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Thread: th: caRd & promos

  1. #1
    2nd Kev's Avatar
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    th: caRd & promos

    Offices were more glamorous back then. Mahogany desks, cigars, sexy redhead receptionist types with tight blouses. DOORS. Actual doors to take you into the office from the waiting area. But now...

    "I'm sorry but... we can't go back to the glory days."

    Eric Valentine, once a former champion who wrestled as Bounce, sits across a folding table from you in the spare office of the Landmark Theatre in Chicago.

    Beneath you is a dirty piece of paper. Eric points at the dollar figure and you can't help but scoff.

    "And it's not much mate. Christ knows I made more jobbing my first night. But we're not famous anymore. There's no RWF, XRF, ICW or even RAW. No one wants wrestling on T.V."

    He sighs and scratches his head nervously. He's clearly not used to this. He's more disheveled than you are. Sure he's made a mint but it looks like he needs this as much as you. The man formerly known as Bounce scratches away at his stubble. He pulls the paper away realising he's come on a bit strong, but after a pause he slowly slides it back in your direction.

    "But gents like us, um... well, like you, we're not cut out to do much else."

    He taps the paper gently.

    "We don't have the patience to watch the clock, lift a box or learn a trade. But to put the hurt on somebody, ahhh..."

    Eric sighs.

    "It's like every synapse, muscle and cell was designed to do such a thing. And if people want to bet on who was created to be the superior fighter, wrestler or pain specialist - and they do - then mate, I say we take a small cut and make ourselves a living again... if not a small fortune."

    He wriggles around in his pants but its not suss, honest. He wriggles more and produces a pen. He starts to hand it to you before pulling away and looking at you sharply.

    "You need to know that the better the match, the more word of mouth, and the more the word of mouth -- the more people.... and THEN the more money. And we, given the private and possibly illegal nature of our business can't have sponsors... but we can have those who like to gamble. So don't fixate on what the wage is but rather er, what kind of investment you're making into you---OUR future."

    Eric puts the pen on the paper, the "contract" I suppose. Who knows, I can't read it from this angle. I'm just the sexy beast narrator. Eric stands up and looks super keen, he leans forward putting both palms on the table, grinning like an idiot. This is one of his better pitches, sober.

    "So mate, what do you say? You in?"

    The R-Feds Present:

    the huRt
    After the fall.

    ​Card coming soon.

  2. #2
    2nd Kev's Avatar
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    There was a sound of thunder.

    "...dramatic, hey?"

    Forget it, we were going to do this nice slow fade from black into a shot of a ceiling with a leak and then pan down to reveal a dimly lit ring, but we'll just show the dimly lit ring then. Valentine smirks, rubbing his hands together and pulls a rolled up piece of paper from his sleeve. The roster stand in front of him, we see silhouettes of heads below.

    "So here we are, a lot of us we've got something to prove. Some of us, we've got nothing left to do but this. For whatever reason, you're here. And you're here because you want."

    Bounce's eyes light up as he steps forward into shadow.

    "Money. Power. Love. Lust. Glory. And yet in spite of all that, there are some of you here today that are just looking to scrape by. Like you for example."

    Eric crooks his finger. Another sound of thunder.

    "Hmm, didn't mean to do that. Sorry lads. Anyway you, you just need to pay the rent. What a sad state of affairs when a multiple time champion can't do that."

    Eric snickers but covers it up with a short cough.

    "I mean no, we're not here to talk about your financial decisions or lack of intelligence in the way you've sorted out your affairs. It's the world that's mistreated you after all, isn't it? The world told you, burn your cash - the thrill would last as long as you wanted it. Yet here we find ourselves. In the underground, mere weeks away from a different kind of fight.

    See when you step into the ring two weeks from now, you will find yourselves locking eyes with men that are just as - if not more - hungry than you. The theatrics of lighting and pyrotechnics and booming subwoofers aren't here to emphasise your bravado, but instead you're being put into a situation where the only amount of life you're going to see in that ring is the man ten feet in front of you.

    The only sparks that will fly will be the ones that you generate.

    Every single one of you will be placed inside this ring, one at a time, every two minutes - another...

    Eric snorts smugly.

    "Warrior... will come out. Now you need to be one of the final four standing, to pass the first phase, everyone else needs to be thrown over the top. Because in the second phase, we move to elimination pin-falls.

    And in the final phase, we move to what everyone in this underground wants more than anything else.


    Over the top? Excessive? Well Adriana, why don't we tell the lads what they're risking life and limb for?"



    Eric gestures towards his right, expecting someone to speak. He looks to his left, realising there's noone beside him he coughs and clears his throat.

    "Oh right, no sexy assistants yet. Hmmm, need to change that...

    Anyway normally the winners will win a sizeable sum based on the amount of interest we draw from the bookies, but to sweeten the pot what I've got in my hand here is something a little bit different to the normal that you'll become accustomed to.

    Bounce unfolds the paper.

    "It states that the following: Money. Power. Love. Lust. Glory.... eh, whatever it is that you desire, whatever it is that you want - within reason of course - I move the Heavens and the Earth to ensure, that what you want... get.


    Eric Valentine Presents:

    the huRt #1
    The HeLL and the Heaven Behind it.


    Over the top rope eliminations to clear the playing field to the final four.


    Four-Way Pin-fall eliminations to remove two more competitors.


    The man to make his opponent bleed takes home not just some incredible coin, but has an open contract to gain that whatsoever their heart desires.
    Last edited by Kev; February 1st, 2017 at 8:59 PM.

  3. #3
    Titty Master Jordo's Avatar
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    Travis stands in a dark room. He's always in a dark fucking room. If it's not a bare bulb it's only illuminated by a TV or a street light spraying light through the drawn curtains, catching dust moats as they float lazily through the lights sharp edges. It's always fucking dark, so it has been so it will always be.

    Bit different this time, stick with it, you'll see.

    He looks happy as his downcast face is occasionally illuminated. Travis fucking McCoy looks happy. Not in a big bad wolf way. He looks exhausted but the smile reaches his eyes. His nose is still mangled, his scars have faded, they still remain but the smirk on his face is real. He's content, and not covered in anyone's blood.

    Told you it'd be different.

    The slowed down version of Disarm plays softly in the room and the light that occasionally passes across his face is a moon or a star. His downcast eyes are set on what has finally brought contentment. A baby, wrapped in a pink blanket, roughly a year old and currently sleeping like a bear. He speaks in a voice barely above a whisper.

    “Caught me at a bad time.”

    He smiles and his denim blue eyes sparkle. His words seem to bounce and skip even at the whisper. He's so content. It's nauseating. He gently lays the baby down and plants a light kiss on her forehead. He turns and exits the room but not before one last glance to be sure she's still breathing. If he doesn't check now he'll be back in 20 minutes to check anyway. In fact he'll probably be back regardless. The camera follows as he exits. Travis talks idly never losing the sing song sound of the smile in his voice.

    “When she was born I was terrified. Me and her mother weren't exactly together. We'd met while uhh partaking in some rather seedy stuff. But you know man, she changed all that. We both cleaned up and got on the straight and narrow. We were never gonna be together but we make it work. We more than make it work to be honest, we kick this parenting thing's butt. But anyway bud, I was absolutely terrified the moment she was born because I didn't get that overwhelming feeling of love everyone says they get. I was just scared. I looked at her and I thought, 'I can't do this, I wasn't done.'

    That thought man, that one started ringing around in my head as soon as I found out she was pregnant. 'I wasn't done...I wasn't done... Can you believe that? That beautiful little girl was born and big bad Travis McCoy thought he couldn't do it. That night I got up to feed her and when I gave her her bottle she looked up at me with those blue eyes and she squeezed my finger and I knew it right then. I was done all the scary dudes I'd stood across from never finished me and this little human did it by squeezing my finger and drinking a bottle.

    I know I sound like a cliché and that would of bothered me at one point but now...”

    Travis shrugs and keeps walking. Heading down a staircase in what appears to be a middle class suburban home. He passes plaques on the wall with his name proclaiming Car Salesman of the Year. He walks into a modest but well furnished kitchen. He opens the fridge and pulls out a pumpkin beer offering one to the camera man.

    “You like craft beer? I'm kind of obsessed now. One a night puts me right out too. No? Suit yourself...more for me.”

    He looks into the camera and he's a new man from the one you all last saw. His hair is cut like 90 percent of cool dads. He wears a light well maintained stubble on his cheeks. His shoulders are just as broad and he appears to be in amazing shape still. A little grey at the temples, hairline receding a bit but other than that he looks younger than he has in years.

    “You know they tell you about being a dad, and honestly everything they say is completely true all at once. I always believed em too. I always believed the things they said and I thought I understood when they said it was amazing and the worst thing ever all at once. It's impossible to understand it until you hold her. Until she wakes you up for the 6th time at four AM and you're exhausted, and you absolutely hate it. You despise it and then you walk into her room and she smiles and it's amazing.”

    It's not the emotional swing that surprised me. It's the lack of a swing. It's the fact that while my heart is overwhelmed with love that hate doesn't go away...

    It's that as happy as I am, as content as I am that hate still burns.

    Because as much as I love being a dad. As much as my life is better now.

    I wasn't fucking done.”

    The sing song tone fades completely.

    “It was never about being sad. It was never about being tortured and dark for the sake of being tortured and dark. I'm the happiest I've ever been and I still thrive to undo the way your limbs are put together. I miss pissing on someone's grave. I miss breaking someone spirit before their body. I miss being the nastiest mother fucker around. I want Dick Whelan to watch what I do over a glass of whisky and shudder. I want mth to finally just fucking quit because he knows in his painted heart that I'll break the back bone of the feds. I want T to come out retirement purely so I can shove a boiling teapot up his ass just to see if he'll whistle. I want shirt ninja to wrap that shirt around his throat and find the nearest rafter to tap dance under. I want Alk to realize I am as good as he thought while he struggles to catch a breath with my hands wrapped around his slimy fucking throat. I want Wiz to realize that being a dad doesn't have to make you a rambling pussy. I want Wiz to know I had his fucking number and that I was going to DESTROY ALLLLLLL!! I want all of this not because I'm a miserable bastard, because I'm not. I've got an amazing daughter and a nice house. I have a good life that doesn't risk my body. I want all of this because being the best requires it. It requires total domination not of one man but of all men, and what is there to life if you're not the best at what you truly love to do? So what's scarier to you? Hm? A man who cannot be happy unless he is violent, or a man who is happy and still thirsts for blood?”

    Travis opens a door that appears to lead into his garage. He turns on a light and we catch a glimpse of a full wrestling gym, the equipment has obviously been used and used a lot.

    “So, give them this. Let them see I haven't gone anywhere. I've been right fucking here waiting for someone to open a door I could walk through and dominate. I've just needed the fucking chance. It's not about money or big crowds. It's about all of you finally respecting me for what I am. It's about finally being acknowledged as the legend I've been the entire time I've been here.”

    He begins to head into the gym before stopping and grabbing a baby monitor off the kitchen table.

    “Daddy's home.”

    “Get the fuck out of my house.”


  4. #4
    two squirts per zerk mth's Avatar
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    "...I'm not sure this is valid..."

    "That's as valid as it's gonna get."

    "Blue or black ink is valid. Hot pink nail polish is not valid."

    "It is if it's applied by him..."

    "C''s just a big 'H'. Anyone could forge that..."

    "But they didn't. I went there, I saw him, I asked him, he signed it. I saw him sign and I'll sign as witness."

    "Did you offer him a pen?"

    "I did but it didn't matter. You know how he is. And I didn't want to push my luck. You don't push your luck with him."

    "Well, I'll take it but don't be surprised if they need something a bit more...conventional..."

    "They won't. They know who they're dealing with...what they're dealing with...and Lord knows I'm not going to go back and ask again. They want something more conventional, you can go knock on that door and see what you get."

    "I would. I'd just tell him Travis is on board. He'd do whatever I asked after that."

    "Or send you back as a pile of goo to make a statement..."

    "...perhaps. Well, like I said, I'll take this where it needs to go and we'll go from there. If it makes you feel better, I can go find him and see if we can score an interview."

    "On the one hand: yes, that would make me feel a lot better. On the other hand: pile of goo..."

    "Bah. He may be unconventional but he's still a professional."

    "Among many other more colorful and unsettling adjectives..."

    "Well, if they accept this, he's official on paper. But we need to make him official to the public. We need that first big interview. We need people to know he's on our roster."

    "I agree and you're welcome to make that happen. Just be sure to wear the appropriate safety equipment and tell your wife you love her before you go."

    "You're such a mark."

    "Don't have a choice with this guy. There's no curtain, no line, no kayfabe."

    "Ha! You're getting worked."

    "We'll see who's getting worked when you go have a chat with him."

    "I guess so. And with that, I'm off to see if this big-ass pink 'H' really counts as the big-ass signing it's supposed to..."

    "Good luck and God bless."


  5. #5
    Another season... Tyson's Avatar
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    The R-Fed veteran Tyson Bell sits up straight on his leather couch, stares into the camera. He looks exactly the same as the last time the fans saw him: hasn't aged a day; head freshly shaved; a couple days of stubble on his face; his usual white Adidas sneakers, khaki shorts and black sleeveless t-shirt. He is in fantastic shape, looks even bigger than before; the dude has been spending some serious time in the weight room. He flashes that cocky arrogant smirk the fans have come to expect from the seven foot monster from Compton, rubs the stubble on his chin as he collects his thoughts.

    "I used to laugh at the old-timers, called them stupid idiots who didn't know when to walk away; I didn't believe them when they said this business is a drug. But here I am: a month shy of 39, more money in my bank account than I can ever spend, my health/personal life/business affairs are in perfect order. So why am I chasing the dragon, the highs from my RPW run that happened 11 fucking years ago?

    Because they were right: when I step through those curtains, the buzz I get is unparalleled. The energy consumes you; it drives you through the early morning workouts, makes the shitty flights/hotel rooms/restaurants bearable, masks the pain until you sit down in your locker room at the end of the show. It turns out one simply cannot get enough of 15/20/25 thousand people screaming your name, cheering for you, cheering against you.

    Rajah Pro Wrestling was ages ago, I had my only title run with that company. How many countless start-up feds have I signed up for since then, only to see them shut the doors within a matter of months? In all probability, this will be the same; yet I try, hope that this one is different. I'm back, this shit is addictive..."

  6. #6
    Titty Master Jordo's Avatar
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    Travis sits Indian style on the floor of his home gym. He's soaked in sweat and breathing deeply. He was probably working out but he may have been wanking. You decide.

    “Most of you know exactly who I am. Some probably know my story, you know the ins and outs of every blood feud and the tale behind every scar. Good for you. Lemme do you a favor. If you value the way your face looks, if you enjoy the way your limbs bend with out pain.

    Forget it.

    Forget everything you know about me.

    Forget every whiney bullshit promo I ever cut.

    Forget every chapter of the battles I had with mth.

    It's not important.

    It's a distraction that might get you killed.

    We've spent ten years introducing ourselves. We've spent over a decade acting out these convoluted dramas, and we live and die on them. They make up our very being. They clog any forward movement. They've planted a glass ceiling directly over my head. When those of your who are familiar with me see me, do you see a human wrecking machine? Or do you see the guy with a paralyzed dad who had some crazy telemundo style family drama with mth? Because if you're focused on what I've done yesterday then you're not going to see what I'm doing now until you're counting lights. Until you're on your back, being rocked to sleep by the gentle swaying of a speeding ambulance while the siren plays your lullaby.

    A message to my so called peers. A bit of advice to my less than equals. No one gives a shit about your struggle. No one loses sleep over every tiny detail of your past. We.Don't.Care. Do me a favor. Lets not harp on about how we're starting over 'yet again', especially if you don't plan on really starting over. I'm fucking bored of it. I'm not even mad that places fail. I'm upset that I'm going to have to watch everyone cut a promo with some variation of a phoenix rising from the ashes.

    We've all been through it now.

    Lets stop fucking talking about it and lets fucking start over.

    Lets REALLY start over.

    My name is Travis McCoy and I started learning how to hurt people when I was 15. I'm the best technician on the roster. I've forgotten more ways to dislocate an elbow than any of you have ever known. I'm the best striker in the business. My left hand is as strong as my right and I'll put my heel on the point of your jaw faster than it takes a virgin to nut. I'm the meanest motherfucker who has ever or ever will walk through the doors. Every pin attempt a forearm will be digging into your orbital. Every time I can force my thumb in your eye it'll be there trying to pop that motherfucker. Don't like it?

    Stop me

    I fucking dare any one of you to stand in front of me and honestly try to stop me. I'm not longer held back by petty bullshit. I don't give two shits about what mth does, I don't care where T is. The only way they matter is if they're planning on stopping my inevitable rise. If you want a history lesson go to the fucking archives but don't ask me my opinion. I don't hold a special burning hate for any of you. I hold it for all of you equally. Because you're in my fucking way. Because you honestly believe you're better than me at what we do. That offends me. That bothers me. That is what drives me not just to win, but to hurt you. I'm not in my home gym at 3 AM to prove my father wrong or to break some McCoy family curse. I'm here because I know you're not. I know you're sleeping or you're fucking some penny slut.

    Get offended when I ignore your bullshit story. When I forget that you've been building to revealing some grand secret from your past. I don't have the time or the give a damns to pay attention to what any of you snails have been doing for the past 20 years. If I ever seemed to care before, know I was lying and nodding my head because I thought it was expected from me. I felt like a spineless husband listening to his wife's work stories. I no longer care to pretend. Why should I?

    I don't give a fuck about you.

    Any of you.”


  7. #7
    Cruiserweight Champion The Diamond's Avatar
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    The Four Suits

    I am here huRt, I've been hiding in the shadows wondering when would be the best possible time to make my presence felt and on this day I have decided it was time to come out of hiding and truly reveal why I have signed up to this new prosperous new world and why I have waited till this day.

    Five years ago, five years ago this very day I invented a story to captivate the audience make up some shit about how my wife died, cast some actors to play pivotal roles in that plot and boom we had you all in the palm of our hands, right? I decided it would be great to have this interesting plot then come out look the oldest dog in his eyes and challenge him. Problem solved we got what we all wanted, we all got to see something fresh, new...innovative and then he goes gets his ass handed to him on top of a Land Rover and there it was history made!

    Dominic "The Diamond" Dust is sat on a sofa, in front of him is a table with a deck of cards that have been cut into four separate piles.

    The four suits ladies and gentleman, care to know a little bit about them?

    Dominic reaches out and grabs one of the cards and holds it to the camera.

    Clubs represents peasantry but also achievement, I have seen the standards huRt and I will achieve what it is I have set out to gain from the very beginning.

    Dominic tears that card up and throws the segments into the air.

    Let's see now which I choose shall we?

    Dominic reaches down again and reveals the spades card to the camera.

    This represents the fractious problems of life, the very problems I have seen in the world we live in this day! Why will this be any different? huRt is no different.

    Dominic rips the card up and repeats the same actions.

    Yes now we have Hearts.

    Hearts; ladies and gentleman represents the struggle to achieve inner joy. I once knew a Hearts whom struggled with the joys of life because someone was unable to treat her right, that someone I have no idea who that someone was but I can ensure you this he made the right decision. Hearts; complicated and tricky to treat right aren't they? We all have it, but how do we intend on using it? I hear that phrase 'Have a heart' but no... I would rather have something much more valuable, something pure.

    Dominic rips the hearts card up and quickly reaches out for another card.

    The final of the four suits and the one most valuable than all others. You see the Diamonds suit represents power, wealth and class. That's what you're getting huRt when I signed on the dotted line I am "The Diamond" of wrestling.

    You know everything I've set out to do was to please someone, whether it be to entertain and captivate an audience, even if I didn't care much for them, or it could be to impress the powers to be by trying to take their idea's and run with them. They wanted change, they wanted to see depth in my character they all asked the same question "you know your too one dimensional?" This ain't a character that churns out meaningless drivel and paints his face up so the kids will admire him and be like him. I am Dominic "The Diamond" Dust this is me I'm not here to impress marks.

    I went a little crazy, they even said I was unhinged when I tried to make DoW work with this new unstable Dominic "The Diamond" Dust. I cannot stress enough how that felt, the guys weren't coming in, the interest wasn't there. It all folded before my chips were even down.

    History all of history. I could drone on about how I wanted rid of the other feds and its;
    Dinosaur walking, Mythical talking, Sycophantic, gimmick infringing jokers, whom of which came to steal my spotlight night in and night out.

    huRt will be no different, it will fail like many of its predecessors and I will be there to watch it fold over. This time however I will enjoy it that much more, you all wanted to give up on my world? You want to say huRt is imperishable? Ladies and gentleman as you all are aware you can only hurt for such a length of time before the body and mind gives in.

    I will show you when it's that time but the world is not over can bet on that.

    Dominic now reaches across the table and grabs a sharp knife, he runs the knife across the tip of his finger followed soon by blood. He grabs the diamond playing card and smears blood across the face of it. He then stabs the card with the knife into the sofa.

    There it is in my blood ladies and gentleman, I want you all to know that this world you're in now, it is my world and soon you will all see it from diamond eyes.

    Fade To Darkness.

    I’m something that is red, lose too much and you’re dead
    Last edited by The Diamond; January 9th, 2017 at 8:26 AM.

  8. #8
    75% Insane Rip's Avatar
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    He sits in the dark, not cool moody lighting, or atmospheric lighting, just an unlit dark office with a man sitting in a comfortable chair, not going for an edgy look just not bothered enough to flick the switch.

    I get asked all the time why I left, why I set up ICW then just up and went.

    It’s a simple story really, I got a call from my daughter to go home.

    Three words, ‘Come Home Dad’.

    So I went.

    Should have known something was up really, Penny opened the door looking sad, both my boys were in the kitchen, Ben sitting at the counter, James raiding the fridge, Jon was there with his wife, again I never thought anything of it, Penny walked in and sat with her fiancé, I still never thought anything of it, too busy I guess, too much on my mind.

    Then my wife walked in, and the world fell apart.

    She told us why we were all there, why she’d called us together, the family.

    This time it was one word.


    That was it, one world broke the world, for me, for us all.

    I passed the business onto Wizz, the company to James, and we went.

    Just went.

    Rome, Moscow, Cape Town, New York, driving around Australia, sailing in the Med, just enjoying time, trying to spin it out, stretch it.

    Then one morning in a small village outside Barcelona she wouldn’t wake up.

    Just like that.



    So I came home, and I just sat around.

    The boys tried to get me back into business, the girls tried to get me to do anything, to do something.

    Jon tried, Pennys lad tried, Dev tried.

    I just had nothing, nothing to drive me on.

    I played with my youngest, took him to school, helped out at his nursery, I walked the dogs, I worked a few shifts.

    But I wasn’t living, just going through the motions, just getting by.

    My entire life she was there, she made me want to be better, made me want to reshape the world for her.

    It was all for her, the company, the fighting, the belts, the boys.

    All for her.

    Then Bounce called, I told him no, not this time.

    Too old, too broken.


    And I meant it this time, The fire was gone, the drive to be better, to be first, to make something, just wasn’t there.

    Jon called, Shirty called, they all called, asking if I was up for it, if I was coming back, if I was fit, I said no.

    Then one afternoon I was sitting watching Saturday morning wrestling with the boys, and they had a few interviews about this new fed, a few of the old faces talking, lads I hadn’t seen for a while, since the funeral I guess.

    And I realised something, I still miss this shit.

    Despite everything I’ve given, all the breaks, the blood, the time, the pain.

    I still miss it.

    My lads love the business, Ben and James are both Champions in their own right now, both better than I ever was, both World Champions now, Ben over in Japan, James in RCW, two damn good lads she raised. Penny is happy, her fiancé is a good guy, he loves her and they’re getting married soon, should make me a Grandad agin before long no doubt, little Alex is doing well considering he lost is mother, he’s a bright kid, wise beyond his years, our little miracle.

    The business’s run themselves now, Dev is retired and knows them better than me really, his husband is the brightest man I know and keeps things legal for us.

    So what was I doing?
    Just surviving really.

    Not living, just shuffling along, day by day.

    She’d have hated that, hated seeing me idle because she knew I hated it, if I sat down she gave me work, the second I bleated about thestate of the business she told me to get my finger out and fix it, if I worried about how Id be remembered she just told me to stop moaning and fix it, when Jon had the problems she took charge, sorted it all out.

    That’s what she did.

    Ran the world, ran her family.

    I owe it to her to do this, to prove I can, that I damn well aint done yet.

    To prove that no matter what this damn life throws at you that you can get through it, that you can overcome it and make it better.

    I spent years worried about my legacy, how I’d be remembered in this business, but that’s not what its about this time, this isn’t about my legacy.

    Its about hers.

    Its about proving she didn’t back the wrong horse all these years, its about becoming the person she saw in me.

    Its about finally getting these old hands on the big belt, after all these years.

    Its about becoming World Champion.

    For years I’ve been the journeyman, the safe pair of hands, the backbone.

    But not this time, this time boys its my time, its time for the Oldest Warhorse in the fight to take what I’ve earned, in blood and bone, in sweat and tears.

    You all talk the talk, tell your tales of roads travelled and races run, but there’s not one of you that can match me in experience, I’ve lost a step or two, I’m maybe not as strong as I was, the bones don’t quite all sing the right tunes either, but…

    I’m still the Ripper, I’m still the nastiest bastard in the fight, I’m still, and always will be, the hardest man in the business. Hell I’ve forgotten more ways to hurt people than three quarters of the roster will ever know.

    I forgot that for a while.

    But she never did.

    And I owe it to her to remind you all.

    I’m not ‘Back’

    I just found my way home again.

  9. #9
    MONG - TO THE PLUMS!!! Sp@des's Avatar
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    The shot opens with a silhouette of a man walking down a highway, outlined by the midday sun.
    Dust circles around his feet as the waves of heat from the blackened tarmac he walks alongside drifts lazily around him. Casting him in a vaporic hue as if he was treading through steam from a quenched coal.
    he has about him almost a dreamlike aura in his movements, as he walks closer towards the camera, allowing the haze to lift and his features to slowly become visible.

    He was dressed in a pair of well worn blue jeans, with ragged converse sneakers on his feet. On his upper body was a black and dirty Tee with a nondescript logo emblazoned on its front. On his back he wore a fully laden rucksack, complete with pots, pans and a rolled up sleeping bag.
    While across his head, a pure white mask made of cotton was wrapped tightly over the details of his facial features.
    This left only his eyes visible.

    Deep brown. A hint of Asian origin. And looking unimaginably exhausted.

    He stops for a moment. Pausing to catch his breath and exhale deeply to the arid landscape he was surrounded by.

    The piercing cry of an infant splits the scene. A baby's tiny lungs screaming out in almost newborn rage at the absence of a walking motion to rock it back to sleep.

    The camera pans downwards and now we notice the baby carrier draped across the mans chest. where a single shock of brown hair and a pudgy fist flicked out from where it was hiding previously in the folds of the papoose.

    Shirty sighs again, and continues his slow march.
    Absently jiggling the carrier as he trudged onwards, while half hearedly reaching into his bag for Mr Cuddles the toy orange lion.

    " ... Come on little one. Daddy has some plums to kick ... "

    Last edited by Sp@des; January 11th, 2017 at 6:24 PM.

  10. #10
    Omega Level Digimon ImperialStingmon's Avatar
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    In a dark space...

    Ever since I signed my hUrt contract I've heard the whispers. "Who is this kid?" "He can't hope to compete with legends like Rip and Travis McCoy."

    A blinding light shines and once it dies down we see Xavier Life standing under a spotlight. The light bouncing off his platinum hair makes it look almost metallic. He's got on khaki cargo shorts and a basic undershirt. He smiles before going on.

    Maybe they're right. But all I've heard from the likes of Travis and Rip and the others is about their baggage. Their past, and how in their vision of the future, they're going to more or less leave that behind and focus on being nasty and not giving a fuck. Well congratulations gentlemen. But I think you have to learn when it's time for the new gen to show their stuff. That being me. I was taught by three men and a woman, who's impact on this industry can't be over stated. But they told me their mistakes. Anger, being too polite, picking your fights unwisely, and not being focused on titles. All my mentors had personal fights constantly that stifled their chances at titles. Now, I suppose in this business most fights end up personal and that's fine. The problem comes when I want to beat your face in more than I want the gold around your waist. Though I guess that begs the question, what will I do when there's no gold? That's when I just beat your face in.

    He shrugs.

    Back to my original point. How do I beat a Rip, or a Travis, or a T? I don't really know. Then again, if they've never faced me, then I guess they don't quite know how to beat me either. Looks like the playing field is even again. Just keep something in mind gentlemen, this phoenix, always rises.

    The spotlight audibly shuts off and then another sound is heard and a small flame emanates from the darkness. It's a match held by a stand. Xavier is nowhere to be seen.

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