| 60K Six Pack | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 18 2012, 11:17 PM (232 Views) | |
| Bobbie Hearst | Nov 18 2012, 11:17 PM Post #1 |
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The Wildebeest (New Era) vs. Jason Scorpio (SCW) vs. SwitchBlade (Warped) vs. Raymond James (New Wave) vs. Francisco Lopez (CPW) vs. Evan Envi (APW) 1 rp limit Deadline: Thursday December 13th at 11:59 EST |
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| FJL316 | Nov 19 2012, 06:19 PM Post #2 |
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Inside a room filled with pictures of a man in various matches, we see a man at the center of this room. This man appears to be holding a championship title. He turns around to reveal himself. ???: So, I'm put into a 60k Six-Pack challenge match against five other contenders. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Francisco Lopez. CPW's representative in this match. I am the current CPW Air Raid champion, a title held by some of the best that CPW has to offer. I have had to bust my ass there for nearly eighteen months to finally earn a title. I don't know anything about my opponents, but that doesn't matter to me. All that matters is that I'm going into Showcase Zero hellbent on winning that 60 grand. What better place to have a match like this than the same arena that I won the Air Raid title. Madison Square Garden. The World's Most Famous Arena. My home away from home. The same area that my family was raised many years ago. I know that win or lose, I'm going to leave it all in the ring. I'm going to show everyone here what it's like to go against a Viper. Hope they're ready for me because they have no idea what I can do. Once Showcase Zero is all said and done, they will know what I'm made of. The CPW Air Raid champion smirks as he raises his title in the air as he walks away and the camera fades out. Edited by FJL316, Nov 19 2012, 08:59 PM.
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| SwitchBlade | Dec 12 2012, 09:40 PM Post #3 |
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The scene fades in. Warped Wrestling Superstar SwitchBlade is sitting in a chair in a motel room. He has the camera positioned across from him. At the moment he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt with blue jeans and a pair of brown loafers. His night black hair, long but thinning, is pulled into a ponytail and draped over his shoulder. His face is stoic and unyielding. “A six pack sixty thousand dollar challenge. When I first saw the invitation in my e-mail from the Visionary Wrestling staff I was dumbfounded to say the least. Dumbfounded, but also humbled. You see, it’s been awhile since a wrestling company has invited me to one of their shows. I understand that; they want to focus on their own fresh talent. So for the guys at Visionary to reach out to me and perform on one of their shows as a representative of Warped Wrestling, I tip my hat to them. I’m not going to lie though; the idea of separate wrestling companies working together irks me. Maybe the traditions of old are sunk so deep inside my brain that I can’t fathom wrestling companies getting along. Or maybe Warped’s previous clash with New Era Wrestling left a bitter taste in my mouth. Whatever the reason, I like to keep companies separate. Still, I can’t argue the fact that it’s a great way of wrestling fans to come up with dream matches and potentially watch them happen. The “what if” scenario is very popular amongst wrestling fans. What if Alexander StarrZoe faced Matt Starr? What if Doug E. Fresh took on Kurt Noble? What if SwitchBlade faced wrestlers from five other companies at the same time? What if, what if, what if. Well this Saturday night will put all those “what ifs” and more to bed. More specifically, the best wrestler within six different companies will be decided with grand prize being sixty thousand dollars. That’s quite a large sum of money. Believe me, I wish I had that kind of money sitting pretty back in the day. Maybe then I wouldn’t have had to sleep in so many cars and crummy motels. But if doing all that made me the man I am today, then perhaps it’s a good thing I never had that cash to begin with. I believe that a man is made through the journeys he takes in life. His values, his morals and demeanor, they come from experience learned over a large period of time. I’m forty seven years old; I started wrestling when I was nineteen. That’s a lot of experience under my belt. That’s a lot of time spent bouncing off ropes, jumping off turnbuckles and pulling at limbs. Most would have ended their careers by now. Maybe go sell insurance in Miami while living in a Malibu beach house. Not me though. I keep going. My batteries are still running. Unfortunately for my opponents, I will still be active by the time Showcase Zero arrives.” SwitchBlade cracks his knuckles and leans back in his chair. He grabs a bottle of water behind him, opens it, and takes a couple sips before continuing. “My opponents…what can I say? Not much, really. I don’t know them. I know OF them, but I don’t know who they are as people. Likewise, you don’t know who I am. Sure, you may have seen my face on television once in awhile. Maybe you caught a “best of wrestling” DVD and watched one of my matches. Hell, I know of a K-Mart in downtown Grand Lake that still has one of my earliest action figures on sale. No matter how you saw me, you’ve seen me. You didn’t know my name, or how I talked. You never went up to me and shook my hand. But you definitely saw me in that ring. A lot of people did; a lot of good men and women who wear their love for wrestling on their sleeves and have devoted themselves to this business for years. Sometimes I was curtain jerking. Sometimes I was headlining the show. Sometimes I lost. Most times I won. You’ve seen me with championship gold, but I never bragged about it. You saw me at autograph signings, heard me on local radio promoting the next big show. You watched me leave the arena with my bags, drive off in the world’s cheapest rental car and head home to catch two, maybe three hours of sleep before heading off to the next venue.” He tosses the half empty bottle across the room and stands up, kicking the chair back as he does. “What you saw was a man without a wife. Without children. You saw a man whose first and only love was professional wrestling. You saw a kid who grew up watching the sport, and at the time it sure as hell was a sport, on a black and white television every Saturday morning. You saw a guy with the energy of a man half his age and the wisdom of a man twice his age. And when you saw me, you hated me. Why? Because you knew I was better than you. You knew that I had more talent in his little pinky than you ever had in your entire body. Why? Because I honed my craft. I spent YEARS being trained by the best. I was the first guy to arrive at the arena and the last to leave. When help was needed, I was there to do whatever was necessary to make the company I was in a success. I learned, over time, to become a leader in the ring, outside the ring, and anywhere else I went. I earned every paycheck I cashed in no matter what my name was. I earned the respect of my peers with every company I stepped foot in. I earned it with hard work and a never-say-die attitude. At the end of the day, when I look into the mirror, that’s what I see. That’s who I am as a person.” He walks over to the camera and lifts it up so it’s close to his face. His eyes sparkle with a youth hidden under frail looking skin. “I know who Francisco Lopez is. He’s the current Chaotic Pro Wrestling Air Raid Champion. A Connecticut kid with dreams of being a World Champion. Likes to dabble in the Mixed Martial Arts style from time to time. Smart. I like to see that in a wrestler. It’s not always about the power moves and the hardcore brawling. Sometimes you’re better off applying a simple arm bar and making your opponent tap out like a little drummer boy. But sometimes, once in a great while, it’s as simple as being in the right place at the right time. Isn’t that right, Lopez? That’s how you won that title to begin with. Right place. Right time. Maybe you’re thinking that you’ll get lucky again and be at the right place and the right time during this match. Wrong. I make it my job to ensure that guys like you don’t get those kinds of victories. You may be a champion Lopez, but much like my company’s world champion you still have a lot to prove. Maybe in this match you can surpass your limits and become a true champion. For now, I still see you as just some cocky kid. I feed on punks like you for breakfast.” He pauses. “I know who Jason Scorpio is. Representing Sin City Wrestling, he’s a big man with Cuban spice in his veins. He’s not much older than Lopez, but I can already tell that he knows a lot more about the sacrifices it takes to be a professional wrestler. He put the hours in and served his country well. For that alone I commend him. Yet from what I’ve seen of him he lets his arrogance get the better of him. He feels that the world owes him, and his people, so much. Jason, the world doesn’t owe you a damn thing. You don’t cry out for the things you want. You go out and you take from it! You take and you take until the critics are silenced and your message is finally spelled out plain and clear as day. That’s what I had to do. It led me to do a lot of things I’m not proud of. A lot of things that made me hated for a long time. But it was necessary. It was the only option I had when no other choices were given to me, and I don’t regret the things I’ve done. Living with regret is not living at all. It’s trapping yourself in the past and letting the mistakes of old affect the new. Sometimes you have to let it go.” He rubs his free hand against the side of his head, gentle stroking his hair as he gets momentarily lost in thought. He soon finds himself and addresses the camera some more. “I know who Evan Envi is. I know guys like him quite well. Mr. Hollywood. The fame and fortune runs through his head and to him success is determined by the amount of silver in your spoon. He calls himself “The Mega Mega Star” because one’s never enough. The man has an ego bigger than all of California, but given his accomplishments at such a young age I could see how he might delude himself with such thoughts. He even went so far as to call himself “Envi”. Real subtle. I bet it looks great when signing a four by eight of yourself. You know what my favorite part of wrestling is? It’s taking guys like you, guys who think their shit doesn’t stink, and rubbing their faces in their own plop. I don’t just feed them humble pie; I cram it down their throats until they choke on it. The silence afterwards is always satisfying. I’m going to have a lot of fun getting my hands on you when we enter that ring. You want to be the high flyer? The airborne superstar of the bunch? I’ll slip you up and watch you crash and burn. You won’t even feel the initial lock that I apply to your arms, your legs, your back…but I guarantee you that you will feel true pain by my hands.” He raises his arm and makes a tight fist. His bones are shaking, but his grip is strong. “I know who The Wildebeest is. He’s the New Era North American Champion. I don’t exactly have the best relationship with New Era. Let’s just say there are a couple names there who would not like to ever see me again. However, I never got to step into the ring with Wildebeest. An animal in the ring, no pun intended. Well, maybe a little bit. He’s rough, tough, and ready for a fight. He brawls with the best of them and it takes more than a few punches to put him down. He’s going to be fun to face. I’ve had my share of big men to take down in the past. Giants even. Guys over seven feet tall and weighing four hundred pounds. Those people are less man and more wall. You can never charge at them. That would be foolish. You have to pick away at a weak point: the legs for example. You clip a big man’s leg and it’ll take awhile for him to get back up. He has so much mass, so much upper body that he will not recover like the average wrestler would. He’ll try to run rampant like an elephant in the plains of Africa, but eventually he will slow down. Wildebeest, you work best when your matches end quickly. If the match goes on too long you’ll expel too much energy and give out like a car left running on fumes. Add the fact that you’re facing five other wrestlers of various speeds and the odds of you winning get slimmer and slimmer. My strategy with you will be to simply get out of your way and watch you smash some head together until you catch yourself feeling winded. That’s when I strike. No matter how big the individual, it takes the same amount of air necessary to breathe. I cut that off and you’ll wind up on your back like the rest of them. That’s something for you to think about this week.” SwitchBlade walks back to the chair and sets it in its former position before sitting back down on it. He fixes the camera so it zooms out and gets a better view of his face. “And finally, I know who Raymond James is. He’s a New Wave man. He also happens to be someone I know the least. He doesn’t get his name out there. He doesn’t speak up when the opportunity arises. He’s one of those people who prefer to fall into the majority and live a simple life without any major changes. I can understand that. Why take high risks when you don’t know what the reward’s going to be, right? Why stand above everyone else? I’ll tell you why. Because the view from up here is magnificent. Not only that, it’s something few can ever experience. Why? Because of guys like you. Guys who don’t take the initial push. Guys who act like ghosts or invisible men just to shield their minute careers. You’re plain and boring, and in wrestling that’s not something you want to be. When you enter this ring I want to see something come out of you. It could be a laugh, a cry, a scream, a funny dance, anything that separates you from the flock. Take it from a guy who knows all about changing your identity: taking a chance and failing is far better than not taking a chance at all. Because even if you fail, you can get back on your feet and try again. And maybe then you’ll be a household name. Right now you’re in wrestling purgatory. I hope you can find your way out.” He looks off into the distance. “As for me…you don’t know who I am. None of you do. I wouldn’t expect any of you to care.” He stands up again. “No. You don’t know who I am. You don’t even know what I am. Not yet. So let me tell you. What I am, is the best technical wrestler you’ve ever laid eyes on. At Showcase Zero this Saturday Night, the Visionary Wrestling fans are going to learn who I am. And my opponents…will learn exactly what I am. That’s not a promise. That’s not a guarantee. That’s…” SwitchBlade looks up and raises a finger in the air. He looks back at the camera. “Destiny.” He lowers the camera until its focus is placed on the dirty motel floor below him. Fade to black. Edited by SwitchBlade, Dec 14 2012, 01:11 AM.
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| Evan Envi | Dec 13 2012, 11:59 PM Post #4 |
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”You know what I want?” ”Mmmmmm... Sixty-thousand dollars?” ”No-- that’s what you want. I don’t need it.” ”You don’t want sixty-thousand bucks...?” ”I’m not gonna turn it down, if that’s what you’re saying.” ”Oh, nooo, no. That’d be dumb.” ”That it would. H-- HEY, could you please get off? I’m studying.” ”You’re watching videos...” ”Studying!” ”You’re on YouTube.” ”Yes. Studying my goddamn opponents. Why are you-- why do you always question me? Do you think I say this shit just to say it? Do you think I’m lying to you when I say I’m busy, woman? Do you think I don’t see you sittin’ there, stickin your titties out like a seventeen-year-old at senior week? Calm down, back up... Up... Up...” We blink into a world of vivid color. This scene honestly probably isn’t too surprising. How difficult could this have been to envision? Evan Harrison sits with his back turned to the woman that, over the past six months alongside Evan in the public eye, could be described as his significant other, Michelle Weaver. Her blond locks tumble from her head and onto Evan’s shoulder as she rests her chin on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his chest. She gives the computer a glare, as if it were the one that had wronged her. ”This is why everyone thinks you’re a dick, isn’t it?” Evan looks up from the laptop and smirks a bit, giving a bitter chuckle. ”No, Michelle. Everyone thinks I’m a dick because I’m better than them. It’s not that hard of a concept to grasp. I mean... Envy? C’mon. Hop on this bandwagon. Get with the moniker.” ”All this wrestling, but no time for Michelle. Tsk tsk.” She pushes herself to her feet, maintaining a deliberate grip on his shoulders before leaning down and speaking playfully into his ear. ”Guess there’s no point in me staying over here tonight, is there?” Evan sighs and reaches up, closing his laptop. He doesn’t turn to look at Michelle, but leans back slightly in the chair, easing into her delicate grip. He narrows his eyes at the blankness ahead of him and opens his mouth, but it is seconds before any words spill out. ”I’ve been really busy. Where are my manners? Um... Michelle, would you like to engage in intercourse while the camera’s rolling?” ”While the ca--?” Michelle whips her head in our direction, narrowing her eyes after a second. She tenses and removes her hands from Evan’s shoulder, placing them on her hips instead. ”...Why are you filming? How long have you been filming?” ”Since long before you got here. How else am I supposed to document my incredibly busy and highly profiled fortunate life?” ”You can’t--!” ”I’m in APW. I’m over in CRW kicking all their top names’ asses. And here in Visionary Wrestling, I’m going to do the same... Exact... Thing. And they’re paying dividends just to see the inevitable happen. I’m...” He shrugs. ”I’m doing a public service. The people want to see more Envi, so I’m giving them as much Envi as they can.” ”Evan, for God’s sake, I changed in here! You can’t air that!” ”Of course I can’t. It ain’t about you, woman! It’s about...” Evan halts in mid-sentence and points one thumb at himself, finally turning and giving her a smirk. ”It’s about Envi.” Michelle rolls her eyes and turns, sitting down on the edge of the bed. ”Yeah, of course it is.” She shakes her head at her boyfriend, disapprovingly. ”And whether you were in a six-pack challenge or not, it would still be all about you.” ”Michelle, maybe you don’t understand the gravity of this match... I had an entire article written about me just for coming here.” ”Oh. Yeah. Just you, huh?” ”Why do I feel like you’re not sharing my joy here?” ”Because I’m not. I don’t like how little I see you. I don’t like the fact that I can’t keep up with your fucking career because you’re doing so much.” ”...You’re not gonna like, dump me, are you?” ”No! Of course I’m--” ”Good. Because the ‘significant other leaves her husband because he’s married to the business’ angle is so overplayed. Let’s take another route, eh?” Michelle stares at Evan in shock. She turns slightly, searching for something-- anything to throw at him. Her eyes fall upon a remote control for the television, but a cooler head prevails, and she opts to launch a pillow toward his skull instead. She connects... And is satisfied despite the feathers floating harmlessly to the ground. ”Everything is about your fucking job, isn’t it?” ”My job?” Evan blinks a few times and looks up into the air, thoughtfully. ”To people like Francisco Lopez, this is a job. People that are here to collect a paycheck. Do you get that?” Evan glances toward her for a response, but she simply “humph”s and crosses her arms as she looks at him. Evan shakes his head and continues. ”I’m not that guy.” He doesn’t wait for her to answer, but pushes himself up from his computer desk and makes his way through the room, which we see is obnoxiously neutral-colored once we are given a broader view. Every wall is white, much like the carpet. All of the furniture is jet black, however, giving an eerie contrast, gazing at the self-proclaimed MegaMegaStar from a distance, who stands in a pair of black gym shorts and a white V-neck. He makes his way toward the window, raising his index to part the blinds, staring through the glass to the outside world. ”This is my life, and you knew that when I invited you into it. When I hear that I’m going to be a part of a match with five other people in it, one of which includes...” Evan laughs slightly to himself. ”...Jason Scorpio, then I feel that I have to make a choice. I can focus on a match that has so much riding on it, with so many people having all of these-- these expectations of me, or I can lose focus. “And trust me, Michelle, when you have five other people in the ring that are just as hungry and just as pissed off as you are, then losing focus is a dangerous thing.” He moves his hand away from the blinds and turns to Michelle, raising his eyebrow at her expectantly. ”I have to fight a crazy African this week for God’s sake.” Michelle frowns a bit. ”I don’t think that’s entirely politically corre--” ”No. I mean, legit, straight outta East Africa, wildebeest.” She sighs. ”You can’t just call someone a wildebee--” ”THAT’S WHAT HE IS!” ”Is this why people think you’re a dick? Listen to what you’re saying.” Evan glares at Michelle and takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes, silently debating ”There are so many styles in this match that I can’t just prep for it like I would an ordinary Overdrive or Meltdown match for APW, y’know? I don’t know if Scorpio plans on throwing me around the ring, or-- or the Wildebeest might decide to run at me and fucking headbutt me... And just...” He walks back toward Michelle, stopping at the edge of the computer desk that sits at the halfway point between the window and the bed. ”Haha, he doesn’t stop. The guy is literally a monster. How do I contend with that? How do any of us contend with that?” ”Mmmm, what’s this? The great Evan Harrison expressing some self-doubt?” Evan moves past the desk and slowly sinks to his knees in front of her, looking with flickering, wide eyes at her, a half-smile glued to his face. ”No... I just love to hear everybody else tell me that I can’t.” ”Well, what if you really can’t?” Evan doesn’t respond. He simply grins up at her and reaches forward, taking both of her hands into his. ”If I can’t, then who? Raymond? Raymond James?” Michelle shrugs. ”Just... What if it’s not you?” ”If you think it’s not me, then I’m assuming you think it’s anybody. I’m assuming you think someone like Raymond can win this.” ”I don’t know enough about these people to say something like that.” ”But you live to spite me enough to say it... Look, Michelle. There are people like Raymond that come here just so they can get their name out there.” ”So I suppose that 60K has nothing to do with it?” ”I’m sure he’d like it, but you think he has a shot at actually winning that with people like--” ”With people like you in the match, right?” Evan smiles and pulls her hands up to his lips, giving her knuckles a gentle peck. ”There’s my girl. You’re smarter than my opponents.” ”I’m smart? Golly jee. I didn’t realize I was relevant enough for your observations, but I’m glad you were able to notice me for those four seconds.” ”Can you please just humor me?” ”And then I get you for the rest of the night?” ”Damn, woman. You can have me whenever. How many times does your man get to fight in a six-pack challenge with guys from six different companies?” ”Far too fucking often, evidently.” ”You wanna know something?” ”Are you telling me this something, or are you telling...” Michelle simply nods toward the camera. Evan continues to look at her for a moment before he finally turns around and gazes at the lens, perched above them atop his bookshelf. Within seconds, he turns back, squeezing Michelle’s hands lighter. His tone is considerably lower than before, but none of his words have lost their meaning. There is no quiver, and no falter. ”I’m telling you this because I know deep down, you give a shit. “I’m telling you that out of every man in that match, even when it comes to the greats like Jason Scorpio, and the wildcards like the Wildebeest... There’s only one guy in here that I think really poses a threat. There’s only one dude that can say that he’s going to walk out of Madison Square Garden sixty-thousand dollars richer and for a second, I buy into it. “There’s a guy named Switchblade. He doesn’t like what I stand for. He doesn’t like who I am. He probably wouldn’t like the way I see this business years from now.” Michelle continues watching Evan intently. He laughs a little and leans forward, resting his head against the young lady’s shoulder. ”I know I’m better. I’m not walking out of the Garden without that money.” He pauses and smirks at her. "What I want is to stop them from leaving with it. To stop him. I don't want there to be a single motherfucker in that arena that can say that they've done anything... That I couldn't. "And they won't." Darkness. |
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3:40 AM Jul 11