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Blake Frost vs. La Sombra
Topic Started: Apr 22 2007, 10:39 PM (175 Views)
Vegeta
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La Sombra
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[The arena is left in darkness as the crowd lays silent for the much anticipated return of La Sombra. The Mexican flag emerges, flapping, on the PWAtron as the arena is engulfed in rhythmical Green, White, and Red strobe lights. The methodical, acoustic riffs of “Fruta Fresca” by the Carlos Vives, blasts over the loudspeakers!]

Announcer: Making his way to the arena at this time, “The Latin Prince”! A Former Hardcore Champion and former Tag Team Champion… He hails from just south of the border in Guerrero, Mexico by way of Mexico City, Mexicoooooooo…

Ese beso de tu boca
que me sabe a fruta fresca
que se escapo de tus labios
y se metio en mi cabeza
ese beso con que sueño
cuando las penas me acechan
que me lleva al mismo cielo
y a la tierra me regresa
que reza, reza, que reza
y aunque ya no tengas duda
que el recuerdo de sus besos
me lleve hasta la locura


[The riffs hasten as the strobe follows suit along side the beat.]

Announcer: He weighed in at a humbled two hundred and twelve pounds, and a timid Six feet and one inch tall! He made his professional debut at the youthful age of thirteen years old and made his American debut just four years ago. He proclaims to be the standard of Wrestling today…

si,si,si que este amor es tan profundo
que tu eres mi consentida
y que lo sepa todo el mundo

si,si,si que este amor es tan profundo
que tu eres mi consentida
y que lo sepa todo el mundo


[The beats return to it’s methodical tone as the strobes cut leaving the fans once again in total darkness. Spotlights illuminate the entrance way as Green, White, and Red smoke shoot up from the ramp...]

Announcer: He is the “The Mexican Maniac”, “The Man With Out Fear”, “Latino Fury Alive”…

que tu eres mi consentida
la niñita de mis ojos
la que me endulza la vida
la que calma mis enojos
la que se pone mas linda
cuando la llevo a una fiesta
esa que siempre en mi cama
con los angeles se acuesta



[The crowd explodes as the mask laden Superstar emerges from the entrance way; stepping out in front of the smoke . His head sways from side to side in cohesion with the music, cascading waves of water from his golden lockes from left to right. With glistening tights adorning the colors of the Mexican flag, metallic shin guards, black boots, and grey knee pads and wrist tape he slowly begins to raise his arms..]

si,si,si que este amor es tan profundo
que tu eres mi consentida
y que lo sepa todo el mundo

si,si,si que este amor es tan profundo
que tu eres mi consentida
y que lo sepa todo el mundo


Announcer: He is Laaaaaaaa Sooooooooooobrrraaaaaaaaa!

Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffftttt

[Suddenly his arms snap out to his sides, as if reaching for the entirety of the Arena, as golden confetti explodes from the beneath the white smoke, completing the Mexican flag! He stands there, with arms outstretched, soaking in their cheers for him as the golden confetti rains down on to his head and shoulders. He makes his way down the ramp way, each step, with purpose, each step with meaning, each step bringing his eyes into a narrow glare for a ring that he hasn’t stepped into in nearly four year.]

y que digan en la radio
que yo te quiero de veras
que lo digan en los diarios
y despues en la novela
quiero un letrero que diga
que como tu no hay ninguna
que lo digan en la China
que lo digan en la luna


[Flipping over the top ropes, La Sombra makes his way to the center of the ring. After making his way to the middle turnbuckle he throws out his arms closing, his eyes and raising his head, appreciatively soaking in the applause as more confetti explodes from above the ring.]

si,si,si que este amor es tan profundo
que tu eres mi consentida
y que lo sepa todo el mundo

si,si,si que este amor es tan profundo
que tu eres mi consentida
y que lo sepa todo el mundo


[The music fades as La Sombra hands a Rosario to the stage hand and tests out the elasticity of the ropes.]

Donny: …Well that was subtle…

Johnny: No expense spared in that introduction. I’m getting word that three people lost power in their homes to supply enough juice for that entrance! I guess tonight we find out if La Sombra’s skill in that ring can match an entrance that has the fans on their feet.


Donny: I thought we had already reached our quota for Mexicans here.

Johnny: Ignorant comments aside, La Sombra started outhere almost four years ago, a rookie, at just the age of nineteen years old. He captured the Hardcore Title, and Tag Team Titles. Does he still have that flare he once possessed in the ring that had people talking about him for years?


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Blake Frost
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Can't you see I'm easily bothered by persistence
One step from lashing out at you...
You want in to get under my skin
And call yourself a friend
I've got more friends like you
What do I do?


The Egomaniac emerges on stage shrouded in smoke granted him via fog machine, his cool smirk displaying his confidence as he stands posing before the scores of spectators. The arrogant Californian turns his back to everyone with his arms outstretched at his sides, displaying the tattoo between his shoulders that also serves as a blue logo on the rear of his trunks as well as upon the PojoTron, only to thrust his arms downward and cue a sudden burst of pyrotechnics that run the distance of the entrance ramp down either side.

Is there no standard anymore?
What it takes, who I am, where I've been
Belong
You can't be something you're not
Be yourself, by yourself
Stay away from me
A lesson learned in life
Known from the dawn of time…


It is at this point that Blake turns on his heel and slowly adjusts his fohawk, only to abruptly charge down the ramp moments later in a display of his alarming speed. With an athletic bound the muscular champion springs onto the apron and with another he is over the ropes, standing within the ring just as the chorus of Pantera’s tune fills the air.

Respect, walk
Are you talking to me?
Are you talking to me?!


The announcer chimes into the song with his words.

Announcer: “Now, in the ring, weighing in at two hundred eighty pounds, the All-American… BLAKE FROST!”

Blake pumps himself up and readies himself for his opponent.
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La Sombra
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PWA Rookie
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There are two types of opponents that stare eye to eye at one another before the opening bell rings; those with a thirst for vengeance, with their hate mongering glares burning holes through their adversaries, and those with a deeply imbedded understanding of what it means to step into the ring for combat; studying, learning, and silently judging the man that stands across from them. They stand there, the “Latin Prince” and the “All American”, hardly the knowledge of each other safe for the loose-lipped ramblings of locker-room whispers, as the latter of the two!

The Fallen Luchador stands across the ring, gazing into his opponent’s hallowed, cold, blue eyes as an all too familiar apprehension flows through him. It is not Blake’s burly six foot four frame, not the confident smirk that practically dribbles self-assurance from its thin folds, nor is it the possibility that W.A.R. themselves might make their way down to ringside as rumors of Frost’s fusion with them are currently running rampant in the chit-chat of backstage lackeys. No, his concern stems from the realization that a match against the former World Heavyweight Champion might spread him too thin in his hopes of competing, successfully, in the Three Hours of Power Tournament; especially, when his second round opponent, Piccie Smalls, hasn’t been booked this week and is undoubtedly taking a much needed rest before the Don Jardine Bracket semi-finals. Yet, his senses are laid to rest with the understanding that his opponents, while overpowering in size, help to better equip the young superstar’s game plan with tools needed take down his larger foes.

However, the time for contemplation has ended as the referee, with a sharp flick of his wrist, signals to the timekeeper that this match is ready to begin.

Ding, Ding, Ding

Two words alone command the Man Without Fear’s every movement as he tears through the area between him and his opponent; Quick and Decisively! His footsteps practically slice through the air before him as he drops down to his metallic shin guards, sliding across the ring, and arching back as a monstrous Round House Kick from the Egomaniac rockets harmlessly over his blond tresses. With momentum still on his backside La Sombra springs from his kneeling position, into the air; letting his heels meet with the second turnbuckle behind Blake, still in mid rotation. A momentary glance thrown over his shoulder assures the Latin Prince of his position in correlation to Frost’s as he springs back; his takeoff, an amalgam of a back flip and a spiral through the air.

The California Native finds his head locked as his opponent latches onto it and pulls back with lightning-like speed. In what can only be loosely described as a Flipping Neck-Breaker Blake’s legs are yanked from their base and the back of his head collides into the mat with enough force that a lesser man would have walked away with a broken neck.

Instinctively, the former World Champion rotates onto his front; a veteran move that would decelerate an attempted pin if his opponent felt so inclined, if for only a moment. He peels himself from the mat with one hand while the other gingerly clutches his throbbing head. He quickly realizes that La Sombra is not stupid, not willing to let him get the upper hand, and not afraid to take a chance in starting this match off with a sizeable maneuver. If he is to be successful in his return match he is going to have to cut the little man down, piece by piece!

Even La Sombra’s seemingly buoyant footsteps send reverberations, loud as a thunderstorm, through the ring as the All American grits his teeth and pulls himself from the mat. Yet, as with most of the Mexican Superstar’s opponents, the Luchador seems just a microscopic bit faster. By the time Frost’s hazy gaze reaches his attacker, the Man Without Fear is already twisting in the air with a Corkscrew Missile Dropkick aimed directly at his cranium.

A mere inch before connection is made Frost manages to pry a hand in to block the attack. Yet, the result is the same. He feels as if his head is being ripped from his shoulders and is flung backward into the turnbuckle. The thin veil covering the harsh metallic corner of the ring does nothing to cushion the blow as a sharp twinge of pain strikes the entirety of the Egomaniac’s spine.

Everyman has his sin, his weakness, his Achilles Heel! The young Luchador’s, while not often presented, is his pride, his magnificence, and his adoration of the fans frantic appreciation for what he does in that ring. He makes his way across the ring and pays but a miniscule moment to their frenzied cheers; bowing his head and soaking in their adulation. For those few seconds, nothing else seems to matter. He is but a performer of destruction, in a coliseum of bloodthirsty supporters. He is no one without their approval, without their encouragement, without… their love! He is their hero. Yet, while the gods smile and pass a blind eye to pride, they have no compassion or patience for arrogance!

A sudden surge of vigor fills the Latin Prince as his body whips into a no handed cartwheel. His movements are loose and fluid, yet graceful and firm as he lands; springing into a back flip, seemingly before his body has a chance to register his feet touching the ground. He only has momentary glimpses of his opponent through the twists and turns of his body, but something already seems horribly off. Blake is no longer against the turnbuckle where he was left smarting. Out of habit La Sombra twirls into a Leaping Axe Handle Kick, all the while knowing his maneuver will never connect.

For a man like Blake Frost, the formula of speed versus strength has never been an issue. While his swiftness is no where near the scale of, say La Sombra, for a man of his physically intimating dimensions it can still be labeled as uncanny. All the challenger has the chance to see is a blur of tanned skin and the trademark blond fohawk before he is snatched from the air.

The speed and power of being snatched in mid move is enough to knock the wind from the Latin Prince’s lungs; leaving him heaving over Blake’s shoulders. But, the former World Champion has had enough. He will not allow his return to be snuffed out by a competitor the likes of La Sombra. He leaps, with his opponent’s legs dangling in the air behind him, angling his decent downward until the Man Without Fear is sandwiched between Frost and the mat. The sound of Blake’s High Angle Spinbuster smearing his opponent into the ground is met with a sympathetic “ooooooooooooooow” from the crowd.

Donny: As fast as the little brat is, Blake has a cache of speed all his own.

Johnny: The Former World Champion answers back with an earth shattering Spine-buster. La Sombra got a little greedy there and paid a high price for his showboating.

While the commentator’s words go unheard by the Mexican Maniac, a statement of that very same nature floats through the young superstar’s rattled head. There is a moment that the mask adorned Hispanic can swear that he is paralyzed. But, slowly the numbness turns to a pins and needles sensation, and then quickly into a roaring pain washing through his backside. He can do nothing but grit his teeth as his body involuntarily convulses in anguish.

(ooc My connection took me for a ride last night… So please delete all the posts in this topic before this one)
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Blake Frost
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The hulking blonde behemoth surges to his feet as his emotions get the better of him; displaying his enthusiasm with a loud shout that echoes out over the jeers of the fans accompanied by the dull thud created by his boots hitting the canvas. Apparently his sabbatical hasn’t left the Egomaniac as rusty as the young luchador might have hoped. The former World Champion’s massive pectoral muscles twitch as he slowly approaches his adversary, his mind running on pure instinct, eyes burning like a lion’s with the irrepressible desire to consume the wounded pray before him. With little to no concern for the well-being of his opponent, the self absorbed Californian extends his right arm, grasping a handful of the Latin Prince’s flaxen locks betwixt his thick fingers, knotted and swollen from his former years of highly competitive football. Those in attendance can only jeer the All-American as he barks incoherent insults in La Sombra’s general direction. However, his insults are only a precursor to even more heinous actions to come, as moments later the Egomaniac peels the dazed Mexican off of the canvas and up to a slightly vertical base with alarming strength. The masked competitor’s muffled groan of pain can easily be attributed to the fact that hundreds of strands of his hair have nearly been jerked from their follicles, leaving his sensitive scalp tingling with pain. A smirk spreads across Blake’s face as his right arm flexes obscenely, showing its every vein and striation due to the effort of pulling The Latin Leviathan to his full height. All in attendance can do nothing bur draw in a collective breath as the former World Champion draws his left arm beneath his outstretched right and across his body, subsequently turning his hips to effectively load up for the blow he intends to deliver. The pale glow of flashbulbs fills the air mere instants before Blake sets his arm into motion, reflecting off of the sweat-layered bodies of the competitors as the Californian’s heavy hand makes contact with the upper sternum of the luchador with a sickening smack. Blake can feel the cool mist of flying sweat make contact with his face as the rushing “Whoo!” of the crowd fills his ears. La Sombra can only clench his eyes shut and take the knife-edge chop, his brain sent into an incoherent frenzy as pain courses through his upper torso as well as his cranium, for the impact of the blow has inadvertently freed his hair from the All-American’s powerful clutches. His lungs completely relieved of oxygen, the Latin Prince crumbles to the ground, his mouth wide and inhaling frantically through his multicolored mask in an attempt to return his oxygen levels to normal so that he may continue to compete. On any given occasion, the Egomaniac would take the time to gloat over his superiority, but it seems that he has returned to the ring with renewed focus, as he begins to close in on La Sombra once more, the vibration of his heavy footsteps doing nothing to soothe the aching within the Latino competitor’s skull. Blake drops to his left knee mere inches away from the body of La Sombra, otherwise motionless save for the methodical heaves of his continuously expanding and contracting chest cavity. One can only worry for the luchador’s safety as Blake begins to hoist the smaller man’s limp body off of the canvas, because all signs point to the metal brace encasing the right knee of the former World Champion. Even the official, who has been otherwise uninvolved up to this point, approaches Blake knowing full well that the underhanded Californian has used the accessory unfairly to his advantage before. However, Blake shows the intent to take a different course of action before the official can even intervene. With La Sombra’s body in his arms and his head bowed down, the All-American displays his world-class athleticism in a mere instant, surging to his feet and pressing all two hundred and twelve pounds of his adversary over his head and back down onto his shoulders, effectively positioning him in the extremely dangerous fireman’s carry.

Donny: “It’s all over! Frost has him set up for the Driver!”

Johnny: “A potentially dangerous moment for La Sombra here, folks. Blake Frost has taken control now and looks to put him away with the San Joaquin Valley Driver.”

Despite their distaste for the arrogant, conceited, and rebellious former World Champion, the fans pipe up with expectation as it seems that La Sombra is mere seconds from meeting his extremely painful end. A smug smirk spreads across the Egomaniac’s tanned visage, a sense of comfort setting in as Blake rotates his shoulders to the left before quickly whipping them back around to his right, effectively tossing La Sombra’s carcass off of his shoulders and sending it airborne. However, the crafty young luchador knows that despite his current state, his immeasurable speed will never fail him and seemingly out of nowhere he turns his body mid-air, ingeniously positioning himself to catch Blake around the head with his left arm. Completely caught off guard by the front facelock applied whilst mid-flight, Blake can’t counter the effect of gravity as he is pulled downward onto his once-proud flaxen crown with a devastating counter DDT. Almost immediately after the reverberating thud that signals impact, La Sombra reflexively springs to his feet to a chorus of joyous cheer. Excited by the sudden turn of his luck, the Mexican Maniac charges for the ropes whilst Blake rolls over onto his back clutching at the apex of his skull in a vain attempt to soothe his pain. Unfortunately, the All-American won’t get a chance to tend to his wounds anytime soon, as it becomes apparent that La Sombra is not approaching the ropes to address his adoring public. Steadily increasing in pace, the luchador takes flight a mere step away from his destination, bounding up onto the second rope, only to use it to ascend to the next tier - the uppermost rope. Despite the flexibility of the chord, the Latin Prince manages to maintain his balance for the split second he needs, bounding back from whence he came, but this time turning a backflip mid air. Everyone in attendance is forced out of his or her seat at the sight of the spectacle, the very foundations of the venue shaking due to the noise of the frenzied crowd after La Sombra’s torso makes impact with Blake’s. The double jump moonsault came seemingly out of nowhere, and La Sombra is hoping that the shock factor will allow him to steal a relatively quick victory as he reaches to hook one of the thick legs of the All-American, nodding his head confidently as the official takes to the canvas and begins to enumerate his way to the possible conclusion of this match.

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((OOC: Sorry it took me so long to post, started finals this week.))
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La Sombra
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PWA Rookie
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Perhaps even more surprising than the Latin Prince’s sudden surge of energy and chain of frighteningly quick assaults is the inhuman strength from which his opponent forces the much lighter superstar from his chest. The Mexican Native flops up as if the gods themselves have yanked him from his attempted pin. His descent forces him a few feet from his assailant as a glance is passed in the direction of the referee; the small flicker of hope that he was able to snatch the three count still hanging in his soul. But, the disheartening shake of the official’s head, coupled with the two fingers he proudly forces into the air snaps the tiny thread of optimism within the luchador.

This war is still not over

Johnny: Blake is an opponent the likes of which La Sombra has yet to face in the PWA.

Donny: But, how much is he willing to put into this match with the thought of his Bracket semi-finals match still hanging over his head.

With the beads of irritation trickling from his golden locks, the Man Without Fear begrudgingly pulls himself back to a vertical base; letting the harsh breeze in thousands of nacho and beer stained cheers, kiss the sweat from his chest. With an exasperated sigh exhaling from through the thin cloth covering his face, he backs off into the ropes, letting it add to his momentum as he bolts for his recovering opponent.

The worst thing a superstar can in such an ostentatious platform such as Professional wrestling is get caught into a habit. While repetition can build confidence in a certain maneuver, it’s a double edged sword as opponents are quickly able to decipher a proper counter.

Blake leaps to a vertical base, snatching La Sombra from his running start. It’s to quick, even for La Sombra to counter. He was expecting Blake to laid out for just a few more seconds. Flipping the Man Without Fear over, Frost slams down hard with his patent Californication. With a handful of tights he curls around for the pin.

It’s a powerful move… one the likes of which La Sombra has never felt before. He barely realizes where he is before the Ref’s hand slaps to the mat for the final time.

Announcer: and you winner by pinfall… BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE FROOOOOOOOOOOOOOST.

Walk by Pantera blares through the speakers as La Sombra Lay on the mat trying to collect his wits.

Donny: So, much for his unpinned streak.

Johnny: The Egomaniac is BACK! Who can stand in his way, with his dominance of one of the favorites in the THOP Tournament?
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