Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]







James Stall vs MTB: New Era vs New Wave
Topic Started: Nov 18 2012, 10:55 PM (165 Views)
Bobbie Hearst
Administrator
James Stall vs. Marcus Thomas Brody

1 rp limit

Deadline: Thursday December 13th 11:59EST
 
MTB

"There are two names that come to the tip of many a fan's tongue when asked of all-time greats:"

An aging northern English accent echoed as a ring with purple ropes lit by a single spotlight came into focus. We were in The Old UCW Arena in Ashton-under-Lyne, England- the home of New Wave. There, the shadow of a man sat sombrely on a folding chair with his face in his hands, the tips of his fingers playing with the fringe of his jet-black hair.

"And those names are Stall, and Brody. And when asked of all-time great matches? Stall and Brody."

The head of the man tilted up, and the spotlight lit up the 55-year old face of "The Human Suplex Machine" Marcus Brody. Brody's hands had gone black from his hair dye. For some unknown reason, his eyes told of his distress.

"On December 15th, those two names collide once more. But it's not the Stall and Brody I'm thinking of. I'm not talking about "Captain" Joe Stall, or myself, but the next generation that carries those names... Joe's grandson, James Stall, and my son, Marcus Thomas Brody..."

Brody Sr. could imagine "Cum on Feel the Noize" by Quiet Riot beginning to play as the scene cut to footage of a mousey-haired boy with light facial hair, clad in a blazer bursting out from a dark curtain. He turned his back to the camera, pointing at the three letters emblazoned on the blazer: M, T, B.

"Ever since my youth, I've wanted to be a wrestler like my dad."

The voice of Marcus Thomas Brody was softer than his father's, yet it still dominated the video package as footage of Marcus Brody Sr. hitting a German Suplex was shown, fading into MTB hitting the same move.

"Who influences me other than my dad? Has to be UCW and FWF legend The Predator."

Predator was shown hitting the lariat he called the Wing Attack and locking in his Preysnatcher chokehold, before fading in once again into MTB doing the same.

"I've got a bit of history with James Stall. We held the FWF Elite Tag Team Championships for 412 days until FWF closed. We never lost them!"

MTB and James Stall are seen together holding up the tag titles, fading into MTB sitting in front of a purple curtain with his belt in his hands.

"I'll always treasure the time we spent as a team. But I relish the chance to face him at Showcase Zero. We competed against each other once before, and he came out on top."

His steely blue eyes stared into the camera. Images of Brody Sr. and The Predator's faces flashed up in front of his, the similarities clear.

"But last time... I made a mistake. I made a mistake and he capitalised. This time... This time... This time, it won't happen! Lightning won't strike twice... I'll see you December 15th, James."

Marcus Brody Sr. came back into the real world in the ring. His hands were tucked in the pockets of a maroon cardigan. He stared into the camera with concern.

"That match. I remember it well. Junior had James in the Preysnatcher, and had him ready for the Su-Prey, but as his tried to flip James over for it, James countered into the pin and Predator counted my son's shoulders to the mat..."

A tear streaked down the face of the aging legend at the mention of The Predator's name.

"I have one concern. What's on my son's mind as he goes into Madison Square Garden at Visionary Wrestling Incorporated's Showcase Zero? He's had a lot plaguing him lately. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin..."


===========================================================

Since Marcus Thomas Brody came to New Wave, he's faced problem after problem, all from one man: James Kitson. He'd trained with Junior at the UCW School of Wrestling and was jealous of young Marcus' success in FWF, so he made my son's life miserable. He'd attack him on many occasions, all while taunting him. He even had a marching band play Frankie Valli's "Can't Take My Eyes Off You" during one of these assaults. And more recently, he blinded one of the greatest wrestlers of all time with his own cane. Because of him, Predator wears an eye patch, and my son blames himself. He may not show it on camera, but everything's been tough on him. His days have been spent sitting in the back garden most of the day, whatever the weather...

It was a cold day in the middle of November in Ashton-under-Lyne. The Greater Manchester town had been met with rain the day before, and overnight it had frozen over. Marcus Thomas Brody, had found his way to a secluded area of frosty grass, walled by rose bushes on three sides, and set himself down. He wasn't dressed practically, either, wearing just a pair of jeans and his trademark navy-blue blazer. Yet the cold didn't faze him.


"Kitson," he muttered coldly under his breath. "Kitson. Kitson. Kitson..."

It was all he could say. James Kitson had really got to him. It had been two months since he'd heard a peep from the bane of his life, but still...

"It's cold out here, isn't it, Junior?"

I tried making some small talk when I approached my son with a flask of chicken soup, but there was no response. MTB had been a charismatic showman most of the time. It was just sad seeing him in this state.

"You don't have to do this, son," I assured him as I placed the flask at his feet. Marcus didn't bat an eyelid.

"It's not your fault," I continued. "Preda-"

"I know!" my son snapped. He'd finally opened his mouth to someone else after weeks of silence. "Predator went out there himself. He's stubborn like that. But I should have gone and done something..."

"He told you not to."

"He wouldn't have gone there if I'd been able to stop Kitson. And with New Wave on hiatus..."

"With New Wave on hiatus you can't wrestle?" I interrupted. "What if I told you I just had a call about a booking?"

The younger Brody glanced up at me quizzically. "A booking?"

"Yeah, a chap from somewhere called Visionary Wrestling Incorporated called. He's looking for some matches for an interpromotional showcase he's setting up next month. He pitched the perfect match for you..."

"Is it James Kitson?"

"No."

"Then I don't care."

"Oh you will. You'll like your opponent."

"Who is it?"

"James-"

"Kitson?"

"Stall. James Stall"

The junior Brody ran a hand through his beard as he contemplated the name of his former partner. His eyes closed and he nodded his head.

"Go for it," I advised. "It's just what you need."

Marcus nodded and picked up the flask. He took a swig of his soup and handed the flask back to me.

"Yeah, I'll do it, dad."

His voice didn't seem too enthused with the match, but it was better than nothing. Had it just been Kitson he'd been worrying himself about? The only way to really know was to see things through Junior's eyes.


===========================================================

"James Stall..." I said to myself as I rose from the ground. I grimaced as I realised how much the frost had frozen my hindquarters. But it was soon forgotten as my mind turned back to Stall.

"Just what I needed..." I sighed. I made my way inside and slumped back into a maroon velvet armchair. My focus shifted to a photo that took pride of place over the oak mantlepiece. It was James and I holding aloft the FWF Elite Tag Team Championships at Jealousy 7.

"That was a fond night," I reminisced. "Seven matches, I wrestled..."

It's seven, or three, depending how you look at it. First I co-won the traditional Jealousy Battle Royal with former Heavyweight Champion James Bohne, before beating him one-on-one. And later in the night, The New Direction went the distance in the tag team gauntlet with FIVE other teams to decide the first Elite Tag Team Champions.

"Those were the days," I chuckled. I was only twenty-three, almost twenty-four, But I always sounded like an old man. Maybe it was just my father rubbing off on me. Maybe I should remember I'm young. But James was younger. He'd only just turned twenty-one and he'd done more than me.

Since going to New Wave, I hadn't experienced the success I'd had in FWF. I'd barely scratched the surface and found himself unable to win the way like before. Yet James Stall had made a name for himself in New Era as a hitman for hire before going on to win the North American Championship twice, and is the current New Era World Heavyweight Champion. He'd even been the runner-up in this year’s CWC Ascension tournament while I'd been knocked out of the Lost Heroes Trophy tournament in the first round, despite actually winning the match. Singles titles had eluded him. I was the "unsuccessful" member of The New Direction.

And to think, I was the one Sandy Strachon took the shine to. I needed to find out what the matter was with me. I'd gone from defeating numerous former world champions in FWF to losing half my matches in New Wave. There was only one person to ask. The legend that trained us both:


"Predator."


***

Later that day, I wrapped up in a thick black winter coat, put on some boots and ventured through the icy roads to Predator's home. What should have been a fifteen minute walk took over thirty-five! I came down his slippery driveway to a white plastic door. I slammed the lion's head knocker three times, but there was no reply.

"Strange. He's always in."

I tried again. Still no answer. My frustration was building.

"Come on, Predator!" I screamed as I rammed the knocker firmly into the door. "Answer, damn it!"

"He's not in!" came a vaguely familiar farmer-like voice from the top of the driveway. I looked up to see an averagely tall man in a long grey coat and a red woollen hat. I was confused for a moment until I spotted the Manchester United badge on the hat.

"Destroyer?" I asked the man, to which he nodded.

"Brody's kid!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, that's me. Where's Predator?" The man known as Destroyer shuddered.

"That's all I ever get asked," he groaned. "But to answer you, he's in Vegas with William Jones."

For years, "The Destroyer" Andy Goatwillow had been Predator's rival and tag team partner. They'd even started training on the same day in 1990. His grandfather was "Professor" William Beech, whose daughter married "Great" Gregory Goatwillow, a fairly popular wrestler from the late70s and early 80s. Beech was responsible for training new wrestlers in UCW's early years. Like both James and I, Destroyer had the sport in his blood. With Predator, they were known in the late 90s and early 2000s as The Chain of Death until Destroyer broke the team up in December 2001 when he helped Oz Van Damn regain the UCW Championship from his former partner, causing the knee injury that eventually led to Predator's retirement and need for a cane.

"I know the feeling," I assured him. "All I ever get asked about are the attacks by James Kitson or how James Stall is doing."

"Crummy, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's as bad as everyone looking down on me for being Marcus Brody's son."

"You can't let it get to you."

"Didn't it get to you, though?"

Destroyer place an arm around my shoulder and guided me to an emerald green bench next to Predator's front porch where we sat down, taking in the view of a robin fluttering around the barren tree that stood alone in a patch a grass. I felt like that tree at the moment; sad, lonely and stripped of everything that made it stand out.

"Listen. It got to me, alright. You just have to learn from my mistakes. It sucked seeing it all be about Predator. I was an afterthought. I dwelled on it until I snapped. Sure, I won the New Year's Rumble and the UCW title but no one ever remembers that. I lost focus after and never main-evented again. You can't let James' success put you down. For one, you're in two different promotions, with different competition."

Destroyer sighed and patted my shoulder. There was something comforting about his sympathy.

"You chose New Wave because it reminded you of UCW. You went there for the honourable reasons. He chose New Era for the big stage. He chose it for the big cheques. He chose it for power, for glory, and not for the joy of competition or love of the sport. Ever considered that?"

He had a point. I shook my head.

"No, never looked at it that way."

"You know, I can see a lot of Predator in you. You look like your dad but you've got Predator's stare. You even sit like him."

I'd never noticed it before. I always had an elbow on my left knee and a fist on my right knee. Thinking back to my training, Predator always did the same as he watched James and I practise our craft. I gazed over to Destroyer, whose square chin shivered.

"See. You're like a cross of The Predator AND Marcus Brody. You may feel down now, but your time will come. Sooner than you may think too. You just need to go and give it your all. You may not have had success like Predator or your dad yet, but you can do it."

I nodded with appreciation of the veteran's comment. Destroyer got to his feet and extended his hand.

"You're all a lot of the old UCW guys can talk about, you know. Not heard a bad word about you yet."

I took his hand and I got to my feet as well. He let go and made his way back up the drive way.

"Hey! I have one question!" I called out to him. Destroyer stopped and faced me once more.

"What is it, MTB?" he calmly asked.

"How did you prepare for matches against Predator?"

"Simple," he began. "Didn't treat him like Predator, but by the facts. As a 6'4" 260lb technical brawler. I treated every practice like a match and every match like a practice. If you ever go against James, think of him by the two S's: Stats and Style."

And with that, he disappeared behind the hedge. "Stats and Style" he said? What was James Stall now? I knew he was big and heavy, and favoured his grandad's power and Predator's brawling. But he'd be expecting me to think that. And he'd expect me to be technical. And he was not the easiest guy to suplex, either. How could I figure this out? I sat back down and shuddered from the cold.

"Brr! I wish it was warmer..."

And with that, a lightbulb clicked in my head.

"Warmer!" I exclaimed as my eyes lit up. "Of course! He's a hot head! All I need to do is play with his temper! He'd make a mistake, and I could capitalise..."

It was one of them crystalising moments when everything comes to you. I leapt off the bench and sprinted up the street all upbeat for the first time in who knows when. It felt like that iconic scene from "It's a Wonderful Life." MTB was back!


===========================================================

Marcus Brody Sr. was still in the ring, wondering what happened with his son after telling him of his match. He hadn't seen him since. The youngster had kept himself to himself for the last few weeks, shutting off from everyone.

"I left a note for Junior to come here and film a few words for Showcase Zero. I've been here an hour and he's not turned up. I'm worried about him. I really a-"

"Cum on Feel the Noize" blared over the UCW Arena speakers and lights flickered. A spotlight swooped over to the entrance ramp. The curtain whooshed open as MTB charged out with his beard neatly trimmed and a smile on his face. Destroyer's words had taken effect. He was a new MTB. He charged into the ring and gave his dad a hug in the centre of the ring. If there'd been an audience we might have had a cheer. One look at The Human Suplex Machine's face and you could see how excited he was.

"Sorry about that," MTB began. He turned to the camera and smiled warmly.

"So I understand people want to hear me say a few things about my match with James Stall, the so-called "Ayatollah of Aggression" and New Era World Heavyweight Champion. I've been asked if it affects me that he won a world title before me. Does it?"

MTB moved closer to the camera and closed his eyes for a moment.

"No."

He shook his head and opened his eyes.

"Don't get me wrong, being a world champion is nothing to sneeze at. And it's testament to his abilities that he's become one. But from bell to bell, in the ring, it doesn't matter if you're a champion or at the bottom of the card. You just give it what you've got. You compete!"

MTB brushed his hand on the softness of the hair on his chin and chuckled at a thought that had just popped to mind.

"We picked different paths. The New Direction went in new directions. James with New Era, and me with New Wave... The competition is different. The style is different. The stage is different. You have to think things through before you make judgements."

MTB pulled the chair that his dad had previously sat down in and set himself on it himself. His left elbow on his left knee and his right fist on his right knee.

"We both had training from greats. We have greatness in our blood. Our match will be great. We'll both throw it all out in there. There'll be suplexes, there'll be Sergeant Spinebusters, there'll be Preysnatchers, there'll be Captain Clutches. James may be an aggressive bastard, and bigger than me, so I may be the underdog here. But let me say one thing:"

MTB's eyes squinted into a cold glare at the camera and his teeth gritted like The Man With No Name.

"When a man with a .45 meets a man with a rifle, you say the man with a pistol's a dead man. Let's see if it's true. On Sunday December 15th, at Visionary Wrestling's Showcase Zero, I show the world what New Wave has to offer, and that I won't go down in history as the weaker link of The New Direction. I'm there to fight, and I'm there not for the 1-2-3, but for the M! T! B!"

Marcus Thomas Brody closed his eyes and rose from his seat before exiting the ring.

That's my boy!" Marcus Brody Sr. yelled with pride as he watched his son striding up the aisle with more confidence than he had done in a while. It was going to be the one to watch. Another great Brody-Stall match was coming. But who would be the victor? Which New Direction was the Right Direction? There was only one way to find out... Showcase Zero!
 
Bobbie Hearst
Administrator
Dear MTB,

You remember FWF, Marcus. Of course you do, you’ve always been the sentimental type. Four hundred and twenty one days as tag team champions together. That should mean something to us. It should mean we share a bond like no one else in the world. We should be like brothers. But we know the truth, Marcus. We haven’t exchanged a word with each other since FWF closed its doors.

And we were never a very good team.

Sometimes we worked out together. Occasionally we hung out together, but we were never really friends. We won matches, but not because of the chemistry that makes up so many truly great tag teams. We were the best pairing in FWF history because we are too supremely talented individuals.

And always how we were discussed, not as a team but as individuals who had been forced together. Every match we had people looked for the weak link, the dead weight, and week in and week out we traded off that spot. But see, while you remember FWF so fondly, I don’t share the same affection. I see FWF for what it was.

A millstone around my neck.

All there ever was for me in FWF were people to be compared to and shadows to live under. I had to put up with both my uncle and my Grandfather being Hall of Famers and World Champions. I had to deal with constantly not getting the singles push I deserved because dear old Grandpa Joe thought it would be a swell idea to comeback for one last reign and never give it up. Even your dear old dinosaur dad, my Godfather was due for a shot before me.

And the worst part, Marcus? The worst part was being compared to you. Family is one thing, but to a contemporary, my tag team partner no less. That was unbearable. You relished our tag team reign? I relished beating you. Jealousy 7 was a victory for us, but beating you at Jealousy 8 was so much sweeter for me.

And now look at us. Our careers have traveled vastly different paths. You became something of a British Indy darling. I’m a World Champion. There is no question as to which of us has made out better. And at Showcase Zero I will prove that I’m still better than you because I’ve grown immensely since our last meeting.

And if you couldn’t beat me then, you have no chance now.


Regards,
James Stall
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
« Previous Topic · Visionary Roleplays · Next Topic »