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Thread: Fight Night promo thread. (February 13th, 2015)

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    Fight Night promo thread. (February 13th, 2015)

    Promos are due Saturday, February 14th at Midnight Pacific time, 3 A.M. Eastern, 2 A.M. Central and 8 A.M. British time on Sunday, February 15th.

    NO extensions!!!

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    Re: Fight Night promo thread. (February 13th, 2015)

    The Big Tipper
    with the big dipper



    A SHORT STORY

    “Hi Sarah, I’m good. You? Good. Listen, I only have a minute. I’m about to get picked up for a blind date, and I’m not sure how it’s gonna go. Can you call me in a half an hour incase I need an out? Great, thanks. Bye.”

    With that, Raquel checked herself one last time in the mirror. Her tight black dress conforms to her every curve. Dark brown hair falls down her back. High heels give her legs for days.

    “Perfect. Here goes nothing.”

    She grabs her coat, slips into it, and heads outside to wait for the gentleman. Within a few minutes, a long white limousine pulls up, and a tall man in a dark suit steps out.

    “Hi, I’m Randy. It’s a pleasure.”

    He allows her to climb in first, before closing the door behind them.

    “What a gentleman!”
    She thinks to herself. “He’s clearly rich!”

    After a semi awkward limo ride, full of small talk and the great unknown, they arrive at their destination: Gilmore’s French Cuisine. Randy again steps out first, helping her out of the limo. He leans in and says something to the driver, before closing the door and leading Raquel to the restaurant door, holding it open for her.

    “Wow this place is beautiful!” she says as the dimly lit interior fills her view.

    “It’s one of my favorites. I hope you like it.” He says with a smile.

    After following the maître d' to their reserved table, he even pulls the chair out for her and pushes it in!

    “Oh…My…God!”She exclaims to herself.

    They begin snacking on the cheese fondue appetizer he clearly had ordered in advance.

    “This is delicious!” She says to him, in between small talk where they begin exchanging basic information. She’s a nurse; he’s a wrestler. She is from New York, he’s from Detroit. That kinda stuff.

    She’s quickly falling head over heels. He dips a small piece of bread into the fondue, takes a bite and washes it down with a mouthful of Pinot Noir.

    She picks up the menu to begin deciding on an entrée when out the corner of her eye, she sees him dip the bitten end of the bread back into the fondue. Completely appalled, she closes the menu.

    “Did he just…” to herself. “Did you just DOUBLE DIP!?” she asks him vehemently.

    He is taken back by the attack, but manages to respond.

    “Well, I figure we’ll be making out later, so it doesn’t really matter… does it?”

    “Well that’s quite presumptuous, don’t you think? You’re disgusting!” she quickly retorts.

    “I…”

    Before he says another word, he’s interrupted by the ringing of her cellphone. She answers it. A forced solemn look comes over her face as she turns back to him, lips pursed.

    “I’m sorry… I have to go. My Grandmother has fallen ill and I have to get to the hospital immediately.”

    “That’s alright,” he says “my dog was going to get run over in ten minutes!”

    She storms off, out of the restaurant, mad at Jenny for setting her up with such a pig. He stays behind in the restaurant, finishing the fondue and the fine Pinot Noir.
    Last edited by Shawn; 02-10-2015 at 02:40 PM.
    "This reminds me of Santa's workshop, except it smells like mushrooms, and everyone looks like they wanna hurt me!"

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    Re: Fight Night promo thread. (February 13th, 2015)



    *The feed opens to a black screen with a medium-size light blue diamond in the middle. A single ray of light is beaming into the center of the spinning jewel, causing the light to refract and highlight each beautiful facet of the diamond as well as the hidden colors of the ultraviolet rays. As the diamond continues to slowly spin and illuminate the entire black background, the light blue words “SILENTIUM INDUSTRIES” fade into the picture from the foreground and settle below the sparkling jewel. A couple of seconds pass before a computerized voice comes over the audio channel.*


    ???: Please stand by for a message from Silentium Industries.


    *The diamond graphic fades and the feed transitions into a beautiful landscape shot from the Skywalk overlooking the Grand Canyon at sunset. The warm glow of the orange sun is falling over the edge of the ridge and highlighting the dark browns and warm oranges of the Canyon walls and floor. The camera zooms out to show a mahogany table in the middle of the Skywalk with a very large and elaborate light blue Hourglass with black sand filling most of the bottom chamber sitting on top of it in front of the camera. Cryos, dressed in a black suit, dark blue tie and dark blue shades, walks around the table so he’s in the center of the frame with the Hourglass to his right and the majestic Grand Canyon is his background. Cryos looks right at the camera, takes off his shades, hangs them off his front jacket pocket, reaches over to the Hourglass, grabs it and turns it over. The black grains of sand in the top chamber begin to slowly trickle down through the narrow space between chambers and start to form a pile in the bottom chamber. Cryos looks at the Hourglass for a second before turning his attention back to the camera’s lens.*


    Cryos: During my research I noticed that, even though I don’t have one, Dune has just gotten himself a Twitter account. I’m not sure why a man like him would care to get a social media account, but I am glad that you’ve gotten Google fiber cables run to your home in the desert. At least you’ll have some kind of way to connect to the outside world when I lay you up after our match.


    *Cryos smirks as the black sand in the hourglass continues to fall, making the pile in the bottom chamber larger.*


    Cryos: I also saw that you believed I was “hiding” because I didn’t respond to you or your challenge. So you are aware I don’t feel the need to respond to targets, especially over some system that has devolved into a place for cyber-dick measuring contests done in 140 characters or less. I’m better than all that. I thought you might have been as well, but I guess I was wrong. You are right about one thing though. The FWA has seen fit to put us against each other, making our collision inevitable. Our collision is as inevitable as gravity itself, a force of nature I believe you’re familiar with.


    *Cryos turns his attention to the Hourglass on the table and the black sand is still falling to the bottom chamber, filling about 1/4 of the space now as the grains continue to crash down onto each other.*


    Cryos: You once said that each and every member has become “a meager grain of sand” trapped in your hourglass, kind of how I view everyone in the FWA as targets in my scope. You’ve also said, and I quote, “As the force of nature that is gravity draws each speck of sand down and down, where they gather and lie still en masse, so too will each of you fall.” That’s a nice picture, but it’s a very flawed concept Dune. Because while the force of nature known as gravity may be an inevitable constant…


    *Cryos reaches over and grabs the Hourglass by the top of its frame. Cryos gently pulls the Hourglass over and sets it on the side of its frame, watching as the sands that were falling into the bottom chamber stop and settle into the sides of both chambers. The grains of sand fall out of the narrow space between the chambers and settle into one of the piles in the chambers until there’s only one single grain of sand resting in the narrow opening.*


    Cryos: …the position of your “Hourglass” is not. If your hourglass isn’t standing straight up, then none of the grains of sand can fall can they? Gravity can’t draw them down on top of each other speck by speck anymore. So the force of nature doesn’t work for you anymore. Personally, I prefer the force of nature known as erosion. To me it’s proof that a constant force, like the Colorado River, over time can turn even the smallest crack in the Earth…


    *Cryos spreads his arms out by his sides to highlight the Canyon behind him.*


    Cryos: …into something like this.


    *Cryos puts his arms down and folds his hands over themselves before continuing.*


    Cryos: The Colorado River made this giant chasm in the Earth 18 miles wide and more than a mile deep over millions of years and it will continue to affect the Canyon for millions of years to come. While you and I won’t have that kind of time realistically, it will feel like millions of years are passing when you step into the ring with me and I go to work on your cracks. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again for your benefit. If I somehow cannot find a weakness, I’ll make my own chink in your armor. Fortunately, that’s not the case here. I’ve already found your weakness Dune. And it’s a pretty obvious one, if anyone bothered to look past your intimidation tactics. You ready for it?


    *Cryos leans into the camera lens until his face fills the screen.*


    Cryos (Whisper): It’s your power.


    *Cryos leans back and rests his hands on the table, folding them over each other again.*


    Cryos: Your power is actually the key to your destruction. It’s a well-known fact, at least to me, that all of your power actually comes from the ground. No matter your stance or fighting style, you draw your power from the ground using your legs and up into your body. You are a very powerful individual, but if you can’t use your legs most of your move set goes out of the window. Your moves are very dependent on your power. So I plan to make it my mission to take your legs apart, robbing you of the source of your power and making you virtually useless. Now you make think that this strategy will never work, but let me ask you something Dune. If you can’t stand up, how can you throw me anywhere let alone lift the Hourglass to throw it to the floor? If you can’t keep yourself up, how do you expect your Quicksand to keep me down? And then there’s the question of the Sandstorm.


    *Cryos turns around to look down on the natural beauty of the Grand Canyon’s floor and the surrounding walls. The camera sweeps down to get a good view of a small sandstorm kicking up on the floor of the Canyon. The camera focuses on the flailing grains of sand being carried around by the wind, turning into a small and sheer wall of dirt skating along the Canyon floor. Then, as quickly as it formed, the sandstorm vanishes. The camera turns back up to Cryos and focuses on his face as his attention is still on the beauty of the Canyon.*


    Cryos: A Sandstorm is a very devastating force of nature. But as devastating as it is, it never lasts long and is only harmful to someone who’s not prepared for it. Believe me when I say I’m prepared for it…and you.


    *Cryos turns his attention back to the camera lens, directing his ice-cold eyes and emotionless gaze to it.*


    Cryos: I’m going to create a crack in your legs. Then, much like erosion, I’m going to continually focus all of my attention and my attacks to that crack in your legs. Little by little, stomp by stomp that crack is going to get wider and deeper. The wider and deeper it gets, the more useless you and your power will become. You’ll have some trouble standing at first. You’ll feel some twinges up and down your legs and try to shake off the damage. But as my attacks continue to flow into the crack like the Colorado River and chip away at the source of your power, the momentary twinges are going to turn into constant pain that you can’t ignore or shake off. By the time I’m done with you, your legs will turn into a virtual Grand Canyon for the rest of your career. The cracks will just get wider and deeper over time and you will never be the same again.


    *Cryos turns away from the camera and moves back to the table, looking at the single black speck of sand in the neck of the chamber.*


    Cryos: You once compared yourself to an animal, a beast if I recall correctly. I don’t think of you that way at all. If I had to compare you to any animal, it would definitely be…an ostrich. Because the second you arrogantly volunteered yourself as a target, all you did was stick your head in your beloved sand so I could kick your exposed and vulnerable ass!


    *Cryos quickly grabs the frame of the hourglass and throws it as hard as he can into the Grand Canyon. He takes one last menacing look at the camera before walking off. The feed fades into the Silentium Industries logo before the computerized voice begins to speak.*


    ???: This message was approved and paid for by Silentium Industries.


    *The logo and the feed fade to black.*
    My BTB: 2013-The NXT Generation







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    Re: Fight Night promo thread. (February 13th, 2015)

    The scene opens to a shot of the night sky. It’s a brilliant image – a sea of stars that dazzle like diamonds, each vastly distant yet still visible to the naked eye. No clouds or smog from nearby cities conceal them from view. Their glow blankets the endless void around them. Several shooting stars fly across the screen before fizzling out of sight as if individual sparks from expanding fireworks. The center of the Milky Way is distinguishable by its thick cluster of stars that span light-years of space but are condensed to mere inches on the screen.

    The camera pans downward slowly. The once-unbroken sheet of stars encounters absolute darkness below – the surface of the Earth. The not-so-distant horizon is marked by pitch black peaks and valleys. Now the camera pans left, and another glow gives light to the otherwise black landscape. This one is warmer than those of the stars. As the camera continues to move, the crackling of a fire becomes audible until finally its flames take over the screen.

    A greyish vapor appears every few seconds before dissipating in the fire’s heat. The distinguishable sound of dry hands being rubbed together is heard before finally Dune fills the screen. He is sitting on a large stump near the flames. Subtly visible are the raised goosebumps on his skin that have sprung up to deter the chill of the desert-night. His Rottweiler, seemingly unphased by the cold, lies sleeping at Dune’s feet, his nose twitching and his half-opened eyes rolling back in his head. Dune glances around before looking into the camera. He begins to speak.

    Dune: It’s dangerous out here at night. Not because of the cold that sweeps in as the scorching sun dies out each evening, but because of those who lurk in the darkness. Animals, they are – not the kind with four or eight legs; not the ones who slither about on the smooth sands…it’s the ones who walk upright who pose a threat; the ones who bear arms and seek more than anything the chance to use them; the ones who seek out men like me, sitting out here alone and vulnerable…or so they might think. By now, most have learned not to enter my domain – my corner of the desert, if you will – and they’ve done so the hard way. It took them longer than it should have to learn not to descend upon me in the night, as they once were so fond of doing, being the cowards they ultimately are. Many wounded by my hand...many dead. I, too, have suffered wounds, and were I less of a fighter, I would have died long ago. I can’t forget my companion, here. Without him, I’d be resting in eternal slumber.

    Dune reaches down and draws his large hand across the head and back of the sleeping dog, who stirs for a moment before recognizing the touch of his master, after which he rests once more.

    Dune: This isn’t the Big City, where law enforcement keeps the peace…or claims to. Out here there are no laws aside from those set by the most primal human instinct: fear. If not for fear of my wrath, I would have long since been overrun. It’s a sad truth, but a truth all the same.
    The tribes that dwell around me are not those of the Native Americans, but rather those who long ago left the world as most know it in search of a “better” life – one that allowed them to act on their sadistic impulses and desires, however cruel and regrettable. Thieves, cannibals, rapists, murderers…all of which you’ll find out here.

    My parents were raised amongst them, but were seen as outcasts because they did not partake in the violent acts so commonplace amongst them. Those around them fought as children play; raped as lovers make love; killed as families care for one another…yet they as human beings were unwilling to accept violence and pain as not only a necessary aspect of life, but an essential and all-important one. For their unwillingness they were punished, but so too were they brought together by it. They were caged like animals amongst those who truly belonged behind bars – or, rather, in shallow graves. They suffered together, and in so doing my brother came into being.

    They escaped from the tribe who had held them captive their entire lives. For just over a decade they managed to avoid the bounty hunters who sought them daily. Why they never fled this hell entirely, though, I’ll never understand….

    Eleven years passed before the bounty hunters found them. They came at night, stealing my parents from my brother as they would one day steal my brother from me. I was but an infant then, and I have no recollection of the events other than the imagined-visions ingrained in my head by the story my brother told me. He hid nearby with me in his arms, somehow evading their dogs and canvassing torch-lights. At sunset we were four…by sunrise we were two. And now, there is only one.

    So why, then, am I sitting out here in the night with a fire blazing like a beacon to those who would literally carve me up and eat me for tomorrow’s dinner? This, of course, is assuming they could manage to kill me. Well, the reason is simple: I’m waiting for someone.

    Flashback

    February 9, 2015 - Two days earlier...

    It’s midday and the sun is at its zenith. Dune is walking toward a shallow basin half-full of clear water leftover from the heavy rain that fell the previous night. On his shoulders is a thick wooden pole with two large jugs tied to each end. His Rottweiler has already reached the small pool and is flinging the water into his mouth with his tongue. Dune bends down near the bank and sets the pole down beside him. He fills one jug up, then the other, and he is securing them back to the pole when his head darts up instinctually.

    A thin column of black smoke rises atop a canyon in the distance. The dog picks up on his master’s reaction and begins barking when he sees the cloud. A “Hush” from Dune quiets the barking instantly. Dune sets down the water-tote and furrows his brow as he considers his next move. He takes out a large blade and begins walking toward the steep canyon walls.

    The scene cuts to Dune atop the canyon. A little more than 45 minutes have passed as Dune had to venture around the sheer face of the canyon and climb up the gradual grade around its other side. The smoke is still rising, though less so than had been previously. A small fire blazes on the ground beneath the black column. Dune looks around warily, but the small plateau is empty aside from himself and his dog. He reaches the fire and snuffs it out with his boot, kicking at the wood and dense shrubbery that served as fuel.

    Puzzled, he looks around once more…this time finding a small sheet of paper. He bends down and picks it up. From his knees he reads the small script:

    “You don’t know me, but I know you. I’ve known you longer than you’ve known yourself. I knew your brother…I knew your parents. Let me be the first to tell you: you’re playing a dangerous game, boy. Luckily for you, it’s one I can help you with. And you need it – oh, you need it. I’ve watched you these past few weeks. You may think you’ve learned all there is to learn about fighting in the ring, but if so you’re mistaken. If you want to defeat Cryos – and others possessing more skill than him – you would do well to accept my guidance. If you’re not too proud, meet me tomorrow evening at the Big Stump – you know the one. I’ll arrive at the stroke of midnight. I’ll only offer my help once. Don’t let me down, boy.”

    Dune scowls after finishing the passage. A mixed bag of emotions floods through him as he crumples the sheet of paper in his right hand…
    His expression changes as a realization takes hold. Reluctantly, he unwads the sheet of paper, folds it, and places it in one of his pant-pockets. He stands up, sheaths his blade, and begins walking back the way he came, his Rottweiler following close-by.


    Present Day


    Dune looks up at the night sky. The moon is in its waning gibbous phase. He measures its distance from the horizon with his thumb and looks around, awaiting the arrival of the note-writer at any moment. Like clockwork, a shuffling of distant feet becomes audible. Dune turns toward the sound, away from the fire. As his eyes adjust to the darkness, the black outline of a figure comes into view. Dune sets up in a fighting stance, preparing for what’s to come. His dog, too, anticipates the figure, growling but not barking as he usually would when a stranger approaches.

    Just then, the thick voice of an elderly man cuts through the otherwise silent night.

    Man: Calm down, pooch. No need for growls. I mean your master no trouble.

    The dog stops growling and sits down, wagging his hind excitedly as if the man was not a stranger – though by all accounts he is. Dune, confused at his dog’s reaction, speaks up in response.

    Dune: Who are you, old man? Come into the light so I can see your face!

    Man: You know who I am, boy…or at least you have an idea. I’m the one who summoned you here. I’m the one with the answers you seek, even if you haven’t any idea what questions you would ask of me.

    Dune: I’m not in the mood for riddles, old man. Step into the light so I can get a look at you.

    Dune retreats slowly to the other side of the fire as the man comes into view. He wears a tattered grey robe with a drawstring tied tightly around his waist. His face is lined with age; his brown eyes are filled with the wisdom of experience. A long, thick beard flows from his chin, once black in his youth but now peppered with greys and whites.

    Dune: Well then? Who the fu…

    Man: Quiet, boy. You’ll learn soon enough. I haven’t come here to teach you of who I am. Rather, I’m here to teach you who you are….what you can become. Firstly, I’ll ask why you’re here. What led you to trust me? You and I both know this is dangerous ground, especially at night.

    Dune: Don’t call me boy. And I’ll admit my first thought was that your note was some kind of trick – a ruse to lure me out into the night, making me vulnerable to a mob-attack by one of the tribes around us. Quickly, though, it dawned on me that tricks and clever ruses are not the tactics of any tribe I know. To them, leaving a note like the one you wrote would be disgraceful and cowardly – ironically, even more so than ambushing an outnumbered opponent without warning. When I realized this, I knew whoever wrote that note did so truly.

    Man: And you were right. Good job, b-

    Dune: I said don’t call me –

    Man: …boy

    Dune leaps over the small fire and tackles the man to the ground. He pins both of the man’s arms down with his knees and begins throwing punches down at his face. The old man dodges the first and second blows, but Dune strikes him square in the jaw with the third. Instantaneously, the man wraps his legs around Dune’s head and slams him backward into the ground, his head landing inches from the flames. Dune struggles to break free as the man holds him down with his legs.

    Man: Are you done?! Have you gotten it all out of you?!

    Feeling the intense heat of the fire on his scalp, Dune submits and relaxes his body.

    Dune: Yes…I’m done. Now get off me.

    The man tentatively releases his legs from around Dunes shoulders and neck. The two shoot up to their feet once more, each wary of the other. They relax as neither lashes out in attack.

    Man: I’ll not call you boy…but it’s awfully telling that an old man like me could take you down so easily. What will you do when you step foot in the ring with Cryos? The man has his flaws – as do we all – but if you can’t defend yourself against his strengths, then how are you to prove yourself? You’re not the evergreen-rookie you once were, but you’ve got a long way to go before you can be considered amongst the elite in the FWA.

    I saw you in the ring last week – saw you blubbering about wanting stiffer competition after beating up on that Sync boy. Who are you to complain about the level of competition you’ve faced? What have you done that gives you the right to do so? Nothing – you’ve done nothing. Sure, you beat a couple decent opponents. But so has any competent wrestler – even the ones who never amounted to shit in the business.

    You’re not fighting against tribesmen who wouldn’t stand a chance were it not for a sharp blade or some other murderous weapon. You’re in the big leagues now, Dune…and you need to step up to the plate.


    Dune: Cryos is a strong fighter, I’ll give you that. But you’re mistaken if you think I need your help to defeat him. I’ve watched him live and I’ve seen all the tape on him. In short, the man exposes weaknesses and exploits them. He works over one part of the body, and continues to work it until the match is won. He’s efficient, but certainly not unbeatable. He won’t have such an easy time exposing and exploiting my weaknesses. I’m not so naïve as to think I don’t have any. I know my weaknesses far better than I know my strengths. The problem Cryos’ method of fighting encounters with me is that my strengths are many and make up for any weakness I might have. What does he plan to do? Break my arms, my legs, my ribs, my neck…every goddamn bone in my body? He’ll have to if he wishes to pin me or make me submit.

    Man: He’s no pushover, Dune. You know it…I know it…hell the whole world knows it. He’s a fighter trained to break his opponents, and he’s highly skilled at it. Furthermore, he enjoys it – and that makes him a thoroughly dangerous man when he’s standing opposite you.

    Dune: I didn’t challenge him in hopes that he would be a pushover. That’s what I got last week in James Sync, and before that in Jobber Jimbo and BlackHeron. Each was nothing. Cryos, on the other hand, is much more. And when I break him down – as he plans to, me – I’ll come away knowing I can hang with the best.

    You say you know me. Do you though? How so? Not well, apparently, because in describing Cryos’ fighting style you describe my own. Which opponents have I not broken in the end, both inside and outside of the ring? In what way am I not highly skilled at what I do? Granted, I don’t claim to be an infallible God of wrestling. But if you or Cryos or anyone else thinks I’m no less than a major threat to be taken seriously, you haven’t been doing your homework.


    Man: All the same, I can help you in your quest – both in the short-term and long-term. Swallow your pride, as you did in meeting me here tonight, and allow me the opportunity to assist you. Should you choose to accept my guidance, I have no doubt that you’ll thank me for it – if not after this week’s Fight Night, than surely at some later date.

    What do you say, Dune…will you accept my offer?


    The man holds his hand out for Dune to shake. Dune stares at the man for a long moment, the silence broken only by the crackling fire that gleams in their eyes. Slowly, Dune lifts his hand…

    Dune: I accept.

    The two shake hands, never unlocking eye contact.

    Man: Good. There isn’t much time before you step into the ring with Cryos, so let’s get right down to it.

    Dune: Fine then. But first…if I’m going to train with you, I need to know your name.

    Man: Names…meaningless, really. I’ve gone by many in the past. But if you insist on it, you can call me Freeman. Yes…Freeman will serve just fine.

    The camera pans out and the speed of the tape accelerates. Dune and Freeman’s movements become rapid as they tussle back and forth in the fire-lit dark. Minutes and hours of striking, blocking, grappling, throwing, submissions, and reversals all occur within seconds as the tape moves forward at blinding speed. The shadows cast down by the fire and the moon rotate; the first light of the sun illuminates the landscape and quickly drenches the two fighters in its light. Suddenly the tape slows to normal speed and the camera zooms back in.

    Dune attempts to block a punch to the face but is caught off guard when Freeman lands a kick to his mid-section, bending him over. Freeman sets Dune up for a Powerbomb, going so far as to lift the big man up…but Dune wraps his legs around the old man’s head and hurls his upper-body downward, slamming Freeman’s head into the soft sand below in a Hurricanrana Driver. Dune rolls away and shoots back up to his feet as Freeman lies on the ground, shaking out the cobwebs from the blow. He stands up and blocks a Tornado Kick from Dune that would have otherwise hit him square in the temple had he not gotten his hands up in time.

    Freeman: Okay…okay…that’s enough for today. I’m spent – I haven’t the stamina I once possessed.

    You did well for your first session, Dune. Still, there’s much to learn. We won’t meet again before your bout with Cryos, so remember the lessons I’ve taught you thus far. I’m an old man, and my body took more of a beating today than it has in the past decade. I’ll need to recover before we reconvene. But more importantly, it’s you who needs to recover. I don’t imagine it will take long. You’re young; your body regenerates much faster than mine could hope to at this age.

    Remember, Dune: blocks and counter-strikes are the key to victory over Cryos. He’s going to throw everything he’s got at some part of you, and wherever he zeros in on and takes advantage of first will likely be the one he comes back to time and again. Don’t let him break you, Dune. If he does, it will be your own fault.

    Utilize your new move-set. It will catch him off guard. Once you’ve got him reeling, keep him that way and the match will be all but won. You issued the challenge, Dune. You’re the hunter, not the hunted, so be the aggressor – don’t let up until the bell rings and your arm is raised in victory. In the time between now and the fight, perfect your new moves as best you can. A heavy bag is no replacement for a live opponent, but it will serve to practice your throws.

    I’ll be watching you at Fight Night, as will the rest of the world. For your entire adult life you’ve been the only man in your corner. But that can’t be said of you now…not anymore.


    Dune, breathing heavily and sweating profusely from hours of vigorous training, merely nods his head. Freeman nods in return before turning and walking off into the morning. Dune watches him go before turning away and heading in the direction of home. The camera follows him, as does his Rottweiler, wagging his tail and licking his lips as to signal his hunger.

    Dune: Hungry, boy? I’ll bet. Let’s get something to eat.

    Dune pats the dog’s side before his cold, blue eyes dart up to the camera.

    Dune: I’ll give it to the old man – he was wiser and more skillful than I’d thought he’d be. A lot of what we went over today may have been in review, but what I learned will certainly prove invaluable when the bell rings and Cryos and I go at it at Fight Night. Nothing wrong with rehashing strategy I was already familiar with…nothing wrong with learning a few more moves to throw at an opponent.

    I imagine you’ve watched some of my tape, Cryos. You don’t strike me as a man who lets his ego blur his dreams from reality, but if I had to guess I’d say you probably think you’ve got me figured out as a fighter. Which part of me will you target? I can’t say for sure, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I’ll be able to counter your blows with stronger ones of my own. It’s hard to effectively disable an opponent when he’s doing the same to you with greater efficiency. Strike at my arms and I’ll lash back at yours. Kick at my legs and I’ll break yours. Throw me on my spine and I’ll rise up and shatter yours.

    I wasn’t toying around when I called you out, Cryos, and I won’t toy with you in the ring. You’ve got me beat in experience and FWA victories, but that’s as far as it goes. I’ve played the underdog before – the Dark Horse – and I thrive at it. So far you’ve shone like a diamond in the FWA. Now it’s time I cut you down to size.


    The camera lifts toward the blue sky, completely barren of clouds. The stars have been washed away by the light of the sun, their once diamond-like gleam nothing more than a distant memory. Slowly, blackness once more envelops the screen.

    Last edited by Dune; 02-11-2015 at 08:44 PM.

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    Re: Fight Night promo thread. (February 13th, 2015)

    Throughout time, one thing that is always constant is that history always repeats itself. It may take hundreds of years before it repeats itself but I promise you, it always tends to repeat itself and this time is no different.

    Do you remember the screams?

    You may not but those who were under the tyranny of Adolf Hitler most certainly do. Now I know what you are asking yourselves, what does any of this have to do with Thomas Princeton or Christian Quinn? Quite frankly, it has everything to do with Thomas Princeton and Christian Quinn because our General Manager likes to take a hands on approach, he likes to get involved and he likes to try to beat those down who does not side with him, and that is currently what is going on between him and our North American Champion, Drew Stevenson who decided to defy him and turn down his offer to be "the best" in a shorter amount of time.

    For anybody that knows who Stevenson is, you know just as well as anybody else that he has always done things on his own accord. He has always marched to the beat of his own drum and he has never taken orders very well, especially not from the suits who has tried holding him down from day one.

    Sometime in the late night period...

    The crackling sound of fire could be heard burning around the area, almost as if some sort of large war had broken out. The area was incredibly dark, minus the orange glow from the fire that vaguely lit up the area revealing a bunch of rubble that used to be several buildings once upon a time. To say that the area was abandoned was an understatement, it looks like it has been for a while but that tends to happen when it is the scene of a giant war.

    Switching over to another camera, we are now located in a rather lavish room that has Crimson red walls but looks to have been trashed in the war. At the back part of the wall, we see a finely crafted desk made of oak and it looks to be rather old but sitting on it is an old lantern that gives off just enough light that we can see behind the desk where a large flag hangs down with Princeton's face on it and behind his face is of course, the Nazi swastika logo. Panning out to view the room even further, just a little ways away from the desk, we see none other than Drew Stevenson sitting in an old wooden chair. Wearing some old World War II military gear, he is leaned forward and has a piece of beef jerky sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he looks over at the camera and begins to speak, you can hear the determination in his voice.

    Drew,
    "You know, it's not often that I say I am wrong on something but I will admit; I was most certainly wrong when I thought that Thomas Princeton would actually be good for Fight Night because he certainly has this mentality that he has to rule with an iron fist, that he has to be a tyrant ever since he has received the power that he has gotten."

    Reaching up with his right hand, he grabs the piece of beef jerky that sticks out of his mouth and takes a chunk out of it while chewing it up. Holding the piece of jerky in his hand, he continues to speak as his dark brown eyes stay focused on to the camera that is recording him live.

    Drew,
    "They say that with great power, comes great responsibility and that couldn't be further from the truth - I just wish that somebody would have told Princeton that before he realized that every time he was able to show his power that it gave him an even bigger boner then even when Christian Quinn gives him a reach around. Oh yeah, you heard me right, I'm not stuttering and you can bet your sweet ass that I'm not going to be censored either. Every single person who has tuned in watched last week where it took not one but two men to put me down..."

    Holding up two fingers on his left hand, he immediately continued to speak as he has lot on his mind and you can bet your ass that he was going to make sure that everybody knew exactly what he was thinking.

    Drew,
    "... I bet that the two of you thought it was really cute, didn't you? I mean, just as I was about to win the match and put you away, the both of you decided to jump me. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not surprised in the slightest because that is just the kind of guys that you are and let's face it; ever since that night at the Elite Knights Restaurant? Christian Quinn knew that he was a bitch when I threatened to shove my foot straight up his ass."

    Taking in a much needed deep breath, his large frame extracts outwards and then retracts back inwards as he exhales the deep breath that he just took. Looking as serious as a heart attack, he allows a very arrogant smirk to creep along his face while continuing to speak.

    Drew,
    "Quite frankly Princeton, you should probably thank Gabrielle and Zoey for keeping me calm because I was just seconds away from making sure that Quinn never eats solid food again. Oh but don't you worry, I know that this isn't about that night, oh no, this is about the fact that you are incredibly butt hurt that I did not take you up on your offer but let me ask you a question, are you really that surprised?"

    Looking rather dumbfounded, he shakes his head from side to side knowing that there is no way that they can really be that surprised, especially after all of the times that Stevenson has verbally nuked anybody who wore a suit within the ranks of the FWA.

    Drew,
    "Don't answer that, it is a rhetorical question because I can tell just by the look on your face each and every time that you look at me that you are incredibly butt hurt that I turned your offer down. Trust me, I get it Princeton, I really do - I put you on the spot in the draft and you had no choice but to pick me as number one and that is because you know as well as I do that I am just as good as I say that I am."

    Allowing that arrogant grin to stretch along his face even further, you know that at least in his own mind, he believes it to be true. Bringing his right hand back up to his mouth, he takes another bite out of his beef jerky and continues to speak while chewing it up.

    Drew,
    "I know that it bothers you Princeton. It bothers you because you are used to getting your way, you are used to people just accepting your offers at becoming the best through cheap means because most people utilize the ideology of getting ahead by any means. As you found out however, I am completely different and that is what bothers you the most. You see, I'm not one to shy away from the things that I have said and I am most certainly not one to regret anything that I ever said because I spoke from the heart and I said what I felt at the time. But I know the kind of guy that you are Princeton and if you can't get what you want? You believe in trying to get it by any means necessary but I'm here to tell you that you're barking up the wrong tree man, you might want to backtrack and sick your little lapdog on somebody else because if you decide to step into that ring against me this week? You have my word, MY WORD, that myself and Danny are going to make you eat your own teeth. So before you try throwing around your power, I want you to remember that I'm not afraid of you, I spoke out against those who have the power to terminate me just like that..."

    With his left hand, he snaps his fingers to help make his point even stronger.

    Drew,
    "... And I did so with no regrets whatsoever so if you honestly think that you hold some sort of power or have an ace up your sleeve that is going to make me rethink my position? You are most certainly the stupidest man that this company has ever signed, right next to Christian Quinn who just stands there agreeing with everything that you have to say like one of those mentally challenged kids at school anxiously waiting to build a macaroni sculpture."

    Taking the last bite of his beef jerky, he rubs his hands together to clean them off. Pressing himself up to his feet, he walks over to the desk and takes a seat on the edge of it sitting right next to the lantern as we can see him much better now. On his forehead is a large white bandage, after all, he did get jumped last week by two cowards who knew that they could never beat him.

    Drew,
    "Oh I'm aware that as I stepped into the light, the two of you are smiling and marveling your handiwork..."

    Pointing up at his forehead, he nods his head while continuing to speak.

    Drew,
    "... I'm glad that the two of you are smiling; I'm glad that the two of you are marveling your handiwork because I am here to tell you that everything changes this week. You see, I already proved that I can beat the two of you in the middle of that ring one on two but I don't have to worry about that because a very unlikely man decided to step up against the two of you as well and that spells disaster for the both of you. Now for anybody who missed what was going on, that unlikely man who I am very grateful for is none other than Danny Toner. Danny, man, I would have never expected for anybody let alone you to come out and help me but let me be the first to tell you just how grateful that I am. You showed a lot of testicular fortitude when you decided to stand side-by-side with me against the man who technically has the power to terminate the both of us on a whim. You showed a lot of courage man, because not everybody is willing to step up against FWA's Adolf Hitler but the one thing that you and I will be able to say after this week is that we ended the tyranny, that we stood up and did what was right when everybody else simply stood there and watched it go by like nothing ever happened."

    Lowering his head momentarily, he reached up with his right hand and rubbed the back of his neck to release some of the tension in it. After a moment, he brings his attention back up to the camera as the orange glow from the old lantern reflects off of his tender flesh.

    Drew,
    "Don't think that I forgot about you Christian, because I promise you, I didn't! You see Christian; you were always one of those guys that I thought could think for himself but when Princeton came into power? I realized that you would do anything and I do mean anything to make sure that you kept your name relevant and at the top of the marquee. Well congratulations Christian, you have kept your name relevant and because of the fact that you are stepping into the ring against myself and Danny, you have also put yourself at the top of the marquee just like you wanted."

    Sitting on the edge of the desk with his hands clasped together and lowered down in his lap, he stares into the camera as you can see anger beginning to form in his face.

    Drew,
    "Now let me ask you a question Christian, do you understand what awaits you at the top of the marquee? It's not going to be all of the glory and all of the success that Princeton has promised you, that much I can assure you. You see, I know that he has promised you the world and that he told you he would make all of your dreams come true but think about that for a moment. How are you going to have all of your dreams come true if you can't even beat me when you have a partner? Actually, how are you going to have all your dreams come true if you are sitting in a wheelchair eating through a feeding tube for the next year?"

    Taking a moment to pause, he simply stares into the camera with a look of pure intensity stretched along his face.

    Drew,
    "But I'll tell you what guys, I'm in a good mood and do you know what I'm going to do just for the two of you? I am going to make sure that after I am done with the two of you that they keep you together so you can be there for each other in your time of need. You don't have to worry guys, you have my word that the two of you will both be in wheelchairs and eating through feeding tubes because you may think it's cute to rule with an iron fist Princeton but I am here to tell you that I'm not going to put up with your Adolf Hitler mentality, oh no, let me ask you a question before I go - have you ever seen the movie inglorious bastards?"

    Removing his weight off of the desk, he is now standing.

    Drew,
    "Well, in case you haven't, there was a wonderful character by the name of Aldo Rain and Aldo didn't like how Hitler tried to run things as well. Well, as the movie progressed, many Nazis ended up getting killed and at the very end of the movie? One of Hitler's finest generals, which is you Quinn, tried to save his own skin by becoming a traitor but do you know what happened? What happened is the exact same thing that is going to happen to you this week Christian and that is that we are going to carve Princeton's initials right into your forehead - we are going to make sure that every single person knows that you belong to him, that you are his property but more importantly; that you are his puppet or as I prefer to call you, his bitch."

    Grinning from ear to ear, suddenly, Danny Toner comes walking into the room also dressed in World War II military gear as well. Looking over at his partner, Stevenson extends his hand out as Toner hands him a Molotov. Taking the Molotov in his hands, he lights the rag on fire and as he is walking forwards the door to exit the room; he throws the Molotov at the flag catching Princeton's face as well as the Nazi swastika on fire. As the flames quickly rise and begin to consume the room, both Stevenson and Danny look through the flames to wrap this promo up.

    Drew,
    "And just like every other tyrannical dynasty, we are going to baptize you by fire Princeton."

    As the flames continue to burn, both Stevenson and Danny quickly exit the room and run out of the house as our scene fades to the room collapsing.

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    Re: Fight Night promo thread. (February 13th, 2015)

    A Known, Unknown…

     


    Temple, Tx. *VA Auditorium*

     


    *James is standing on a stage dressed in grey slacks, black shoes, with a white shirt neatly tucked into his pants and a microphone in hand. The crowd of veterans and soliders he is speking to seems locked in on what he is saying.*

     


    I don’t say it as much as I should, so thank you all. I’ve wrestled many places and for many fans, but there are none more exciting than FWA fans, there is a feeling you all give me that cannot be duplicated. And it is the least I can do for all the fighting men and women who have served our country so freely and given so much. I am going to sign an autograph for each person in this room before we leave here today. Those tickets you were given as you all came into this room are for a drawing. You see I bought as many tickets to the event tomorrow night as I could afford and donated them to the USO. Now thw USO was nice enough to match the amount of tickets that I bought so we could raffle them off to all of you guys, so that you can come and enjoy the FWA experience, on us. Just know that and I’m speaking on behalf of the company here, we will always love and support you guys any way we can, and this is just our way of saying thank you. None are more deserving than you all.

     


    *crowd: OOOhhah!*

     


    We have a great card on deck for you guys. You guys will get to see the tag team champions in action. Four women are going to have a lingerie pillow fight. I’m going to let somebody else kick Drew Jolson’s ass this week. The other James will be there taking on the Jack of Diamonds, but the real reason everybody is going to be there, and tuning in is to see, "The man with a thousand names", Michael Garcia taking on me.

     


    *Crowd: Bursts into cheers!*



     
    That’s right, I’ know. Michael is a man who knows how to fight, a man who knows how to battle. You all have seen it, in the time I spent away from the FWA. It would seem Mr. Garcia has made a name for himself. Why he even found himself on the management side of things, there for a while. Then again, this very match makes it look like I can see the future. A few weeks back, the company thought it would be fun to line up a bunch of X-division wrestlers in front of me. Me being me, I fought and beat each one of them. Humanity, Ghost, Jolson, Kaizen, let’s just be honest, it did not matter. Blackbird thought it was fun to use me, only to give me less than half a chance to beat him. During that time, Michael kept on running his mouth about destroying the division, and taking it apart, and all that. He talked, I walked it.


    Then the man comes to me with a plan. The man wants my help, or more accurately, to continue using me for his dirty work. Now, I never agreed to anything, but the offer gave me pause, only for a moment. You see I’ve been there and done that as far as playing with management. Look Mike, I know you were not signed here when I was working my way out of the basement, but the stories are many my friend. At one time I dated a women who became GM during our break up, and Mike, let me tell you I learned a whole lot back then. Quite a few things I see you learning now. Firstly, and I’m sure you all can relate; things can change in a second, literally.


     


    *Crowd: OOOooohhwahh!*

     


    You see, Mike you were brimming with confidence. You had seized control of what you wanted and began making changes, but then the company went in a different direction. A memo from chatter you must have missed. They announce the draft and everything changed. You went from the man who had snatched control of a division administratively, to somebody hitting the reset button and not telling you. Last week I believe it was Ashley who had to actually get you up to speed on just what your situation really is, and thus your value to the company. That was the, you’re just like us lesson. The presumption of power must have been intoxicating, personally I think you loved it. And now it’s gone.


    You went from a man who wanted my help, to a man during the draft with nothing to say about me, other than I had already peaked and knew it. That I’m just a good old solider who is going to put his head down, trudge along and just eat the fact that my day has passed. How quickly things change, how quickly we forget. Let me clue you in boss, I don’t forget. I don’t miss a beat believe it or not. I also don’t give much credence to your evaluation process. Then again why should I cause according to you I've already peaked, right? Oh Mr. Garcia, you and I have never met in the ring before, you and I have not crossed paths, but I like your arrogance, because it has given me all the reasons I need to be fired up for this fight!


     


    *Crowd: Ooooah!*

     


    You must be from Missouri, because I’m going to hop on 35, head over to San Antonio and damn show you, that I am the farthest thing from done. You talk a real good game, but in case you’ve not noticed, I don’t do much talking. Talking in my humble opinion is for those who can’t do. Michael, I live and breathe the fight, the battle, the fact that two men can have a damn issue, get in the ring and settle it face to face, because that’s what you do. You wanna be the big bad boogey man. You want to call yourself the monster of the midway and then go cut promos in the Barney dome in Minnesota, that’s your business. I see through all that tough talk. At the end of the day I see you for what you are, lost.


    For weeks we have watched and listened to run around here like a boss. Like you just popped out of G-Rich’s pocket and were introducing yourself as Matthew Robinson Jr. You hated the X-division, and why? Huh, because it gave people something to cheer about that had nothing to do with you. You got a taste of power and control that I’m sure some on this roster envy. I see you as only having more than your fair share of problems. One of them, I am going to solve for you in a short time. I never got to introduce myself to you. I am James Hughes, one of the founding members of Over the Edge.


     


    *Crowd: Ooooah!*

     


    The man who destroyed APAB in their prime, and sent them on their downward spiral.

     


    *Crowd: Ooooah!*

     


    The last lion of the FWA, and the man who has come back to finish kicking the ass I started kicking so long ago. Only thing that I can see has changed are the names, in some cases. You want to be a monster; I’ll be the first to tell you, there are no such things. I don’t scare easy and I have delt with monsters before, and will deal with you in the same way. You choose a path of doing any and everything you can to get what you want, to get your way, looking at what is in store for you and what has happened recently, I have to ask. How’s that working out for you?

    I don’t need weapons, shortcuts, or handouts. All I have ever wanted was a fair shot. When I beat Vincent, I thought I would be done with the X-division and the mess you have so brilliantly made of it. I understand now that beating you will be me dropping the cherry on top of the Sundae to finish it off. I may never be the X-division champion, but I will always be the man who tore through the division as if it were a waste of time, those are results.


     


    *Crowd: Ooooah!*

     


    [COLOR="#008080"]I know you, as a matter a fact, I know you better than you know yourself. Only difference is the fact that I rely on myself, my body is all the weapon I need. The support of these fans in front of me, the fans that will without a doubt sell out that arena, the fans that faithfully tune in each and every week, is what I crave. While beating you and moving on to gold is what I am tasked to do, and where I come from, you don’t fail missions. This is all in perspective for me, the war will not be won until I am the FWA champion, but I take no battle for granted. I look past no enemy, and you to shall fall.[ COLOR]


     

    *Oooooah! Mixed with loud cheers is all that is heard for a few moments as we watch James get down off of the stage. Finding himself immersed in the crowd of fans as they are all around him, as flashes from cameras go off and he begins to sign autographs while also shaking hands of soliders, past and present. While the scene slowly fades out.*





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    Drew Jolson Promo

    Inside a hotel room...

    Drew Jolson stands in the hall wearing a baseball cap that reads "New England Patriots" on it and then he has a baggy white t-shirt with the American flag on it. He is taking a selfie with it when Lovisa walks in.

    Lovisa: Drew, what are you doing?

    Drew: I'm taking a selfie, don't distract me, I'm not good at this.

    Lovisa: I could just take a picture of you if you wanted.

    Drew: No, it has to be a selfie.

    Lovisa sighs as Drew continues to struggle to take the photo.

    Lovisa: Hold on....

    Lovisa digs through her luggage while Drew continues to try and take the selfie. She then returns with a selfie stick and hands it to him.

    Drew: Isn't this cheating?

    Lovisa: Like you have a problem with that.

    Drew: Good point.

    Drew takes the selfie stick and takes a photo of himself.

    Lovisa: What is this all about?

    Drew: This week I face Alex Millar on Fight Night I wanted to mimic what he was doing for his little promo.

    Lovisa: Oh? What about Hughes.

    Drew: I'll deal with Hughes later, he's a problem that's not going away anyway. I shouldnt bore myself with worrying about him.

    Lovisa: And what about this Alex Millar person. What's he like?

    Drew: You'd hate him Lovisa he's your typical "bro" not a thought in his head. Now, set up the camera, I'm going to send a message directly to him. This should do the trick, I'll be more than in his head....I'll be bashing it in with my boot on Friday.

    Lovisa sets up the camera, Drew stands in front of it, pretending to be taking a selfie with the selfie stick. He then looks into the camera with big and mean eyes.

    Drew: Alex Millar, it's so nice to see that my amazon order for a punching bag has finally come in! I saw your introduction promo to the FWA where you openly admitted to having not only a losing record, but also having been a champion, something you say nobody can take away from you and on that regard we are similar, but that is where the similarities win. See I am a former world champion of the greatest fed on the planet, while you were a low level grunt who got lucky in a federation that I've never heard of and nobody cares about. Welcome to the big leagues Millar, now sit down and prepare for a little lesson on just what the learning curve in the FWA is!

    A few months ago you would have been put on Smash where you would have fought jobbers and other lovable losers just like yourself but now with the brand split you go straight to Fight Night, the flagship show and you are in for quite the night! See I will do ANYTHING and I do mean anything to win a match. It doesn't matter to me what the prize is, what it means for my career, no, I just ant to win. And I hate losing unless it is a strategic loss. Like when I struck James Hughes in the crotch, he was trying to injure me like Cryos did and I couldn't allow that, so I hit him in the sweet spot to keep him off me. Yes, that meant I was disqualified but then I was able to show Hughes that he cannot attack me just because he doesn't like me! That's called assault! Sure he won in the ring, but I won in the court of social justice! I'm sure as Hughes lay awake in his bed it didn't feel like much of a win.

    And now I have you this week Alex Millar, this will be your first experience in the FWA and possibly one of your last. You see here we cut people quick if they're not up to snuff and I can already tell you probably won't last long here. I like that you don't run from your past and freely admit that you haven't always been the greatest wrestler but all that says to me is that you will be easy pickings for this week. I am pretty sure that my good friend Thomas Princeton booked this match so that I could have an easy week, he knows that Hughes has been unfairly bullying me for the past few weeks and he's willing to help me out because here in the FWA we don't believe in bullying we believe in support and right now he's supporting me by pitting me against the rookie from a backwater league with a backwater mentality.

    Your selfie did little to intimidate me, I am a man who has faced psychos, monsters and the depraved you on the other hand are merely just another punk with an attitude, chip on his shoulder a delusional viewpoint on the world. Well I live in the real world because I stay up on all that is going around me and that has allowed me perspective. A perspective you and I don't share. I see the world as a vile wasteland of filth, and it's a dump that I must clean while you see the world as your playground, a playground where you have to prove yourself every day after lunch. Well when you climb into that ring tomorrow and we go face to face and that bell rings school will be back in session and I'll be your teacher. And I don't do grades, its only pass or fail...And I can already tell what kind of student you'll be!


    Drew ends the tape and grins at Lovisa.

    Lovisa: He's really going to get a rude awakening on Friday.

    Drew: And so will James "Eyesnane" Hughes, all in good time my love, all in good time....



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    Re: Fight Night promo thread. (February 13th, 2015)

    "Knock, knock."





    The noise sounded more like a voice saying the words than someone actually knocking on the door. In a sleepy haze, Shannon O'Neal lands her feet on a slanted-feeling floor and groggily stands up and catches herself from falling with a balancing hand against the white-painted wall of the hotel room.

    "Who's there?"

    Around five seconds of silence follows. The reigning FWA Women's World Champion is unsure whether she heard anything at all now, or if it was her sleep-deprived mind playing tricks.

    "You."

    She definitely heard something that time. The voice softly speaks through the door, and Shannon steps right up to it.

    "You who?"

    Another pause for around five seconds follows as Shannon O'Neal waits patiently, wide awake but still noticing the floor seems on an incline to the left. Also, there is no mini hotel refrigerator. Where is the fridge?

    "You-the-champ."

    Shannon O'Neal's reaction is rubbing her eyes.

    "Youdachamp who?"

    "You the champ who disappointed us all. Time to wake up, Shannon.

    Time to wake up.

    Shannon, it's tim..."



    ............

    Your eyes open suddenly, as if someone painfully cut off a limb while you were asleep. The room is lit up, a difference from an apparent weird and tricky dream you experienced.

    "time to wake up."

    Jack of Diamonds is standing above your bed. His expression is one of worry, for his best friend in the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance.

    "You OK?"

    You spring off the bed, breaking your eye contact with Jack, and sit up before rising up a little too fast. The deep sleep has you a little "off."

    "Yeah, quit asking that."

    Walking around the room helps ease the dizziness. You feel Jack's eyes following, though.

    "You haven't been yourself."

    "Tell me about myself. I'd like to meet her."

    That one was good. You see out the corner that Jack looked down and then to the side. He's trying, so you feel bad, but you know that one got him good,so you also feel a bit of pride.

    Haven't felt that in a while.


    "You weren't fit to go last week. Fine. I carried you. We lost. You took it as your fault, just like you took the loss to Gabrielle as your fault. I get it. But you have someone, Zoey Ellis, breathing down your neck for the FWA Women's Championship."

    It's right over there, on the table, the gold staring you in the face. You love that championship, and you know you've elevated it and also let itslip all without a single title defense.

    "And you have another, Taylor Toxic, hungry for it. And Saddle Sally is spiteful you took it from her back in October. So how are you going to respond?"

    You don't like this pep talk. You don't need anyone's help. You NEVER needed anyone's help to get as far as you have.

    You don't respond. Just shut down. Jack gives up, turns and heads for the door.

    "You slept for 16 hours. You're not sleeping right, and when you do sleep it's the whole day. Something is up. I'll be here to talk whenever you're ready."


    "The Golden One" Devin Golden

    3x FWA World Heavyweight Champion
    2x FWA X Champion
    4x FWA Tag Team Champion
    Final record: 94-58-10


    Shannon O'Neal
    2x FWA Women's Champion
    1x FWA World Champion


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    IndyPuro Re: Fight Night promo thread. (February 13th, 2015)



    The scene begins with Alex wearing a white wife beater and and a pair of dark blue board shoots. He wasn't wearing anything particularly fancy, but in his current state of mind he didn't feel he needed to. He was cutting a wrestling promo after all, he wasn't being called to the Palace to have high tea with Her Royal Majesty. Not that he would attend even if he was invited to such a function.

    “So my big return to wrestling is about to begin.”

    When Alex says big return, he noticeably makes quotations marks with both his right and left hand's middle and indexes fingers, almost as if he was making a mockery of himself.

    “As I find myself on the bottom of the Fight Night card I suppose I should be honored. I suppose I should be grateful to even be a given a spot on the card. The truth of this little situation is that being at the bottom of card, is like being the dregs at the bottom of an almost empty can of Carlsberg. Now lets not get it twisted, I am not little Lord waiting for my father to make me the Lord of the castle. Some people might look at me as being nothing more than a youth of Britain, the scum that make the United Kingdom one of the most hated countries on this planet. At the same time though I wouldn't let one millilitre of Carsberg enter my body. I would rather drink from the toilet of a Curry House, right after a fat old fellow has had a dodgy vindaloo than drink a can of Carslberg.”

    Alex pauses for the second smiling at the camera.

    “And I know what you are thinking if you are still watching. God I expect half of you to not even be really listening to me right now, you are probably playing on your iPhones or Android or whatever cool handheld device you choose to play with. The point I am making is that being at the bottom of a match card is liking being an almost empty can of Carlsberg. Nobody gives a sh*t about you! So much so that you could be the greatest Carlsberg of all time, that surpasses all of the Carslbergs that come before it. The truth is that you are still a Carslberg. The same goes with opening a wrestling event. It doesn't matter if you put on the greatest match that the wrestling industry has ever seen. Ultimately you will just be another wrestling match forgotten in all space and time forever, I mean if you are lucky your match might actually be archived just in case you end up being something in the future. Just so if you ever do reach the big time,they can repackage that first match and turn it into something that it isn't.”

    Alex reaches to the side of the shot and takes hold of a can of Carlsberg and cracks it open.

    “The truth of it though it is just good business. FWA just like every other promotion on the wrestling circuit knows that this is the only way it can be, and that is why stuff must be done that way it is tha tsimple. Even if we all know the sh*t is just going to run it course as it flows along the gutters before reaching the sewers below.”

    Alex proceeds to tip the Carlsberg allowing for the whole can to empty itself onto the concrete. Alex then drops the can on the floor,clearly not an individual who worries about looking after the environment. Alex picks up a piece of paper and scan it for a few moments before scrunching it into a ball and throwing it over his shoulder.

    “This week I am facing someone called Drew. Now I am going to be honest to you guys watching this, most likely all three of you.”

    Alex chuckles at this point.

    “So to the one guy that is watching this, with his cat and his dog let me say this. In my new of the woods Drew is a name of a girl. So going into my first ever match I'm not sure whether I should worried or concerned. Either the guys in management have taken me for Alexandra rather than an Alexander and placed me in a female wrestling match or Drew's parents really wanted to have a baby girl so were mortally disappointed when he was born realizing their dreams of a pink room,was going to have to replaced with the misery of repainting the nursery to a shade of baby blue. I know what I am saying is almost a cliché, but to name a boy Drew is almost a cliché in itself. I mean if you have got issues, then I can give you this piece of advice.Psychology is generally a lot of crap, and people that go into the profession never got to be part of a sports team when they were younger. And if you don't play sports, then how can you be trusted?”

    Alex get right up to the camera and sits down in front of it looking up.

    “Apparently my opponent is a former world champion. Now I want to say something on the record, something that not enough people in the fighting industry seem to understand. If you call yourself the former champion, then you are acknowledging that you lost it and therefore someone out there beat you. My view on the situation is simple, if you lose a strap you just need to learn to shut your mouth and stop living in the past. If we are going to shout from the roof tops about being former champions, then I suppose I can be proud that I am not the champion!”

    Alex smiles as he wags his index finger at the camera.

    “If anything what is the difference between myself and a former world champion?”

    The question being rhetorical Alex answers it himself, although even if it had been directed at anyone no one was going to answer it anyway.

    “The difference is that I have not lost the championship. So by logic I guess that makes me better than you Drew. Unless I was right about the whole name thing and you are actually are a girl, then I will hold the door open for you and give you the respect you deserve my lady!”

    Alex winked as the screen faded out.
    Last edited by Millar; 02-15-2015 at 12:20 AM. Reason: coding issue.

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    Re: Fight Night promo thread. (February 13th, 2015)

    @AylaEl: On Fight Night you will witness #RevEL defeat another loser team! Wait until #WinterWasteland to see me and Randy put on a hell of a show!

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    Re: Fight Night promo thread. (February 13th, 2015)


    I can be your Valentine

    The camera fades in and on the floor we see dozens upon dozens of pink rose petals on a soft carpet. The camera lifts up and zooms in on a sensual figure laying on a fluffy bed, that woman is Saddle Sally and she is wearing VERY skimpy black and pink lingerie that just barely covers her naughty bits. The cameraman is looking for the prime angle to get a good look at her and perhaps steal a peek. She is pouting her lips ever so lightly and they glisten with gloss as she lightly licks them and then smiles a bit. She moves one hand in-between her crotch and lets it rest there as she looks into the camera; sticking out her perky chest.

    Sally: I'm so glad ya'll could join me this evenin'. This is leadin' up to a very special night fer' many people all over the world....Valentine's Day! Yes the holiday that celebrates love and all that it implies. I have of course celebrated this on many occasions with my husband but ya'll are in fer' a real treat. Ya' see valentine's day the brass got it in their heads that the fans wanted to see somethin' very special and I mean special. So what do they do? Well can ya'll believe it they decided to book me and three other gals in a lingerie pillow fight! And I could literally hear the sound of a million men across the world pitchin' tents like they were back in high school and one of their close friends developed C cups overnight.

    Well this will be even better than that, 'cause yer' all gonna see some tits and then some ass. And by that I mean I'm the tits and I'm 'bout to whoop some ass! I mean yes this is a pillow fight, and if I was still champion I might be a bit embarrassed to find myself in a match like this, but I ain't and I wouldn't be 'cause this is a chance to win in a match that millions of men will watch over and over again on youtube until they go blind! And it ain't jus' some standard bikini left up to the whim of the arena's mood and a little luck no, no this is a pillow fight. That's two words suga. The pillow is the first part and I think jus' 'bout any girl growin' up in the world have used a pillow, to go to sleep, to hump like it's the supermodel ya' saw on a billboard or simply as decoration on yer' couch. So I'm well versed in the object that is the pillow, like most. But the 2nd part of this match stipulation is where the rubber meets the road and that is the "fight." Yep, fight. Well I think its obvious when it comes to fight whose the biggest and baddest dog in the junkyard.


    Sally tugs on her bra atrapa causing her top to almost spring forward enough to show some nipple but alas it does not.

    Sally: All these women in this fight are gonna' be comin' on either in two ways, ready to put on a show, or ready to battle but I'm gonna come out ready fer' both. Wanna know why? 'Cause that's the way ya' win these matches, the crowd gets behind ya' the tide turns in yer' favor and suddenly ya've got a bunch of over exposed harlots gettin' beat down by not only the toughest gal in the squared circle but the sexiest as well. I will smack them so hard with this pillow that they're gonna see stars! I'm gonna hit them so hard the feathers inside the pillow are gonna form a new bird and then I'm gonna get the pin! So ya'll can enjoy the antics of Zoey and Shannon fer' as long as ya'll want but they're jus' keepin' my spot warm until the day when I am back in the spotlight gunnin' for the gold!

    Sally gets on her knees and pumps up and down on the bed simulating almost like she's "riding something" but it's not the bed....

    Sally: I love matches like these 'cause they really bring out my fun side, the little minx that lives upstairs in my head and tells me to be a bad, bad girl. And I love it, 'cause every now and then she needs to get out and when she does it's gonna be one heck of a good time. So ya'll can root fer' yer' little cutie pie heroes like Zoey or Shannon or even Taylor Toxic but they ain't gonna give ya' a show, I will! And I'm gonna take the stage once again and remind everyone how I am the true face of the womens division and that nothin' can ever change that. Jus' ya'll wait and see....Yippie Yippie Ki Hi Yay!

    Sally lays down on her back and stretches her back, which also stretches her lingerie to it's very limits. She smiles as the camera fades to black...



    Saddle Sally 3x FWA Womens Champion
    2013 & 2014 FWA Women Wrestler of the Year

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    Re: Fight Night promo thread. (February 13th, 2015)

    My bloody Valentine

    I wake up with a groan. February 14th. Valentines day. I haven't even left the room and I can already feel the lovey-dovey sappiness. Another nauseating holiday sponsored by Hallmark. As much I wish I didnt, as much as I wish I had that love of my life that made this a magical day, I despise this day with a special sort of fibre running through my heart soul mind and flesh.
    No, I wasnt dumpped on valentines. I didnt have a high school sweetheart cheat on valentines. I wasnt the girl who got overlooked in grade three when we made cards in class. If you expect a story, I am sorry. I despise it for actually a simple reason. It inspires a sheep mentality. For "good" reasons sure. Love is supposedly a noble reason for anything. But why do the sales of teddybears holding boxes of heartshaped chocolates go up this time of year? Why do you suddenly see more ads for "his and her vibrating condoms with bluetooth capabilities"? Is it because there is a sudden demand because everyone suddenly wants sexy time? Or is it because we as a society allow ourselves to be herded from metaphorical pasture to metaphorical pasture to graze on the grass they expect us too? Sure you can buy your significant other roses in august, and good on you. Nobody will bat an eye. Do nothing on valentines day however and you might as well have just grown a third arm, you freak. And so, as I do with most holidays, I dislike valentines day. It's a copout. It's expected. Romance is spontanious and a little dangerous. At least to me it should be. There is nothing spontanious or dangerous about doing the same thing everyone else is because it is X day.
    So I make myway out of bed, with a stretch and a yawn. Just another day. Until I see the email notification.

    "Subject:FN card change
    The following change has been made to this weeks Fight Night card:
    Saddle Sally vs Taylor Toxic
    has been replaced with
    Valentine's Day Lingerie Pillow Fight
    Saddle Sally vs. Taylor Toxic vs. Zoey Ellis vs. Shannon O'Neal
    Thank you"

    I rub my tired eyes with a groan, swearing under my breath.
    Seriously? Lingerie Pillow Fight? Thats what they expect? Some of the best talent in the FWA and we are relegated to being in the animated gif some lonely high school kid looks at while he polishes himself later in the week.

    Im hardly a prude.

    Hell, Ive played shows in a bra and panties several time. But that was because I wanted to. Nobody expected it.

    I stare the names. Saddle Sally, Zoey Ellis, Shannon O'Neal. There is a sudden feeling of clarity. As much as I see the screaming misogyny of the match (my money being on Princeton on that), this is a match I need to be in. Not to appease a bunch of young, horndog boys and lonely fathers. But because Sally, Zoey, and Shannon are going to be there. Because I can not afford to not be there. I need to remind them of who I am, what I can do, what I will do. Until they can not forget no matter what.

    You'll all know me by the end of the night, not because of shapely curves in light fabric but because I will be the one standing tall.You want some long sexy description of what Ill have on? Dream on. Yoy wat to know how the match will end though? I'll be the one with blood dripping off my pillow and my arm in the air. And you thought inviting me was a good idea?

    Last edited by Jabberwocky; 02-15-2015 at 02:47 PM.





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    Re: Fight Night promo thread. (February 13th, 2015)

    “Answers.

    We’re always looking for answers.All of us. Some of us masquerade and walk around like we have all the answers in life. And some of us….some of us still are trying to find ourselves.”



    It’s a very gloomy afternoon. The skies are a very depressing shade of gray , with just a glimmer of sunlight shining down into a puddle of muddy water. Surrounding the puddle of mud, is an endless array of trees, with their leaves stripped away from them due to the winter cold. In the middle of this mood crushing scenery sat “The Carnegie Carnivore” Michael Garcia, on a tree stump. The fact that he was wearing a Texas Ranger hat, with a stuning Armani jacket, and a pair of pleated black business pants, and proudly wearing a Gold Texas Star on his jacket, tells us that we’re located somewhere in a forest area in Texas. And the only other thing we know about the location is…. That it seems like there is no escape in sight.Garcia stands up into sort of a John Wayne pose.


    “Well, I reckon that you all are wonderin’ a bit just what ol’ Big Bad Mike is doin’ out in these here woods!”

    Garcia took off the cowboy hat, tossed it over his shoulder and looked at the camera with a glare.


    “I’m figuring out who I am.”


    “I have always stood in front of this camera, each and every week, and sold you on the fact that I am a dangerous man. I have described in great detail the level of violence that I am willing to hand out to my opponent each week. I have stated time and time again that I am the biggest, the baddest, and the most unstoppable force that the FWA has ever seen. I convey my accomplishments and go on and on about the mark that I have left in this company. I tell you that I am the Monster of the Midway. I sell t-shirts that let everyone know that I’m the Carnegie Carnivore. The Supreme Dream. The Reflection of Perfection. Menongahela Mayhem. The Beast of the East. The Steel City Slayer….and Pittsburgh Player. The ‘Burgh City Brute. And each and every one of those may be true, but for some reason, the idiots in the locker room just don’t seem to agree.”


    “I look at guys like Danny Toner and KAIZEN and I wonder why…why when they talk about going one on one with Michael Garcia, they speak with such confidence! How can that be? Do they not see the monster that stands before them? Do they not know the fight that they’re in for? Did they not get the message that I’ve been sending? Were they not listening to me? Do they not believe what I say?”



    Garcia looks off to the right, as if he’s looking way out into the distance.


    “And that’s when I had to ask myself….. Have I become a caricature of myself? Have I become so reliant on my size and my threats that no one actually fears me anymore? Have I become so blinded in my quest for power that never really existed that I forgot that my greatest asset is the power that physically DOES exist? And it’s at this point, when I realize, that with all these questions that I’m asking myself…the only thing that I am…. is lost.”

    The camera pans showing Garcia now as a mere speck in the massive forest. Endless miles of trees from every direction, and just as quickly as the camera panned out, it zoomed right back in on the Steel City Slayer.

    “Momentarily, that is. I let things blind me….get in the way. I let artificial power lead me away from who I am. Well let’s set the record straight. Who is Michael Garcia? What am I about? What’s my next goal? Why am I here?”

    “Michael Garcia is a conqueror. A destroyer. A winner. Someone who walks into this damn company, decides what he wants, and rips it from the grasp of whoever holds it! Whether it’s a championship belt, a position of so called power, or their own damn pride, if I want it, I fucking take it! So when I see people like Danny Toner and KAIZEN, thinking that Michael Garcia ain’t no big fucking deal, you’re damn right that it pisses me off! You boys caught me in a bad place and you should hope to hell that you never see me again, because next time I will talk the talk, AND walk the walk. THAT’s what I’m about right now. Repairing a broken image. An image that shows that Michael Garcia is very beatable. An image that portrays me as a man that’s all talk! No fucking more!”

    “I now know who I am, where I came from and where I’m going. The future is bright for one Michael Garcia as I look to make Vincent my past and move on to my future. Whether that be taking the gold from our newfound hero, The Emerald Exemplar, Ms. Turncoat herself, or maybe I’ll go way back and fix this problem right where it started…. at the hands of
    Mr. Rookie of the Year himself, Randy Ramon and that streetwalking hussie, Ayla El. Whichever belt I set mla El. Whichever belt I set my sights on, it will be hooked around the glorious waist of the Suntan Superman himself in the very near future. And that moment… that moment when I get what is mine, and my hand is raised in victory….THAT’S why I’m here. When I look down at my battered opponent, and see the pain, the disappoint, the heartbreak in his eyes, THAT’s why I’m here. When I look out to the crowd and I see eah and every one of you, hopelessly looking on, knowing that you’re hero has fallen, THAT’s why I’m here. That is the moment.”


    Garcia rips the gold star from his chest, quickly takes the Armani jacket off and rips off a white tee underneath.Garcia pulls out a LeBron James Cavaliers jersey from behind the stump. He quickly puts the jersey on before walking over to a nearby tree branch where a Cavaliers hat was hanging. Michael grabs the hat, and puts it on his head, in the traditional backwards style.

    “ No more pretending! You all want the real Michael Garcia? Well, you’ve fucking got him. You want the gloves off? Well, these barbs are gonna hurt a lot more! Nah, nah, nah….I KNOW WHO I AM. I know what I’ve been through. I know where I’ve come from. I KNOW WHO I AM.

    “James Hughes…. Do you?”

    “A lot of guys running their mouths about me, right now….saying that I’m lost…and as we’ve just gone over…they’re right. But I never once went back on who I was. Drew Stevenson, two weeks ago, would stab his mother in the back if it meant retaining his championship. Now, all of a sudden, nothing has changed, but he won’t accept a little help from Princeton? Same with you, James, when you came into this company, you would have sold your soul for thirty pieces of silver, and then I offer you a golden opportunity, James….and you turn it down?”

    “That was the best thing that was ever going to happen to you, James. I was on a quest to kill the X Division, Eyes. New rules…. Eliminate the HEART of the X Division, Lord Vincent Takaab Blackbird…and then handpick my chosen champion. James, I wish you would have seen your face when I made you that offer. Your eyes filled with pride, a slight smile on your face….finally, SOMEONE believed in James Hughes! You were a fool. A fucking fool. Don’t you get it, James? You were never going to be of any help to me. Unfortunately, we never got to see the hilarity of what my ultimate goal was, because something unexpected happened. That little bit of confidence I gave you, and suddenly, you thought you were above it all. That you could go after the NA title….You never even knew what the endgame was, James. You never got the joke.”

    “You. You were the joke. The greatest thing I could ever do to kill off the X Division was give them a useless, pathetic, washed up piece of shit for a champion. I stripped them of their rules. I tore their heart right out of their chest. And now, James Hughes was going to represent them as champion. How much worse could it get? A broken shell of a man was going to be the X Division champion. James Hughes. The man who lost to Shannon O’Neal. The man who lost to…well, pretty much everyone. X Division champion. It would have been glorious. Broken, ol’ James Hughes. You were broken then, James, and you’ve done nothing since to fix yourself.”

    “SO make no mistake, when was into that ring on Fight Night, we’re entering as two men on completely different paths. One of us knows who they are, and one of us is still lost, looking for answers. One of us has found the path to prosperity, and one of us will forever linger in our mediocrity. One of us will succeed, and the other will continue to be known as James Hughes. One of us will have found the answers he’s been looking for, and the other will have become an answer to the question: What is a jobber? James Hughes, it’s time for you to come to terms with who you really are. The past.”


    The camera swirls around the new Michael Garcia, in his swank new jersey, ripped to the gills.

    “My name is Michael Garcia. And I am reborn.”

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