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| Showtime © vs. Johnny Heathen; World Title Match | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 13 2006, 05:34 PM (334 Views) | |
| Thomas Driver | Mar 13 2006, 05:34 PM Post #1 |
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Head Trainer of PWA Academy
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World Title Match Showtime © vs Johnny Heathen Singles Match |
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| 'The Mortician' Johnny H | Mar 13 2006, 10:18 PM Post #2 |
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PWA Rookie
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The music is rhythmic and dissonant, pulsing like a heart. It fills the arena with lifeblood before cranking up the pressure. It is Fear Factory's Bite The Hand That Bleeds that sets the mood, prepping the arena for the arrival of rookie grappler Johnny Heathen. The crowd shows little recognition to the newcomer, but he takes no notice. He's caught up in the moment, soaking it all in like a flesh-crafted sponge. His excitement is visible, lasered into his features, and his motions all have added bounce to them. It's obvious this high-stakes match has the challenger exhilarated; only time will tell if it will be beneficial. |
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| Showtime | Mar 14 2006, 11:02 AM Post #3 |
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PWA Addict
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Showtime enters. *OOC:* Get started whenever you want. Good luck man. |
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| 'The Mortician' Johnny H | Mar 14 2006, 07:02 PM Post #4 |
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PWA Rookie
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ND SO IT BEGINS. Unquestionably, it is the biggest night in Johnny Heathen’s career; quite possibly in his entire life. For Showtime, however, things are looking to be just a routine title defense. The accoladed superstar loosens up in the corner adjacent “The Mortician”, prepping his muscles for battle. Thousands of flashbulbs ignite across the vast arena, filling the crowd’s ranks with a stellar meteor shower, all of them hoping to preserve Showtime’s acts on film (or, possibly, on a JPEG) for the rest of eternity. It goes without saying that absolutely none of these flashes goes off in attempt to capture Johnny Heathen on film. He’s just fodder for the machine…The designated official eventually beckons the two warriors to the middle of the ring. He could be a kindly man; he could be an utter douchebag. Neither athlete cares, nor does it matter. His personality is irrelevant, so long as he is able to do his job. He begins this by explaining the rules of the contest to the two gentlemen. It’s standard fare, and both men are familiar with the stipulations, particularly the veteran. When the seemingly endless stream of rules comes to an end, both men nod to accept the terms. And just like that, the bell is rung, complimenting the crowd’s cheers with an angelic chiming. Yet, if you were to strip away the gentle façade of the bell, what you would hear would be a gunshot. The opening blast of a war. But Johnny Heathen has every intention of starting this war off in a civil manner. Upon hearing the bell, most men would sink into a state of poised readiness, adjusting their footing to better prepare themselves for attack. Not the War Machine. He offers his hand forward, not in a fist, but open palmed. It’s a universal gesture of good-will, simply synonymous with respect: the handshake. Showtime stares at the hand before him as if it were alien in a time where wrestling chivalry is considered archaic. He then looks deep into the eyes of the man across from him, not sure if he can trust this novice. Eventually, he allows his heart to get the better of him, and he accepts the offered hand in his own. After one terse shake, the exchange ends, and both men distance themselves. Now the true action shall begin. Although they have just exchanged understanding and compassion, the ring suddenly feels cold and devoid of feeling. While there is no ill-will between the men, there will be no hesitation before violence. Showtime is the first to exercise this, lunging at his somewhat smaller opponent. His arms are stretched out wide to his sides to better encapsulate the body of “The Mortician”. Johnny manages to upset this plan at the last second, dipping down towards the canvas and side-stepping out from under the Iconic Legend’s swooping arms. The sudden lack of a body to grab for support knocks Showtime off-kilter, and so he stumbles clumsily towards the ring ropes, and thus away from Johnny Heathen. The War Machine ceases this opportunity, as it could be his first opportunity to leave an indentation in this match. In the midst of blood-lust, the maniacal Johnny Heathen unleashes upon Showtime with a barrage of [FOREARM CLUBS] that assail Showtime around the neck. The blows rock Showtime like artillery shells, knocking the unsuspecting champion into a state of vertigo. PWA’s resident megalomaniac knows he must act quickly to turn the tides, but Heathen’s unrelenting onslaught makes the task an arduous one. Regardless, Showtime musters up the fortitude to torque his body around a full 180-degrees and battle back. Soon, fists are flying on behalf of both men. The two world-class athletes have had their contest degenerate into a bout of [SCHOOLYARD FISTICUFFS]. Concussive fists detonate like grenades within the faces of their victims, leaving behind streaks of welts and bruises that will surely leave the men sore long after the match has ended. Regardless, neither man will yield. It is almost as if agony is nullified by the motivation of victory. Finally, realizing that the exchange will soon lead to incapacitation if it persists any longer, Johnny Heathen disengages the action by taking the low-road…literally. “The Mortician” exercises tremendous coordination by seamlessly switching from an arm-oriented assault to a leg-oriented one. He thrusts his right leg forward, driving his knee cap straight up into the lower abdominal region of the World champion. Fans immediately begin leaping from their seats, crying foul for what they interpreted to be a low blow. While in fact the [KNEE STRIKE] was above the waist, the fans are unaware of the fact, and thus begin to revile the challenger. Needless to say, Johnny Heathen’s first impression on the Pojo Wrestling public has not been a favorable one. His case is not helped by Showtime, who lies on his belly with his hands clutching his newly birthed wound. The fans again believe the point of Showtime’s attention to be his groin, and the jeering amplifies. Although he is not completely un-phased by the crowd’s unfair cruelty towards him, the novice gladiator knows he must continue his offensive front. He drops down to the canvas and, in an act of savagery, begins targeting Showtime’s neck with a tenacious volley of [ELBOW STRIKES]. He uses the point of his elbow to chip away at the champion’s spinal column, desperately trying to fatigue the appendage. While it has not yet been made known to the fans in attendance, Johnny Heathen’s trademark is his adroit use of piledrivers. Any labor that will increase the potency of his chosen move is work well worth it. This train of thought is what fuels Heathen’s engine, and so he continues to carve away at his medium, sculpting Showtime’s anatomy into the ideal victim. THAT’S IT! It’s done! Complete! The artist has finished outlining his masterpiece, and what a work it is. In place of paints, this portrait has been born from anguish. Vibrant hues and shades blend together to create the most brilliant imagery ever: the image of a falling champion. Or, so “The Mortician” would hope. All it needs now is to be framed…He erects his masterpiece, propping him up on his god-given easel. The process of the framing will not take long. It begins with a swooping [KICK] that drills deep into Showtime’s belly. Oxygen is expunged from the champion’s body, which in turn leads him to keel forward. Johnny moves with haste now, trying to leave Showtime no room to counter. The War Machine quickly tucks the head of his superior between his legs, and then prepares for the piledriver that could change everything… But only one thing does change: momentum. Before time expires on him, the reigning king of the Pojo Wrestling Alliance summons up a burst of vigor. Downing a shot of adrenaline and chasing it with some aggression, the Iconic Legend hurls Heathen into the air and back over his shoulders. Johnny gets a considerable amount of hang time, enough for him to flip onto his back before he is reintroduced to the canvas. The [BACK BODY DROP] is an impressive display of strength on the part of the champion, and now it would appear to only be the first of many exhibitions. |
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| Showtime | Mar 17 2006, 08:54 PM Post #5 |
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PWA Addict
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The muscular fortitude utilized in Showtime’s execution of the Back Body Drop is depicted through not only the elevation his foe achieves, but also in his follow-through; full, and with furious intent. The Iconic Legend immediately turns around to greet his opponent following the Back Body Drop, as Heathen is able to instantaneously rebound back to his feet, ricocheting off the canvas with the speed of a bouncy ball. Suddenly, Heathen is charging full-speed ahead toward his assailant. His eyes emblazoned with fury and retribution, he is blind to strategy and aims merely for aggression at this particular moment. With such a lack of prior planning and tactical strategizing, it is inevitable that Heathen charges straight into a brick wall, signing his own proverbial death warrant as Showtime knocks his foe to the canvas once again with a vicious Clothesline, the straight arm of Showtime leveling Heathen to the canvas as it strikes his neck and chest with rigorous vigor. Swiftly, Johnny Heathen finds himself once again located on the canvas, his back firmly planted into the cold surface as he stares up at the fluorescent arena lights. The shockwaves of tumultuous suffering which shoot through his body would be enough to paralyze an elephant, but even still the newcomer is able to rebound off the canvas, landing straight on his feet with cat-like reflexes. As the newcomer obtains an upright stance, his hair dangles at the sides of his face, waving back and forth, entrenched in sweat, moistening his cheeks, jaw, and temple in the process. The Iconic Legend immediately turns a complete 180 degrees to face his foe, who begins to charge forward once again. The foolishness of this mistake would haunt him if he were foolish enough to follow through with it. A sensation of fear and cautious hesitation overtakes his body. His eyes widen as he hesitates, stopping himself dead in his own tracks almost before he even obtains any forward momentum. The previous error of his ways has taught him a valuable lesson, and he collects his thoughts and immediately begins to strategize before charging into a head-on collision with the immovable force of the Boston Bad-Ass, who stands across from him with a smirk adorning his face, his tight lips parting a bit to the side as the realization of his immense experience advantage pleases him. In a critical turning point of the match, the two gladiators find themselves in a stand-off, staring at one another with desire for victory and respect for the man across from them. The fans are knowledgeable of the severe advantage which Showtime holds at the present moment, knowing that he has really gotten inside the head of Johnny Heathen with this past exchange. This causes them to raise their voices in ecstatic appraisal of the Iconic Legend, showing him their affection and support in this third World Title defense in just as many shows. Johnny: Four times in four matches, Showtime has battled over the World Title, and up until now he has been successful. Donny: Yeah, well it’s not going to happen tonight! Heathen may be the toughest opponent Showtime has had thus far! Johnny: Well, I think experience may play a fairly large factor in this match, but we’ll have to see what direction this match goes in from here. Almost as though the past few moments of action had been erased from the annals of time, the two contenders circle the ring, taking into account every last inch of the body frame of their opponent. Suddenly, the Bostonian juts into the center of the ring, causing Heathen to brace himself for impact. This move proves to be a false pretense, as the mere pump-fake by Showtime has drawn his opponent off-sides. This tactic only causes his smirk of sadistic pleasure to grow in width, as he cackles to himself in glee over his breaking advantage and the mind-games he is easily able to impose upon the newcomer. Heathen doesn’t let this distraction deter him from his duty. He is still obliged to give this match his all, and hopefully pull off an upset victory for the most prestigious title in the industry. The rivals continue to side-step and shuffle their feet about the ring as they attempt crudely to read the movements of their nemesis. Finally, the two top contenders draw into the center of the ring, the magnetism of the tension imposing it’s will on their bodies. Their arms fling out to the sides, and abruptly they meet, intertwining in a uniform fashion in the blink of an eye. Immediately, they begin to pry away at their opponent, vying for precious leverage, a delectable treat which seems to escape their taste buds, as the slick canvas and the lack of traction on their boots work against them. Finally, Heathen is able to overcome the odds of the strength deficit he faces, overriding the powerhouse as he pushes him further and further back, eventually causing the veteran to stagger clumsily into the turnbuckle. Unexpectedly, the two men crash into the corner and the impact causes the ropes to shake. In an act of dishonor, Heathen fails to release the hold. Instead, he steadies the second rope, which still shivers from the devastating collision. After trapping the World Champion in the corner, it seems a bit of relentless offense is in order, as a series of Shoulder Thrusts shakes the innards of his foe. The skin of the Bionic Bostonian turns pale, almost a bleach-stain pigment, and his face discloses the weakness which has been unveiled. The constant driving force seems to result as the basis of his queasy feelings in his abdominal region which almost cause him to vomit all over the back of his foe. Holding his lunch, Showtime suffers in the corner as the repeated Shoulder Thrusts seem endless; their rhythmic force is enough to drive him to insanity. As there is no breach of the rules, the referee is forced to sit back and watch the inhumanity unfold before his very eyes, completely restricted from taking any intervening action. His eyes show a bit of concern for the World Champion, but these strikes are hardly basis for an end to the match; in either case, Showtime has overcome much worse adversity. Fortunately for him, the adversity he faces does not last much longer, as the vicious stream of aggression comes to an abrupt end, not before Heathen secures his foe in the corner, failing to allow Showtime even a moment to recover from one tactic before another is put into motion. Firmly holding the limp right arm of Showtime in his grasp, Johnny Heathen lines up his shot while taking aim for the corner pocket. One hard Irish Whip later, Showtime is sent darting into the opposite turnbuckle. The light breeze grazes his skin, cooling him off as a slight taste of relief from the heat and sweat he endures. This liberation is brief, however, as the velocity he has obtained causes a vicious impact as he bumps the corner turnbuckle with his back. The spot of injury is rooted within his spine, the vertebrae tingling in numbness after the collision. However, this does not prevent the pain from overcoming his entire body, spitting the venomous agony through his veins. Steadying himself and allowing a moment for mental preparation, the eyes of Johnny Heathen portray a certain fire, passion, and desire that may have once been confined in the very eyes of World Champions before him, whether it be Triple Six or Organon. A certain certainty is present in his mind, and this conviction overtakes his legs as they immediately sprint with the speed of Michael Johnson toward the finish line. From almost half-way across the ring, Heathen leaps from the canvas and soars gloriously through the arena air. His short hairs pull back to the sides of his skull as he comes crashing down on the chest and sternum of his foe with a vicious Avalanche which drives the air straight out of the lungs of the Iconic Legend, who now stands in the corner, completely lacking oxygen and now utterly powerless to the will of Heathen. *OOC:* Sorry that took so long, Heathen. I'll probably be able to do one more tomorrow, given enough time...good luck man. |
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| 'The Mortician' Johnny H | Mar 18 2006, 05:58 PM Post #6 |
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PWA Rookie
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T WAS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE A ROUTINE DEFENSE. A no-name kid being fed mercilessly to the cream of the crop. It would be just another minor skirmish, forgotten entirely by the time the next edition of PWA television rolls around. Yet, now this simple, controlled situation has escalated from small-time main event to a small-war. The sight of this inexperienced grappler holding the upper hand over their beloved champion is a shock to every fan, whether they sit in the arena or upon their couch at home. Showtime isn’t supposed to lose to Johnny Heathen! The match should have ended five minutes ago! It was just supposed to be a routine defense… Could it lead to a new champion? It’s definitely too early to make predictions, but as each second passes, it looks more and more plausible…As for Johnny Heathen, he is not quite as caught up in the fact that he might become champion as other people are; he’s more caught up with finding a way to actually become champ. With the current king of grappling reeling before him, Johnny is faced with a tough decision: how to best attack Showtime at this given point in time. The opportunities seem limitless to the rookie. Should he unleash a merciless, power-driven onslaught upon the Iconic Legend? Should he take a more tactical approach and try to maim Showtime through the use of submission holds? Hell, would it possibly be to his advantage if he used a mixed-martial arts style and assailed his enemy with a blend of strikes and takedowns? It’s a difficult decision in an important decision. Johnny knows that he must make it with haste, however, lest his adversary regain any lost vitality. What to do, what to do, what to do… Being indecisive in the ring is a textbook-trait of a green rookie. Even Johnny Heathen knows that. Yet there he is, completely frozen, the same question coursing through his mind. What to do, what to do, what to do… And then his time expires. He can see Showtime’s breathing slowly setting back into a regular pattern. Ignoring premeditation completely, and thus tossing aside all of his plans, Johnny Heathen snaps into scavenger mode. He begins attacking the superstar with rapid-fire [FOREARM SMASHES]. Soon, the lower jaw of the Bostonian is a breeding ground of anguish. He staggers backwards, clutching his wounds to try and nurture them. Unfortunately for him and his fans, “The Mortician” pursues this offensive front. Eventually, he exchanges his forearm shots for [ARM CLUBS], using brute-force to try and bring Showtime to his knees. He flails his arms savagely, peppering Showtime’s back with the potent blows. While he does not manage to bring the legend to his knees, he does succeed in getting him to keel forward. Heathen’s eyes are suddenly alight with passion, and his lips twitch with tenacity. There it is, the weakness he has finally forced Showtime to expose once again: his neck. Heathen’s eyes do not once stray from the sight of this appendage. He fixes on it with eyes that betray a longing hunger. He retreats a few steps, eyes still on the prize, and readies himself for the next stanza in his sin-filled sonnet. When he feels the time is most opportune, he pivots forward, leaping into the air. He kicks both of his legs upwards before bringing the right twin down, viciously cracking it across the back of Showtime’s tender neck. The ferocious [SCISSORS KICK] has nearly had Johnny Heathen labeled as a murderer, so venomous is its aftermath. The kick might as well have been a decapitator, for all control of his limbs flees Showtime as the blow acquaints with his spine. His vision deserts him as well, leaving him blind and void of feeling on the canvas floor. The only signs of movement, and thus of life, come from the Boston Bad Ass’ facial muscles, which twitch sickly beneath the house lights. Once again, the crowd members and stay-at-home fans find themselves bewildered. Across the globe, on several different continents, in dozens of different countries, Pojo Wrestling fans are united by one common trait: their mouths are all agape. Most had expected Showtime to return to action full-force after the avalanche stint. Unfortunately, their prophecies prove to be naught more than false revelations. Instead, The War Machine, a man who has only stood in a PWA ring once before this occasion, stands over their crowned-king’s corpse, possibly en-route to usurp his enemy. It’s almost beyond comprehension, yet now more than ever does it seem possible. Once again, Johnny is at a crossroads. Decisions swarm him once more. Unlike before, however, he already knows what he will do to follow up. Bobbing down to the canvas, he steals a limp hand from his enemy and uses it as leverage to force Showtime back to his feet. In order to keep standing, the champion requires assistance, which Johnny Heathen willingly gives. Fans are not tricked into believing it is any sign of compassion, of course, but rather the feigned benevolence of an assassin before he can plunge his dagger into the breast of his victim. Johnny already has one hand around the dagger. But first, to reveal the breast… “The Mortician” prepares this cadaver for embalmment by delivering a swift [BOOT TOE KICK] deep into the viscera of Showtime. For such a simple act of war, the blow has significant consequences. Once again, oxygen slips from Showtime’s lungs as water slips through the open fingers of a child. Needless to say, however, Showtime’s predicament is much more serious than the analogy. In fact, it could be the most perilous situation Showtime has been placed in since he first won his golden strap. The novice scoops the veteran up and flips him around a full 180 degrees. Now, Showtime’s carcass lays draped across the shoulder of his murderer, the top of his skull pointed straight at the canvas. Without a moment’s hesitation, Johnny Heathen allows himself to be scooped up into the arena air once more. Within the air, he elevates his legs, sliding Showtime down a bit so that the cranium of the champion now protrudes beneath Heathen’s mass. It’s a sadist’s pogo stick, and it ends in equally appalling fashion. His head perfectly perpendicular to the ring, the weight of both Johnny Heathen and his victim are channeled through Showtime’s spine. The inveterate grappler is impaled upon the most vital appendage of all. The crowd gasps in horror as Johnny once again comes shockingly-close to butchering Showtime with this [FIRE THUNDER DRIVER]. Even the most callous of fans wince in horror, turning their heads from the atrocity in the ring. Suddenly, the “Piledriver Pariah” moniker Johnny bears makes a world of sense to the fans. In fact, Johnny Heathen may have just hit the single most important piledriver of his blossoming career. Once safely upon the canvas once more, the vigorous youth allows Showtime to slide off of his shoulder. While all of his instincts tell him to end the match then and there, Johnny cannot help but admire his handiwork. The pallor of Showtime’s face makes it look as if it was crafted from cold ivory, and his lips quaver just enough to reassure the fans that he still bears life within his broken vessel. Once done absorbing the sights, Heathen drapes his body across his victim’s torso and hooks once limp leg, trying to score the upset of the year with the first pinfall this match has seen. ONE! TWO!! THR- Showtime kicks out! The referee’s hand is a hairs breadth away from touching the canvas for the third consecutive time, but it simply isn’t close enough. In a scene that can only be compared to Mount St. Helens’ spontaneous combustion, the dormant Showtime tears his shoulders from the canvas, thrusting one arm high into the air. Johnny Heathen rolls off the body of his adversary, which has apparently risen from the dead, with a mortified expression on his face. He had been so sure that his diligent work would net him a victory, yet fallen just short. His hands run rogue through his hair, his fingers ripping at his roots. The jolts of pain he feels assure him that this is no twisted fantasy; this is a warped reality. The fans, on the other hand, could not possibly be more elated. The concrete dome rings from end to end with the jubilant cries of fans, hoping that this will mark the turning point in the match, the point at which Showtime will bring everything back under control. Heathen realizes this is certainly a shift of momentum, but then he assesses the reality of the situation. As great a change of pace as Showtime’s escape was, he is in no condition to re-direct the current. At least, not yet. His eyes, once cold with shock, rekindle their flame. He scuttles across the ring on all fours like a jackal, his mouth thirsting for the taste of the jugular. Once he is at Showtime’s flank, he raises his fist high into the air, ready to strike. Yet, this blow is never able to materialize. The Iconic Legend shocks once more by exhibiting enough vigor to belt Heathen in the abdomen with an [UNDERHOOKED PUNCH], despite his disfavorable position. Regardless, it is still a staggering blow. Johnny’s eyes bulge wide. He clutches the belly wound as if he had been pierced by a rapier rather than a fist. Perhaps it is more a result of surprise than pain, but the cause is not what is important: it is the effect. Showtime scouts the situation and calculates his odds and probabilities. He deems it safe enough to try and put some distance between himself and Johnny while he tries to recuperate. He rolls over onto his stomach and reaches out to his side, his fingers easily finding the ring rope. He uses this cable to drag himself closer to the edge of the ring, where he can in turn use the rest of the ropes as a sort of ladder, and thus drag himself back up to his feet. Once his task is complete, he slinks back into a vacant corner, using the turnbuckle pads to support his back. With gentle fingertips, he soothingly massages his afflicted neck, trying to nurture the tissue and make his situation more bearable. Presently, his head is awash with bleak agony, the sort of emotion that is impossible to utilize in a positive manner. His vision is still somewhat blurred, and the range of his peripheral has been diminished, but overall he’s surprised by how well he feels. It appears as if his initial damage estimates weren’t quite on the mark. Now, while Johnny Heathen may be in better condition, the match has become a matter of strategic positioning and calculated offense. The Boston native is able to observe Heathen as he rises back to his feet, and thus prepare for battle once more. Having selected a turnbuckle corner that conveniently resides behind Johnny, Showtime is able to sneak up on his enemy with relative ease. While it doesn’t take Heathen long to realize where Showtime must be, it proves to be long enough. Showtime’s hands and arms act as adders, and they choose now to strike. In a flash, they slide along Johnny’s body, coiling around him until they have encompassed the rookie with a [CHICKENWING CHOKEHOLD]. It’s a simple, yet lethal submission hold. It’s also not very strenuous, thus Showtime can better his physical condition while worsening that of “The Mortician”. All he has to do is maintain a taut vice, and the stamina should drain from Johnny as sands drain from an hour glass. Indeed, the submission’s effects become visible almost immediately. While Johnny first struggles and tries to resist, his attempts prove fruitless. Eventually, it costs more energy for Johnny to resist than it’s worth, and so he succumbs to a passive sense of motionlessness. His once mighty arms droop sloth-like at his sides, and his eyes are soon iced over by a dull glaze. Although his teeth gnash menacingly, Showtime could not be more overjoyed by this shift of power. It appears as if the miraculous feats Johnny accomplished will be for nothing. From here on out, it is looking to be just another routine defense… Or can “The Mortician” make a comeback, just as his one-time victim did? It is a secret that time appears to be guarding closely. Eventually, the referee deems Johnny’s loss of life to be significant enough that he should check for a technical knock-out. Showtime watches gleefully as the referee grabs Heathen’s lifeless arm, lifts it into the air, and allows it to fall. ONE! TWO!! THREE!!! That is how most of Showtime’s fans interpret it, at least. Except that is not the reality of the situation. Just before his arm can free-fall for a third time, Heathen regains control of the wheel and gets himself back onto the road. The arm hands in the air, just short of its target. Despite the referee’s dismissal of the TKO attempt, many fans are already cheering and rejoicing, just waiting for Showtime’s theme song to kick into gear. When it never comes, the fans slowly return their gaze to the ring, where they find Showtime still desperately clinging to his chokehold as a revitalized Johnny Heathen tries to battle his way out. The War Machine battles his captor with some off-kilter [ELBOW SHOTS] that bounce off Showtime’s ribs. While the blows are having some impact, they are not quite powerful enough to help the Piledriver Pariah. Regardless, Johnny continues the feeble attempt, his blows getting faster and more furious as he tries to shake off impending doom. This proves to be unfortunate for the referee, who gets too close to the action and, as a result, finds himself being stricken across the face with a stray elbow. The official immediately drops to the ring floor, not quite as used to head trauma as Showtime or Johnny. While the act was entirely accidental, Johnny finds a glass-is-half-full scenario to it all. Johnny adopts the moral code of many dissolute grapplers in this instant: a crime is not a crime if it’s out of the authority’s sight. With that philosophy held in his mind, the youth kicks his left leg back behind him like a mule, managing to meet his target: the Iconic Legend’s groin. Two things happen: boos and jeers begin hailing down upon the ring, and Showtime releases the submission hold. Unlike the last time the crowd booed Johnny, thinking he had hit a cheap shot, this instance proves to be a legitimate (or, rather, illegitimate) [LOW BLOW]. Showtime’s hands flee from Johnny’s upper body to his own lower body, hoping he can find away to numb his genitalia. What he wouldn’t give for a morphine drip right now… As is usual in wrestling matches, the opponents prove to have opposite reactions, Johnny holding an ecstatic yin to Showtime’s morose yang. “The Mortician” begins slurping down oxygen, allowing his parched lungs to gorge themselves on their lifeblood. The healing effects are felt almost immediately, a change that Johnny embraces. The burning of his muscles is soothed by what feels like a cool stream of water. His vision slowly returns to him, and his brain is finally able to once more make rational decisions. Despite the fan’s explicit loathing for him, Johnny feels incredible. He feels… like a champion. This sentiment redirects his train of thought back to the match at hand. He revolves until he can see Showtime once more, still clutching his manhood, his face contorted into a playground for pain. He certainly does not envy Showtime’s situation, although he has already expressed a lust for one of his possessions… This gold-lust compels him forward, to further maim and already broken man. He swipes down at the canvas and snatches a hold on Showtime’s ankle, then uses this appendage to drag the heralded superstar into the center of the ring. Once there, more devious plans can unfold. Johnny forces Showtime to his feet, using a fistful of Showtime’s own hair as his bargaining chip. Just as the referee is regaining his own footing, Johnny sets up what he hopes will be this match’s grand finale, and thus mark the beginning of a World title reign. He turns Showtime away from him, then pulls Showtime’s arm through the fork in his legs. With this [WRIST-CLUTCH] in place, Johnny elevates Showtime from the canvas. He slides the girth of the seasoned grappler onto his shoulders, securing his victim’s jaw with his free arm. While the fans are not quite sure what to expect from this [WRIST-CLUTCH TORTURE RACK], they feel an ill boding. As it stands, Showtime is already having his back strained significantly. Yet, this could not possibly be the full extent of “The Mortician’s” plan; if it were, why would he bother with the wrist-clutch? The fans prove to be good sleuths. In actuality, Johnny has far more heinous plans in mind. While the fans do not yet know it, Showtime is actually in perfect position for Johnny’s finisher, a dastardly move which has won him many moves on his way up to the big leagues. He appreciates the moment he has created, smiling perversely at the crowd’s silence. He stalls for a bit simply for the sake of basking in this moment he has manufactured, something that further displeases the crowd. Soon, they will wish he had stalled just a bit longer. As it is presently, though, the cogs are already spinning. With one fluid motion, Johnny drops to his side, and thus effectively wrecks Showtime. [THE IMPALED ANGEL] is a grisly maneuver; so much so, in fact, that the crowd is equally stunned that Johnny could pull off a move even sicklier than the piledriver he executed earlier. Showtime’s head snaps back in a grotesque way upon impact, furthering concern. Showing no respect for his victim, Johnny tosses the wreckage from his back, leaving Showtime as a mangled heap. Showtime fans across the globe brace themselves for the worst. |
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| Showtime | Mar 18 2006, 06:32 PM Post #7 |
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PWA Addict
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The imminent doom of the short reign of the Iconic Legend seems to loom over the arena. The atmosphere is filled with sorrow, and the fans watch in horror as a mere rookie may steal away the World Title from the waist of their beloved hero in the blink of an eye. Heathen quickly prepares for the victory, placing himself firmly atop the dilapidated heap of skin, muscle, and bones which lies upon the canvas before him. Hooking the leg, the end is all but written. His eyes widen with excitement and exhilaration, ready to accept his stake to the throne which is the pinnacle of the pyramid, the greatest prize of all, the PWA World Title. The zebra-striped referee can’t even believe his eyes, having officiated many of the Bostonian’s past encounters. He finds himself hesitant to count the pinfall, but is aware of his duties as an official, and that he must fulfill these duties lest he risk his job. Sliding smoothly to the canvas, his arm raises into the air to count the first of what should be three textbook counts toward the end of Showtime’s reign. One… Two… KICKOUT!!! The fans erupt into a burst of applause and cheers, their worst fears subsided, at least temporarily. Despite the iron will of Heathen in one of his very first matches, Showtime’s determination to hang onto the PWA World Title supercedes his exhaustion and agony, both of which overcoming his body like a plague. Despite his arm rising from the canvas in defiance of the elementary pinfall, the rest of his body remains lifeless and limp, sinking into the canvas as though he were submitting to the power of quicksand. Johnny: Can you believe this? Showtime just barely got up from that move! There is no way that just happened! Donny: It did…by God, it definitely did. I am actually stunned, and impressed by Showtime. For once, he has actually done something that impressed me. Unfortunately for him, Heathen appears to be quite angry, and it looks like that anger is going to come falling down on Showtime. Too bad he’ll lose the title anyway, HA! Donny is right. Heathen’s worst fears have been brought to reality. The actuality of this situation angers him and surprises him more than any other instance in any matches he has yet to compete in. Fury consumes his body to such an aggravating level that he is almost mindlessly driven to argue the count with the official. The arguing will do him no good in the end, as the count is final and there is no going back to recount. Although Heathen resembles Al Gore in these arguments, he is unable to achieve the recount which the presidential candidate was given. Instead, he is only fed a feast of angry words of retribution and retaliation spewing from the remorseless lips of the referee. He cannot believe what he is experiencing. The count should have been basic, one-two-three…no one should be able to recover from the devastating effects of that maneuver. Still, Showtime was barely able to remove his arm from the canvas, just inches before the final stroke reached the canvas. Still, Heathen argues the point with the official, to no avail. The rippling pain of The Impaled Angel still possesses his body, paralyzing his every appendage to a point of limited or completely restricted movement. After the argument with the official has been lost, Heathen finds himself approaching the fallen corpse of the Iconic Legend once again, now forced to continue the fight. The expression on his face can only be described as one of unadulterated anger, but the shock he experiences as a result of his failed finishing maneuver actually brings him a certain heightened level of respect for his superior. Bending quickly to grab hold of the throbbing skull of the Bostonian, Heathen entrenches his arms firmly around the neck and cranium of the World Champion. From here, Heathen’s body acts as a crane for the 280-pound frame of the lifeless veteran, who remains limp and motionless even as he is carried to an upright stance by his aggressor. The eyes of the Iconic Legend are glazed over, but still burn with the fiery passion for victory, the fire which has yet to leave his eyes since the very moment he stepped into the ring with Bman for his very first match for the World Title less than a month ago. The passion which burns within him somehow sparks a dynastic explosion of energy and fury within. The malcontent which he feels for his foe is inexplicable by any means other than those which he uses. The fists of fury immediately begin to fly from the arms of the Iconic Legend, as Punch after punch is planted firmly into the abdomen and midsection of his aggressor. The fans begin to come to life once again, as there still appears to be a flicker of hope for the Boston Bad-Ass in what was seemingly a hopeless situation just a mere few moments ago. Fists continue to fly, one after another, the series of these punches causing a slight slouch in the formerly perfect posture of the newcomer. Slowly but surely, Showtime’s movements become livelier as a rejuvenating sense of optimism fills his soul. Despite the hope which lingers within, he is still overcome by the anger and aggressive tendencies he feels toward the challenger for his title of prestige. He is a mindless automaton of aggression and offense, the tactics failing to exceed mere striking blows for the moment. A change-up appears in order, as to throw Heathen out of rhythm and to completely confuse and otherwise baffle the newfound talent. A series of Knees to the midsection come flying from his legs, driving one after another into the midsection of his foe, acting as a continuation to the nauseating pain which Showtime has been imposing on the gut of his foe since the very get-go. As these knees continue to drive one after another into his gut, Heathen begins to lose his retention of oxygen, now experiencing woozy feelings as though he may lose consciousness. The Bionic Bostonian seems almost unrealistic in the bountiful energy he portrays, having just fallen victim to a severely devastating finishing maneuver. Still, he is able to throw some much-needed offense at his challenger, temporarily setting off the equilibrium which he had once possessed. His muscles flex and tighten with each blow to the torso. The tights upon his legs nearly rip under the pressure of the large thighs on his legs. |
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| Showtime | Mar 19 2006, 10:55 PM Post #8 |
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PWA Addict
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The knees to the midsection of Johnny Heathen soon grow redundant for the Iconic Legend, longing for new fashions to his trends of pain. Now, he hooks the head of his foe underneath his own arm for what would appear to be an attempted DDT. However, Johnny Heathen pushes Showtime off of his own body, however, launching him backwards into the ropes behind him. Showtime staggers backwards clumsily, his back crushing the ropes behind him, which subsequently caues him to ricochet back toward Heathen, who waits for him with an extended leg which delivers a solid Boot to the midsection, causing Showtime to double over in pain. The air rushes from his lungs, as Heathen quickly grabs hold of Showtime's arm and delivers the horrific Tiger Suplex throwing it's pain around the neck of the Iconic Legend. Showtime crashes to the canvas as Heathen quickly goes for the cover... One... Two... KICKOUT!!! Just barely, Showtime throws his arm from the canvas and releases himself from the clutches of defeat. Heathen stares about in shock, but quickly lifts the Iconic Legend to his feet. Drilling a harsh Boot to the midsection, Heathen is once again able to set up another devastating maneuver. Once again he hooks the arm, elevating Showtime into the air and dropping him viciously to the canvas with a Wristclutch Exploder Suplex, driving Showtime's neck horrifically into the canvas. The fans jerk a gasp of fear at the sight of the gastly maneuver. Quickly, Heathen seizes the opportunity to capitalize and makes the quick cover, knowing that from here the count is elementary. One... Two... THREE!!! *DING DING DING* The fans look on in shock of the events taking place before their eyes. The better man has come out on top this evening, much to their displeasure a man whom Showtime should have gone through with relative ease. Ring Announcer: Here is your winner, and the new World Champion, Johnny Heathen!!! Quickly, the official hands him the World Title. Heathen rises from the canvas and lifts the heavy strap over his head gloriously, the boos from the arena resonating with the infinite displeasure of the fans of PWA. This signals a bad omen for the career of the Iconic Legend, with such a short reign as the World Champion possibly acting as a burden on his mentality. Still, Heathen celebrates, despite the boos which resonate within the arena. He soaks in the hatred and contempt as he celebrats in the ring, walking out as Showtime holds his neck in pain, staring at the devilish character walking up the ramp with the World Title, as PWA's Insanity goes off the air. *OOC:* Although I'll honestly say I disagree with how you went about it, I congratulate you on winning. I'll see you next week. |
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ND SO IT BEGINS. Unquestionably, it is the biggest night in Johnny Heathen’s career; quite possibly in his entire life. For Showtime, however, things are looking to be just a routine title defense. The accoladed superstar loosens up in the corner adjacent “The Mortician”, prepping his muscles for battle. Thousands of flashbulbs ignite across the vast arena, filling the crowd’s ranks with a stellar meteor shower, all of them hoping to preserve Showtime’s acts on film (or, possibly, on a JPEG) for the rest of eternity. It goes without saying that absolutely none of these flashes goes off in attempt to capture Johnny Heathen on film. He’s just fodder for the machine…
T WAS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE A ROUTINE DEFENSE. A no-name kid being fed mercilessly to the cream of the crop. It would be just another minor skirmish, forgotten entirely by the time the next edition of PWA television rolls around. Yet, now this simple, controlled situation has escalated from small-time main event to a small-war. The sight of this inexperienced grappler holding the upper hand over their beloved champion is a shock to every fan, whether they sit in the arena or upon their couch at home. Showtime isn’t supposed to lose to Johnny Heathen! The match should have ended five minutes ago! It was just supposed to be a routine defense… Could it lead to a new champion? It’s definitely too early to make predictions, but as each second passes, it looks more and more plausible…
9:53 AM Jul 11