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Tommy Dragon © vs. ???; Intercontinental Title Match
Topic Started: Feb 27 2006, 12:34 AM (192 Views)
Thomas Driver
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Head Trainer of PWA Academy
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Intercontinental Title Match
Tommy Dragon © vs. Mystery Opponent
Singles Match

Deadline: March 4th, 7pm EST
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Thomas Driver
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Head Trainer of PWA Academy
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Tommy enters.
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Tom Tyco
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PWA Immortal
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I've been changing but you'll never see me now
I've been changing but you'll never see me now
Now I'm blaming you for everything


Mind-blowing; absolute frenzy is all that can said about the people of this humble arena. In place all swim with their own technique in "stroke." At the top of their lungs they push out the last shreads of oxygen in voiceful manner. In and out signs jive as to create a wave effect.

No more holding it in, how many years can I pretend
That nothing ever goes the way that it should?
No more sitting in this place hoping you might see it my way
'cause I don't think you understood
That what I'm looking for are the answers to why these questions never go away


Yes! He appears, top stage; body covered in pure darkness. Only his pure hues at the coincidental start of the song's chorus can send the embassy crumbling. His body still in shadow, one can only imagine what his appearance may contain. Patience is kindly rewards in the most uninlikely way ... with a sudden deffening BOOM and bright pale flash. A single light adjusts itself upon this man of mystery.

I'm so far away - I've been changing but you'll never see me now
I'm so far away - Now I'm blaming you for everything


Darkness hides itself at the rim of the lone light; a spotlight. The figure's formed stride holds steady without the slightest of miscue. Head sits upon his broad shoulders cocked forth into place, although slightly tilted forward. He walks in in his two satin black boots, laced from atop about mid-shin. The spotlight captures an image of itself reflecting from the gloss black plastic knee pads in several different perspectives in result of stride. Below the character's torso, his pure black trunks fit snug, all the while exposing his whole thieghs. One can catch his signiture symbol in crimson as he slithers on by them. His march halts; he quickly rolls himself into the ring. He grabs a microphone so convieniantly placed at point of ring entry. The stalking light disappears as all of the arena's obsessive lights bring themselves into view. In a quick bown, the man brings himself to vertical base; microphone in hand. His eyes latch onto Tommy Dragon's own. Raspy and clear, a breath escapes the lungs in voice.

Tom Tyco: ... I am Tom Tyco ... and I am here for you Title!

Wide-eyed in all his glory, Tom charges forth; fore-arm leading. The champion falls after immidiate contact. Mr. Tyco drops the microphone in preperation to Mr. Dragon's retreat. The ring bell tolls.

DING DING DING

Out of RP: Let's do this man. Good luck.
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Thomas Driver
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Normally a brutal forearm to the skull of any competitor would result in both the sinister tumble of the champion and an additional crack that would echo throughout the arena. It was obvious that Tom Tyco’s blunt attack had hit it’s mark, but the usual sound of driving bone into the face of his opponent was absent. This was not some godly intervention to prevent pain, rather the softened flesh of his victim not suitable enough to create the horrific sound effect after being stretched apart only twenty four hours ago. Tommy Dragon appears much more calm than expected, taking a moment or two to readjust his jaw before standing. He stares over towards the newly returned gladiator, a man he had grown to somewhat respect while they traveled on the road together as partners, champions and friends. The Man Beast still seems in fighting shape since leaving PWA television a while back, not making any mistakes with some wonton assault that lacks the surprise of his first. Before the next set of action begins, The Hotshot finishes surveying his opposite before waving his hand mouthing out the word “hello” in an awkwardly sarcastic and friendly tone. With this past them, they engage each other in a freestyle dance around the squared circle, moving in for what looks to be the inaugural exciting encounter of many. As they lean closer together, the more technically based warrior jolts forward to capture the somewhat unprepared Hardcore Legend’s head underneath his shoulder. The man once known as The Pick exerts himself to the best of his abilities, but he cannot offer enough resistance to prevent his opponent, who has finished completing the basic technique rather quickly. In an antique procedure from his excessive memorization of wrestling knowledge, the American Crippler has the larynx of his former cohort now pulled towards the submissionist’s right pectoral. This vintage Side Headlock, a move that is completed to inflict more mental damage rather than overly stress any piece of the challenger’s physical being, seems to be the perfect way to regain momentum lost at the start of the contest. Seeing that the hold was effective in inflicting some pain, the user decides that some inner marring could be applied, stepping up to constrict his handle around his prey’s vocal folds, literally taking his breath away through brute force and understanding of the human anatomy. Tom Tyco exerts all his strength to separate the combatants from this position, finally prying them apart with a final violent push towards the ring ropes. The Hotshot drapes his arm over the utmost vinyl covered cable, catching his momentum so that he doesn’t rebound towards the challenger awaiting him at the other side of the ring. Tommy steps toward so the men are now in a stare down, the New Revelation tries to take advantage as soon as possible, but this is instantly put to and end by the quick thinking, and kicking, combatant. This sudden blow forces it’s receiver to keel over, allowing The Gargoyle to position his opponent so that his arms are wrapped around the waist of the New Yorker. Utilizing his power was the key to this next maneuver and Tyco exerts a suitable amount of energy to lift his captive from the canvas. There is a brief hang time before gravity kicks in, crashing the champion down hard at the conclusion of this Gutwrench Suplex. Whiplash inflicts additional damage to the Genex Dragon, his anatomy stinging him as attempts to move afterwards. This leaves the victim momentarily stunned, allowing his attacker to make an instant cover on the shocked technician while the audience counts down with each slap of the referee’s hand.

Johnny: Early cover attempt by Tom Tyco, will this be enough to put the champion away?

1...

2...


Donny: Tommy won‘t be willing to lose this fast, he‘ll kick out. If not, I‘ll be All the Right Turns number one fan!

Tommy Dragon thrusts his shoulder off the springed surface, his muscles already sore from the beatings he had taken over the past couple of days. The returned Hardcore Legend clasps his hand down on the brownish black hair of his old partner, pulling him upwards for the next offensive maneuver. Sensing this from the challenger, The Hotshot delivers several feint clubbing forearms to the skull of his dominant foe, moot attempts at halting his destiny. These worthless attempts from the technical sound participant continue, each one shaken off by their target with the Intercontinental Champion forced to find other means at stopping the coming painful fate. When it appears he could save himself, Tom Tyco delivers a hard knee to the abdomen of the combatant before placing him inside a front facelock position. Tommy cannot hold his opponent from falling to the canvas in a textbook DDT, nearly incapacitating the young competitor. With the champion down, the setting seems ideal for the Man Beast, who seems prepared to make his return with a new title around his waist. Knowing that The Pick would take advantage of this, the writhing New Yorker attempts to escape as his legs are pulled upwards until they lie beneath the shoulders of the Georgia resident. In one quick snap, the submissionist finds himself firmly locked inside a classic Boston Crab. The tension from the submission maneuver appears to tear away at both the legs themselves as well as the lower back, which is twisted around as nearly two hundred and seventy pounds of muscles rests comfortably above it, pushing the ligaments to their limits. This intense amount of torment forces the captured warrior to slap the canvas once, not wanting to repeat this action as it would surely declare the match in favor of the challenger, a man he had not expected to show his face again. Once the aggressive American Crippler verbally refuses to succumb to the hold, he lunges towards the ropes in a desperate attempt at freedom as the grasp is relented only slightly before being quickly returned to it’s previous form. Although the assertive break failed to be successful, the combatants were now nearer to the ropes, which allows the Intercontinental Champion to force the referee to break the grappling procedure as the founder of the Marks of Perfection’s fingers lie under the bottom rope. Slightly angered by his foe’s escape, the Wisconsin native decides to do something drastic, stalking the soldier as he slowly rises from the state of being held within a device of torture for several moments in the match. It appears another long night for Tommy Dragon, who must fight to hold onto his championship once more.
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Tom Tyco
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PWA Immortal
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There is a certain pride that drives a man to be the greatest champion he can be; this "pride" slowly dimishes. It can be seen escaping through curled fingers at which hang for dear life upon a single rope, a face painted in the sweat of struggle, and a knee ripped out of alignment in result of brute force. Although reason to believe this man is the champion has left many, his pride continues to thrive in a flicker; enough in fact to make an attempt to rally himself towards the freedom of level ground. The everlasting Tommy Dragon flings his upper appendages one rope up from the previous. Upon latching onto it, his momentum carries him up towards the third rope; sucess. His body hunches forth over it with the support of his one sane appendage supporting whatever is left of this miserable carcass. In a last "death defying" stand, the champion shifts his balance to the gimp leg. His stance, unstable; his determination, untouchable. One leg at a time now he strides forth. Every step enables progression against hobble. Opposite him stands true and tall Tom Tyco. He himself knows what the champion is capible of first hand; thus concern masks not only his expression, but his stance as well. A droplet of sweat is quickly batted away from his face followed by an eternal heave of breath. Both mythological beasts stand still now, capturing eye within eye; they stand a foot apart from one another. This match has become nothing but a mere game, the first one to blink loses. Flashbulbs capture this defining moment in time; the moment when friend and friend become worst of enemies. Almost as though scripted to perfection, Tommy conjures a right hook. Bone verses skin; a sickining smack echoes throughout the embassay. Mr. Tyco's head whiplashes back as his stance shifts a much more broad balance. What a way to greet someone not seen for many a nights. Naturally Tom returns the favor with a greeting of his own; left hook. Mr. Dragon's body shifts balance towards the west hemisphere simultaneously with his jaw. Again, he readjusts his jaw whilst cocking himself back into his former stance. The two men, now well acquainted, reserve a moment in time as their own; chaos immidiately follows. Left hook, right hook, back and forth they free fly in direct connection with anything and everything they can take a piece out of. Heads cocks, limbs fly, flickers of out of border lights illuminate the stage! Not a one dares to think tactical enough to block and take advantage; it's all personal from here. The two gods power up the arena as decibals upon decibals from the excitement of fans blast their thoughts away. They pick at one another seemingly until one man can muster no more. Their upper appendages gradually become sluggish; their faces unwillingly tender. But alas, one man proves his duribility. He leads with a two to one connection ratio as which instantly slides into a total domination. A last commanding power jab sends his opponent crashing to the canvas; that opponent being The Hotshot himself, Tommy Dragon.

Johnny: Unbelievible! The challenger is again proving to be more than the champion can handle! Could we see a new champion tonight?

Donny: I don't know Johnny, but this looks bad! And there he goes, Tom's pinning Tommy!

Indeed a pinfall may be the case. The official positions himself whilst counting. One, two, thr ... before he can freefall his hand to the mat for the final time, the champion, Mr. Dragon, thrusts his shoulders from the canvas a second time; barely. His body lays seethed from the carnage he has endured and yet it is his heart that powers enough energy to save his honor. The Gargoyle glides off his fallen adversary in turn scratching his head, wondering "What is the answer?" Unjust out of frustration, the domineer's plows the heel of his boot into the corpse's sternum as he daintly walks away. Tommy naturally writhes a fetal poise; screaming at the top of his lungs in sheer agony. Opposite the fallen villian, Tom paces to and from, regaining his composture. He runs his hand through his hair to signify he is calm. With a final shake to the head, the challenger makes a bee-line towards his "superior" broadside. Swiftly his right leg leads stamping a boot mark into Tommy's vertebrate. Tommy's hands glides against the air towards his back as he allows another rebel yell to excape his quivering lips. As well he rolls upon impact until the edge of the apron can be found. To his disadvantage, the dominant player merely walks to him in sly fashion. Tommy rolls his body to face his hovering adversary as though to expect an Angry Stomp; the prediction comes true. With as much power any mere mortal can muster, The Man-Beast drives his boot straight into the heart of his quivering foe. His newly weilded smirk becomes short lived and he collapses; the smirk hops from one face to another. One can catch a glimpse and stair is surprise for Tommy had not only caught Tom's appendage, but twisted in a way as to cause this tower to collapse into the canvas! A shimmering silence cascades the spectaters. The champion rolls out of the ring in entirety. For a moment he captures his breath again and swiftly rolls back into the ring. Mr. Tyco sits on one knee, hunched like a gargoyle whilst blinking his eyes to the element of surprise. As he erects himself in whole, so doe Tommy; a sight rarely seen in this match. While the challenger stands in a dumbfounded daze, Mr. Dragon can only take advantage of his former tag partner; he charges forth at greatest of velocities whilst catching the back of Tom's cranium with his palms. The two powerhouses gel through the air until the result sees Mr. Tyco fallen victim to the Bulldog! His head bounces violently off the ricochet surface; the champion merely rallies into vertical stance. Again he takes off, this time finding cables anear and recoiling from them. Tom, whom lasts stomach down, elevates his head slightly; all becomes black. A disgusting "Pop" followed by an accelerated clash of "Oooo's" from general viewers is all that can be heard from a devistating Baseball Slide. The challeger's body becomes nothing but a limp carcass. But one can never be too sure around the PWA; Tommy's assault only adds insult to injury as he maneuvers himself over the top of his opponent to apply the Camal Clutch! Sure enough Tom comes back to life as he can feel his ligments and tendons twisting and winding in his arms. His expression becomes timeless; jaw hung deep south, eyes dilated to match golf balls in comparison, and a raspy holler that could wake the dead. Tommy's sudden turn-around his put his old friend against the ropes; who will win this wild match of emotions? Stay tuned.
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Thomas Driver
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Tom Tyco hugs the bottom rope for it's safety, this act forcing the hold to be released. The Hotshot pulls away, prepared to deliver some more damage in order to pick up the victory. He peels his opponent off the canvas, ready to deliver the next maneuver of this match, only to fall victim to it. His challenger picks him up in a surprise bearhug position before slamming him violently in a Spinebuster. Tyco scrambles in for the cover, the audience counting with him.

1...

2...


Tommy Dragon extends his arm to grab the rope, breaking the pinfall cover and continuing the match. He rolls to the outside, his body aching as he stumbles into the barricade. The Pick follows him, hitting a series of punches to the back of the champion. Tom Tyco pulls the New Yorker back towards the ring, slding him inside the squared circle while climbing up the stairs. The American Crippler remains on the apron, making sure he doesn't fall to the outside by slinging his shoulder over the cable. Tyco pulls him to a standing position on the other side of the ropes, becoming victim to a vicious kick by the champion. Tommy tosses himself over the top rope, twisting his former cohort around in a Sunset Flip.

1...

2...


Tom Tyco rolls to his side, using momentum in order reverse the pinfall so that his knees are planted on the shoulders of the champion in a different pinning maneuver.

1...

2...


Tommy Dragon kicks into the air, his shoulder lifting from the canvas enough for the hold to be considered broken. The Hotshot and his opposite stand, rolling to their feet and charging. Tommy catches Tyco, dodging a punch and lifting his opponent from behind. He swings him around to deliver the Hotshot Slash, making a quicky over by hooking the legs.

1...

2...

3!!!


Ring Announcer: Here is your winner and STILL champion....TOMMY DRAGON!!!

"John the Revelator" hits the PA system, Tommy Dragon standing after the hard fought victory as his title is brought to him. His hand is raised and he places his palm over his forehead to illustrate chronic pain. The Hotshot rolls to the outside, swiping away the sweat away from his brow as we head to one of the last commercial breaks of the evening.
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