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James Stall and Adrien Specter
Topic Started: Feb 10 2013, 01:07 PM (149 Views)
Bobbie Hearst
Administrator
One Rp per team member.

Tournament Deadline: Thursday, February 28th, 2013
 
Bobbie Hearst
Administrator
Bruce Kent is looking mighty dapper in his shiny gray suit and red tie over his freshly pressed white shirt. It matches his shimmering silver hair quite nicely. Bruce has just finished taking a tour of Cowboys Stadium ensuring that the Code Red Wrestling talent are all being well taken care of. CRW’s Assistant GM has one more stop to make before he can retire for a quiet evening in his hotel room before the big show tomorrow. Bruce strolls down the hall wall with his black leather Italian loafers clicking against the cement. He stops by a big blue door with the name JAMES STALL on it. It is the locker room from none other than the New Era World Heavyweight Champion. Bruce can hear James Stall’s gruff voice from inside.

“Where is he, Richard?”

Bruce lets himself into the room, here James Stall is standing. His is expecting to find Richard Specter standing with him, but Adrien Specter’s brother is nowhere in the room. Instead his face can be seen on James Stall’s laptop which sits on a small table in the middle of the room. Richard is dressed in a black suit for what is apparently a business meeting taking place over Skype.

“My brother is not currently available.”

James Stall is pacing back and forth in his locker room. He is dressed in a pair of naturally washed out blue jeans and a gray t-shirt stretched so tightly against his rippling muscles that Bruce can see the outlines of some of the scars on James Stall’s chest. James presses his hands on the back a steel folding chair and leans forward toward the computer screen. Stall’s World Heavyweight Championship rests on another chair across the room. His eyes often dart from the computer screen to the gold and back.

“I haven’t heard from him. Haven’t seen him. No open letter, not even a tweet. He’s unusually silent even for him.”

Bruce cranes his neck and looks over James’ shoulder to see Richard Specter smirking on the computer screen.

“Well I don’t think you can blame him completely for the tension between the two of you.”

James presses four fingers against his chest.

“How is any of this my fault?”

Richard simply smiles and nods at Stall’s frustration.

“You did throw him off the top of a steel cage.”

Stall slams the legs of the steel chair against the floor.

“We won the match didn’t we? I was even nice enough to give him the pinfall.”

Richard remains unmoved by James’ show of force.

“I’m not sure Adrien sees things as positively as you do.”

James steps around the chair and takes a seat. He presses his tented fingers against his lips.

“We walked away with a victory over Doug Fresh and Kurt Noble, the early favorites to win the Clash of the Titans tournament and the ViW Tag Team Championships. That is all that matters.”

Richard swivels from side to side in the high back leather chair he is sitting in.

“Again, the whole you threw him off the top of the cage thing complicates the situation. A twenty foot fall is bound to sour anyone’s mood.”

James leaps to his find and extends his arms, but, unable to strangle Richard through the computer, he settles on kicking the chair. The steel goes flying, and Bruce has to make a leap to avoid being taken out by it.

“He tried to leave me, Richard, as soon as the match started he headed for the door.”

Richard mockingly folds his hands over his heart feigns sympathy.

“I’m sorry. Is escaping the cage not the object of the cage match?”

James stalks toward the computer. He squeezes his fists which he holds up near his chin as he squats down and hunches forward so that his reddening face is in line with the webcam.

“But to abandon me right off the bat? To leave me to fend for myself against a one hundred percent Kurt Noble and Doug Fresh? He might as well have tried to feed me to a pack of wolves.”

Richard shrugs his shoulders.

“My brother made his intentions clear before the match.”

James grabs the computer screen with both hands.

“Oh, painfully so. He made it quite obvious that he didn’t care about the Doug Fresh or Kurt Noble or even the ViW Tag Team Championships.”

“I’m sorry if Adrien’s seemed a little ap-“

“Pathetic. Lose the ah and call it like it is, pathetic. It’s pathetic that a man of his caliber backs down from any sort of challenge. He has no beef with Kurt and Doug? Who cares? Beating men of their stature should be motivation enough to do whatever it takes to win that match. And now at Clash of the Titans we face them again and so many more. There’s Terry Marvin, Level-One, Sally Talfourd, Rex Evans, Buck Dempsey, Donovan Davenport, Keaton Saint, Tombstone and Eric Donavan. Hell I just rattled off a bunch of names he should be proud to test his mettle against, and that’s not even half the talent in this tournament. And yet he somehow lacks a reason to care?”

Stall turns his back toward Richard. It is the first time he sees Bruce Kent standing in the same room as him, but he pays Bruce no heed. After all, James as more pressing things to worry about. He crosses his arms and grits his teeth.

“Where is he, Richard? Is there, right off camera?”

“I already told you, Adrien isn’t here. He thought, with the tension between you, it would be best you avoided each other lest he tempted to do something… violent.”

James spins back around and roars. The veins in his neck are clearly visible as is a large purple one bulging from his forehead.

“Oh he thinks he’s the violent one? HE HAS NO IDEA WHO HE’S FUCKING WITH!”

Bruce reaches out and grabs James by the shoulder.

“Calm, down James.”

James shrugs Bruce off of him, and takes a few steps toward the computer. He taps his fist against his heart.

“I hope he is there. I hope you’re bullshitting me, and he can hear every goddamn word I’m saying, and, if he’s not, you make sure you tell him this.”

James squats down and rests his elbows on table in front of the laptop. He leans forward and speaks in a rough whisper.

“Not only are there numerous teams that he should be more than eager to beat, but we get to be the first Visonary Wrestling Incorporated Tag Team Champions. And he claims that only I care about that. Bullshit. Why should he not care? Because there’s no pedigree for the belt? No legendary names attached to it?”

James begins to shouts at the web cam. He is so close to the camera that all Richard Specter can see is James Stall’s tonsils.

“WE WILL BE THOSE NAMES! It will be prestigious because they are around our waists. We will build their name, and we will carry this fledging organization on our backs. Is he so willing to sell himself short that we would discount his ability to bring relevance to a championship, to make it something worth winning? The mere fact that we compete for those titles makes them prized possessions.”

James stands up and chuckles to himself.

“And is this not supposed to be the Year of the Specter? How can he pass up the opportunity to back up such a claim at Clash of the Titans. Let’s be honest. I’m the New Era World Heavyweight Champion. Terry Marvin is the APW Undisputed Champion and the Survive and Conquer winner. Doug E Fresh collects titles like a kindergartener collects stickers. Adrien has a midcard title in Code Red Wrestling.”

James looks over at Bruce who greets him with a raised eyebrow. Stall turns back to Specter with a smile on his face.

“A fine company to be sure, but Terry Doug and I are off to fantastic starts with our years, and if he wants claim that this year belongs to him he has a lot of catching up to do. And I don’t care that he was nearly killed by Insomnia in an electric steel cage. I don’t care that he went on to nearly win the Crucible Tournament in CRW. I put on five star matches every goddamn night. His ability to endure such punishment doesn’t impress me. It just tells me that he can do it. He can help me win this tournament, and that’s why there’s no excuse for slacking.”

Richard nods thoughtfully and slowly straightens his tie. He lets James stand there uncomfortably with his words hanging in the air waiting for a response.

“Are you quite done?”

James snorts and leans forward with his hands pressed once more against the table.

“No. You tell him he could have said no. When I asked him he could have taken a pass. He didn’t need to sign up for this, and I didn’t have to ask him. I could have put up a notice in APW or CRW and gotten a dozen men lining up to tag with me. But I didn’t. I came to him because I wanted the best. I came to him because I wanted someone I could win gold with.”

This last bit seems to get at Richard as he cracks his neck.

“And Adrien will give you the performance you desire.”

“Oh really? Because he’s already made it quite clear he doesn’t like tagging with me, and he doesn’t give a damn about the ViW Tag Team titles.”

Now it is Richard’s turn to lean forward in his chair as he instructs Stall on the kind of wrestler Adrien Specter is.

“It doesn’t matter how he feels about you or the belts. Adrien does not know how to have a bad match. But him in the heat of things, and he will performer better than anyone else can because he is better than anyone else. It’s his nature.”

James spits to the side.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, but know this. I am walking out of Dallas with the ViW Tag Team Championships, and I don’t care if I have to carry him on my back to do it.”

The two men lock eyes from miles away, and Specter speaks matter of factly.

“Trust me. You won’t.”

James ends the Skype call by slamming his fist against the keyboard. Bruce taps his index figner against his chin and nods.

“Well, I think you could have been a bit more democratic.”

James straightens up and turns toward his friend and agent.

“He needed a kick in the pants.”

Bruce crosses over to the chair with the New Era World Heavyweight Championship. He goes to lift the belt and sit down, but James shoots him a glance made of daggers. Bruce shrugs his shoulders and takes a step backward.

“Well, if throwing him off the cage didn’t rile him up, that should.”

James’ eyes look around the room, landing on nothing specific but soaking in the entire situation. He sighs.

“I need this, Bruce.”

Bruce looks down at James’ World Championship.

“Well, as you said, you are the New Era World Heavyweight Champion. If, for some reason, you don’t win the Clash of the Titans tournament, it won’t be the worst thing in the world.”

James shakes his head. He reaches down and picks up the World Championship.

“Bruce, losing any one match is almost never the worst thing in the world, but this still eludes me?”

“What?”

James pulls his gaze away from the gold for a few moments and looks over at Bruce.

“The big one, the title that tells every wrestler in the world, not just New Era, that I can compete with them, and, guess what, I can beat them too. I thought Ascension would be it, but I failed. Then I thought it was the Expert’s Extreme Tournament, and I burned out early. Finally I thought I was due to win at Survive and Conquer, but my performance was… less than desirable. But this one, this one is my chance. It’s a one night tournament for the ViW Tag Team Championships, the first championship in ViW’s history, and it all culminates in a TLC Match. It’s new, it’s original, and goddamn it I will win it!”

His eyes move from Bruce to the door. The Clash of the Titans card has been blown up and taped to the back of it. James walks over and taps his finger on the paper.

“The biggest names in the industry will be there. Old scores will be settled. New rivalries will begin. I’m going to beat Doug E Fresh just like I did at Roman Rumble. I’m going to dethrone the unstoppable Terry Marvin and his partner the legendary Leve-One, and I’m going to pay back those bastards CarnEvil Connection for daring to spoil my moment of victory and smash me with a steel chair.”

James once again looks at the New Era World Heavyweight Championship.

“And of course, I relish the opportunity to la a beating on Eric Donavan and Tombstone as well. Tombstone just doesn’t know when to stay down, so I’m going to have to put him down for good. And I still have unfinished business with Eric after our draw at Evolution.”

Bruce walks over and pats James on the back.

“Eric did almost get the best of you there.”

James spins around and catches Bruce’s arm. He gives him a tight squeeze and speaks through gritted teeth as he holds the World Championship near Bruce’s head.

“Not this time. He’s never coming that close to beating me again.”

Bruce pries his arm from James’ vice-like grip and gives it a rub.

“Hey, I believe you.”

Bruce looks down at his arm and then back up at James Stall who has yet again lost his gaze in shimmering gold of his World Heavyweight Championship. Bruce straightens the sleeves of his jacket and presses down on the front of his suit.

“You know I can’t play favorites tonight. I’m pulling for my Code Red Wrestling guys to do well tonight.”

Bruce reaches out and places a hand on Stall’s shoulder.

“But I wish you the best of luck.”

James lowers his championship.

“Thank you, Buce.”

He looks over at Bruce’s hand and smiles.

“That means a lot.”

Bruce pats James on the shoulder and the two share a laugh. They spend a few minutes talking and reminiscing for a few minutes before Bruce has to walk off and check on more arriving CRW talent, and he leaves James alone to focus on the tournament. After all, James has more pressing matter to attend to.
 
Specter

New Era Wrestling’s Main Event 4: Roman Rumble.

Febuary 16th 2013.


Slowly climbing the steel cage, Adrien immediately began questioning why this was happening. Why was he getting into other people’s bullshit. Why couldn’t he just say no to people…

…Why the fuck didn’t he try the door again instead of sailing the wall?

A million and one thoughts ran through his mind as he felt his fingertip grip through the chain-link fencing. Most of all how good it felt driving Noble’s head into the mat with his Vertebreaker. The ultimate irony of the whole situation was the whole thing happened because of Noble’s ego. Hell if he’d just let him leave the cage as he had requested, him and Doug could have had their fun with Stall as much as they liked. He wanted no part of this, and yet it was his inability to tell people no. His unwillingness to let people down that had pulled into this pool of sneak attacks and bullshit that was vastly rising above his head.

Why didn’t he just say no and move on?

Slowly, his eyes looked up towards the roof of the cage, and a sight he never thought he’d see. James Stall offering his hand to him.

He didn’t like Stall…truth be told he never gave the impression he did. Just two men in two different circles coming together because apparently Adrien is supposed to be interested in fighting men he’s already beaten. Still, the hand was too much of a temptation. Just something to get this over with all that much more quicker, before Stall can go on parading a victory over his nemesis, and Adrien can go home.

Reluctantly, Adrien took his hand, before James quickly pulled him atop the cage. For a moment the pair of them stood, looking at one another. Slowly Adrien’s eyes looked back down towards the unmoving Noble. No doubt he’d blame this bullshit on his bum leg or something, regardless he’s still pulling out backbreakers that sting like a motherfucker.

Talking of stinging like a motherfucker, a suddenly sharp pain drove itself into the stomach of Adrien’s gut. The truth was he really shouldn’t have been surprised by the fact he turned his head to see the source of the pain was Stall’s boot, striking him in the gut. Suddenly, everything moved so quickly. Stall pulled Adrien into his arms, picking up his much smaller body, before casting it down into the ring, and atop of the unconscious Noble.

And as he fell, Adrien looked up at Stall, almost as if traveling in slow motion. As he felt the air rush past his sweating body, all those million thoughts that he had in his head were gone. Replaced by one single sentence…

…What a cunt…

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An open letter

I’ve been thinking a lot about us since I last sent you one of these James. You see, perhaps back then I wasn’t in the right mindset. I said a lot of things that perhaps I shouldn’t have said, threatened a few things that I shouldn’t have threatened. You know, all the typical BS someone does when they’re generally pissed off about the world around them. You see, I’ve been dealing with a lot of shit. Mostly other people’s shit which is becoming a rather tedious task. You see, it appears that people can’t seem to do any shit of their own anymore, so they have to depend on people of who can actually get the job done.

That’s the problem with gaining a reputation, namely people come crying to you, even though they’re probably big enough and strong enough to do this on their own. But no, they act like children expecting you to hold their dick as they learn to piss standing up for the first time.

But the truth is, my tune has indeed changed a little bit since I’ve written my last letter to you Mr. Stall. You see last time I said a few things about you that were unsavoury. Perhaps uncalled for in my moments of irritation over the way this industry has treated me as of late. So I’d just to say I’m sorry for making assumptions about you before I got to know you.

And thank you for proving every single one of them right once I DID get to know you.

Unfortunatly, your attempts to “encourage” me have gone somewhat unnoticed. You see James, my position on this bullshit hasn’t changed in the slightest.

I STILL don’t care about the titles, I STILL don’t care about stopping Doug and Kurt from getting them, and I STILL don’t care about you. What, you seriously thought tossing me off the top of a 20 foot drop is going to cause me to suddenly go “WHAT A GUY!” and start sucking your cock as if you’re Jesus reincarnate?

Sorry James. Second verse, same as the first and all that BS.

However, in accordance with your wishes, my brother Richard did tell me about what you had to say. About how I’m supposed to care about beating Kurt Noble and Doug E Fresh. What about Terry Marvin?

Well you see I would give a shit, if I’d not pinned Kurt (for a second time, thanks to you), chased Doug off on our first one on one match because he was too scared to get in the ring with me, and beat Marvin in my first attempt in The Experts…By submission, no less. You see you sprout off all these names that I’m suppose to be excited about fighting, but the fact is I’ve fought most of them already.

Buck Dempsey. Fought both with him, and across the ring with him.

Donovan Davenport. Same deal.

Sally Talford. Was in the New Experts with her, and faced off against her numerous times in Survive and Conquer.

Keaton Saint. Was in the New Experts, THEN beat him in this years tournament.

Vanessa and Reya Serra. Faced off against them individually, and as a unit.

Rex Evans. Fought with him in CRW WarGames last year.

You see you sprout off all these names, and the truth is most of them I’ve been in the ring with already. Some I won, some I lost. But there is one thing I never did.

And that was need you. I don’t need to run my life by your standards in order to somehow validate myself. I don’t need to gain a set of tag belts, teaming with a guy I don’t like, when there are other great teams who’ve been together for YEARS.

Divinity. PERSERVERANCE. The Syndicate. CarnEvil Connection. EMPIRE. AntiMatter. You see, I can name talent too, James. I can sprout off a list of names of people of whom actually deserve to call themselves a tag team. Where as you and me? That’s just a vehicle for your ego. One of which I’m not going to help you push up a hill in order to make yourself feel better.

You say really stupid things, you know that James. ‘You gave me the pin’. ‘You could have asked anyone else’. ‘You don’t care about my matches in the past’. You make it sound as though you don’t need me James. That somehow I’m more on an inconvenience to you then an actual partner. As if you asking me to team with you was just a formality in order for you to get the belts.

Well you know what…lets test that theory out…

Seeing as you somehow believe that I’m nothing more than a tag along, that I’m nothing more than someone you’ll have to carry, well I’m gonna take all that weight off your shoulders. OK?

Because I’m not coming.

You think you don’t need me, then fine! Don’t have me. You won’t have to carry me to victory, as you’ll just have yourself to worry about. Hell this is even better considering that no doubt you’ll be expecting some kind of retaliation from me after the shit you’ve put me through, because you see I won’t stab you in the back…because I’ll be nowhere near you.

I won’t be the body for you to throw on top of people for the victory, after I take them out for you.

I won’t be the one standing between you getting those 5-Star matches you can apparently get every time you step into the ring.

And perhaps most importantly to your ego, should you win the belts, you won’t have to share the name on the plaque with me. You’ll be there on your own, which is all you really cared about to begin with, isn’t it James.

Isaac Newton once said “If I see further, it’s because I stand on the shoulders of Giants.” Well this giant has given you the token win over Doug you could never get…

…I’m gonna enjoy watching to see if you can actually do it on your own.

Signed

”The Ghost” Adrien Specter


P.S.

Should you actually win, you can just Fed-Ex me the belt.
 
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