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| Showtime vs. Tom Tyco; MAIN EVENT | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 3 2006, 02:01 PM (164 Views) | |
| Thomas Driver | Apr 3 2006, 02:01 PM Post #1 |
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Head Trainer of PWA Academy
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Non-Title Match Showtime vs. Tom Tyco Singles Match Deadline: Saturday 7pm EST |
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| Tom Tyco | Apr 3 2006, 02:10 PM Post #2 |
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PWA Immortal
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Out of Intro: We're both much more improved since our classic Pojocade match. Let make this the best match ever. Good luck. In Intro ... 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. As he reliquishes himself to vertical base, his entrance music fades away. The prolific Hardcore Legend stands amongst ropes in a moment's silence while awaiting his opponent. He cocks his head and shrugs his shoulders to warm up. Alas, the time has come. Silence drains. |
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| Showtime | Apr 5 2006, 11:25 AM Post #3 |
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PWA Addict
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Tom Tyco continues to stand in the ring, awaiting the arrival of the Iconic Legend. His face exemplifies his nickname, the Gargoyle, completely stone-like and intimidating, fierce in expression yet calm in presentation. As the lights go out over him, blanketing him and the rest of the arena in a sheet of darkness, he remains stolid in his stance, staring at the entrance ramp, even as the high-pitched guitar intro of "Sweet Child o' Mine" begins to play over the soundsystem, the ecclectic guitar solo intro of Slash playing fervently over the loudspeakers. The fans burst into cheers for the Iconic Legend, who stands on the stage, and is shortly thereafter lit up from underneath solely by lime green lighting as he walks, creating a lime green silhouette of the larger-than-life World Champion as he approaches the ring. He stares into the ring as he begins to walk speedily, an expression of fierce determination upon his face, marching with a steady pace. She's got a smile, that it seems to me, Reminds me of childhood memories, Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky. Now and then, when I see her face, It takes me away to that special place, And if I stared too long, I'd prob'ly break down and cry. Oh, sweet child o' mine! Oh, sweet love of mine! Ring Announcer: And his opponent, weighing in at 280 pounds, the PWA World Champion, SHOWTIME!!! The fans pop at this sound, the announcement of the Iconic Legend's name a cookery of immediate response. A look of angered determination fills his eyes and his face, his cheeks and eyes pointing forward like daggers in his furious intent. He marches to the ring, with an eerie rhythm in his steps. The quick tempo of his walk causes him to reach the ring in a hurry. He turns the corner, walking up the steps with determination. He walks into the ring, stepping hurriedly thorugh the middle ropes. He walks across the ring with steadfast will power to overcome the man who defeated him just a few days ago. The stands erupt as he steps onto the second turnbuckle of the farthest corner. Raising his arms triumphantly, he calls to them with a voice that falls inaudible underneath the roar of the stands, who shout in approval of the legendary wrestler. Raising two middle fingers into the air, he is emblazened with the energy and determination of four men, and it is likely that he will need every last ounce of energy and determination he can muster up to defeat Tom Tyco, a man he was almost unable to defeat over a year ago at Pojocade III. She's got eyes of the bluest skies, As if they thought of rain. I'd hate to look into those eyes, And see an ounce of pain. Her hair reminds me of a warm, safe place, Where as a child I'd lie, And pray for the thunder and the rain, To quietly pass me by. Oh, sweet child o' mine! Oh, sweet love of mine! He repeats this process in the remaining three turnbuckles, soon stepping down and stretching himself as he awaits the ring of the bell. *DING DING DING* *OOC:* Good luck, man. Let's make this as good as the last one, maybe better? |
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| Showtime | Apr 6 2006, 12:04 AM Post #4 |
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PWA Addict
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The two superstars are no strangers to one another; they are familiar with each other’s style, having encountered one another in their legendary Television Title match at Pojocade III. This familiarity is striking, in that it causes both men to measure one another up just as a re-acquaintance with their opponent. The history between these two runs deep, and although it has subsided for well over a year now, the hatred can still be felt, albeit mildly. This hatred nearly throws the courageous and heroic competitors off their focus, making them want to dig right into the sack of meat across the ring. Instead, they choose to play a strategic game. Victory burns their souls, solidifying and magnifying their determination in this second encounter between the two legendary competitors. The raucous and pounding noise of the fans does not serve to distract either veteran, instead motivating them to put forth a 100% effort in tonight’s gruesome battle if only to put on another good show. Unleashing their anger, the two men lunge into the center of the ring, engaging in a collar and elbow tie-up. They jerk back and forth, exchanging the upper hand intermittently, their struggle indicative of the equality between them in strength. Their faces wince in their stupendous effort, exceeding anything they previously thought possible. With one quick flip, the Iconic Legend escapes the tie-up, and throws his arm toward the skull of his adversary, aiming precisely upon the nose. Biting down hard on his lips in concentration and aim, Showtime unleashes a devastating Elbow Strike to the face of his rival, causing his head to snap back. The collision between the two men causes a loud smack to echo through the arena, causing many of the fans to cringe in disgust of the malicious blow. Tom Tyco fails to maintain composure as he staggers backwards momentarily, the fierce momentum of the elbow too much for him to handle. Quickly, he regains his footing, shaking the cobwebs out from the hard shot. Stalking his prey ever so sneakily, Showtime moves in on his target, scoping out the Hardcore Legend for height and width measurements. One calculation he doesn’t take into account is the retaliation factor; Tyco is not completely helpless so early on in the game, and is as determined as ever to prove himself against Showtime, especially now that he bears the greatest and most prestigious piece of gold in PWA. This determination to prove his worthiness drives him to fight back, retaliating valiantly against the Intimidator. The vicious Right Hooks to the face are unleashed at a rip-roaring velocity, nearly tearing Showtime’s jaw from the rest of his skull. His furious expression of anger is indicative of his emotions toward the Iconic Legend. The fire in his eyes burns deep and wild with loathing for his opponent, a man whom Tyco has yet to gain a victory over, all the more reason to unload the flurry of fists on his foe. As the vicious strikes continually connect, Showtime recurrently staggers backwards, eventually landing himself a back row seat in the ropes, unexpectedly running into the strips of nylon as Tyco continues to back him down. The constant pressure of the offensive tactics of his foe would be enough to discourage any competitor, causing them to submit to the will of the aggressor. Showtime is no average competitor, as he has proven recently. The desire to rebuild his reputation after the loss to Johnny Heathen is enough to overpower the devastating strikes by his enemy, Tom Tyco. Almost subconsciously fighting the dominance of his challenger, the Bostonian’s newly tattooed left arm blocks a hard right, much to the shock and dismay of the former Tag Team Champion, whose shock paralyzes him momentarily, just long enough for the World Champion to capitalize on the opening, quickly entwining the right arm of his nemesis in a locked position, bringing him hastily to the mat with an Arm Bar, leaving him on the canvas in pain, biting down hard on his own tongue to prevent him from screaming. While trying to distract himself from the impeding pain, he searches desperately for an escape to this constraining maneuver. His quest for solace and salvation leads him to the near-by ropes. He contemplates reaching out to them, for the easy escape. However, his history is as much more of a gallant competitor. Thus, he rapidly rotates his head, causing his blond hair to shake and stir in the process, unleashing a negligible amount of the sweat on his mop-like hair onto the body of his aggressor. After a minimal amount of maneuvering, the Hardcore Legend makes maneuvers mandatory to the manifestation of his escape. He quickly finds his way back to his feet, shaking out the cobwebs and the pain with ease, staring at the Iconic Legend once again, ready for action. Following a brief hiccup in the action and intensity within the ring, the fans erupt into cheers at the chain wrestling having just taken place, the exchange which proved both men as viable competitors. Johnny: We hardly eve see Showtime do anything remotely resembling a technical maneuver. This is a rarity that he even executed the Arm Bar, and it’s no wonder he wasn’t able to maintain it; he probably hasn’t had any real practice on that move in months. Donny: Well maybe if he tried switching it up every once in awhile, he wouldn’t be so easy to figure out and would already have practice in different fighting styles. The two continue to stare down, the hatred and spite between them from Pojocade still simmering at a low heat. They circle the ring, measuring one another up for a second time, making quick juts toward the center of the ring in their attempt to throw their opponent out of synch and rhythm, causing them to jump the gun. This tactic of trickery accomplishes nothing for either competitor, and both succumb to the inevitability of the sequence of events which would lead them to yet another collar and elbow tie-up. Once again, they vie for leverage, striving with all of their might to overpower the opposing gladiator. This time, Tyco finds himself with the upper hand, exploiting this opportunity as his arms clench around the neck and skull of the Bionic Bostonian, taking a page out of Johnny Heathen’s book as he locks him in a Standing Side Headlock, the intensity of which causes the skull of his foe to throb in pain. The black sweaty hairs of Showtime leave thick puddles of sweaty residue upon the forearm and elbow of the executor. Leaning in sporadically, the former Hardcore Champion continues to increase the pressure on the hold, exponentially amplifying the agony experienced by his antagonist for the evening. As he leans in each time, his boots dig into the canvas deeper than before, planting themselves in the canvas, treating the mat as the soil for the growth and strengthening of the tree trunks. His eyes tighten as he intensifies the tension of the hold. The referee investigates the situation, which does not change under his supervision, but is still found to be a completely legitimate and legal hold, free of any illegality which would result from it possibly being a choke hold. The zebra-striped referee can’t put a stop on this maneuver. Meanwhile, Showtime is nearly driven to one knee underneath the harmful leverage obtained by his opponent. Still, the valiant gladiator refuses to submit to the demands of his foe. In one last bout of rage, Showtime shoves his physically smaller opponent toward the opposite ropes, relinquishing the vice grip applied through the Standing Side Headlock. From here, Tom Tyco’s boots slam against the canvas with the same tree-trunk characteristics they possessed just moments ago, nearly registering on the Richter scale with each step. He lands against the ropes, rebounding off of them in their elasticity, bouncing back toward the Bionic Bostonian at full speed. Attempting a Clothesline as a playful attempt at offense, Showtime affords Tyco an easy opportunity to duck, allowing him to think he has escaped. To assume that this is not part of the Iconic Legend’s strategy would be foolish of anyone, especially someone who sees Showtime fight on a weekly basis. In fact, just by the smirk on the face of the Boston Bad-Ass, anyone could easily tell that his thought process was two steps ahead of that of his opponent. This is quite easily proven, when Showtime greets the aspiring youngster with a Spinning Spinebuster instantaneously upon his return, slinging his back ferociously against the canvas. Jolts of electric pain shoot up and down the back of Tyco, disabling his ability to move for a few short moments. Following the maneuver, the Bostonian remains on his knees, wide eyes panning across the stands loaded with fans from all walks of life. He peruses the stands, seeing many fans supporting him, and many fans booing him against the heroic Tom Tyco. Showtime soaks in the gratitude and support, neglecting the feeble amounts of spite and hatred as they may be sent at him. *OOC:* A bit longer than I had expected. Sorry man. Hopefully this isn't too long...I know you said any word count would be fine, but I told you 1,200 and this is a bit more. =/ sryz bro |
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| Tom Tyco | Apr 6 2006, 04:36 PM Post #5 |
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PWA Immortal
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Amid a hostile ring stands the champion, stern and relaxed. It is quite interesting seeing as how much of the hatred and anger emmited from the stands is based towards him. Yet, he dares not fall victim to their vulgar words. Instead, his find of full of strategy. One can catch glimpse of him starring at his fallen nemesis, attempting to think of the best way to dismantle him so early in the match. Alas, he struts towards the location of the fallen opponent. As his steps numberize, the viciousness of the crowds pick up in intensity. His stare and expression plainly remain the same. For Tom Tyco is more than just another opponent to the champion. Their history brings a certain concentration to not only Showtime, but Mr. Tyco himself. So much as to tune out anything else from their minds except the want to make the opponent bleed, suffer. Arrival; Showtime lets his foot do the talking as his drives it harshly into his rival's chest plate. From his laid out and erect state, the so called "Man-Beast" squirms like a warm, ultimately poising himself into fetal position. An even greater decibal of "boo's" emerges from angry spectators; Showtime merely repeats the maneuver. The second time it is connected, Mr. Tyco rolls back into his sprawled out stature as though gravity has gotten ahold of all of his appendages and body, except the right arm that carefully supports his infected sternum. Obviously the champion has yet to think of his "master plan" since all he seems to be doing is altercating the same move consecutively. A third Angry Stomp infiltrates Tom's upper body; but there's something special about this stamp. It was at the same mach and connected in the same place as the other two true, but it fails not to restract from the victim's body. Not by choice either, for the knieving "Gargoyle" has grasped the foot of the champion and is holding onto it for dear life! His tendons and legiments of his upper appendages work together to hold the foot in place as they are wrapped around the champion's whole ankle. Showtime vigoriously shakes his foot in a hopeful attempt to shake it loose. Gradually, the "Hardcore Legend" starts to come to with his body, elevating himself away from the ground ever so slightly. All Showtime can do is hobble about on one foot for his leg is too long to ever consider reaching his opponent. Tom altercates his body onto a one knee formation with the foot firmly in his grasp. The champion's one foot hop "dance" evolves into a struggle to keep his other ankle from breaking. The challenger jerks the held appendage as though attempting to screw it off like a lid. Without a choice, Showtime follows the altercation thus making him revolve in the atmosphere; his control becomes minimal thus causing him to pummel into the canvas with flail. The very moment of earth shattering impact, the ongoing spectators create a powerful roar of their own; a cheer in fact. Although the combatants care only about the well-being of one another, the ecstatic yelling seems to help Mr. Tyco. For the challenger is quick to rally on his feet and strikes a pose to let the people knows their voices are being absorbed into him. One can see he's come back to life all over again by the way he walks. Gradually, Tom inches towards the so called "Mr. Insanity" as though his next altercation or two were painted in his mind. Without hesitation, the challenger crumbles to his knees and grabs hold of the fallen icon's right arm. He fully extends the appendage and lays it out. Tactically, his steps on the palm of the arm as to keep it in place and articulates himself back to his original vertical base. A sly smirk floods the lower protion of his face as though he's about to do something mischievous. Indeed he does. The Man-Beast hops towards the atmosphere only to have gravity pull him back in after a mere one foot vertical leap. Where he lands however, is where the focal point is to be; all 267 pounds of Tom Tyco softly crush Showtime's forearm. At first, Showtime just laid there in all his innocence, unaware of what had happened, but after a moment to let the pain sink in, the champion was more than ecstatic. In place, the Boston Badass hobbled end over end, mercifully screaming, clutching the tattered arm with his other for dear life. One must wonder if the bone broke from the incredible amount of energy Showtime is displaying in his writhe. At the same time, the cheering section is phenomenal with a praise to inflate Mr. Tyco's ego. The challenger shows his gratitude by pointing towards each side of the arena and shaking his head in approval. Johnny: Can you believe this Donny? Tom Tyco just jumped onto Showtime's forearm! How cruel! And listen to the fans ... they like it! Donny: When you have a man who's champion over and over again, how could you not like the fact that an outsider, if you will, is taking it to the man? At this point, the champion is set up in quite an awkward way; face resting on the canvas whilst bottom side is pointed high into the air. His face is nothing but a roan-red colored mess. The dark follicles on his head radiate a shine from the lights via the beads of sweat that submerge each strand. Eyes of dark can no longer be seen, but the anguish in his tightly clasped eye-lids and gritted enamal of his teeth can. The poise he is in is more of a shelter than anything for his body acts like a roof over the torn appendage for the time being. Across from this "slain" champion stands the towering "Man-beast" Tom Tyco, moving ever so closer to his prey. It seems he is taking a break from his new companions, the fans, so as to potentially end his foe's reign once and for all. He arrives with his right foot ready for apparent use. An echoing "smack" slightly stings the venue; that of leather slapping flesh. Although the altercation could barely be heard, it was powerful enough for Showtime to lose his stature and rest in fetal position. The champion remains holding his arm however thus proving how much more pain is running through it than his spine. Simply, Mr. Tyco peels the hesitant Showtime from the canvas and stands him up to his vertical maximum. Mr. Insanity jukes from side to side but albeit's his abilty to stand correctly. Instead, the warrior opposite of him helps out his staggering stance by kicking him in the abdomen, and then proceeding to lock his head under his right arm. A slight moan exploits itself from the champion as he falls forth. Both beings fall to the canvas, but it is Showtime who receives the worst of it; his head violently bounces off the cruel den floor via DDT. The impact became so harsh, the champion, the sport's top fighter, looked like nothing more than a mere ragdoll as he ultimatly came to rest on his vertebrate. It is not so much his fault for the move is a harsh one at that. None the less, Mr. Tyco lurches himself atop the champion thus causing the official slide onto his knees and elevate his hand. His hand glides to the canvas and slaps it as he harshfully calls a "One." Showtime's wretched arm is no longer in comfort for the throbbing wonder lays by itself. It clearly isn't broken after all. A raspy "two" floods the general area. A gaze upon the Intimidator's face reviels how still his thoughts may be, as though his conscious has been knocked out of him. The skins of his eye-lids flutter ever so lightly. Is this the end? Alas, the official's hand slithers down through the air, connecting with the canvas infact! He calls out the match ending "Three." It has happened, Tom Tyco has defeated Showtime. Johnny: I can't believe this Donny! Tom Tyco has just pinned the champ! You heard the three, you saw it! Donny: Uh Johnny ... you may want to look again. With Donny's words said, a camera swivels to the competitors, capturing a close up view of the hunched bodies. The official has called three, but he has yet to signify for the time-keeper to ring his bell. He seems to be making an on the spot decision as to what should be done. Why? Showtime's shoulder is hung over the canvas! Official Kirk Fitspatrick scratches his head for a second before alas making his decision known; he holds up two fingers! Furious, Mr. Tyco pulls himself onto his heals and confronts the pin stripped judge. His face explains the whole story; frustration, anger, and a hint of being disheartened. Mr. Tyco's lips express vulgar words, but the official takes them as a grain of salt and refuses to reverse his decision. For several minutes the two stubborn defendants bicker. It seemed that this fight within a fight would be the closing moments of what was supposed to be a prolific contest, that was until a mediator factored in and made both of their decisions for them; Showtime. The screaming contest gave the champion all the time he needed to recooperate well enough to sneak a School Boy Pin on Mr. Tyco! Without any sense of what has just happened screaming on his face, Tom writhes in place whilst the official counts, and fast! "One," "Two," "Thre..." a nearly perfect three, foiled be the pinnee; the one, "Hardcore Legend," writhes out of the hold! Showtime merely slaps the canvas in frustration and jockeys himself back to vertical terms. Tyco as well, nearly in unison, arrives at ground level. The two warriors battle each other in what could be described as the most intense moment of the match yet. Flashbulbs capture the two icons in their eerie gaze as to capture the moment forever; perhaps as a thing of beauty. Their lips slightly curl, both men seem to snarl. The Gargoyle's attention has returned to the champion in full. One can only expect a hectic showdown to ensue; indeed it starts. In unison, the icons step towards each other until they are literally face to face. This has turned into a staring contest; the first to blink loses the upperhand. Indeed one does blink and he pays, hard. A left fist drives cleverly into Mr. Tyco's blinking mandible. His entire head jukes to the left, but it fails to stops him from striking back with a right hook of his own. The connection writhes Showtime's head to and the from. He cocks his head back into place. For a mere final moment, the two stare angerly, piercing holes into one another's souls. Hell break's lose; they pivot themselves in brawling their own brawling formations and begin to pummel away at one another. Mr. Insanity's arm may be devistated to the core, but he gives it all he's got. With a match of flying fists taking part in center ring, who will ultimately prevail and potentially win this match? Stay Tuned. Out of RP: I didn't mean to make it longer than yours Showtime. I'll make up for it next RP with a slightly shorter one than your next one, promise. |
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| Showtime | Apr 7 2006, 09:20 PM Post #6 |
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PWA Addict
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In a meteoric shower of punches exchanged between the two titans, their fists take on the shape of comets striking down upon the faces of their enemy. The two wrestlers stand center stage, directly in the middle of the squared circle, getting it on before an arena full of They stagger on their feet as they throw each savage Right Hook. The large muscles on the legs of the Iconic Legend can be seen flexing, maximally stretching the tights which hug close to his leg. Showtime looks down at his nemesis by a slight bit, his blue eyes tracing a downward line through his opponent’s eyes like daggers through a heart. Still, the Gargoyle’s stoic stares with simultaneous sanity and insanity filling his pupils and retinas. Despite the injury done to his right appendage, the four-time World Champion continues to lay into his foe with fierce ferocity. Tyco’s cheeks swell slightly, as the rocket launching fists of the Boston Bad-Ass continue to strike into his face; however, Tyco is not without his own damage doing ways, slugging away maliciously at the chiseled jaw of the World Champion, a location which suffers slight swelling and bruising. With their knees bent in weakness, the two stand firm before each other as they continue to trade blows like baseball cards. Thrusting his body into each hard shot, every muscle on Tyco’s torso rips to its fullest extent, while the same cannot be said for Showtime, whose weakness in his arm begins to slowly creep up on him, dulling the sharp tip of each punch. As time wears on, the Hardcore Legend is able to gain the advantage as a flurry of fists flies furiously at the face of his foe. Showtime’s stability tapers, wavering as he attempts miserably to regain and retain a sense of equilibrium. Overpowered by the stream of punches, he staggers in reverse, backing up like a U-Haul truck into a garage. The bodies of the two gladiators sharply contrast each other. On the one hand, we have Showtime, limp and erratic in his movements, completely lacking energy, slouching with the perfect posture of a hunchback; then, there’s the former Hardcore Champion, who stands firm and tall, wailing upon the Iconic Legend with merciless punches from above, standing perfectly erect and almost rigidly after regaining some of his energy. After a seemingly endless stream of these rebel-rousing punches, Tyco finds himself in a position of power, immediately pouncing on his Pojocade III opponent as he wraps his fingers tight around the middle rope, driving sharp Elbow Thrusts into the midsection of his opponent, driving the oxygen from his lungs, folding him in half like an accordion, breaking him down and shoving him deeper into the corner. An expression of maximum anguish dons the face of Showtime, his lips tight with his mouth open wide, allowing oxygen to escape his lungs. With the Hardcore Legend hunched over in front of the stomach of his opponent, one might guess that he was performing surgery, an interesting connotation as Tyco performs hypothetical surgery on his opponent. His indigenous nature beckons him to continue the beat down. With each vicious thrust, Tyco steamrolls into Showtime’s midsection at a rapid rate, his shoulder attracting to his opponent’s gut like a magnet and sticking like glue. Then, he slowly removes his shoulder from the crater which he has created, affording Showtime the room and capacity to breathe, only to be slammed with another Shoulder Thrust in an instant. The ring ropes rattle to the flanking sides of the Iconic Legend, as each thrust creates significant impact between the two individuals, a minor amount of this impact reflexive in the jangling nylon strips. Johnny: Good gawd, Tyco is probably causing internal damage as we speak! Donny: Internal damage…oh, am I supposed to feel sympathy for Showtime? Because I don’t, you know… Neither does Tyco, whose relentless attack persists. Slowly rising from the slouched position, a look of relaxation and relief can be seen to overcome the face of the World Champion, whose innards have just been brutally beaten. The solace is short-lived, and is quickly silenced. Tyco turns around, his arm wrapping itself around the neck of the Iconic Legend as he does so. With his back to his opponent, his eyes glance over at the dormant skull of his foe, his eyes weak as they are glazed over and half-shut, as he passively accepts the series of events which are about to unfold in the form of physical harm. The former Hardcore Champion then causes his foe to flip through the air, landing firmly upon the canvas in a sitting position as a jolting Snap Mare delivers more damage to the neck of the Iconic Legend, an area of specific soreness following last night’s encounter with the Piledriver Pariah. A fierce look of willpower covers the face of the young veteran, his steely determination acting as an exponential motivator to his malicious actions. Quickly, he must conclude upon a follow-up method of attack. To add to the toll, Tyco maintains the lock on the skull of his foe, a firm Headlock applying further affliction and torture to his opponent’s tense and tender neck, also hindering his lung capacity. His strength is utilized to its utmost extent, his biceps bulging as the torque is increased on the Headlock. Showtime’s face winces tight together, his teeth gritting underneath the pressure of Tyco’s vice grip, his face wrinkling as a grimace of agony dons his mug. His legs are stretched out in front of him, clearly exposing the lime green lettering on the side of his trunks which reads “Showtime”. However, the former Television Champion is lucky if he can even see that far in front of him, the blurred vision which coincides with exhaustion starting to grip at his eyeballs as they water from the pain and remain squinted tight in his vast bodily torment. His ripped abdomen and pectoral muscles fold into lumps and bulbous figures which do not serve to flatter and are not indicative of Showtime’s true physical strength, a power which is full and complete. The pressure is continually increased, and subsequently as is the pain on the neck of the Bostonian. On one knee, Tyco continues to add leverage, using a little leverage from the upper body to help him tack on more pressure points. Oddly enough, as the pain and pressure are increased, Showtime’s fighting spirit and desire to succeed also increase. His fists clench at his sides as he begins to flail wildly, his motions resembling a fish out of water. His legs kick like a little kid who hasn’t gotten his way, as he energetically and feebly attempts to escape the Headlock. His tactics eventually amount to something, as he is able to overpower the large and muscular figure of his foe, rising against the imposing leverage and his own physical weakness and exhaustion. Turning slightly, he rises to his feet, slowly but surely, his knees unfolding and becoming increasingly erect as he rises inch by inch from the canvas, fighting valiantly to wrest himself from the Gargoyle’s grasp. Although he is still slightly hunched over, Showtime’s fighting spirit has reached an all-time high, as he refuses to be beaten by a man whom he has defeated before. Still, Tyco maintains the submission, hoping to squeeze out a few last surges of pain, the stinging and throbbing sensation in Showtime’s neck not nearly enough to overcome the sudden spark of gladiator spirit within his soul. His muscular bicep reaches up to the heavens, his fingertips quivering in his excitement and anticipation. They clench a taut fist, the final sign of determination before his arm swings full-force into the abdomen of his foe, the Elbow Thrust serving to loosen the grip of the Headlock still maintained by the determined challenger. With each ensuing Elbow Thrust, the hold is weakened slightly, as Tyco hunches over to help avoid the pain of the Elbow Thrusts. With each strike, the expression on the Gargoyle's face grows slightly wider, his mouth releasing vast quantities of oxygen. A painstaking expression of discomfort covers the mug of the Hardcore Legend, his skin turning pale as a result of the lack of oxygen in his lungs, having the wind repeatedly knocked out of him. There is no escape from this pain, however there appears to be some measure of escape from the neck pain which Showtime experiences. After finally releasing himself from the malevolent grip of his foe, he charges into the ropes parallel to his own body, rebounding off of their elasticity. The air blows by his body, the sweat molecules dripping from every pore, and his arm swings violently at the skull of Tyco. His arm approaches the idle Tyco at an alarming rate. Although stationary, the smaller gladiator is not without energy and life. With the same thought process as his aggressor, Tyco’s arm swings at the Iconic Legend, and the two engage in a Double Clothesline! A sickening smack echoes, and between the forearms and chest and neck regions of each man colliding, it creates one vicious slap. The two men hang in the air momentarily, gravity eventually overcoming their hovering bodies and dragging them to the canvas. As both competitors collapse to the canvas, the crowd creates an ”Ohhh!!!” sound of curious despair, caring for both individuals in this time of crisis. The two limp bodies fall lifelessly, creating a sickening thud against the canvas. The fans now cheer the sight before them, a situation which has been slightly one-sided up to this point. Johnny: Listen to this crowd! What a contest we're witnessing here! Just like at Pojocade, these two men are giving it their all! Donny: Well, screw that noise! Neither of these men are worth our air time. Just get me a beer and put your dress back on, woman! Their chests rise and descend intermittently, indicating that both contenders are still alive. Their eyes sparkle under the bright arena lights, wide open gazing up at them, resembling stars on a clear evening. Their bodies are uniformly lain across the canvas, both evenly and equally spread out. It even appears preemptive. The referee's eyes scan across the ring, perusing the two corpses upon the canvas, investigating their positioning. The official has officiated the match in a fair and impartial manner, and now continues to do his job as, with no other option, he begins the count. One… *OOC:* That’s the last one. Good luck man. |
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| Tom Tyco | Apr 8 2006, 12:23 AM Post #7 |
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PWA Immortal
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Carnage is the best word that can describe the scene; bodies lay flawed with marks scattering about all regions. Not so much as a stir arrises from the spectators for they themselves are unsure of what to make of this latest twist of events. As well, the warriors who have fought their hearts out dare not make so much as a flinch to prove their consciousness still exists. A raspy "two" overtakes a majority of the sound that emmits from the arena. "Three" cleanly defines itself in vulgar manner as it escapes the official's lungs. As each voiced second rounds off, the anticipation for even the slightest of movement amongst the fallen idols intensifies. Who will make the first move if indeed a move is to be made? A question that lingers on the minds of the viewers. A question that quickly answers itself. The Hardcore Legend himself, Tom Tyco, rolls onto his side. His plain blue eyes flicker in and out of view as he blinks with harsh intensions continuously. Obviously he is attempting to regain the daylights that have been knocked out of him. None the less, official Kirk Fitzpatrick utters a much quieter "Four." Cocking his head back and forth, the Man-beast alas comes to. He proves it by locking his neck as to point his face in his adversary's general direction. With a quivering shake posesses his entire left arm, the challenger reaches forth thus rolling him ever closer towards the champion. Much like a combat soldier, Tom finds a rhythm in his articulations pull his body along the canvas in a sort of crawl. As expected, he picks up speed as he trollies along, that is until his detination is at last reached. At this point, the official screams a lung blowing "Five" and PWA's top champion has yet to even bat an eye. His chest heaves ever so slightly as to give the illusion that perhaps he is amongst the non-living. With one final trudge left in his combat styled charge, Mr. Tyco pulls the champion's body so as his spine is grasped by the canvas. He then slithers onto the cadeaver and falls limp. The official's near "Six" call immidiately evolves into a stern "One!" as his hand vigoriously taps the ring's surface. This number of course varifying that Tyco has the Boston Bad-ass in a pin. Without fail, a simple "Two!" is shouted with the sound of a hand yet again greeting the den's floor. There is but a one count away from a potential upset. One can foresee Showtime failing to resist his horizontal poise for it is not so hard believe that Tom Tyco could beat the champion with the display shown in tonight's main event. As well, Showtime's life has yet to become present again. It is the end; the referee taps the mat a final time. But for the second time in this match, it seems he is tongue-tied. He has shown no action to have the ring bell be rung nor has he voiced an official "two count." For once more, out of the deep depths of his non-vital soul, Showtime has thrusted his shoulder from the ring canvas; he has kicked out. The transaction is something of beauty and at the same time a mark of disgust. Not a one has a word to say. The arena is quiet, the commentators are even quiet. Alas, the official makes his decision; two right fingers shoot towards the atmosphere. Tom takes a look at the elevated arm. A gastly grin paints his mandible, and so much as a chuckle pushes from his tattered corpse. He gently rolls off the champion, laughing. Amongst the shining blonde follicles of his head sits his palm, brushing them softly. His other palm firmly rests on his abdomen as to push his laugh harder. It seems this unorthodox motion has lifted the silence from the venue for the PWA famed Johnny and Donny speak at last. Johnny: What is this? Why is Tom laughing? What is so funny?! Donny: Maybe it's the dumbfounded look on your face when Showtime kicked out. I think maybe the champion was saving his energy though, look at him start to get up! Although Tom can only lay amid center stage in an entanglement of his own limbs and laugh mercifully, Showtime seems he can prove himself to do one better. He sits with his vertebrate erect and his massave arms supporting him. A quick shake of the head relieves some of the oils from his dark strips of hair. In stride, he pulls himself onto the basis of his feet, staggering at first to keep steady. Noticibly, Mr. Tyco's laugh has diminished into the shadow of his rival that overlaps him. It seems the champion is going to have the last laugh now as both men's expressions trade with one another. With confiedence and pride now tucked away in his back pocket, "Mr. Insanity" can at last live up to his name; he peels the roadkill that is the "Man-beast" from the nylon canvas. All the challenger can do is hobble about like a bumbling idiot whilst he attempts to find his step. Unfortunally, his stance is short lived and his body becomes engulfed by Showtime's upper appendages and is elevated from the gravity's pull. From a distance, one can see the challenger hanging slight high in the intertwining ligiments the crush his body. A heart wrenching "Yelp" escapes from the pit of his squirming body; the champion sadistically grins for his Bearhug has become the maneuver he was looking for. Louder Tom's voice growls, full of anguish and defeat, but constant screaming can get to even the PWA champion thus causing him to seize his devistating hold. Mr. Tyco crumbles to the canvas ultimately sitting on his knees and panting heavily. He can barely lift his head up to view the champion's face, that's how miserable of a state his is in. He bobs left and right without any sort of defense to become his saving grace. It is then that Showtime plants his right boot into the sternum of the sloutching fool thus poising him onto his spine. It seems the end is near for the hopeful champion slayer as he lays on the canvas, sprawled much like a ragdoll. With Showtime in total control of this match, will he sucessfully defeat one of his greatest of nemesis' a second time? Stay tuned. Out of RP: About 100 or so words less than you overall Showtime, but it's close enough to make the decision on our talents I believe :). Best of luck man, I had a blast facing off against you again. |
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| Thomas Driver | Apr 9 2006, 09:49 PM Post #8 |
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Head Trainer of PWA Academy
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Showtime appears to have his first major victory as champion only moments away, but something doesn’t feel right. Instead of his captive becoming numb from the life being pressed out of him, Tom Tyco seems invigorated. He pulls his arm back, thrusting it forward at a high velocity before smashing his fist into the maw of the Iconic Legend. The spectators watch their hero stumble backwards, but the athlete maintains the hold even after another hard blow from his opponent’s knuckles. It takes a third strike to finally subdue the Boston Bad-Ass, who releases his foe and tries to regain lost momentum with a stern boot to the stomach. His old rival leans over, finding his arms hooked in a familiar position as his anatomy is lifted off the canvas and on the shoulders of the newly crowned champion. Just when he prepares to slam the flailing competitor into the mat, he feels the warrior slide off and stalk him from behind. Showtime turns around to fall victim to an identical kick to his sternum, knocking him back and forcing his chest to force out oxygen as he slumps down. Johnny: Tom Tyco just dodged the Cliff Hanger and it looks like he’s setting up for his own finisher. Donny: It looks like Showtime’s winning streak goes to hell whenever he gets that belt. Everyone expects Showtime to simply back away, avoiding all pain and delivering those two finishing maneuvers that have done their job so many times before. This was an exception to those times, as Tom Tyco hooks the leg of the World Heavyweight Champion, pulling it towards the stomach of the enslaved brawler before twisting the two around. The two men crash into the canvas, the effects of The Driven enough to incapacitate the champion long enough for a pinfall. 1... 2... 3!!! Ring Announcer: Here is your winner via pinfall…TOM TURNER TYCO!!! Crossfade’s “So Far Away” begins to blast throughout the arena, fans who weren’t in their seats clogging the exits due to the sounds of the victor’s theme. They look on as Tom Tyco struggles to stand, his hand raised to signify his win against the World Champion only one month after he had returned to the Pojo Wrestling Alliance. He rolls out of the ring, walking up the entrance ramp with newfound confidence as Showtime recovers to look at the man that just beat him. This is the last scene of the evening, the commentators shouting out their finals thoughts and thank yous to the fans at home when the PWA logo flashes across the scene. The finale to chapter one of the story that will be Three Hours of Power is complete and there’s only more shockers to come. |
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9:53 AM Jul 11