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March 9th, 2022, 6:07 PM
#1
ou[R]-FED Phoenix Cup FINALS - Mr. H vs. Kris "FaSho" Destiny
ou[R] Fed presents...
**The Phoenix Cup Tournament**
FINALS: STIPULATION TBD
MR. H versus KRIS "FA SHO" DESTINY
aka @mth vs. @kdestiny
3 alternating promos from each competitor. Remember the criteria you will be judged on:
-Selling characters/story
-Selling the match
-Entertainment Value
-Grammar/Cohesion
First come, first serve to start the promos.
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March 11th, 2022, 9:13 PM
#2
As the scene comes into focus, a well worn wrestling ring dominates the background. It is poorly lit, which only enhances the shadows and mystery, its appearance given an artificially grainy look. It is in sharp contrast to the foreground, where before the squared circle, a magnificent trophy stands. Nearly 5 feet in weight and well lit from a spotlight above, its ornate and meticulous design, along with its tremendous shine, provides a stark separation between the symbol of glory and honor, before the rugged path that one must travel.
Offscreen, the sound of footsteps approaching, announce the presence of another. From the left of our scene, the source is revealed, as a man in dark clean jeans, smart shoes, and a well tailored black button down approaches the trophy, admiring the craftsmanship, evening so far as to lightly graze the prize, showing equal parts respect and restraint. A small, somewhat wondering smile comes across the face of Jonathan Caito.
Everyone dreams. It is an undeniable fact. Oftentimes, it is a method of distraction. Something to get you thru your day, or until the weekend when one can finally let loose. There are people so busy dreaming, they dream their life away.
Caito has not taken his gaze off of the Phoenix Cup as of yet. Finally, he hovers his hand just above, taking a deep breathe. His hand nearly reaches forward again, but restraint takes over, as Jonathan closes it into a loose fist, calmly nodding his arm before bringing it to his side.
And sometimes, a dream is what you need to spark an idea. And if you are very lucky, and you have help along the way, that idea can take hold and give you a chance for something…
Finally, Jonathan turns toward the camera, his eyes full with a look we haven’t seen from Caito in a long time in the feds…..
Greater….
Caito shifts his body, turning himself to fully face the camera, his full attention now on what brings us here today.
8 men gave us life, gave us a chance to remember why our R-Feds were so dear to us. They have fought, they have bleed. All for honor. All to be able to be presented this Caito briefly turns and gestures as an acknowledgment of not only the skill and the talent that one needs to win in our industry, but of the lengths that one must go to not only be the one to take home the winner’s purse… but what we must do to simply survive.
What we have now, out of eight, is two men. They are the last men standing, each one climbing the ladder to put themselves in this final arena. Modern day gladiators, circling each other for the final challenge.
And with that, a final encounter needs something…. just a little bit more.
If possible, Caito straightens up even more, as if to give an extra amount of attention and meaning to his message.
It has been entrusted to me, and with a great sense of honor, I am here to tell you just how we will crown our champion.
In federations past, their top titles were defended by way of a two out of three falls stipulation. This guaranteed that the best man won, that their victory was earned thru blood and sweat, and was no fluke. We may not have a championship belt at stake, but the two men who meet in the finals, either one could, and in moth’s case, have held a World Championship before. So, on one hand, why should this match be any different?
However, on that other hand we see here… is that enough? Is it enough to test the will, the drive, the constitution of a man who has been forged by the fire that is this industry? I disagree, and those that ultimately make the decisions, agree.
Because at the end of the day, when the smoke clears, and a single person’s hand is raised in the middle of this ring, we need to know that on this day, he was the best. He needs to be tested physically, spiritually, and mentally. For in this modern day gladiatorial bout, we have two men who fight for glory, as if they fight for the honor of being welcomed into Valhalla as a conquering hero, a warrior whose endeavors are legend. To be one worthy of such an honor, worthy of the Phoenix Cup, they will have to survive more than a standard two out of three falls match….
They must endure the Labours.
Jonathan pauses, turning to his left once again to gaze upon the sheen of the Cup. He allows his last words to sink in for a moment, before he returns to the camera
Your first fall will be inside a cage. The two of you will be surrounded by metal, and there will be no escape. You must face your charge head on. But there is a small twist…. There is no escape of the cage. Because an honorable man, a worthy warrior, does not turn and run from adversity. He charges head-on into the fire, his mindset knowing only that retreat is impermissible. With that said, if either man escapes the cage, either thru the door or over the top and to the floor, they sacrifice a fall and will have to make it up in the next Labour.
It is there that both men will finally be allowed to branch out, their battle taking them wherever it needs to. Your fall can and will count anywhere, using whatever means necessary.
If it comes to pass that neither man gains an advantage after two falls, then the third and final fall will test the purity of your will, your soul, and most importantly, your skills and talent. A proper match, taking place in the one place that we hold the most sacred, the squared circle. It will truly be one fall to a finish. One fall to immortality.
Mr. H. Kris Destiny. These are your stakes. The Labours are your path. And this… Without turning, Caito gestures to the magnificent trophy,his eyes still staring directly thru the camera… is your Valhalla.
What are you willing to do?
After a moment, Caito turns and walks away from camera view, allowing it to zoom and focus on the ultimate prize of the Phoenix Cup.
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March 16th, 2022, 3:45 PM
#3
We fade into daylight. An empty swimming pool. No water. No people. No party. A single lawn chair is set up in the deeper end and in it, clad in no more than a black Speedo and a spiked choker, his head, neck, and shoulders enveloped in his trademark paint, sits Mr. H. Despite squinting from the afternoon sun, there it still a unfocused, almost glazed look in his eyes.
“I'm usually a one take guy, Kris. Flip the switch and away I go, bang, magic, send it in.
Not this time.
Kris, I had a solid five minutes in the bag and now...well, now it's in a garbage bag.
See, Kris...
...well, first of all, I don't think we're been formally introduced: my name is Mr. H. Pleasure.
Surprised we've never crossed paths before.
Congrats on reaching the finals, I've obviously been watching and I like what I see.
I dig it and I see we might tick a few of the same boxes: car crash, theatrical side, little bit off kilter, hella good at the 'rasslin'...
...nice, nice.
Now, now, ok, so right, why did I pitch my first jab at this?
Kris, it's like this: in my brain right now, man, it's like there's fifteen TVs on, all a different channel, volume at max.
So I kind of vomited all that into a promo and....
...and I guess, truth be told, here I am again....fixin' to do the same damn thing, heh.
Kris...
...Kris, you've heard of this thing called the internet, yeah?
Useful tool, changed the world, yeah, but also a goddamn tapestry of pure horse shit, too.
You read about the Phoenix Cup on there, hm? Read what the kids are saying about your boy?
Yeahyeahyeahyeah, so, they think they've peeked behind the curtain, they think they know why I am where I am, why I'm more of a Backbone than just a cute nickname, that, well, that, heh...
...that good ol' Mr. H was feeling useless and irrelevant so he peeled his ass off the couch, slogged on down to the wrestling graveyard, dug up the casket of the R-feds, cracked that bastard open, bear-hugged the dried-up husk inside, dragged it back to his lab, made some phone calls, emptied his wallet, brought in some of the best and some of the brightest, slapped together a tourny for a big shiny thing, and shot the poor corpse full of Frankenstein-juice just so he could feed his ego, pat himself on the back, 'self-suck' if you will...
...that...
that's...
….that's, heh...
…ridiculous.
Plausible...?
I mean, you gotta consider it, eh, Kris?
Gotta consider if it might be true?
Gotta consider what that says about me, what that makes me...
...and then, I suppose, what that makes you.
I don't know where I end and the R-feds begin...
...it's in my bones, it's my life, all I know, it's my Broadway, baby...
...so every time she's died and every time she's revived...
...I am, too...
...so every time over the years they've pried that coffin open and tried to give it another go, strung her up, made her dance, Weekend at Bernie's-style...
...that's me, that's me crawling out of my hole, readjusting to the light, the air, stretching my stiffened frame, getting the blood moving, living, LIVING, for a fleeting few moments...
...only for the familiar cold, black, twisted tendrils to pull me back down as she's laid back down to rest.
Again and again. Living and dying. The R-feds. Mr. H.
And through it all, Kris, I kept saying, “We're in denial, boys, we're delusional, we're kidding ourselves, we know how this goes...” and yet, there I am, leading the goddamn charge. Being the goddamn Backbone.
Every.
Fucking.
Time.
And now, heh, here and now...
...the Phoenix Cup Tournament.
And I came in and I said, “Hey, boys, let's not be down and dark, let's whoop it up, let's have a blast, let's have a time, let's live it up...”
...and I told Jitterman that if I made it past him, I'd throw a rager pool party and...
...welp, here I am...Mr. H: party of one.
Heh. You can get thirty damn people to play a mafia game but getting even eight guys to sign on the line for this was like pulling teeth.
“Phoenix Cup”, hm?
Is this a mighty flaming bird of myth rising majestically from the ashes?
Or did someone just light a pigeon corpse on fire?
Say they're right, Kris, say they're right, that I poured it all out, everything I had, into this one last go...
...knowing how it's gone time and time again...
...knowing that there's only so many times that corpse can be revived before it's nothing but dust.
Knowing that it's only fleeting moments of fresh air and sunshine before it's back into the void.
Knowing that sure, there's one bright, shiny, celebration at the end of this and then, back to nothing. Back to zero. Back to black.
For the R-feds and for me.
What does that make me, Kris?
A fool?
A madman?
Desperate?
Delusional?
Dangerous...?
Because how many times can I do this, how many times can this happen to me, before it's that one time too many? Before there's a breaking point? Before it's got to be the last time? Before something gives out? Before I turn to dust?
I guess I've got nothing left to lose and you know what they say about guys like that.
But what do I have to win?
A trophy. A moment. A mountain top. Brief though it may be, there will be an instant were a bell rings, a hand is raised, and that Cup is handed over, and everyone in that arena, winner, loser, every fan in attendance, we'll all be there on that mountain top together, and that, that's when it fucking means something.
Everything outside of those arena walls, all the stresses, the struggles, the chaos, the grind, will be on hold, paused for a moment.
The journey has reached its destination.
We've made it, we've escaped, we're in that sweet, sweet sunshine.
I live for that, Kris.
All of us that lace 'em up, we all do.
So I know you're coming into this ready to make that your moment.
And I have to admit, if I'm the one on my back, looking up at the lights, I'll still smile because at least I'm under them.
And as the pyro bursts and the confetti rains down and you raise that Cup high...
...I'll thank you.
For giving me life for one more night.”
He takes a long slow breath.
“Lot on my mind, Kris. Been through two wars already. Two very different fights.
My body's aching. My bones are tired.
But my mind's on fire.
That's my Frankenstein-juice.
Gotta go out in a blaze of glory.
Gotta flame out like a supernova.
If it's just darkness on the other side, gotta make the moment blinding, gotta burn it all to the ground.
Gonna reduce it all to cinders, Kris.
'Cuz I don't know if it's worth it.
And I don't know if I can do this again.
And I don't know if we'll ever come back.
Tyson talks about pooling together some money with the boys...and I...
...I might be the most obstinate, driven, passionate, misguided, determined, pig-headed idiot in that locker room...
...and even I've gotta chuckle and shake my head.
You poor sweet beautiful fool.
Him and me.
All of us, every time.
Somebody's gotta put her down.
Somebody's gotta give her peace.
….somebody's gotta do that...
...to her...
...to me.
Me.
Me, Kris.
Roasty toasty.
I'm the asshole that took the Bic to the stanky dead bird.
And I'm gonna grab hold, burn my skin off, and raise it high.
ou[R]-FED.
Phoenix Cup.
Let's fucking go.”
He hasn't moved yet and doesn't move now. Just sits and stares. Several seconds pass. The camera pans over and up towards the sun until its light washes out the screen into white.
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March 27th, 2022, 10:44 PM
#4
Turning back time
- Rep Power
- 1167179