doorbell. The meere seconds feel like infinity as Noah waits for the door to open. The door knob begins to turn and Trevor Ocean appears at the door. He surveys Noah who has his Nose bandaged up and visible scarring on his neck. Noah looks at his partner and utters the word "hey". Trevor turns around and walks into the house holding the door open for Noah.



    FWA XV Anniversary Show: 8:54 PM

    Trevor Ocean, dressed in his ring gear with a sleeveless black "Elite Division" muscle shirt tucked into his shorts, twirls a microphone in his hands. Behind him stands Noah Stocke - who wears a protective face guard mask over the top portion of his face, specifically shielding his nose - and Shawn Summers dressed in his ring gear and a sleeveless black "Elite Division" muscle shirt similar to Trevor's. Shawn holds the Canadian flag on a pole and bounces in place as Trevor raises the microphone to his mouth to begin.

    Trevor Ocean: The last time someone gave me a microphone my nerves were everywhere and I couldn't find the words that I wanted to direct to my opponents. So, I just word vomited all over that arena and became a bit of a joke amongst my peers. Funny enough, because my peers considered me a joke on the microphone, they also decided that I must be a joke in the ring as well. It's a logical conclusion to draw and one would almost be correct and have their point proven by looking at my performances in the ring for the last three months. Each and every one of the losses that The Division have suffered, have been due to me. Whether I'm getting pined, gettin a ladder pushed over, or I'm tapping out to a female, the loses have been on me. However, while I may be a laughing stock in the ring and on the mic I still have...a little bit of value. *Trevor points to Noah Stocke* You see, my partner Noah, this guy aint seen in the same light as me. He's seen as the stronger of the two of us. He's seen as the Shawn Michaels to my Marty Jannetty. He legitimizes us as a top tag-team in this company, hell this industry. So, it makes sense to me that the recently debuting Pirate Princess Yuna would try to use me, and by proxy Noah, to make a name for herself. To put herself over as the newcomer that crumbled The Division.

    She must have done her research on me and realized that I'm not a fan of wrestling or assaulting women. She must have studied me and realized that my dog is the only thing...more sacred to me than anything else in this entire world. She must have studied the rift and tension that had been building up between Noah and I since our loss to Krash and Mike Parr. She must have done her research and thought that mentally breaking myself and Noah with her Parrott, her disguises, and her antics would be the perfect catalyst to jump start her career.


    Trevor glances down before looking up at the camera for a few seconds with a slight look of bemusement, eyes narrowed. He exhales heavily yet says nothing. Shawn places his hand on Trevor's shoulder and Trevor nods his head. He sits in silence for twenty seconds longer, gathering his thoughts together before speaking quietly but firmly, eyes fixated on the camera in front of him.

    Trevor Ocean: Yuna, if you would have went about things any other way, you would have had the perfect ending to your little debut story.You would have sailed off into the sunset and discovered treasures of unimaginable wealth and been able to boast and brag about how you conquered The Division...no, how you conquered The Elite! You would have been on your way to becoming next big female wrestler of the eff, double you, aye. But, you decided to take things...too far. Your psychological games combined with the psychological gymnastics that FWA management has been playing with us since we got here almost took my brother *pointing at Noah* from me. Your little games, kidnapping my dog, embarrassing me on a weekly basis with your little bird...broke me...emotionally.

    To you, that may not be that big of a deal. But, in reality...it's the worst fucking thing that you could have allowed to happen. You took my dog...my child...my best friend from me. And then...you paraded her around as a way to mock me show me that she was never that loyal to me to begin with. I had higher expectations that she would rebuke you and be sad not to be with me, but that's what I get for thinking that a bitch could remain loyal. Bitches are never loyal. Bitches can't be trusted. Until, you completely break them and train them. I wanted Bella to be free so I tried to not follow this philosophy, but you...I don't want you to have freedom. I want to confine you to a prison beneath my feet. I want you to suffer. I want to break you physically, emotionally, and mentally, Yuna. I want to hurt you. I want you to feel the same hurt that I felt. I want you to feel the same hurt Noah felt. I want you to be the individual that feels what this tag-team division has felt for years.


    Trevor stands still, looking directly into the camera with a blank expression on his face. He goes to speak, his mouth opening but no sound escaping. He returns to his previous facial position and waits a further ten seconds or so, gathering his thoughts again so as to speak with fluidity. He begins to speak, still in the same way and pitch.

    Trevor Ocean: The moral code I had prior to your little games was that when faced against women, I would never give 100% because that would be an unfair advantage for me. But for you, I have no code. I'm going to treat you like one of the boys. I'm going to beat your ass. I'm going to toss you around the ring in ways that only a collegiate wrestler could. I'm going to bend and break you in every which way with the ladders that I can find around the ring. I'm going to do things to you that would make John Wick turn away. I'm going to make you...my bitch.

    And Noah's going to do some sick and twisted shit in that ring to you as well because this is Vancouver, British Columbia, CANADA. This is his home town. These proud Canadians paid good money to see one of their own, one of their sons put on a performance that they've never seen before. A performance that they will never see again! They want to see Noah and I take retribution against you. They want to see the tag-team specialist that they've heard about but never gotten to see. They want to see what happens when a woman steps into the ring with two men. They want to see you and that fucking bird get hurt. They want to see who runs...The Division.


    Kick in the Door by Notorious BIG begins to play and the fans in the arena erupt into cheers as Trevor drops the mic and begins his ascent up the stairs to the curtain of the arena. Noah smiles at the camera and points at Trevor before speaking.

    Noah Stocke: This is what you wanted, Yuna. I hope you're ready.

    Noah follows behind Trevor and Shawn Summers walks behind them. Shawn turns the camera

    Shawn Summers: And, we're going to kill that fucking bird when the match is over. Get ready to be outraged PETA.

    The three walk through the curtain and the eruption from the crowd is deafening as the scene fades to black.

  12. #12
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    Re: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

    We are greeted by nothing but darkness. We can see nothing. We can hear nothing. Second after second goes by with no change to the scene playing out before us.

    Silence.

    Darkness.

    Anticipation.

    And then…

    Finally…

    Something happens. A single spotlight comes into play and casts a glorious golden, no it’s a caramel light down upon the hulking figure of a very large man. With his short hair, collection of tattoo’s and dark skin, in the FWA Universe its very easy to assume he’s none other than the Monster of the Midway, the Carnegie Carnivore, The Steel City Slayer…but it’s obvious that it’s not quite him. Just someone who bares a striking resemblance. This Imposter Carnivore is grinning from ear to ear as he relaxes back into a large black leather chair that manages to perfectly cocoon his near seven foot frame in warmth and luxury.

    And then into the scene walks the reason for the Imitation Slayers excitement, the reason he’s here, the reason we’re all watching. The Goddess…Coated in Caramel, the former Lady In Black…come Lady in Green Lingerie, The Seductress, and this is in fact no phoney. This is THE Gabrielle. She’s strutted into view with a sway to her hips, a swagger to her every step and an aura of confidence. Her long dark brunette hair is ever so slightly messy, her makeup is minimal and just enhances her natural beauty. Golden hoop earrings peak out from within her luxurious brown locks, her deep brown eyes dance with an excitement, and a giddiness.

    And then…then there’s her body…

    Bathed in that iconic, signature caramel complexion, she is baring so much of it before our eyes, and before ‘him.’ A small, spaghetti strapped dark leopard print bra caresses her 34DD breasts and flaunts her cleavage. A lime green, lacy pair of tanga style underwear and a matching garter belt hugs the curves of her hips and her waist. White fishnet stockings cling to her long, smooth legs leading down to a wickedly pointed pair of lime green stilettos. Its an eclectic mixture of colours and prints all contrasting against each other and against that Caramel skin tone.

    This feels like a ‘classic’ Gabrielle promo already, the Caramel Coated Goddess, dressed in lace and flaunting so much skin. With a grin on her face she approaches this homage to Michael Garcia, this temporary replacement too a man who seems obsessed with her…and as she softly saunters her way towards the pretend Garcia he’s probably somewhere lamenting the fact that it isn’t the real Michael Garcia that Gabrielle has just slid into the lap of. Straddling his waist and staring down into his eyes.

    Gabrielle:
    So Michael it has…come…to this, finally.

    What you’ve wanted for so long, what you’ve endlessly pestered me for. What you have chirped away at me for day after day just hoping that eventually you’d wear down my resolve and I’d give in…you and me…alone together. Gabrielle and Michael Garcia. All the longing stares backstage, all the tweets…and the frankly disturbing fanfiction I’ve been exposed too over the past year…

    It has all been leading us to this moment, is it everything you have been waiting for Michael?

    Her last sentence was excitedly exclaimed as she stares down at the man whose lap she’s sitting in.

    Gabrielle:
    This is what you have endlessy talked about, endlessly begged me for, endlessly acted like what was just a matter of time, yet never quite has been.

    You seem to think it all ends so well for you, seem to think that I will fall for you, and that will be that. Michael Garcia finally becomes great. At least that’s the dream isn’t it Michael? That’s the fantasy you have in mind every time you’d make some ridiculous, poorly worded, ridiculously optimistic comment towards me.

    You think you’re so silver tongued, just like you think you are World Champion material…

    Gabrielle smirks down at Michael-lite beneath her. That wicked little grin upon her lips as she drips with sensuality.

    Gabrielle:
    How do you keep endlessly coming up so short Michael?

    I mean just look at you, you are a giant. You should be unbeatable, unstoppable, insurmountable. Instead you’re just a ’W’ in so many people’s ledgers. Time after time you just cant quite it done. Big moment after big moment Michael Garcia is put on his back…and cant get back up. Opportunity after opportunity thrown away by a man who seems to have every physical gift…

    Well…you’d assume so…riiiight?

    Gabrielle glances downwards for just a moment, that smirk plastered upon her face becoming even more devious before she rests her hands on ‘his’ shoulders.

    Gabrielle:
    But we’ve all heard all of this before. Everyone has told you this Michael, everyone has mocked you for this, belittled you for this, dismissed and overlooked you because of this so much, that I don’t see the point in further making you dwell on it. We all know that when something is on the line, when something can be gained, when something matters, Michael Garcia fails, time after time.

    Has it gotten to you lately?

    Is this why we see a change in your approach? Why I’m seeing a change in your approach. Gone is the wanna be, poor attempt at a ladies man with all the suaveness of a brick, replaced by a bitter, angry man who thinks lashing out at women, discrediting women, denying what they’ve accomplished will get him anywhere…

    And all of this after I was kind enough to say a few good words about you Michael and help you get a World Title match…that you soundly lost.

    You never thanked me for that by the way.

    The Goddess of Opportunities shakes her head disapprovingly as she casts her gaze down upon pseudo-Mike. The unknown, as yet faceless man beneath her, brought into Gabrielle’s orbit by being large enough to portray Garcia for just one night doesn’t really know what to do as this incredible Caramel skinned woman straddles his lap seductively.

    Gabrielle:
    But I want to know, has the string of disappointments turned a boastful, yet hopeful Michael Garcia into this angry, rage fuelled, spiteful Michael Garcia we see now?

    You had your charms before in a bluntly obvious kind of way. Tall, dark, handsome…and a little awkward. Whats not to like there? Your almost weekly stream of propositions to me online in public and in private were always good for a laugh. So sure of yourself you were that you could talk your way between my legs by being as crass and simple as possible…

    Gabrielle giggles as she playfully dances her hands down the imposter’s chest.

    Gabrielle:
    It’s never worked out for you, the theme of the life of Michael Garcia.

    But we need to move on from this, you have it seems…

    You cant beat Dave Sullivan and you cant get ‘this’ no matter how many unsolicited…images you send me. So now you just lash out, maybe this will lead you too more success, maybe this will see you accomplish what is expected of a man of your physical gifts in the ring. Maybe this is how you fulfill your potential and start to get over that final hurdle.

    A more detestable, unlikable, violent Michael Garcia.

    Though it seems you are just aimlessly lashing out now. Saying whatever comes into your mind to garner some attention and get eyes upon you. I almost thought you were better than this Mike, I wouldn’t have sung your praises to Blackbird if I didn’t after all. I thought that maybe just maybe with a little direction, and a few words you could be great.

    She just nods her head disapprovingly while her barely concealed, lace adorned body is thrust up against the pretend Garcia as she presses her body tight to his.

    Gabrielle:
    Instead you have chosen to mock my gender, mock my curves, my body, the female body and act like you just being a man somehow guarantee’s you a win. This Michael Garcia will not be great either, because I wont allow it.

    You brag about what yourself and Kayden achieved and act like that is some evidence that you somehow, someway are better than me. I don’t enjoy admitting this but it was Kayden that put my shoulders to the mat, not you Michael. You’re always the odd man out aren’t you?

    Just look back at Executive Excellence, you came in at the end, eager to impress, eager to follow in the footsteps of Danny Toner before you. But that didn’t last. That wasn’t your fault though, Excecutive Excellence was on its last legs when you and your Brother took up the role of my ‘heavies’.

    But Thomas Princeton, Danny Toner…even Christian Quinn…they got to truly enjoy ‘Excellence’…you missed out Mike and you’re still thirsting for it all these years later.

    Left on the outside, looking in, even back then.

    A teasing little giggle emanates from her very being, before her eyes narrow and her entire being somehow darkens.

    Gabrielle:
    So brag about what Kayden achieved behind your back. Its not the first time you were upstaged by someone and left to helplessly watch…is it?

    Because you haven’t proven anything Michael, you haven’t shown me anything. You can think that you are somehow better than me just because of what is between your legs. But that is such a…small hope to cling too. This isn’t the Elite Classic, you don’t have Kayden by your side and everyone’s least favourite tag team Black Caramel is no more…

    This is just Michael Garcia standing before his Goddess and trying to topple her.

    Michael Garcia with his small list of accomplishments…versus Gabrielle with a list as long as you wish something of yours was…

    Gabrielle glances downwards, to between her legs and beyond to the figure beneath her as a smirk twists her lips.

    Gabrielle:
    Afterall you want to put so much focus upon that, upon what truly separates you and I at the most basic level…

    It doesn’t make you better than me Michael. I have made a career out of humiliating and embarrassing men like you. Men who thought I was just some little girl and wouldn’t pose a real challenge. Men who overlooked me and underestimated me. I’ve had to deal with those men every step of the way. From the very first time I stepped foot in a wrestling school twenty years ago, to here and now in 2020.

    You wont rattle me, you wont put me off my game. You wont make me so emotional that I lose focus. I enjoy dropping people like you on their heads. I enjoy making you eat your every last mocking, condescending word. I LOVE the look upon your face when the fog clears and you start to realise you just lost to that little girl you dismissed entirely.

    Its always a beautiful moment watching someone like you reflect on what they thought was reality, what they thought made them better than me, only to realise it doesn’t matter. If all it took was being a man to defeat me I wouldn’t be a sure fire first ballot Hall Of Famer. I wouldn’t be one of the most decorated and successful Professional Wrestlers…ever.

    Mile High, Trial By Fire, Back In Business Main Events. Women’s Championships, Tag Team Championships, World Championships. Golden Opportunities, Quest For the Best, the Christopher Stallings Memorial Award. I have done it all.

    Stu St.Clair, Ashley O’Ryan, Jenny Ignito. Duke Drazin, Chris Kennedy, Matt Boudreau. Ryan Hall, Cyrus Truth, Moira Crawford. Aut Pax Aut Bellum, The Undisputed Alliance, Vodka and Venum. I have defeated them all.

    And you think your dick is going to get the best of me Michael Garcia?

    Really?

    It’s not that simple, its not that easy…I am not that easy.

    You wont walk all over me, you wont finally make something off of yourself from my name, from my Legacy. You are just setting yourself up for utter embarrassment. You’re just asking to be humiliated and shown up. You and people like Shawn Summers think I will break. Think I’m delusional, or that I’m wrong for doing what I do better than anyone else. Men, Women, Kings…I am better than all of them. I’ve had to be for nearly fifteen years now.

    But I get it Michael, someone who looks like me, who looks like this…

    With an absolute ease, a simple movement of her arms and shoulders she’s cast aside her frilly leopard print bra. She unclasped it easily, and then tossed it aside. But no this Divine promo hasn’t suddenly become Rated R because of the appearance of the female nipple. Rather due to the position of Gabrielle herself, the camera and a bright light behind her somehow, someway her iconic, maybe even notorious breasts are shielded from our view by the brightness of that light.

    Gabrielle:
    Shouldn’t be so dangerous. But I am.

    So fixate on my curves, fixate on what between our legs. It wont help you one bit. You talked your way into this. For once your incessant yapping got what you wanted from me. You and I, alone in the ring. You piggybacked upon someone else’s stupid comments, thinking you could be witty and clever. Thinking you could maybe get a few cheers from those people who don’t like women mixing it up the men. Thinking you could get under my skin, and feel like a big man for once, a successful, important man for once.

    But you’re not are you. You’re still that Michael Garcia from 2015 who thought he could waltz into Executive Excellence and experience a taste of greatness, and a taste of Caramel.

    But you’ve enjoyed neither, and you’re setting yourself up to never enjoy either of those things.

    I don’t just want to beat you Michael, I want to break you. I want to choke you with every word you have said against my gender. I want to ruin you. I want to make it so that YOU cant walk the next day…and so that you can never hold your head high again.

    Her tongue dances across her lips and a mirthful giggle slithers forth from between them.

    Gabrielle:
    This isn’t kindergarten, pulling my hair or saying mean things wont be dismissed as your ridiculous attempts at showing me you like me. This is the real World, this is Goddesses, Kings and…Jesters. And I am going to take from you the thing you have so desperately wanted. The thing you so badly need to be complete.

    I know what it truly is that you want Michael.

    You don’t just want to be with me…you don’t just want me. You want to be inside me…

    You want to be me...

    In an instant the scene before us has taken a turn. There’s still so much skin on display, still some green lace, still a bare chest. Only now the roles have suddenly reversed. We see Gabrielle’s head on ‘Michaels’ body, and Michaels head on her body, the real Michael Garcia’s head. It’s a disturbing sight. The face of the Carnegie Carnivore looks so out of place upon the body of the Goddess of Opportunities.

    Gabrielle:
    This is what you want, this is what you need. To be me, to have what I have. The fame, the fortune, the accolades, the love. You want this, you’d do anything for this. You’ve tried everything for this. You tried being a Monster over and over again, you tried being a Commentator, you tried fighting for something, now you’re trying to wave your dick around as some badge of honour.

    But none of it works, this is the best you could hope for. Being me, being near me, touching me, feeling me, embracing me. Me…me…me. I’m what you need Michael in every way, and now you’ve got me. Only I aim to snuff out the very last Opportunity you have been presented with.

    This isn’t what is in store for your future, not at all…

    There’s a smug grin upon the face of Gabrielle which is in turn on the body of Michaels stand in as her body, her actual body raises a hand and clicks her fingers…

    And in an instant, all is transformed. Gone is the lace, gone is the lingerie. Gone is all that skin and the head swapping. Replaced by that Michael Garcia sprawled out on the ground, flat on his back as Gabrielle stands tall. An entirely backless gold full length dress now adorns her body, covering most of her curves and surprisingly all of her cleavage. If it were not for the fact that this dress is indeed so ‘backless’ that it flaunts some side boob you’d swear it couldn’t be from Gabrielle’s wardrobe.

    Gabrielle:
    This is what you have to deal with Michael, THE Goddess of Opportunities. The Goddess who holds in her possession the ability to become FWA World Champion at any time I want. The King…fresh from securing two wins over you is dreading the day that I cash this in. He’s so traumatised by me, by my scent lingering in his nostrils every time I threaten to overthrow his rule and pillage his Kingdom that he’s taken a restraining order out…on little ole me.

    This is what you face Michael, what you have to deal with. A Goddess that strikes fear into the hearts of Kings. A Goddess who has, can and will change the World. A Goddess incensed and enraged by how Alyster and I stumbled at one too many hurdles. We should have beat Krash and Mike, we’re better than them. We’re a better team than them…yet..

    She chuckles, playfully for just a moment.

    Gabrielle:
    I’m reminding myself of you right now Michael, wasted potential. Only I have the ability to cash in on mine anytime I want too.

    Another chuckle as she takes a moment to admire her perfectly manicured nails.

    Gabrielle:
    But I’m no fool, I wont sell you entirely short. I wont overlook you, or underestimate you. I refuse to get caught up in the idea that you pinning my shoulders to the mat would be out of character for you in your career so far.

    The camera suddenly launches upwards so its filming Gabrielle from up above.

    Gabrielle:
    This is what you face, and what I have to do to look you in the eyes. You’re a giant Michael, a true giant. I would be lying if I said that didn’t give me pause for concern.

    We’ve stepped in the ring against each other before but the likes of Alyster, Kayden, Cyrus Truth, or Kevin Cromwell have been there as well. This is true challenge for me Michael, overcoming a man who weighs three times what I do and has well over a foot in height over me…

    I’ll have to chop you down, inch by inch. Break you down, make you question what you have talked your way into. I’m going to enjoy it so much. I’m going to enjoy making you regret your every pathetic misogynistic comment. I’m better than you are Michael, I always have been and I always will be. You’re a giant in stature…but I am a giant in the record books.

    Upon those words the camera plummets downwards to the ground beneath Gabrielle.

    Gabrielle:
    Grovel at my feet Michael, it’s the only Opportunity you can make the most of…

    And with that said it all fades out to black…
    Credit to Comeback Kid for the GFX

  13. #13
    Squash Fodder

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    Re: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

    Chief Blackbird threatening to sell them down the river unless they solve the murder of someone who is, in fact, not dead. That is where we left our two charming detectives the last time we spoke. What’s that you say? You need a catch up. Well sit back, buckle up, and get ready to go for one hell of a ride talking all things FWA. Oh…and take notes….there is no way we are going to go through this twice.

    Previously...

    There are few cities in the country that are as rife with crime as the good city known as FWA. It’s just what happens when you have too many players in the same game. Detectives Parr and Montrose had their work cut out for them as Police Chief Blackbird ordered them to solve the crime of all crimes. This wasn’t some petty theft, this was murder. The ruler of the X Division Michelle von Horrowitz had been blown off of her throne and the new pretender, one Gerald Grayson, was prime suspect number one. MvH didn’t get to where she was making friends all along the way…the real question is, who was the one that finally put her her in the ground. Young Grayson, whist the main beneficiary of Michelle’s untimely demise, gave the two detectives the impression that he couldn’t formulate his way out of a wet paper bag, criminal mastermind he is not. Case in point in that trying to be sure that he didn’t incriminate himself, he very much ended up pointing the two detectives in the direction that neither of them had expected. Down the route that Michelle might not be as deceased as one would have you think.

    Quite the quandary for our detectives however, as Chief Blackbird made it clear that he wanted order restored to the streets and the natives were getting restless with the unsolved murder. He made it crystal to the two that unless they offered him a name, they would be the ones that would be offered up as sacrificial lambs in the name of keeping peace in the city. But now, the detectives were seemingly tasked with trying to solve a murder that didn’t happen. Parr turned to his informants to try and get more information on the alleged murder, but things took a considerable turn for the worse whenever the duo known as the New Breed turned on him and tried to silence him permanently…he just about escaped.

    Just about escaped because Montrose was wracked with guilt. His head wasn’t in the game. Blackbird again did what Blackbird does when the detectives both reporting back with nothing, but Parr and Montrose both knew something was going up. Montrose, as it turned out, had the key to discovering that Michelle had not only not met her maker that evening, but that she was making moves and plotting something that would leave FWA in a far more precarious state than it was beforehand with just her atop the X Division. And that’s a worrying thought for not just the X Division but the entire landscape. It appears Michelle had her eyes set on the Elite’s district in the short term, and we left our two unlikely heroes determined to figure out what Michelle has planned and stop her, and save their own asses in the meantime….


    \\-//-\\
    Detective Parr
    “Finally Montrose, today is the day…a beautiful day to finally get this case off my desk. Don’t you just love days where you get the finally put the bad guys away?”


    Detective Parr inhales deeply, taking a smell of his surroundings as if they are going to smell of success and conviction as opposed to the cheap bleach that the cleaners use on the desks overnight. He grabs his Styrofoam cup full of coffee, squeezing it ever so tightly that some of it comes dripping over the top of the cup itself, and throwing a large gulp straight down this throat. As he lowers his hand, the look on his face tells you that he either just got a delayed whiff of that cheap bleach or that he’s made his daily mistake of forgetting that the coffee at the precinct is still terrible. Parr shakes as if someone had just run their nails down a chalkboard, before taking another deep breath and regaining his composure. Detective Montrose remains unmoved at his desk, he had already been in for a couple of hours tying up some paperwork and making sure that the case doesn’t get thrown out for any technicality. He has also seen Parr’s morning routine too many times over the last few months while they tried to figure out Michelle’s plan.

    Detective Parr
    “Montrose, you could look a little bit happier about today. I’ve got a good feeling about today, I’ve got a good feeling that we are finally going to get Blackbird off our backs and I’ve go—“


    Detective Montrose
    “…got to remember that we’ve been here before Parr. Been here before when we thought that we were closing in.”


    Parr pauses, tilts his head and gathers his thoughts. Montrose, the levelheaded lothario, had a point. Three months has passed since they both discovered that Michelle was well and truly not brown bread, and as yet, they’ve not been able to offer up anything to appease Chief Blackbird who was growing evermore weary of getting nothing but dead ends and excuses handed to him when all he wanted was a name of who killed Michelle. But finally, downstairs today they had holding cells full of criminals who are ready to squeal like a pig who sees a farmer who loves a bacon sandwich. It was just a case of putting pressure on them until one of them offers up MvH on a plate. Sure, she’s been under the radar since her death…a byproduct of faking your own death means your public presence takes a hit… but Parr and Montrose have managed to work out that she is still targeting the Elite’s district and that no-good swine Gerald Grayson is helping her facilitate it.

    The Division Industrial District is in proverbial flames and there is a big power vacuum that MvH through Grayson are looking to fill. Chief Blackbird was worried about the impact of an X Division district lacking MvH and was willing to sacrifice his two detectives to keep order, words don’t even describe the chaos that will reign if Grayson or anyone unsuitable manages to get their hands on the keys to the The Division’s district. For Parr and Montrose, it was a one way ticket to a penitentiary where dropping the soap will probably be the best part of their day. Two detectives locked up with many of those that they put away is going to make Detective Parr long for a gross cup of coffee to start his day.

    Detective Montrose
    “I want to make sure we go in there prepared Parr, we want to be more of Sonny and Cher and not a John Lennon / Yoko Ono”

    If Parr had a mouthful of the nicest coffee in North America, he would have still sprayed it out everywhere after that last sentence.

    Detective Parr
    “What the f**k do you mean by that?”

    Detective Montrose
    “We want to be on the same page, in sync, while we try to nail these suckers. I got you, babe. We don’t want one to be quiet in the background while the other hogs the spotlight. And hey, we definitely don’t want to end up with one of us dead! Imagine…”

    Montrose chuckles at his own joke, shaking his head as if he can’t believe he just came up with that on the spot. Parr doesn’t quite know how to work out how to tell him that John Lennon isn’t the only person of the four that is no longer amongst the living. But that’s probably secondary to the bat shit crazy analogy that his partner just tried to drop on him. In the end, he settles for the easy option.

    Detective Parr
    “Don’t ever call me babe again Montrose. In fact just don’t—“

    He pauses as Montrose has looked up at him once again from his stack of paperwork, and he knows that he needs his partner to be on his A game today to get the job done. Telling him his analogy was shit would be akin to telling Officer Garcia that we had replaced the donut stall out of the front of the precinct with a salad bar.

    Detective Parr
    “Sonny and Cher it is then, Montrose. Sonny and Cher it is. So who do we want to start with down there? We have Stocke and Ocean. We have the New Breed. We have Johnson. One of these three are the key to solving the mystery that is MvH, I can feel it Montrose!”

    Detective Montrose
    “I say we start with Stocke and Ocean. They’ve abandoned their district and have created that huge gap for MvH to weasel her way into and we need to know why and how. Grayson pulled the wool over our eyes once before, we aren’t letting these two do it again.”

    Detective Parr
    “Besides, it would be good to give these two a hard time considering how much effort it’s taken us to make sure that the district doesn’t fall into the wrong hands to keep Blackbird on side. Those pesky pissants Gabrielle and Black were a tough one to send packing, good job with that by the way. They would’ve been a disaster atop that district.”

    Detective Montrose
    “I still thought we were in trouble dealing with that Cyrus guy and Eli Black. We were scrambling there, but thankfully those two thugs from the old part of the city took issue with them and headed them off for now....got to remember to keep an eye on those two in the long run though, Cyrus and Black aren’t going to be distracted by the Golden Rockstars for long. Anyone gets in charge of that district and all hell breaks loose we are going straight in the clink.”

    Detective Parr
    “Don’t you worry Montrose, I’ve got my fingers in as many pies as one could manage.”

    Parr’s eyes narrow as he scans the room to make sure that nobody heard that and took it the wrong way. Thankfully, everyone else seems distracted by their very important business of shuffling some papers on their desk or staring at the drunk guy who’s stumbled in and is trying to show his sheriff’s badge prop to try and get past Officer Garcia who is on front desk duty. Parr makes a mental note to keep track of that one.

    Detective Parr
    “I’ve still got the feelers out to see what’s happened to that Diamond and Cromwell duo, they had a very public encounter with Grayson and nobody seems to have heard from them in the meantime. Same goes for Garcia and Knox. Grayson again. Shame Officer Garcia isn’t in touch with his cousin, could really have done with knowing exactly what happened there….”

    Montrose, with an emphatic stab with his pen on the piece of paper, finishes his paperwork and takes a glance at the clock in the corner of the office. He slams his hands down on his desk and props himself up to his feet.

    Detective Montrose
    “OK Parr…here we go. 9:07 AM. What better time to go crack this case once and for all.”

    Montrose leads the way down to the holding cells as Parr quizzically watches him go. As he ponders why 7 minutes past 9 can be specifically classed as a good time, he takes another glug of his coffee that has now gone lukewarm before immediately regretting doing so. The Styrofoam cup is then lobbed over his head into the adjacent garbage can, before following Montrose en route to making some criminals squeal.

    \\-//-\\

    Detective Parr
    “Must admit, it’s nice to be sat here knowing that you aren’t hiding a blade somewhere to try and stab me with again gentlemen.”

    Detective Parr faces Prototype and Sean, the two lowlife knuckleheads who went from his informants to just plain old knuckleheads when they tried to silence Detective Parr for good. They were as much in the wind as one could be for the last few months until one of them just couldn’t resist poking their head up above the parapet. There were two things that Detective Parr knew about the duo, that they were for sale to the highest bidder and they love their chicken sandwiches. It was only a matter of time before Sean got a craving for the poultry that he couldn’t resist and when he did, uniform patrol was there with a side of handcuffs to wash down that deep fried treat. Knowing he was nothing without his partner, Prototype turned up at the precinct one hour later to co-operate with the investigation.

    Detective Parr
    “Why I should be slapping on the handcuffs and letting you rot for attempted murder, but you know what you pair of pillocks, I need your help. And for that help, I’m willing to let you walk away no questions asked. But I need you to answer some questions for me and you aren’t leaving until you do.”

    Sean Hughes
    “You might wish we stabbed you to death because dying of boredom is the worse way to go, we ain’t telling you shit.”

    Detective Montrose
    “Thought you might say that Sean. After all, we did grab you before you were able to enjoy exactly what it was that you went for.”

    Montrose reaches underneath the desk and lifts onto the surface a plastic bag, which he slowly unwraps to reveal Sean’s kryptonite. The smell of fried chicken was soon all around, replacing the odor of the aforementioned cheap bleach that the cleaners spray everywhere in the absence of a delicate touch while cleaning through the night. Sean’s eyes widen, as a small trail of saliva drops from the left hand corner of his mouth.

    Detective Parr
    “When we last met…attempted murder aside…you mentioned a she. Who was the she that you mentioned?”

    Sean Hughes
    “Bell Connelly. Can I have it now?”

    Prototype
    “Christ on a bike Sean, it’s a sandwich. SHUT UP.”

    Prototype elbows Sean in the ribs, being handcuffed to the table he just about had enough wiggle room to be able to get enough force in the elbow to break Sean out of his trance. Mike smiles, nothing he likes more than living rent free in the head a crooked criminal within minutes. Montrose’s full Sonny and Cher strategy seems to be paying dividends, whatever that strategy actually is.

    Sean Hughes
    “Sorry, what was the question again?”

    Detective Montrose
    “We got all we needed from the last one Sean, so how about you tell me exactly how you are involved with the demise of one Michelle von Horrowitz? You’re not telling me it is coincidence that you tried to play pin the knife in the detective with my partner here on the same day that Michelle met her maker, is it?”

    The game plan is clear. Parr and Montrose both know that MvH is well and truly alive, but they need proof. Proof so the heat from Chief Blackbird is off of them so they can get down to the business of actually finding her and putting a stop to whatever dastardly deed she has planned. But a phone that Montrose used to contact her directly and would land him in heat with the Chief and that isn’t going to cut it for either detective. Whilst he was seemingly out his trance with the sandwich, Sean’s glare had not moved from it. Montrose clocks this, so grabs it with both hands and takes a massive bite.

    Sean Hughes
    “YOU SON OF A –“

    Sean is stopped in his tracks as he watches Montrose spit the bite onto the floor.

    Detective Montrose
    “I don’t know why I did that, I’m not even hungry.”

    He turns and shrugs to Parr, all the while Hughes is still frozen after the word ‘A’, completely nonplussed or still processing what he just saw. The room is now just a combination of awkward silence and the smell of fried chicken, not a combination that anyone really was chasing at the start of today. Prototype, although he cannot do anything about said fried chicken smell, does manage to break the silence.

    Prototype
    “We walk if we help you?”

    A man of few words, and even fewer morals. Parr secretly appreciated that about him, after all, as one cop once told him whilst they were filling up their coffee cups, why baffle someone with blubbering bullshit when you can blind them with bluntness. Or something like that. Parr didn’t really like the guy and still had not had his morning caffeine fix but that’s what he is rolling with.

    Detective Parr
    “I let your attempted murder of me drop if I get what I want.”

    Prototype turns to Sean, as they both try to come to an understanding of where each man sits with this offer without communicating verbally. Quite the challenge for any two normal humans but frankly that’s how Prototype communicates most of his life. Rumor has it that his first wife got nothing from their divorce because his lawyer argued that he didn’t actually say ‘I do’ when they got married, just grunted. True story. Not sure how they got a divorce if the argument was they were never married but nobody really cared enough to look that far into it. Alas, the New Breed appear to have come to an understanding.

    Sean Hughes
    “We did it. We killed her. We blew the place up. Let us get out of here, some of us have some chicken sandwich itches that cannot be scratched in here, if you get me.”

    Finally. Parr turns to Montrose and they exchange grins, probably the most genuine smile that they have exchanged since Parr learned that Montrose got drunk at the staff party and pissed in Officer Garcia’s plant in his office.

    Detective Montrose
    “Well in that case we are placing you under arrest for the attempted murder of Michelle von Horrowitz. You have the right to remain silent, anything you do say will be –“

    Prototype
    “You said we would walk if we talked?”

    Detective Montrose
    “Damn, you really had to interrupt me? Reciting that is one of my favorite things to do you scumbag.”

    Detective Parr
    “I also said you would walk for my attempted murder charge. Didn’t say anything about Michelle’s.”

    Sean Hughes
    “I hated you. I also hated you, you smug arrogant jumped up assbandit. If it’s the last thing that I do I swear I’m going to make sure we finish what we-“

    Sean is interrupted again, not by an elbow from his companion, but his hand being raised in the air as if to quieten the room. It certainly worked, not least because Sean remembered how that last elbow felt a few minutes ago.

    Prototype
    “What do you mean….attempted?”

    Another heavy dose of awkward silence and fried chicken follows. Of course, Parr and Montrose have the answer to that question but it is satisfying to watch a perp or a couple of them sweat. Quite commonplace at this precinct, where the temperamental air con is a trademark along with its stale coffee. Parr reaches over and pauses the recording of the interview.

    Detective Parr
    “Attempted means that your explosion might have worked but she isn’t dead. She’s very much alive and she’s making moves. We think she’s going after the Division Industrial District and we all know that we cannot let that stand.”

    Sean Hughes
    “The Division District? The last I heard that goof Grayson was making moves on it as he as things have been pretty calm over in the X Division district for quite a while now.”

    Prototype
    “SEAN”

    Detective Parr
    “Doesn’t it feel good to be on the right side of things again, Sean? It’s OK, let it all out it’s good for the soul. You’ll feel better.”

    Detective Montrose
    “And if that doesn’t work for you, you’ll feel even better whenever you hear that we have another option for you. As much as I like reading you your rights and hearing that jail cell door slam shut on you pair of hobgoblins, what I’d like even more is if that door closed with MvH and her crony Grayson in there. So your options…option 1 is simple. We get this tape and we take it to the Chief and we lock you up for the attempted murder of MvH. Without a body, the chief has been pushing to have that upgraded to murder but he will settle for it. That gets him off of our case and we can go back to making sure that MvH doesn’t succeed in whatever she has planned by staying under the radar for so long.”

    Detective Parr
    “And option number two is that you help us and I’ll promise to actually consider not throwing you in prison without a second thought.”

    Prototype
    “After what you just pulled, I want it in writing.”

    Montrose leans across the table, getting face to face with Prototype to the extent that Prototype could probably see some white meat from the sandwich stuck between his teeth and the cavity that he had filling when he was 14.

    Detective Montrose
    “Option 1 is definitely years in the clink. Option 2 is probably years in the slammer but we might think about. I don’t know about you, but I know what I’d choose if the options were just “definitely” or “maybe”

    Montrose returns to his seat, as the New Breed do their thing about non verbal communication again as they try and decide what to do.

    Detective Parr
    “Enough of this. We will leave you two to talk it over for a few minutes, I need a coffee…”

    Parr leaves the interview room, as Montrose grabs the chicken sandwich and follows him out, leaving the New Breed to talk over their options – well, options is probably a kind way to put it. As the door to the interrogation room closes, Montrose turns left and almost sends Parr flying as he walks straight into him.

    Detective Montrose
    “I thought you went for a coffee?”

    Detective Parr
    “I thought you weren’t hungry?”

    Parr nods towards the sandwich sans one bite in Montrose’ left hand.

    Detective Parr
    “They’re going to take it. They are slippery and even if they have a small chance of somehow getting out of this, they’re going to go for it even if they don’t like it. We might finally have her Montrose. Imagine the look on Blackbird’s face when we turn up and he expects to be served her alleged murderer and we serve him the ‘victim’ herself.”

    Detective Montrose
    “Maybe Blackbird will finally be happy with the city and order being restored. The Division’s district will still be up for grabs but as long as MvH and Grayson don’t fill that void we should be able to avoid that chaos. Kingpin Sullivan’s district is secure as ever. Grayson has filled MvH’s void in the X Division district but we still don’t really know why she felt he need to let Grayson have his way over there….they must’ve been in cahoots all along. Those two chumps in there could get that final piece of the puzzle for us, help us figure out why Michelle wanted to appear dead and why she is happy to work with the guy who took her place? And why the world isn’t collapsing in that district with challengers to their new ruler. Those loyal to Michelle just seem to have…accepted it.”

    Detective Parr
    “Accepted it or they’re just biding their time.”

    Detective Montrose
    “If only everywhere could be as stable as that North American district. What’s the deal with the guy over there? How does he manage it?”

    Detective Parr
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”

    Montrose stops momentarily, almost retorting, before taking another chunk out of his chicken sandwich. This time, however, he chooses to swallow and not spit. He launches the remaining third of the sandwich into the trash nearby.

    Detective Montrose
    “Let’s go see if tweedle dipshit and tweedle dumbass have made their choice.”

    \\-//-\\


    Within the confines of an unmarked van, parked in the parking lot of Connelly's Shipping & Handling Warehouse - conspicuously marked as 'Condemned' since 2017 - Detective Mike Parr tapped at a tiny microphone in his hand, testing it's receiving input, before he began to tape it to the chest of his ex-Protege, Sean Hughes. Being this close to a man who he had taken under his wing, nursed him, taught him, protected him, only for it all to be eventually repaid by his Protege trying to sink a knife into Mike's back, created a certain... Uneasy feeling. And yet, as Mike Parr noticed how Sean Hughes pointedly refused to make eye contact, the scenario gave him a sense of... Satisfaction.

    Detective Parr
    "And to think, if you didn't try to murder me in a back alley, I could've probably helped you out of this mess. I thought I taught you better than this."

    Sean Hughes mumbled something inaudible in response, as Detective Parr sat back, throwing a clean white dress shirt at his ex-student.

    Detective Parr
    "Get dressed. Nearly showtime, Sean. I wish I could have front-row seats, but-"

    Sean Hughes
    "Fuck you. You're sending me and Prototype into a deathtrap! You're using us as bait against a fucking shark and her parkour tiger! You-"

    Detective Parr
    "You should've thought about that before you decided to try and plant a knife in my chest. Besides, I'm doing you a solid. You're looking at a pretty hefty sentence - attempted murder, destruction of private property, aggravated assault, it's not a good combination. But you do this, and I might be able to pull some strings, get you a reduced sentence. Maybe."

    Sean swore once more, turning away as he tugged on his shirt. Detective Parr wrenched open the sliding door of the van, and stepped outside into the cold night air. It was a starless night, the sky black and dim with only a faint circle of the moon to provide any sort of decoration. The stench of the ocean smacked at his face, and Parr instinctively scrunched his nose, nodding at the two other men standing outside the van.

    Detective Parr
    "You've got your wire, too?"

    Prototype grunted in a way that possibly meant confirmation. Beside him, Detective Jake Montrose only nodded.

    Detective Parr
    "Good. Keep it together, and one day I might be able to look past the little stunt you and Sean pulled."

    Prototype's face twisted in the kind of expression that could leave third-degree burns, but unlike Sean, he stayed silent. Parr reached into the van, yanking out Sean Hughes and pushing him at Prototype with barely an apology.

    Detective Parr
    "Montrose, make the call. It's time to move."

    As Mike Parr began to lead his ex-students towards the warehouse, Detective Jake Montrose pulled out a phone - one of his cheap disposable phones, the kind he had far too many of and Parr really needed to talk to him about that at some point. As he trailed behind the trio, Montrose tapped twice on the keypad, raising his eyebrows in quiet surprise when it actually started dialling.

    Detective Montrose
    "Good afternoon, Miss von Horrowitz. Mr. Grayson. I hear you two have been rather busy as of late - taking out The Elite's drug lab certainly halted their hold over their district, and I don't believe anyone on the force will be too bothered by your assault of Officer Garcia and Officer Knox. Really, we've been waiting for someone to bite back at those two for a while. I must wonder, however, whether your violent interrogation of my colleagues helped you find out who tried to kill you, so many weeks ago? Officer Garcia, long served member of the law or not, isn't particularly privy to certain developments in your case. Neither is Officer Knox for that matter. However, I myself, along with my partner Detective Parr - Say hello, Mike."

    Mike did not say hello.

    Detective Montrose
    "I'm sure you're familiar with Detective Parr. Anyway, we've been spearheading the investigation. Talking to witnesses, or as your companion Mr. Grayson can confirm, suspects. And I feel like you, of all people, should know that we've discovered who tried, and failed, to burn you to the ground. We've got eyewitnesses that put them at the scene and a verbal confession, but due to a legal loophole, we can't arrest them... Yet."

    The foursome stepped into the warehouse, their footsteps echoing inside the almost-empty, dilapidated yard.

    Detective Montrose
    "Now, Miss von Horrowitz, the question you're undoubtedly asking yourself, is 'why am I telling you this?' I could, and should, drag them to jail and have them awaiting trial. But as a favor to you, Miss von Horrowitz, I didn't. Because I know you, Michelle. I know your trail of destruction against the city won't end until you've gotten your own personal piece of revenge, and who am I to deny you as much? The men who failed to kill you are currently residing in Connelly's Dry Goods & Shipping Warehouse down by the docks, and they won't be leaving. Myself & Detective Parr will be busy in a meeting with Blackbird for the next hour, so this is your window of opportunity. Do what you wish. Exact your revenge. See if you can get them to spill the beans on who put them up to it. Because once our meeting is up and we have the approval to make the arrest, they're going to be going away for a very, very long time. Good luck, Miss von Horrowitz. I hope you find the answers you're looking for."

    Hanging up, Montrose tossed the phone in his pocket, as Parr led his ex-students to a pair of fold-out chairs, directing them to sit.

    Detective Parr
    "She didn't talk to you much, did she?"

    Detective Montrose
    "She didn't need to. As long as she listened, she'll be here.

    Sean Hughes
    "And what if she's not, huh?"

    Detective Parr
    "Then I guess we've wasted a night and MvH missed her chance for revenge. Now, you two sit here. Myself & Montrose are going to wait in the security room. We'll be watching on cameras, so don't worry - neither of you are in any real danger. We'll step in and stop her if it looks like she's taking it too far."

    Sean Hughes
    "How far is too far?"

    Detective Parr
    "I don't know. More than three broken bones? I haven't decided where the line is yet. Montrose, with me. Better make sure the security room's access to the cameras are still online."

    The two detectives walked away, while Protege & Prototype stared daggers into their retreating forms. Marching through the abandoned rooms, Detectives Parr & Montrose eventually stepped into the security room, Parr squinting at the trash and graffiti with distaste.

    Detective Parr
    "I thought this place was abandoned a long time ago."

    Detective Montrose
    "It was. The owner had a mental breakdown and skipped town a few years back. But they still pay to keep the electricity running to this place, so the cameras still work, if nothing else."

    Detective Parr
    "Who was the owner?"

    Detective Montrose
    "I don't know. Some lady named Bell?"

    Detective Parr
    "As long as it all works it could belong to for all I care. Now all we can do is wait and see if MvH takes the bait."

    \\-//-\\

    Time passed slowly. Almost painfully slowly. Detectives Parr & Montrose didn't have much to talk about, despite the latter's attempts to start a conversation. Turns out they didn't particular have much in common, aside from a shared likeness of 'staying alive.' From their view behind the cameras, they silently watched Sean Hughes pace anxiously while Prototype played solitaire. One was better at their activity than the other. At the clock ticked over, Mike Parr shot a look at his watch.

    Detective Parr
    "It's been forty minutes. I was under the impression MvH wanted to found out who tried to kill her."

    Detective Montrose
    "Give it twenty more minutes, and we'll wrap it up. She had her warning."

    Detective Parr
    "I don't know if I can stand twenty more minutes trying to put up with your feeble attempts at conversation."

    Detective Montrose
    "I'm just trying to find some common ground."

    Detective Parr
    "And I still don't know why. This is a mutually beneficial partnership. Not a friendship. We're working together because we've been assigned to each other. That's it. We don't talk to each other outside of work, we don't gossip at the officer water cooler, and I'm not joining you for drinks, netflix, and midnight pancakes at your apartment after all this is over."

    Detective Montrose
    "To be fair, my midnight pancakes are to die for."

    Detective Parr
    "They're just pancakes you cook at midnight, there's nothing special about the-why am I even having this conversation? This is a waste of breath. This entire thing is a waste of my time. Nothing's happening. MvH didn't take the bait. I'm calling it q-"

    Suddenly, Montrose placed a finger on Parr's mouth, his ears straining.

    Detective Montrose
    "Shush."

    Mike Parr blinked.

    Detective Parr
    "Did you just tell me to 'shush?' What am I, a dog?"

    Detective Montrose
    "Shut up, just-"

    Detective Parr
    "Quite frankly, I'm getting real tired of-"

    Detective Montrose
    "Don't you hear that?"

    Mike opened his mouth once again, but fell silent, as he, too heard it.


    An engine approaching, growing slowly louder.

    Detective Parr
    "... Motorbike. Sounds like a dirtbike specifically. Same kind Grayson rides. What's on the entrance camera?"

    Squinting at the tiny screen, Detectives Parr & Montrose could just barely make out the spade of a dirtbike grind to a half in the parking lot of the warehouse. One human-shaped shadow leaped off the bike and marched towards the warehouse in a rush, while the other hesitated, before following.

    Detective Montrose
    "It's them. They're here."

    Detective Parr
    "Switch to the holding area camera. We'll have to hope Sean & Prototype's mics are still working."

    Detective Montrose
    "How long until we break it up and arrest them?"

    Detective Parr
    "... Let MvH smack them around a bit first."

    Pressing the receiver into his ear, Parr glared at the security screen, as on the TV none other than Michelle von Horrowitz, marched into frame. Sean Hughes raised his hands in surrender, only to catch a fist to the jaw for his troubles. Prototype got to his feet, about to interfere, but MvH producing a gun out of her pocket and pointing it at his chest made him pause.

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "Guess who's back from the dead. You two boys should've tried harder."

    Sean Hughes
    "It's not what you think-"

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "Starting off on the wrong path there, Sean. Or Protege. Or whatever the fuck you want to call yourself. Yeah, I've heard of you two. Couple of two-bit petty vandals who used to hang around with Parr. That's a bit fucking step to go from petty vandalism to trying to kill someone, let alone someone like me."

    Sean Hughes
    "So you know we didn't do it!"

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "Don't pull that shit. I know you did it. You think I haven't been doing my own investigation on the side? That I can't put the pieces together? You stop hanging around with that cop and instead of going immediately to jail you're strutting around like you own the streets. Which means something happened that makes you think you're bulletproof. Something or someone with more pull than Mike Parr gave you a golden ticket, and all it took was trying to snuff me out. Is that right?"

    Sean Hughes
    "Look, w-"

    Prototype
    "Yes."

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "Big guy's smarter than he looks. I can work with that. Give me a name, big guy. What I can do to you tonight will pale in comparison to what I'm going to do to the guy who paid you off. Give me a name."

    Detective Montrose
    "... Something's wrong."

    Detective Parr
    "No, this feels right. Those two get threatened and give us a name we want, while placating MvH at the same time. It feels gratifying."

    Detective Montrose
    "No, not that. Two people entered. Only MvH approached your boys. Where's Grayson?"

    Click.

    ???
    "Detectives."

    Mike Parr closed his eyes, quietly swearing as he felt the lead barrel of a gun press against the back of his head.

    Detective Montrose
    "Mr. Grayson, nice of you to join us. Would you like a seat?"
    Gerald Grayson
    "No, I don't think so. I think there's some seats waiting for you with your friends in the lobby."
    Detective Montrose
    "The gun isn't necessary, Mr. Grayson."

    Gerald Grayson
    "Better safe than sorry."

    Detective Parr
    "It's a bit strange that the risk-taking thrill-seeking adrenaline junkie following a rampaging vigilante across town is advocating about personal safety."

    Gerald Grayson
    "I'm a complicated person, Detective."

    Grayson led the two Detectives to the lobby by gunpoint, where MvH was almost certainly waiting for them.

    Gerald Grayson
    "Michelle, we've got guests."

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "Detective Parr, we meet at least. You look just as blunt as your voice. And Detective Montrose, good to see you're keeping that moustached head of yours out of trouble."

    Detective Montrose
    "Wouldn't dream of it, Miss von Horrowitz."

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "Guns on the table please, boys."

    Scowling, Detectives Parr & Montrose reached into their shoulder holsters, and slowly placed two pistols on the table, sliding them over to MvH. Unbeknownst to the others, the Detectives exchanged a quick glance with each other, their eyes trailing to their secondary holsters by their ankles.

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "So, what are two detectives doing hiding out in the security room of an abandoned warehouse?"

    Detective Montrose
    "It's called urban exploration. It's a popular hobby among curious and adventurous people who have an interest abandoned architecture, although it's technically illegal as it's considered trespassing on private or dangerous grounds, so-"

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "Christ, I forgot how much you like to talk. Okay, Parr, same question, keep it under twenty words."

    Detective Parr
    "These two wouldn't tell us who hired them to take you out. We figured having them meet with the Grim Reaper herself would be enough to scare them into spilling the beans."

    Gerald Grayson
    "Then why hide out in the security room? Why not wait for us in here?"

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "Because they're hoping to arrest us too after we get a name."

    Detective Parr
    "Assaulting Officers Garcia & Knox along with Noah Stocke & Trevor Ocean is still a crime."

    Detective Montrose
    "And Kevin Cromwell & Nova Diamond, too."

    Gerald Garyson
    "We beat those guys as well? Huh. Forgot about that."

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "All in the name of finding the people who want me dead. So a few eggs got broken in the making of an omelette - it is what it is. You can't say any of those men didn't deserve it."

    Detective Parr
    "It's not our place to say who deserves what."

    Detective Montrose
    "They probably did, but it's not our place to say that."

    Detective Parr
    "Michelle, you've turned the streets of FWA into a warzone. I understand wanting revenge. That's half the reason why I used those two chucklefucks as bait. But it's gone too far. You've sent this city into chaos. With Stocke & Ocean out of commission, the Division Industrial District is falling apart as more and more gangs make a stab at taking over. Sending Garcia & Knox into the hospital isn't going to break any hearts, but you've got the Officers of FWA riled up, with too much anger and no way to release it. You're playing a dangerous game, Michelle, an-"

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "It's funny that you should mention that your colleagues of the police department are unhappy, because right before you can in, Sean here had something interesting to say about your boss. Sean?"

    Sean Hughes
    "... Listen, Mike, it's nothing personal, but he came to us one night, said he could help us more than you could, an-"

    Detective Parr
    "Spill it, Sean."

    Sean Hughes
    "It's Blackbird. Fucking Blackbird. He's behind it all. He paid us to try and take you out, Mike. Paid us to try and kill Michelle von Horrowitz before she got too big to handle. He's behind it all."

    Detective Montrose
    "Wait, he tried to get you to ice Mike as well?"

    Prototype
    "He said you were a 'loose end.'"

    Detective Montrose
    "That's cold."

    Detective Parr
    "You fu- I did everything for you. I saved you two from serious jail time! Multiple times! And all it took was fucking Blackbird and a wad of cash to throw that away?!?"

    Sean Hughes
    "... It was a very large wad of cash."

    Gerald Grayson
    "We've wasted enough time. Michelle, we've got a name. We should go."

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "No. Not yet. Blackbird will burn, I'll see to that... But much like you were to him, Parr, you're a loose end to me now. You too, Montrose. All of you are. You, Montrose, Hughes, and big guy. You're either aligned with the man who tried to kill me, or you're in my path, trying to stop me from taking my rightful revenge on him. Either way, your journey ends here."

    Michelle von Horrowitz raised her gun, pointing it somewhere between Parr & Montrose.

    Detective Montrose
    "Michelle, you don't want to do this."

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "I don't not want to do this. And sometimes, that's enough. Sorry, boys."

    Suddenly, Prototype struck, surprising everyone with a sudden burst of speed. With MvH distracted by the Detectives, he shoulderblocked her to the floor, sending her aim vertical right as she pulled the trigger, sending a bullet sailing straight to the roof and shattering a fluorescent light. As glass rained down on the six, chaos struck. In the mayhem, Sean Hughes & Prototype snatched one of the pistols from the table, while Gerald Grayson quickly ducked to MvH's side, more concerned with his partner's safety over his own. Meanwhile, Detective Parr scrambled backwards, tripping over his own feet.

    The barrel of a gun pressed itself against Parr's chest.

    Sean Hughes
    "I'm not dying because some bitch overgrew her status. And I sure as shit ain't going to jail because you got pissy, Mike!"

    With a click, another gun swung into view and jabbed itself against Sean Hughes' neck.

    Detective Montrose
    "Rethink that move, Mr. Hughes."

    As he forced Sean to back off, Detective Montrose offered a hand to Detective Parr, helping him to his feet as Mike withdrew his own backup pistol. Now separated into the three teams, each armed with their own weapons, the six eyed each other uneasily.

    Prototype & Protege.

    MvH & Grayson.

    Parr & Montrose.

    Six people. Six guns. All aiming at the others.

    Silence reigned. With the direness of the situation having settled in, it would be a race to see who cracked first.

    Detective Montrose
    "No-one here has to die. We can all put our guns down, talk things out, and solve this situation without any bloodshed."

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "Not happening. Someone's journey ends here, in this shitty warehouse. Sure as shit won't be mine."

    Gerald Grayson
    "Sorry, Officers. Looks like you go caught up in something you shouldn't've."

    Detective Parr
    "We didn't have much choice in the matter."

    Gerald Grayson
    "Did any of us?"

    Detective Montrose
    "No. We either did what we felt was right or what we were told to do. And all our paths led us here."

    Gerald Grayson
    "Makes you think, doesn't it?"

    BAM.
    Last edited by TheProdigy; 10-11-2020 at 03:21 AM. Reason: formatting

  14. #14
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    Re: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread


    "Why I Am Who I Am"

    Pure Darkness. Nothing. All you an hear is a few muffled creeking sounds in the background.

    And then a voice. A deep baritone voice, eminating from the center of the scene. Nothing overly dramatic. No wrestler promo voice. Just spoken like an average joe.

    “Shadows.

    Those damn shadows.

    You remember the kind….from your childhood. Shadows of the trees that wave in the night, reflecting upon your bedroom walls from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles nightlight plugged into your wall. And if you’ve never experienced them in real life before, surely you remember them from your favorite kids television shows or an extremely cheesy horror film. They appear on your bedroom walls, always on dark, stormy nights, when you feel at your most alone. Your most vulnerable. To a petrified 6 year old, who was at an extremely vulnerable time in his life,seeing those waving shadows on his bedroom wall as he was trying to sleep at night was terrifying. Still, all that a young Michael Garcia could do was rollover, tuck his head under his covers, and try to feel some sort of protection. It wasn’t just the shadows though, some nights it was the hallowing wind, a loud roll of thunder, or those strange night noises. You know, monsters under the bed. That sort of shit.

    There were other nights, in which Michael would hear a car door close late at night. With his heart pounding, the future Carnegie Carnivore quickly rolled out of his bed,climbed on top of a nearby toy chest that he had positioned next to his bedroom window specifically for times like these, or for whenever he decided to close the curtains on nights when it might storm. As Michael peered over the bedroom window, he instinctively glanced down to his own driveway. Nothing. Not a single car. His family only had one car, a 1990 Ford Country Squire, and his dad had taken it to a business convention, or so he had been told. But you can only believe that for so long. Nobody goes on a business convention for two months. Sadly, the noise Michael heard was from his neighbor, returning home after a long night at work. One night…Michael thought…One night, he’d come home for me and everything would be alright. At first, Michael would head back to his bed in disappointment, “When was Daddy coming home?” he would wonder…but eventually, the disappointment turned to tears as Michael slowly began to realize that something was very, very wrong. Eventually, Michael stopped paying attention to those car doors.

    But those shadows.
    Those damn shadows.

    I mean, it’s heartbreaking to go through life knowing that your father was a low-life piece of shit that never gave a damn about you. A“man” that couldn’t pick up the phone to call his damn child and wish him a Happy Birthday. A man that wasn’t there to see his son’s first home run. To watch his first football game with him. To catch his first fish. Hell, Michael neverdid learn how to fish. How could he? No one was there to teach him thesethings. No one was there to teach him how to become a man. No one was there to teach him how to overcome those fears. No one was there to protect Michael. Noone.

    But the worst thing of all for Michael, was that at the age of 6 years old, Michael grew up on the streets of Homewood, PA…and anyone who’s familiar with Pittsburgh, PA can attest to the fact that Homewood isn’t a placeto raise a family. With Theresa working two jobs just to put food on the table, this now also became young Michael’s responsibility. He had to do it on his own.Without anyone or anything to protect him and without anywhere to go when something frightened him. Michael had to learn to put any and all fears behind him or else there was no survival. Homewood would have eaten him alive. But the struggle wasn’t going to end there.

    In just a few years, Michael would have to learn to protect his younger brother and sister. Malik, was always a rebel rouser and a cause of concern for Theresa, but Malia was quite the opposite. Straight A Student up until the 8thgrade where she got her first B. You’d have thought she lost her best friend. Malik, as we all know, is flirting with the possibility of gang membership, despite Garcia’s best attempts to keep him on the straight and narrow. As much as Michael would like to protect Malik, himself and everyone around him, there’s one fact that Michael Garcia cannot deny to himself. That, for as much as he wants to believe and to tell himself that nothing scares him, he knows that he’s scared shitless. Scared of the unknown. Scared of what he can’t control. Michael has never had anyone in his corner. Except for one person.

    So now….hopefully, you understand…”

    “Why he is the way he is..."

    The screen slowly faded to black as the following words appeared on the screen, Law and Order style.

    Garcia Residence
    238 E 8th Ave
    May 27th, 1997

    The camera gives us a rare glimpse to the inside of the former Garcia home a two story Brownstone that sits dead in the middle of East 8th Avenue in Homestead, one of the least desirable parts of Pittsburgh, PA. Homestead was riddled with gang violence and drug activity that was simply out of control. The police had seemingly given up on trying to control it and now the responsibility of trying to keep the drugs and violence off the homefront had fallen on the families themselves to protect their own. It was difficult enough for the families that had a father much less for those that didn’t. The Garcia’s had a nine year old Mike, a seven year old Malik, and a five year old Malia to guard the bunkers when their mother, Theresa, was out working one of her three jobs, which was basically all the time. Somehow, the Garcia’s managed and there was always food on the table. Usually, burnt food that Michael had to cook for his siblings, but hey, it was there, right? On this particular night, Mike made his famous Macaroni and Cheese, courtesy of Kraft, and some bread with butter that Theresa scored from the day old rack at the bakery she worked at. Malik and Malia were sitting in the living room, each doing their homework as Mike reached to grab the pot off the stove, before quickly realizing that he wasn’t holding a pot holder. As he frantically searched for one, the pot began to burn just a little. Feeling the pressure, Mike cursed under his breath and made a mad dive over to the stove, hurriedly twisting the knob and turning down the flame. Mike slammed the potholder down to the ground, looking dejected and disappointed in himself.

    However, Mike would have little time to wallow as the next sounds he heard was that of an annoyed sister screaming at tbe top of her lungs!

    “GIVE IT BACK! I NEED THAT TO FINISH MY HO’WORK!”

    Mike went running down the hallway with the dingy white painted walls so close they made it feel like a prison. Mike stormed into the families living room, where Malik stood in the center of the room, holding Malia’s pencil high in the air. The 3 foot 8 inch spitfire was jumping around her brother, who had nearly a foot on her in height, but was clearly nowhere near accomplishing her goal. Malia lost her balance coming down on the final time, reaching out to grab onto the family’s Mahogany table but instead knocked her Little Mermaid cup, filled to the top with chocolate milk that she begged for and never drank, to the ground. The chocolatey beverage spilled out onto the families hideously ugly lime green shag carpeting as Mike looked on in disbelief. Garcia wanted to bang his head on the wood paneling but he tried valiantly to regain control.

    “Malik, come on, give her her stuff back…”

    “She was pokin’ me with it! I told her to stop, but she jus’ kept doing it!”

    “Was not!”

    “Was too!”

    “Was not!”

    “Was too!”

    “Shut up! Both of you! I’ve had just about enough of this crap between you too! Every damn night it’s the same damn thing! Well, I’ve had it with you two! Cook your own damn dinner because I ain’t puttin’ up with this crap any more! Now, both of you…grow the hell up!”

    Mike would have normally been filled with much pride at the way he handled the situation, even as Malia was clearly shaken at the ease in which her big brother had seemingly snapped. But Mike…could sense it. That feeling of pride turned into a rather nasty feeling of doom in the pit of his stomach as he looked to the ground, hanging his head low and knowing what was waiting behind him…he turned around and faced the music. Yes, Theresa Garcia had come home. Michael didn’t dare look into her piercing brown eyes as he’d seen them too many times in his young life. No, the floor was a lot more forgiving.

    “Ya know, it ain’t enough that I work 16 hour days 6-7 days a week to put food on this families table but now I have to come home to a damn three ring circus in the living room!”

    “But Momma...”

    “But nothin’, Malia! Is it too much to ask that the three of you have your homework done and make sure the house isn’t falling apart when I come home?!?! Malia, Malik, take your books and head upstairs. And I swear to the heavens, if I hear even one peep out of either one of you, may Jesus Christ Almighty have mercy on your souls! Go on now!”

    Neither Malia nor Malik wasted any time in gathering their school supplies and scurrying up the stairs. They dared not make a sound as they did so. There was something so very frightening about Theresa when she got angry. She never physically laid a finger on any of the three of them. She always thought their father had scarred them enough. Even though she spared the rod, she somehow managed to not spoil the child. As noted, she never put a hand on them…because she never had to. Theresa commanded respect. She was the type of person that you never wanted to cross. She wasn’t the most physically imposing person in the world at 5 foot 7, 155 pounds but just one look at her and you knew she wasn’t the type of person to be messed with. She wasn’t mean or menacing, as a matter of fact, Michael always thought she was very fair and understanding. And she had the patience of Job to put up with the three young terrors that she had to put up with on a daily basis. As Mike heard his siblings obey those commands as if they were new recruits in the US Army, he raised his head to look into the angry eyes of his mother, but instead he saw a look of disappointment. Mike knew that he failed yet again. Theresa simply shook her head and walked past him, through the hallway and into the kitchen where she tossed the Mac and Cheese into the sink, not saying a word. Mike looked on, seeing a physically and emotionally exhausted person, trying to hold herself together with bubble gum and paperclips, while working three jobs and keeping a family healthy, happy and safe. And he couldn’t even cook a damn dinner.

    ----------------------------------------------------------------



    We go back to the dark setting where a single spotlight now shines down into the center of the stage, slightly to the left of where the first figure earlier was speaking, to show Michael Garcia sitting in an old wooden rocking chair, smoking a Long Churchwarden Tobacco Smoking Pipe filled with some Black Cherry Paladin. Sitting next to him was a nightstand holding a botte of vintage Morpheus Aged Brandy in a crystal decanter opposite of a Glencairn Whiskey Glass, which he had bought on Crate and Barrel for $7.95 but looked like it was worth hundreds.. Main Event Mike reached over and began to pour the booze from the decanter into the glass, careful not to spill any on his Avanti Uorno designer brown shirt and Michael Kors Khakis. Garcia proceeds to take a swig of the whiskey before pondering what he’s about to say. He sets both the glass and the pipe to the side, before leaning forward into the camera and beginning to speak.


    “The question isn’t who’s going to let me….it’s who’s going to stop me.”

    Garcia stops and lets those words weight down on the audience for a second before continuing on.

    “I said a lot of things on social media this past week and I’m sure nobody even batted an eye. This is all par for the course for ol’ self indulgent Mike, isn’t it? Spouting off some antequated ideas that demeans somebody else while putting himself on a pedestal, right? Just Mike Garcia, shootin’ off his mouth, makin’ an ass out of himself right before a big match to make himself seem that much more important, eh? Well, you can debate just exactly how much of that is true, but I’m not sittin’ here to talk about how a woman only belongs in two places or how Gabrielle should be makin’ me a sammich or bringin’ me a beer. I’m not sitting here today to set forth the idea that any woman should be workin’ in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant. And I’m not sitting here today pretending that sexism doesn’t exist in this horrible, ugly world we live in today. I’m not here to say the things that you think that I’m here to say. The FWA wants me, I’m sure, to say some shit that will shock each and every one of you to the very core because that’s what they expect of me. To disgust you and to offend you. Well, the truth is, what I have to say next WILL shock you. It’ll shock you to the very core.

    To Gabrielle Montgomery, Michelle Von Horowitz, Shannon O’Neal, Bell Connelly, Alexandria, and to every single woman watching and listening out there today, from the bottom of my heart, I sincerely and humbly apologize.

    I know, I know, words are hollow but I need you all to understand that I don’t even like what I said. I know that you all know of my past. I had no father figure in my life. I was raised by a single mother who sacrificed everything for her own children. A woman who got up at five o’clock every morning to get her children off to school and didn’t get home most nights til nine at night. Yet somehow she still made sure we fed, bathed, clothed, educated, and stayed off the streets. On her own. If I live to be a thousand years old, I’ll never understand how she did it. But what amazed me most was how she held it all together. Playing mother and father to her whole family. I don’t know a single man who could do it. If there’s anyone that is on the side of equality for all, it’s Michael Armando Garcia. That woman kept me off the streets and on the straight and narrow path to success. She was the woman who pushed me to never give up on my dreams. Sometimes I think…Sometimes I sit there and I…I would regret the fact that I had no father to sit around and see my stardom, to see me wrestle, ot see the dream that I had achieved. But that feeling goes away when I think of Theresa, because she showered me with enough support, love and motivation as any man could ever attempt to. Especially the useless bastard that doesn’t deserve to see me succeed!

    So…why? Why did I say the things that I’ve said? Look…Gabby, I’m a man of many faults…I know that. I hear the things that people say about me on the wrestling forums, the talk shows, podcasts, social media, etc. I’d love to say that I don’t give a damn but at this point, you and I both know that’s not true. Most of which they’ve hit the nail on the fuckin’ head. Where they’re wrong….where everyone is wrong….is when people think that I’m not as smart as they are. Fact is, I knew exactly what I was doing on Twitter. I wanted a match with you, I saw an opportunity to goad you in, and I took advantage of that. Was it the most scoailly acceptable way to go about it? Absolutely not. But I got what I wanted and you and I both know that’s really the only thing I care about. Getting what I want. Or, at least that’s usually the case. But in this case, Gabby, not even I could stomach the thought that people might have this mysoginistic impression of me. It’s something that I would have never dreamed of saying, except for the fact that I had to make sure that I got this match. After losing to Sullivan on Fight Night for the second time, I’m not sure what’s next in the career of Michael Garcia. I can only keep talking about how I’m going to bulldoze and crucify anyone who gets in the ring with me for so long. The truth is, Gabrielle, if I can’t break through eventually, if I can’t get this monkey off my back, I face real and definite irrelevancy, and there is no more frightening opposition than that.

    I know who you are, Gabrielle, and I know exactly how great you are in that ring. First ballot FWA Hall of Famer, without a doubt. That briefcase you’re holding onto speaks for itself. Thre time FWA Tag Team Champion. Two Time FWA World Champion. Quest for the Best, Golden Opportunity, Mile High, Trial by Fire, Hell in a Cell, I Quit, you name it…Gabrielle has won it. I sat there….9 years ago, at the Superdome, and watched with my brother, Malik, when you and Jenny Incognito broke barriers and became the first female FWA Tag Team Champions. I watched at the Rocky Mountain Wrestling Federation training center as you came in and gave the most inspirational speech to our female trainees that lit a fire in every male competitor as well. I’ll be sitting front row, I guarantee it, front row at the FWA Hall of Fame ceremony the very day that you are inducted in, and I’ll be fighting back a tear because Gabby, when I think of the FWA, there is NO OTHER NAME that comes to mind faster than Gabrielle Montgomery, male or female, and I mean that.

    Which is why I have to do this. It’s why I need to have this match. It’s why I said what I said, because Gabrielle, I need this match with you. I need you to light that fire in me again! I need to beat you, Gabby! I need to step foot into that ring, forget about everything that’s happened in the past and fight for my career! I need you to help me find that monster that’s buried somewhere down below this shallow, insecure man that I’ve become! I need this match, Gabby, I need this win! This win…this match…it’s just another match to you…but to me, this match is my career! I couldn’t take the chance of becoming irrelevant, Gabby! I can’t take that chance. I won’t take that chance. I WILL NOT TAKE THAT CHANCE. So allow me to make this perfectly clear to you. You aren’t walking into the Anniversary show facing Michael Garcia, no…You, Gabby, you are walking into the Anniversary show facing a very desperate, a very dangerous man who’s very scared right now and quite frankly, backed into a fuckin’ corner. The only place left for Mike Garcia to go is a place where I refuse to visit! They always say that the most dangerous man is the man with nothing to left to lose, but I sdisagree. The most dangerous man is the man that’s about to lose everything, and has one last chance to hold on. Gabrielle, I need to ask you…have you ever been in that position before? Have you ever had to face obscurity and know that if you fail one more time that you’ll be right in the midst of it? What happens if you lose this match? Sure, it’s a little bruise to your ego but you’ve still got that case to boost you right back up where you need to be. Me? If I lose…it’s over. I’m all out of chance. All out of opportunities. I’m dead in the water.

    So, I guess that, in addition to my apology, I want to say thank you. Thank you for the opportunity to salvage what’s left of my time as a relevant superstar in the FWA. Thank you for stepping into the role of the embattled veteran that puts over a hungry challenger. Thank you for inspiring me to dream bigger, fight harder, and not let anyone stand in the way of where I belong.If you only knew that you would have one day inspired the person who’s going to take you down along the way. The Anniversary Show should be a celebration of the career of Gabrielle Montgomery. Maybe we can do that next week though, when we gather together to mourn the end of Gabrielle’s career as we know it.”

    Garcia pauses and looks at the mystery figure in the darkness as he imagines the fans aren’t happy at that last remark.

    “Hey, that’s exactly what I’d do to any man, right?”

  15. #15
    Huggin' and Kissin'
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    Re: FWA 15th Anniversary Show Promo Thread

    The shrill sound of a mobile phone ringing can be heard piercing the darkness that surrounds what appears to be a murky motel room. We see a figure tussling around in the cheap covers of the motel bed and flick a switch on a bed-side lamp illuminating what is in truth, a quite depressing looking setting. A half-drank bottle of Jameson is adjacent to the bed-side lamp, an ashtray filled with cigarette butts is amongst a scattering of Corona beer bottles and there is a pair of dirty (it’s hard to say cause and be certain) white briefs strewn on the floor. Propped up against a not white but not yellow pillow is the extremely hungover looking head of Danny Toner. He gazes idly into space but a second ring of the mobile phone snaps him out of his trance and with a heavy sigh he leans over to begin another day of insufferable bullshit. He picks up the phone and pauses momentarily when he sees the caller ID; Randy Ramon. For a split second Danny has to think if he’s on friendly terms with Randy. I mean, they’ve been in each others shit so much over the last six or seven years that Danny genuinely struggles to remember the current standing of their relationship at any given moment. Fuck it though, it felt like a good day. Danny presses answer.

    Danny Toner: “Yo ROCKSTAR! Give it to me baby, you on speaker!”

    Randy Ramon: “Uh - hello, the fuck is that echo? Why am I on speaker? Who are you with?”

    Danny casts a look around the motel room.

    Danny Toner: “Umm, myself.”

    Randy Ramon: “You’re not with Donny?”

    Danny Toner: “Uhm, nope.”

    Randy Ramon: “Then why am I on speaker?”

    Danny Toner: “I dunno.”

    Randy Ramon: “Danny?”

    Danny Toner: “Yeah?”

    Randy Ramon: “Take me off speaker.”

    Danny Toner: “Aight, you got it.”

    Randy Ramon: “...”

    Danny Toner: “...”

    Randy Ramon: “Danny take me off fucking speaker you stup-”

    Danny Toner: “Alright, alright, alright - you’re off, you’re good.”

    (Danny doesn’t take Randy off speaker. How would ya’ll hear what he says then?)

    Randy Ramon: “Why do you always gotta do - nope, nope. I said I was calling you to tell you what you have to do and that is IT! I have not got the head to deal with this shit today. I can’t deal with Danny fucking Toner, no way. I’m main eventing the Anniversary Show and-”

    Danny Toner: “OHHHH LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! I’M RANDY AND I’M SO GOOD AT WRESTLING AND BEING A ROCKSTAR AND WINNING THINGS!”

    Randy Ramon: “...”

    Randy breaks the silence with rapturous laughter and soon Danny is joining in.

    Randy Ramon: “You’re such an asshole, dude.”

    Danny Toner: “Oh shut it, you love it. What ya got for me Rockstar?”

    Randy Ramon: “Man. The fucking DeLorean.”

    Danny Toner: “Awhhh shit. SHITTTTT. Dude, ya gotta tell Devin I’ll-”

    Randy Ramon: “Relax, it’s already done. It’s parked over by Kitsilano Beach, just down from the Shamrock Alley, keys on the tire.”

    Danny Toner: “Aight, aight … uh, what?”

    Randy Ramon: “Danny please, for the love of God, tell me you’re in Canada?”

    Danny Toner: “Uhhh …”

    Danny glances at his phone and sees that his network provider has changed over to the Canadian network.

    Danny Toner: “Man of course I’m in Canada, what you take me for? Van City baby!”

    Randy Ramon: “Right then, I’ve left the car at Kitsilano Beach, just get an Uber. Devin wouldn’t shut up complaining about it and he said you kept avoiding his calls so I’ve stepped in for my own sanity. Get the car, don’t. I really don’t care. It’s there.”

    Danny Toner: “No, I’ll get it for sure, that things vintage shit. Yo Randy?”

    Randy Ramon: “What up?”

    Danny Toner: “Take it down tonight. I mean it.”

    There’s a brief pause.

    Randy Ramon: “You too man, you too.”

    Danny Toner: “And Randy?”

    Randy Ramon: “Yes Danny?”

    Danny Toner: “Can you order me an Uber?”

    Randy Ramon: “Oh for FUCK-”

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    ONE UBER JOURNEY LATER
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Danny is in the front-seat of his Uber ride and the car seems to be slowing to a halt.

    Uber Driver: “We’ve arrived at Kitsilano Beach, Mister Ramon.”

    Danny Toner: “Uh, yeah, yeah thanks buddy. Uh, is uh my card hooked up to my account?”

    Uber Driver: “Yes, Mister Ramon.”

    Danny Toner: “Aight you go right ahead and take a fifty dollar tip there - for your A-class service.”

    Uber Driver: “Why thank you Mister Ramon, that’s very generous.”

    Danny walks off chuckling to himself, quite pleased with his jovial prank. Danny always tries no to take himself too seriously, he likes having fun and he doesn’t see anything wrong with it. People have always told him if he copped on, matured and grew-up then he’d be taken a lot more seriously but the truth was? Danny doesn’t want to do it if he can’t do it his way. He’d said it before but it still rang just as true. Danny is Danny and he’s not going to change for anybody. Danny spots the DeLorean about twenty feet into a car-park beside the bustling Kitsilano Beach. As he got closer to the beach he could smell the sweet, glorious aroma of marjiuana floating through the air and making his nostrils tingle. He had a nose erection, if you will (if you allow?). Danny recalled hearing that Vancouver had legalized cannabis and a broad smile plastered his face. There was very, very little that Danny Toner liked more than the almighty flower and he was already planning his celebrations for after his match with Alyster tonight when he reached the DeLorean. Danny looks under the car at the front tire on the driver side.

    Danny Toner: “Now why the fuck wouldn’t he leave it on my side? Now I gotta go all the way around, I’m one busy motherfucker Ramon, don’t you know that?”

    He retrieves the key from the opposite tire and unlocks the door of the car. Danny sits in the driver’s seat and turns the engine on which is omitting a strange sound.

    Danny Toner: “The fuck did he do to this thing?”

    Danny, seemingly not exactly knowing what’s wrong, starts just pressing buttons and smacking the dashboard. The glove compartment pops open and the strange sound stops. Danny’s eyes are drawn to the contents of the glove compartment - a perfectly rolled blunt and a hand-written note that simply stated: Enjoy. Randy.

    Danny Toner:
    “Randy Ramon, you absolute legend.”

    Danny places the blunt in between his lips and slowly begins to inch forward the DeLorean as he struggles to light it. It eventually catches and Danny inhales the beautiful, bountiful, BC Bud as it was affectionately referred to by locals. It’s only as he’s exhaling does a thought cross his mind; should he really be smoking today? I mean he’d a pretty big match tonight on The Anniversary Show against Alyster Black and Alyster … Alyster wasn’t exactly Danny’s biggest fan after he failed to show up to their scheduled tag team bout a few weeks ago. It was kind of an unsaid thing but there would be a lot of eyes on the winner of this match and big things could be in store for the winner. Subconsciously Danny is puffing away on the blunt, lost in his own thoughts and fantasies and not really paying attention to where he’s going. As he nears the exit of the car-park he sees an unbelievably attractive woman standing to his right wearing nothing but black lingerie and high-heels. The women is extremely busty and Danny can’t take his eyes off her tanned skin. Danny couldn’t believe how gorgeous this woman was and even more so than that, she appeared to be waving a god-damn bottle of lube at him and motioning for him to come over to her. Danny’s eyeballs nearly burst out of their head.
    Danny Toner: “Who me? You ain’t gotta ask me twice. I’ll be righ-”

    CRASSSSSHHHHH!!!

    ||…||

    ||…||

    ||…||

    Danny is in the middle of a crowd of people. He looks left and right and sees hundreds of screaming men and women all clad in a variety of what appears to be band tee-shirts. No … not bands, wrestlers. Yep he could see it now, the Krash shirts, the Cyrus shirts, hell, even a couple of Sullivan shirts out there. There were signs for Chris Kennedy and Gabrielle Montgomery and Danny even spotted a few more obscure shirts; Jean-Luc Watkins, Ayla El and Thomas Jordan to name a few. He could see a man standing in the ring, his back to Danny but it looked like he was wearing a mask.

    Danny Toner: “YO DONNY!”

    There was no response and Danny looked around visibly confused. He was right up at the barrier of the ringside but he couldn’t remember walking up there. He looked left and right at the screaming fans and then over to the commentary booth which was right beside where he was standing. Daniella Kennedy, Rod Sterling and Christian Quinn were there and Danny waved frantically at Christian Quinn who stared blankly past him.

    Danny Toner: “Hey, what the fuck?”

    Danny begins making his way towards the commentary booth but he notices the crowd are beginning to boo a bit. He looks at the masked man in the ring and he can now see that it isn’t his twin brother Donny but that it’s actually Alyster Black. Black is inaudible but he can be seen having words with the referee and the ring announcer and he looks pissed. He holds his hands out to the crowd and seems to mouth “I don’t fucking know” to the referee. Danny reaches the commentary desk and can hear them talking.

    Rod Sterling: “Well folks, we’re here live in Rogers Arena and these fine Canadian fans of ours are ready to see another great match.”

    Daniella Kennedy:
    “Standing in the ring is none other than Alyster Black, Black Jesus himself.”

    Rod Sterling: “Black is raring to go here tonight in Vancouver but there’s just one problem.”

    Daniella Kennedy: “His opponent doesn’t appear to have shown up!”

    Rod Sterling: “That’s right ladies and gentlemen, Alyster Black may win this match by FORFEIT - although we can see he’s doing everything in his power to stop that from happening. Alyster Black wants to win his fights in the ring.”

    Christian Quinn: “Well I mean that’s just natural. Yeah, I cheated a bit back in the day but at least that took place inside of the confines of the ropes! Nobody, and I mean nobody, wants to win like this.”

    The booing seems to grow even louder as Danny looks at Alyster Black pleading with the referee in the ring. He seems to be requesting the referee to wait a little longer but the referee looks torn; he’s glancing at his watch and is obviously aware that this isn’t a good look at The Anniversary Show. Wait … Danny looks at the apron on the ring properly for the first time and it reads “XV Anniversary Show”.

    Danny Toner: “Huh? What???”

    Danny turns and looks at Christian Quinn who has pushed his seat back from the commentary set and removed his headset. He has his hands clutched tightly together and he’s jigging his right foot up and down while mumbling to himself.

    Christian Quinn: “C’mon man … c’mon … fucksake come on man people are depending on you … please come out dude.”

    Danny’s head begins to whirl, he feels extremely confused and slightly queasy. He then sees the legendary ring announcer Kurt Harrington step forward in front of Alyster Black who is standing with his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

    Kurt Harrington: “Ladies and gentlemen, the referee has informed me that if Alyster Black’s opponent does not come out by the end of his ten count then he will be forced to award the match to Alyster Black via forfeit!”

    The crowd very vocally begin booing as the commentators speak over this newest development.

    Daniella Kennedy: “Oh god!”

    Rod Sterling: “Folks you heard that right - if Danny Toner doesn’t reach the ring by the count of ten he forfeits the match.”

    Danny Toner: “WHAT!?”

    Danny Toner’s tone is incredulous, he is mentally drained and has no idea what’s happening and he can’t concentrate because all he can hear is a rising level of boos. The referee begins the count.

    ONE!

    Danny Toner: “What the fuck is going on? Somebody god-damn answer me!!!”

    TWO!

    Danny frantically looks to his right and goes to tap the person standing there’s shoulder but … his hand just passes through the person as if he wasn’t there.

    THREE!

    Danny stares in silence at what just happened.

    FOUR!

    Rod Sterling: “Can you believe this? Danny isn’t here AGAIN.”

    FIVE!

    Daniella Kennedy: “Rod, I like Danny but this is just inexcusable. The guy’s a complete blow-out. No offence Christian.”

    Chirstian still has his headset off but he shakes his head to let Daniella know that there was none taken and if anything, he agrees.

    SIX!

    Danny Toner: “What is going on?? I’m right fucking here!”

    SEVEN!

    Danny tries to climb over the barricade so he can make a bee-line for the ring but there’s some kind of invisible force-field that is preventing him from going any further.

    EIGHT!

    Danny Toner: “I don’t get it. Why am I here and not there? Why can’t I just …”

    NINE!

    The booing being elicited from the crowd is beginning to reach fever pitch as Danny starts banging helplessly against the forcefield.

    TEN!!!

    Danny Toner: “I CRASHED THE FUCKING DELOREAN!”

    DING-DING-DING!!!

    Kurt Harrington: “Here is your winner, by way of forfeit, ALYSTER BLACK!”

    Almost immediately Alyster screams “FUCKING BULLSHIT!!!” and launches his elbow pad on the ground in disdain before exiting the ring and storming up the ramp. Kurt Harrington and the referee look at each other worryingly as the crowd really begins to up the ante with trash starting to come from the crowd and filling up the ring. Danny looks around at the crowd spewing with rage, his own mouth ajar at the levels of hatred from the crowd. This must’ve been what it felt like for Gabrielle and Alyster at Division Rules. It was awful, Danny had never quite felt the ire of a crowd like this before and he realises why exactly Gabrielle and Alyster were hell-bent on a rematch taking place. Danny sinks into himself as the booing somehow gets even louder and he sees the looks on the commentators faces. It’s a look of pure and utter disgust, no sympathy, no concern just total and complete abhorrence at the fact that Danny could fuck over so many people, so royally, so regularly. Danny was shaking - with rage or fear he didn’t know.

    Danny Toner: “I swear, so help me God may you strike me down now if I’m lyin’, this -”

    Danny looks around at the swarm of raging wrestling fans, who are unaware of his presence there.

    Danny Toner: “I ain’t ever gonna let this happen.”

    As was prone to happen, the crowd started chanting three familiar words but it wasn’t a chant Danny was none to pleased with alas, it was the last thing he heard as he felt himself slowly fade out of consciousness.

    FUCK YOU TONER!

    ...

    FUCK YOU TONER!

    ...

    FUCK YOU TONER!!!

    ||…||

    ||…||

    ||…||

    Danny Toner: “Now why the fuck wouldn’t he leave it on my side? Now I gotta go all the way around, I’m one busy motherfucker Ramon, don’t you know that?”

    He retrieves the key from the opposite tire and unlocks the door of the car. Danny sits in the driver’s seat and turns the engine on which omits next to sound. Danny pats the dashboard.

    Danny Toner: “Just as always the case, when Danny puts his hands on somethin’ she’s purrin’ like a baby cat.”

    Danny smiles goofily, knowing he hasn’t quite nailed it.

    Danny Toner: “Shit, it’s sunny, wonder if Rockstar got any shades up in this bitch.”

    Danny leans over and opens up the glove compartment, his face immediately lighting up with joy. Lying there was a big, fat, beautifully wrapped blunt and a hand-written note from Randy Ramon.

    Danny Toner: “Randy Ramon, you absolute legend.”

    Danny laughs aloud and sticks on the radio, he’s in a great mood. He’s got his car back, he’s got a big billy bifter to smoke for after he kicks the shit out of Alyster Black later, he’s on his way to a motherfucking press conference to talk about HOW he’s going to kick the shit out of Black and 10cc’s cult classic ‘Dreadlock Holiday’ was starting to play on the radio. Danny is making his way out of the car-park when he sees something on his right.

    Danny Toner: “The fuck is this shit …”

    Danny looks out and sees a weather-beaten woman, standing there covered head to toe in dirt. She’s wearing nothing except a black bin-bag and waving a needle precariously around the air. Danny slows down to get a better look at the sight.

    Danny Toner: “Yo, what the fuck …”

    The hag looks at Danny and then without warning she rips open the black bin bag exposing her breasts to Danny Toner.

    Danny Toner: “YO THE FUCK!!??”

    Danny slams his foot on the accelerator and the car flies forward, Danny swerving to avoid a collision with the barrier of the car-park. Danny takes a moment to compose himself and then starts laughing heartily at the whole crazy situation that had just occurred. Still giggling as he makes his way towards the Rogers Arena for his press conference, Danny lowers the windows and bellows out the lyrics to the funky song at the top of his lungs.

    Danny Toner: “I DON’T LIKE REGGAE, NO-NO, I LOVE ITTT!!”
    Last edited by Tig; 10-11-2020 at 05:51 AM.

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