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Thread: CWA: A Decade of Decadence - Promo Thread

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    CWA CWA: A Decade of Decadence - Promo Thread

    Use this thread to discuss the promos sent in for various matches for CWA: Decade of Decadence. Will be updated along with every match as it's posted.

    The following are the promos sent in for the 10K Battle Royal.

    Quote Originally Posted by Hardcore Iceman
    ***** Thomas Jones Promo******

    (the scene opens with a man standing with a black cowboy hat and brown coat with a worn out pair of blue jeans. He's just standing there rubbing his neck thinking.)


    Thomas Jones - Fours years.... Four long and rough years. It's been four years since I hung out with friends from wrestling. Four years since I heard the crowd booing or cheering.



    One has to hope they remember. I have trouble remembering so I won't hold it against them if they don't. Will old friends look past? Will old rivals do the same? As I get ever so closer to half a lifetime gone.



    I sometimes think what could have been. What if I just stayed? What if I just fought instead of complained? If I had just went with the flow instead of looking for my own gain? Would I be one of those old vets trying to keep up? Would I have been a world champ or tag team champ?


    No.... But as I look at the younger guys and gals there these days they do things which I could only dream of doing. Things which when I was training was considered taboo. I hope to try some of them someday.


    I sometimes see an young fan out in the world wearing an old friends shirt. It brings the memories back but then I'm just left with sadness thinking about what could have been. Most of the time the memories aren't there.


    The problem with being an Iceman.... Is that friends and family get walled off. Then your left with the cold thoughts of what could have been... If you weren't so cold to people and tried being with them.
    Maybe...

    (Suddenly a limo pulls up to Jones trailer the license plate reads "C.W.A." the man getting out of the limo is unknown to Jones. But he has a briefcase in his hand he sets the case on a work bench and asks)

    ???- Are you Thomas Jones?

    (Jones looking confused answers)

    Jones- Yes, Yes I am. Who's asking?


    ???- that's not really important. I'm here on behalf of the Clique Wrestling Alliance. We have our ten year anniversary show coming up and with stars of the past coming in we could use you. If you still want to wrestling that is?

    Jones- Battle royal?


    ???- Why yes how did you know?



    Jones-They always stick the old guys in a battle royal..... But yes I would love to.




    ???- Can I ask a personal question? Are you healthy enough to get in the ring?



    I think I am maybe... I don't think I'll die in the ring if that's the cause for concern.


    Great we see you there.


    So after four years of nursing injuries and fading away. They asked me to be there for a big show...


    They didn't forget.... They didn't forget...



    But can this be a comeback or a sad attempt of one? Could it be a time of glory or a time of failure...



    What if the fans don't remember me? What if I heard crickets when my music hits? What if someone has a grudge to settle with me and I get hurt?



    What if things go bad and I hurt someone? What if I'm not in that good of shape and I do die in the ring?



    Maybe I should just leave it alone and let people see me how I was that four years ago...


    What if..... What if....




    No I will be there! I will train! I will be ready! I will fight! I will leave a mark! And By our Father in Heaven I will add to my legacy! I will NOT tarnish it! I coming home CWA!
    Quote Originally Posted by Hardcore Iceman
    *****The Destroyers Promo*****


    (The camera being held up by the destroyer in a dark room he's wearing a shirt and has black workout shorts on)



    Hey cwa finally kicking the bucket huh? Honestly why even have a great big send off? All that's gonna do is remind people of what they hated. Besides all anniversary shows go the same way. There's always crying and old dudes hogging the spot light. Then after the show NOTHING!!!!!


    All that emotion down the tube. And nothing shows form it. Though maybe it is kinda nice to go out in a blaze of glory.

    Maybe people will forget about the bomb thing..... Sore topic ok...


    Any who some guy called me up and said " Hey john want to help us with our ten year anniversary show? It would really help us if we had a big talent like you show up". Then we talked about how great I was and how bad things were and finally I asked how much and added some zero's to it and bam i'm back.


    Out of the kindness of my heart i'm almost working it for free. Then he said something about a cash prize battle royal. So I figured why beat up one schmuck and get paid nothing? So I "asked" to be in this "winner takes A LOT of cash battle royal thingy" and what ya know he let me in. Such a nice guy.


    So instead of breaking one guys neck I guess I get to break nine or more!!!!


    Gonna be a blast! Hey who knows maybe me showing up to this show will make people watch and they'll be able to revive cwa.

    Instead of destroying I can build..... Whatever.


    Who cares anyway bashing skulls and making doe baby!!!!

    All that matters is whoever is is this battle royal thing is gonna find that they're the prey and ya gonna get hunted!!!


    And to use and old quote ya just another victim!!!!!!!!!!!
    Quote Originally Posted by Jon Snow


    INT. SNOWMANTASHI’S LIVING ROOM - DAY



    JON SNOWMANTASHI sits on the couch in his L.A. mansion living room. He’s gained a bit of weight and it’s obvious why. The glass table his feet are on is littered with the aftermath of his ravaging of Chinese take-out (for ten). On the TV: his first showdown with Jonathan McGuinness in Japan. Right in front of the TV, stacks of DVD cases with each undoubtedly containing one of his matches.
    A KNOCK blasts against his door repeatedly. He barely glances at it and turns back to his TV. More knocks.


    KAITADESU (O.S.)
    DELIVERY!

    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    Oh. They’re faster than I expected. I hope it’s freshly cooked.

    He struggles to get off his couch and groans on his way to the door. Alas, when he opens, its not delivery. KAITADESU, his old mentor, JOHN DUNCAN, his agent extraordinaire, IZAYA SNOWMANTASHI, his indy darling younger brother.


    JON hurries to close the door. Izaya easily sneaks in and KAITADESU puts his feet to the door to stop it.


    IZAYA SNOWMANTASHI
    You really need to let me come over more, brother. I’m tired of staying in those closet hotels.


    JOHN DUNCAN
    You just need to let me do my job and negotiate your deals. You’re a hot commodity being paid pennies.


    IZAYA SNOWMANTASHI
    It’s not fun when you start making it a business.


    JOHN DUNCAN
    But it is a business. And LOOK at what realizing that gets you.

    He spins around gesturing to the mansion.


    KAITADESU
    Save that for later. Jon, how you been?


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    Satisfied, until you lied to me about the delivery, now I’m hungry.


    KAITADESU
    Perfect. We’ll go get breakfast.

    He glances at the table.


    KAITADESU
    Fifth breakfast.


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    Don’t go out of your way. I’ve already made my order.


    KAITADESU
    Did you already pay?


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    Of course, I don’t want to have to talk to the delivery man.


    KAITADESU
    Then the delivery will be waiting for you for sixth breakfast when you get back. Let’s go.

    Those last words broker no more argument.


    ESTABLISHING SHOT: EXT - BLU JAM CAFE - DAY


    There’s a long line outside the popular breakfast that goes on endlessly.


    INT. BLU JAM CAFE - DAY

    It's a packed house in the popular breakfast place. Their table is already strewn with empty plates (mostly on JON's side).

    JOHN DUNCAN
    Izaya, you and I HAVE to spend more time together. Who knew one of the twenty people you wrestle in front of would get you an in here.

    He digs into his meal: waffles, sunny side up eggs, and bacon. There’s tea there too, that’s what English people drink.



    IZAYA SNOWMANTASHI
    I can get you in without us having to spend more time together.


    JOHN DUNCAN
    Even better!


    KAITADESU
    You done anything else besides sleep, eat, and watch tapes of your old matches since the school closed down.


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    What is there to do? I’ve done everything. I’ve conquered the mountain. I failed at conquering the heavens. I tried to become god and create for the future, but I could not.


    JOHN DUNCAN
    Oh don’t blame yourself, these Americans are just soft.
    He notices a few glances his way.


    JOHN DUNCAN
    You’re all proving my point. You kow that right.


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    I tried to teach them how you taught me, Kaitadesu.


    KAITADESU
    One, there’s a reason I stayed in Japan. Two, there are certain lines even I didn’t cross.


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    Am I supposed to nod as I’m disrespected. I’d break his leg again if I had another chance. Maybe more. Ah, but I guess that’s the problem, I even failed my brother.


    IZAYA SNOWMANTASHI
    Yeah, you did. But I guess destiny wouldn’t let me falter and now I’m a star.
    JOHN DUNCAN

    To dozens.


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    Why are you all here? I’m sure you have better things to do.


    JOHN DUNCAN
    I imagine you haven’t heard but CWA is hosting it’s tenth year anniversary soon. In the Garden.


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    And what, do they want me to take their fragile champion’s crown. Who holds it now?


    JOHN DUNCAN
    Who knows, but no. See, the controversy with your school has sort of killed your reputation.


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    Then are you simply telling me this to make conversation. If we’re gonna talk wrestling, let’s talk about my old matches.


    IZAYA SNOWMANTASHI
    Boring.

    JON shoots a look to kill but IZAYA shrugs and keeps digging in.


    JOHN DUNCAN
    No, we did get you a match.


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    Cyrus Truth? I have been waiting a great deal of time to face him. The coward never answered my calls. Always ran. Not like Krash, there was a respectable man.


    JOHN DUNCAN
    Cyrus Truth won’t be there.


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    A man without honor, he is. How he’s grown such a legacy I have a hard time understanding. Then who? Shall I defeat the Echos single handedly again, shall I have my vengeance against Lilith?


    KAITADESU
    We got you into the ten thousand dollar battle royale opening the show.


    JOHN DUNCAN
    He made me ASK to get you in.


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    Do I look like I need ten thousand dollars? I lay atop the mountain of CWA for over a year. No one has dominated that company in its ten years like I have. Of any number of opponents, past and present, who people would pay to see, you would have me beg for a chance? You Kaitadesu, can go compete. Ah, or how about you get Izaya out in front of a crowd that can truly see his talent after he faltered in his last chance. But me, I will remain home. I have NOTHING to prove.


    KAITADESU
    Once upon a time, Jon, proving yourself didn’t matter. The fight was all that mattered. Remember that? Everyone who stepped into YOUR ring had something to prove to you, a legacy build, a destiny to fulfill, and what did you do?


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    I sent them back down the mountain.


    KAITADESU
    McGuinness. MVH. Krash. LIGHTBRINGER. All back down the mountain. You didn’t care about being ENTITLED to anything. You cared about winning, about the fight, pure and simple. And you’re right, NO ONE has ever dominated CWA like you did.


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    You’re not convincing me to go back.


    KAITADESU
    I am. Go back for the fight. For nothing else than to beat the holy hell out of however many idiots of CWA past decide they need those ten thousand dollars.


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    You want me to climb the mountain again.


    KAITADESU
    No. You never lost your spot atop the mountain. You in the match changes everything. You become the target. They all know what you can do. Ten thousand dollars doesn’t matter at that point, the only thing that matters is who can beat you. It’s basically a guaranteed contract at any company, a boast to last years. You step in that ring, it’s ten, twenty, thirty guys trying to take you off the mountain. Screw the title. You’ve done that. Screw any other opponent they can think of. What’s beating one guy to beating all the guys?


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    Stand atop the mountain one final time?


    JOHN DUNCAN
    One final time.


    IZAYA SNOWMANTASHI
    Yeah, because you guys always stick to your word. Didn’t you just have a return from retirement and another retirement match last month, Kaitadesu?


    JON SNOWMANTASHI
    So be it. I’m sure the mountain has been littered with pretenders since I last left it, it is time we clear the way to see who truly deserves to stand on it. If nothing else, I will show the world whether there is anyone worthy.
    (he clears his throat)
    Thank you for being so patient. I’ll have everything on page four and five now.

    The waiter at the table who has been standing awkwardly listening to the four go back and forth on mountains and what not is relieved to be able to leave and dismayed with the endless plates he’ll have to return to.
    Quote Originally Posted by Shade
    Earlier on in the night before Decade of Decadence begins, the scene opens and focuses on the ring crew assembling both the ring and the set ahead of the show. While some producers congregate at ringside with some local talent to speak ahead of the show, in the stands watching on as he talks on his phone is "The Irish Dragon" Ryan Andrews. As he wraps up his call with his family, Ryan looks down at the ring before he calmly shakes his head. Just then Ryan is joined by Craig Owens who looks to speak with his long time bodyguard.

    Craig: I bet you cannot wait for tonight can you Ryan? I mean just to think you get to fully experience the Craig Owens show in all it's glory.

    Ryan looks at Craig in disgust while Craig continues.

    Craig: After all these years, I make my triumphant return to the CWA. To give everyone a little bit of Owens in their life.

    Ryan: You really think these people have missed you?

    Craig: Why of course they have, I mean what else would they be doing with their poor uneventful lives. I'll have you know that not only am I the most spoke about CWA superstar but I am also the most searched on google and commented on across social media.

    Ryan: Yeah.. By yourself.

    Craig smiles broadly having not listened to Ryan.

    Craig:
    And now I'm returning after my highly successful one man broad way show. What a day it is to be Craig Owens. Then again it is wonderful being me every day. Now listen Ryan.. We need to have a little run through of the events for tonight. Because while I know you don't mind being an extra in my world....

    Ryan: Is that what I am?

    Craig: Yes... I mean you have to look at the big picture. This is the Craig Owens show. You are just lucky to be brought along for the ride. So as I was saying tonight. When I win the battle royal. I'm going to need for you to do what you do best and eliminate all the others, before doing the right thing and leaving the ring yourself.

    Before Owens can continue his speech he is shockingly snatched by the throat by Ryan.

    Ryan: Stop talking. I've heard enough of your shit. Now is the time for you to listen. The Craig Owens show is cancelled. Tonight I personally will be taking you off the air. Now GO!

    Ryan shoves Owens away from him and a visibly stunned Owens is quick to make his exit. Ryan meanwhile sits back down while he finds himself surprisingly joined by a camera man and Toxic Rain.

    Rain: Ryan. I know it's early but we've just seen what happened with you and Craig Owens. We was wondering if we would get some answers for the CWA audience in regards to your actions?

    Ryan: No.

    Rain: What?

    Standing up from the chair, the towering Ryan glares down at Toxic before he snatches the microphone from her.

    Ryan: I said no. I will not answer that question. Instead I'm going to answer five other questions. Who... What... When.. Where... Why. Do I make myself clear?

    Ryan glares at Toxic Rain before he shoves the microphone into her chest.

    Rain: I think so... So let's star with... Who?

    Ryan nods his head and smiles sinisterly.

    Ryan: My name is "The Dragon" Ryan Andrews. I am 35 years old and I was born in Dublin before my parents moved to Boston, Massachusetts. I didn't have a great childhood. This was down to many reasons. I was an outsider, I was a quiet lanky kid who was a target. My home life was rough because of my parents troubles. My dad he used to like to smack me around when he'd had a drink. This behavior kept up until I fought back. While it didn't work at first, eventually I bulked up and I put him in hospital. He never laid a hand on me again. After that I left my home at only 17 and I had to fend for myself. I ended up joining a gang. I was a thug and I did my time like a man. When I came back out I knew I needed a purpose.. But I knew more than that what my skillset was.

    Rain: What?

    Ryan: I have a talent for hurting people. Now when I say that let me make this clear. I never want to hurt anyone. I'm not some twisted psychopath but at the same time I am good at it. Because I'm good at it and because I have to do it... I've had to learn to like it. Which is why me and Dan Maskell have gotten along so well for all these years. Because we both know when the chips are down what must be done in order to survive and may I say when you accept that and understand it... It's amazing what you are capable of.

    Rain: When?

    Ryan: I first met Dan by chance. He'd been wrestling for a promotion called XCW and in truth he was floundering. He'd tried to do this stupid character they wanted him to be... It didn't work. So in this bar a fight broke out. Between myself and him to be exact. It was brutal yet at the same time as we fought we both acknowledged there was something there. It started a bond between us. We became brothers. So soon after I joined him in the wrestling business. At first it was just a job for me. I chance to act as muscle and get paid. Yet soon enough I began stepping in the ring myself and making my own mark.

    Rain: Where?

    Ryan: I've travelled many roads. I've competed across the world yet I have never gotten my due. I've never been given a title shot. I've never been a chosen one. All I've ever been looked upon is just a hired gun and I get it. I've allowed myself to be perceived that way for too long. Just like I did here with Craig. I don't like Craig Owens. But I watched his back because I'm a professional and he paid my bills.

    Rain: Lastly... Why?

    Ryan: Why is the million dollar question. See while I've paid my dues and endured hard times just like Dan did. While I went to all the same places he did. There was one major difference between us. To Dan this is all for his psychotic validation of his greatness. But for me if you ask me why.. I do this for another reason.

    Grabbing his phone, Ryan turns it to the camera and in the screen saver we see Ryan is standing by with a young woman close to his age with two kids just in front of them.

    Ryan: This is my family. My wife Priya who I met on a wrestling tour through Dubai. We endured a lot of difficulties through the early days but now she is my happy ever after. My son Jake who has recently just turned 7. He's a massive wrestling fan and he will be staying up late to watch his daddy compete tonight and lastly my daughter Sophia. She's only 5 and in truth she isn't a fan of this line of work. All that matters to her is daddy comes home fine. My family is why I have done all of this. Why I've allowed myself to be the muscle for Craig Owens in order to get paid so I can provide. Yet tonight I'm looking to do more than just provide for them... I'm looking to make them proud. No one in that battle royal will stop me from accomplishing that!
    Quote Originally Posted by Smooth Jazz Wolf
    Dreyer
    Of Germanic/Jewish origin
    To cheat, swindle, or turn against.




    ~~~

    In a hotel near Madison Square Garden, a number of fingers impatiently rapped against the armrest of an armchair.

    The owner of the fingers, a raven-haired woman with a weight on her shoulders, glanced at the clock hanging on one of the bland cream walls, and withheld a sigh of irritation. A second glance out the window nearby offered a view of Madison Square Garden, with posters of CWA: Decade of Decadence hanging outside, billowing in the soft wind, and that withheld sigh turned into a released sigh.

    The day of the event was getting closer, and the woman had thought they would’ve called her by now. Surely they wouldn’t be so amateur as to call her the day of the show? She had been sitting in this hotel for over two weeks now, just waiting for the phone call. A phone call that would never come unless she did what she always did, and made it.

    Finally, as the clock ticked over to 1:12pm, the woman’s nerves got the best of her, and she threw up her hands in defeat.

    “Fine, I’ll make the first move! Christ.” She said frustrated, to no-one in particular. Politely, no-one in particular replied, although the fact that she was the only one in the hotel room would have something to do with that. She scooped up her phone, scrolling through her contact list for the name she had in her back pocket, the name of someone who was her ‘in’ to CWA.

    The fact that neither that man nor CWA themselves didn’t make any attempt to contact her and get her on the show was downright offensive.

    Jabbing at the name with a finger like it had personally shat upon her shoes, the woman began the call, and began pacing the hotel room floor.

    Buzz, buzz.

    Buzz, buzz.

    “Come on, pick up! I know you have nothing better to do!”

    Buzz, buzz.

    Buzz, buzz.

    As she was about to throw the phone out the window in annoyance – wouldn’t be the first time – the woman’s heart skipped a beat when the reassuring sounds of the call getting answered reached her ears.

    This was closely followed by the not-so-reassuring sound of a half-asleep man who was barely awake enough to form coherent sentences.

    “Hello?” The voice on the other end of the phone said, after a handful of seconds of incomprehensible mumbling. It was a voice the woman hadn’t heard in years, and yet, instantly recognisable despite the sleepy drawl.

    “I’m cashing my favour.” The woman stated, confidently. A favour, one of many, that the man owed her. Or, rather, her father.

    After a beat of silence, and the sound of the other person rolling over in bed, the voice finally responded. “... I’m sorry, who is this?”

    The woman blinked, before immediately becoming overcome by fury. “Who?!? It’s Violet godamned Dreyer, don’t act like you’ve forgotten!”

    Another few seconds of silence. Violet Dreyer was not what you would call a patient woman, by any stretch of the word, but she had been... trying, to improve on that aspect. It’s difficult to remain patient when you’ve been waiting two weeks for a phone call, only to end up making that call yourself and having to play the ‘who’s this’ game, a game she had played too much over the years.

    Eventually, the voice responded. “Dreyer. Dreyer... Dreyer. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

    “Are you for real?” Violet demanded, irked, her fingernails digging into her palm.

    “Yes, Violet. I am indeed ‘for real.’ Of course I know who you are, who else would call me at... Three in the morning, prattling on about ‘favours’ and such nonsense?” Finally, recognition. A small, tiny, insignificant part of Violet Dreyer suddenly felt super bad about waking her contact up that early in the morning, but that part was dwarfed and subsequently flattened out of existence by the bigger part of her that wasn’t up to this sort of thing right now, thank you very much.

    “You owe me.” Violet spoke, jabbing a finger in the air in front of her. If this were a conversation in person, instead of over the phone, Violet would likely be jabbing her contact in the chest, punctuating each syllable. Alas, this being a phone conversation, meant Violet merely looked rather ridiculous to any onlooker.

    “Like hell I do.” Her contact replied.

    Violet frowned. Of course it wasn’t going to be easy. “Let me rephrase: You owe my family, therefore you owe me.”

    “Cool, now allow me to rephrase: Like absolute buggery hell I do.” The addition of the words ‘absolute’ and ‘buggery’ did not convince Violet of this fact, and if they did, Violet steadfastly ignored them.

    “We both know if it wasn’t for my dad taking pity on you and letting you into his wrestling school, you’d still be a homeless loser sleeping behind a bar! You owe my family for having a career!” The jab at her contact’s previous state of being before the Dreyer family took pity on them was certainly a low blow, one her contact didn’t like to acknowledge, but Violet refused to play nice.

    A sigh echoed through the phone. “You’re delusional, Violet.”

    “Shut up, alright?” Violet snapped. “I know you have contacts, you have sway, you have power. I mean, you’ve got to, after everything you’ve done.”

    “I try and steer clear of that sort of thing, Violet. You know that.” The voice replied, as tired as anything.

    Violet rolled her eyes, attempting in vain to ensure the act of her rolling her eyes was audible over the phone. “Uh-huh, sure. The point is, I want in.”

    Yet another second of silence. Her contact sure liked silences. “... In?” They finally asked, audibly raising an eyebrow, somehow.

    “Yes, in!” Violet exclaimed, as if making a vague statement explained everything.

    “Violet, for the third time, it is three am in the morning. I am not nearly awake enough for this, so if you’re going to make some vague requests, the very least you could do is be specific about it.”

    Violet pinched the bridge of her nose, and let out an irritated breath. “In CWA.”

    This time, the silence lasted a good five seconds. “... You know that’s a tall order.” Her contact said, incredulously.

    “Christ, I’m not asking you to put me in a world title match against Brandon Brigade or whoever he is-”

    “Brayden Bridges.” Her contact interrupted, dryly.

    “I don’t care!” Violet said, throwing her free arm up in frustration, hoping that her contact would be able to visualize the motion. “I’m just asking that you repay the favour we gave you. You can tell yourself you’re doing it out of the ‘goodness of your own heart’ instead of repaying a debt if that makes you feel so morally superior.”

    “... Violet-” The sigh before the ‘Violet’ told Violet pretty much everything her contact was about to say, words that she had heard too many times before from people she thought would be her ‘in’ to the big leagues. That her request would be borderline impossible since her contact couldn’t provide an adequate reason why CWA should give a loser like Violet Dreyer a shot. No ‘indy cred.’ No ‘drawing power.’ No ‘underrated star waiting to be unearthed.’ All she had was a name, a name that didn’t hold nearly as much weight as she acted like it did. A name tied to a family of failures and losers, a cursed legacy that she’ll never escape from.

    “Shut up, just...” Suddenly feeling emotionally exhausted, Violet let the upcoming insult die in her throat, as the uncomfortable feeling of a golf ball inside of said throat replaced it. She sat herself back down on the chair with a defeated sigh, running her free hand through her hair. When she spoke again, the confident, egotistical tone that usually centred her voice, was replaced by a raw, shaken one. “Look, this year hasn’t been... Good, for me, okay? I was hoping the Black Widow Classic was going to be my launching pad into fame, but... I don’t even know what’s going on with it. I guess they just stopped calling me in, like every other promotion that took a shot with me. It’s 2019, I’ve been at this for years, I’ve barely made any waves, and the few times I have, it doesn’t last long before I’m overshadowed by some harlot who is somehow lucky enough to beat me. You don’t know how much I have riding on making something out of this career, okay? There’s so much more pressure than you can imagine. My father, he...” Violet stopped herself, but the silence on the other end was somehow encouraging. “He’s disappointed in me. He doesn’t say it, but I can see it in his eyes, every time I arrive back home without a title, an accolade, or even a victory. I don’t want to end up being a repeat of that broken old-ass sack of shit, riddled with years of failure and mediocrity. I want to BE someone, BE something. Break the Dreyer Family Curse and put our name on the map for a positive reason for once in a while.”

    The silence this time lasted eight seconds. “... I’ll ask around, see what I can do.” The contact finally replied, in a soft tone. The contact had gone through their own hardships in life, and perhaps understood the feeling of wanting to be a somebody more than anyone else.

    Something told Violet that she should probably say something like ‘thank you’, but since that wasn’t her style, she instead asked, “Could you make it a title match too?”

    The soft tone was gone.“Don’t push it, Violet.”

    With that, her contact hung up. Violet stared at the phone in her hand, the end tone echoing, before turning it off and placing it by her side.

    All she could do now, was wait, and hope.

    ---

    It was three days after the phone call.

    Still in New York, waiting for the answer back, Violet Dreyer had gotten tired of the bland wallpaper of her hotel room, and went out to some... shitty café for a change of scenery. The coffee sucks, the croissants were okay, but just a change of scenery would be nice.

    Violet wore a pair of red jeans along with a white leather vest over a black t-shirt, one of her own shirts that, unsurprisingly, didn’t sell nearly as well as she hoped. Still, it looked decent, and there was always the possibility someone would recognise the person on the shirt, if they didn’t recognise the person wearing the shirt, that is. She sipped on the lukewarm coffee, idling reading a newspaper from beneath her pair of sunglasses, when she suddenly became aware she wasn’t alone.

    “Sorry, that seat is reserved.” She said, not even looking up from the super interesting article about... She squinted. Some MMA dork doing MMA things? Christ, she’d rather die than pretend to read a second of that drivel.

    “Yeah, reserved for me.”

    The only thing that stopped Violet from ‘accidentally’ dropping her coffee onto the intruder’s lap, was the vaguely familiar voice, and she glanced above her sunglasses at the company. A lanky man, dressed in a pair of green trousers along with a tan shirt below a brown waistcoat and a black overcoat, with smooth, slicked back hair, a pair of sunglasses of his own, and an admittedly luxurious moustache. She frowned, trying to place the face, match the voice, until it clicked.

    “Christ, you’ve changed.”

    Her companion nodded solemnly. “Everyone changes, Violet. We grow old, change as a person, we-”

    “No, no, I mean... You grew a fucking moustache.” Violet interrupted, unable to take her eyes off the trail of whisky whiskers that bedazzled her companion’s upper lip.

    Her companion blinked. “... A good one though, right?”

    “Why did you grow a fucking moustache?!?”

    “Because moustaches are cool! Exhibit A!”

    “If you point to yourself, I swear to god-”

    Her companion was already pointing a finger at himself.

    “Unbelievable.” Violet attempted to bury herself into the newspaper, not wanting to be associated with the Freddie Mercury wannabe beside her.

    The aforementioned Freddie Mercury wannabe glanced at his watch, before leaning in, adopting a conspiratorial tone. “While I would love to sit here and discuss my fabulous moustache, I’m somewhat pressed for time. So, Violet?”

    “Mmm?” Violet grunted noncommittally, bracing herself for the upcoming rejection.

    “How do you feel about battle royals?”

    Violet paused. Not the answer she was expecting. “Fun time-killers, but all too easy to get lost in the crowd.” She replied after a beat.

    Her companion nodded. “Uh-huh. How do you feel about money?”

    Violet arched an eyebrow, staring at her companion as if he had just asked how she felt about breathing oxygen. “Can’t get enough of it, duh.”

    Her companion nodded once more, before glancing around, ensuring no-one was eavesdropping on their rather loud conversation. “Good enough. Alright, here’s the stich: You’re in the opening battle royal, with various wrestlers from CWA’s past or present. Winner gets $10,000.”

    Violet digested this information carefully. Inwardly, she leapt for joy. A chance! Finally, the big leagues are taking a shot with her! Battle Royal or no, that’s something! That’s exposure! That’s enough to put ‘Violet Dreyer: CWA Alumni’ on her resume and up her booking price a couple of grand.

    Outwardly, she carefully sipped her coffee. “... So no title match, huh?”

    “Nooooo.”

    “Darn. But I’ll take it. It’s a start. I’m gonna poke so many people in the eye. You’d better start selling CWA eyepatches, because people are gonna need them real quick. Get this Dreyer Family Curse out of here, with like a dozen poked eyes and $10,000.”

    Her companion frowned, and removed his sunglasses for a brief second, running a hand over his emerald-green eyes, before placing the sunglasses back on.“Violet, may I offer some advice?”

    Violet shrugged. “I don’t know why you asked, you’re going to regardless of how I answer.”

    Her companion continued, irregardless. “Violet, this ‘curse’ of yours...” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I know you feel it’s some godly force you can’t fight against, like someone up above decided to fuck with this one family in particular, but just humour me. Things don’t go your way, because you set in motion the events that cause them not to go your way. Okay? It might not be a curse. It might just be a self-fulfilling prophecy in which you routinely fuck yourself over for years, unable to break the cycle because you haven’t tried to.”

    Halfway through her companions spiel, Violet’s eyes had already glazed over. “Sounds like a shitty movie twist to me.” She stated, shrugging.

    Her companion tried, and failed, to avoid rolling his eyes. “Look, just... Have you considered trying to change your usual tactics?”

    Violet frowned. “What do you mean?”

    “Y’know, instead of the usual trickery and deception that you usually do, maybe the curse will lift if you try something a little more...” Her companion flapped a hand around, before settling on his chest. “Honest.”

    Violet laughed, a mocking laugh, devoid of any actual humour. “What, and let the other competitors stab me in the back first? Nope, ain’t gonna let that happen. I was taught better than that.” She boasted, prideful.

    Her companion’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. “Color me surprised. Well, I tried.” He mumbled, more to himself than anything, before getting up. “I’d wish you luck but you’d say something like you don’t need it.”

    Violet nodded. “Damn right. I make my own luck.”

    “And how’s that worked out so far?” Her companion snarked, unable to hold back. Before Violet could retaliate, he held up his hands in surrender, already backing off. “Whatever. I’ll be watching you in the battle royal, Violet. Take care now.” With that, her companion turned, and began heading towards the exit.

    Before Violet could stop herself, she called after him. “Hey.” Her companion paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. Violet felt a feeling akin to gratitude, and couldn’t explain why. Regardless, she bit her lip, and nodded at a man who used to continuously drift between a dependable friend and annoying rival, until he made the big leagues and left her in the dust. “Thanks for getting me on the card.” Her thanking someone was a rare situation, one that caused her companion to blink twice.

    “Don’t ment-” He began, waving a hand.

    “But.” Violet interrupted. Her companion stopped, letting his hand fall to his side. “You still owe me, for so, so much more, Krash.”

    The Heartbeat of CWA, former champion of all kinds, and man who was scheduled to go through hell at CWA: Decade of Decadence, curled his lip into a scowl. Krash seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but instead he shook his head in irritation, shoving his hands into his overcoat pockets, before turning and leaving.

    Violet Dreyer resumed her attention back to the newspaper, but barely read any of the words.

    Her mind was buzzing too much with what her future now held.


    CWA: A Decade of Decadence
    Maybe the end of something great.
    Maybe the start of something new.
    Stay tuned.

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    Re: CWA: A Decade of Decadence - Promo Thread

    Any update on show

    Spoiler:


    CWA World Heavyweight Champion
    Brayden Bridges




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    Re: CWA: A Decade of Decadence - Promo Thread

    Quote Originally Posted by OMB View Post
    Any update on show
    Oh, the urge to say something snarky.

    The show is a work in progress and, as stated, will be updated with every match or segment as it is written or sent in. I appreciate your concern and hype for the show, and certainly understand how the wait can often be the worst part, but do keep in mind I work six days a week in addition to uni studies. I don't exactly have a wealth of free time.

    In the meantime, you are more than welcome to offer thoughts on the promos posted in this promo thread, or add some extracurricular promos in the show thread to add hype or react to the latest match or whatever.


    CWA: A Decade of Decadence
    Maybe the end of something great.
    Maybe the start of something new.
    Stay tuned.

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    Re: CWA: A Decade of Decadence - Promo Thread

    Meant nothing by it just curious

    Spoiler:


    CWA World Heavyweight Champion
    Brayden Bridges




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    Re: CWA: A Decade of Decadence - Promo Thread

    The following are the promos for the Vegas/Merriweather/Jacobs Pure Contender match.

    ---

    Quote Originally Posted by StylesofPunk
    *The camera comes into focus and it is the inside of a car. Sitting in the car is Johnny Vegas in a nice suit*


    Johnny: All things must come to a end. Tonight in the Iconic Madison Square Garden CWA will give its final bow. This event is for you fans. You have been the heartbeat from Day 1. From Day 1 til the modern day with the likes of The Ultimate Pain, Roberto Superstar, Ralph McCoy, A Mouthful of Awesome, Humanity, Beast and Belle, Lillith, and everyone who has ever graced the ring has put their all into it for you all. I have had my fair share of festivities in that ring and I have went through injuries and missing family events but I wouldnt change anything. Tonight I get the honor to fight for the fans against Peter Jacobs a veteran in our industry and Mark Merriweather who has appeared in both FWA and CWA. I will give my all for these fans and both Peter and Mark better come with their all if not they will be left in the dirt.


    *Vegas lets out a big breath of air*


    Vegas: Thank you to the fans, the ring crew, the announcers, the security, the costumer designers, the hair stylist, the valets, the production crew, the GMs past and present, the Owners, and every single performer. This job does not happen without you and Im grateful for this opportunity. Lets close this out with a bang and no Humanity that does not give you incentive to bring a bomb to the ring again.
    Quote Originally Posted by An Original Name
    The scene opens up to a metallic stairwell. The area is dark, with whatever dim illumination inside being insufficient next to the familiar orange glow of city streetlights pouring in from the windows. Sitting on the stairs, eyes locked towards the sights just outside the window, is a familiar sight for any long-time watchers of CWA Peter Jacobs a lot more aged then he’s seemed in the past, Despite the presence of a camera, his attention remains undeterred, as he continues to peer towards the outside as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a deck of cards and idly starts to shuffle it. More than likely though, his focus isn't so much concentrated towards anything that caught his eye as opposed to the ruminations of his own thoughts. Without so much as a warning, Hawkins starts to speak, laying those thoughts bare for the world to hear.



    Peter Jacobs: If you’re surprised by the fact I’m here, it’s nothing compared to me. But I guess I should have seen it coming.



    A wry smile appears on his face as he looks down at the deck.




    Peter Jacobs: I am fifty-two years old, and when I first joined CWA, I was forty-three, With twenty years of a wrestling career with no titles, achievements or success in any way shape or form to show for it. Wrestling is a young man’s game, and I was an old dog. I was getting slower by the day. So by the time, CWA came a-calling, I was desperate, time was running out… CWA was my last chance to make something of myself, and when a man who's been wandering through the dessert a glass of water, he’d strangle the people he loves to get to it. That’s where the “The Gambler” name came from; IIn my career I had ONE last hand left to play, I’m not a strong man, I’m not quick….and my days of making women swoon, went when the Berlin wall fell...but the only thing I had was that I was, smarter. Cunning. So I had to play the game. I had to go all in, make an impact any way I could….and I did. I wrestled like a desperate man; I wanted it more than anyone else….So I broke Anna Williams and ended A Mouthful of Awesome.



    He stops shuffling for a brief moment a frown on his face.



    Peter Jacob: I never said I was a good man, I ain’t proud of it, I did what I had to, and I like to think my gamble paid off; but when the time to leave the table came, I did, without blinking an eye. Gambling and wrestling have one major thing in common; You got to know when to hold ‘em and know when to fold them; eventually, the house always wins, and if you stay at the table for too long, you lose everything.




    His tone was as calm and as cool as it ever was despite the seriousness of her tone.




    Peter Jacobs: So I collected my chips and left the table, with far more than I could have ever hoped for, the respect of the wrestling world, titles and even-”



    Jacobs made a fist and gently pounded the ground below her which causes a small metallic echo to be reverberant before showing exactly what was making that sound his CWA hall of fame ring



    Peter Jacobs: And I was happy; even if I had to share those achievements; Tag team titles. This isn’t MY Hall of Fame Ring. It’s Snake Eyes hall of fame ring. That’s my one regret in this business; I never had a shot at single titles, and I never envisioned myself at a tag team wrestler, but those were the cards I was given, and there are no bad hands, only bad players I never wrestled another match; I’d have been happy, The game was over for me. Time to me to move on, and count the spoils….I was happy...and then I got that phone call, I didn’t think I’d be the type to come back to the table, I thought I had no more aces to play, IThey called me a gambler, but why would I gamble away the reputation I spent so long building on one last hand




    Jacobs pauses noticeably chewing over the question, her hands freezing over his deck of cards before placing it gently on the ground



    Peter Jacobs: "There is an unmistakable sound. They are the echoes of the slow, empty footsteps of a broken man. Whether his heart's been broken in two, or his dreams have been shattered into a million pieces, it's impossible to miss that image of a hollow man who walks not because he wants to, but only because he has nothing left. I've seen that sad, little story played out a million times before, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that mine would be exactly the same.



    Jacobs pauses for a moment, letting his head dip down before he begins to explain himself.




    Peter Jacobs: "I had an end goal. I knew what I wanted. I knew where I wanted to be when this story reached its conclusion, and it wasn't lying face down in a gutter, wasting away and letting life pass me by as if the rainwater was washing it all away into a sewer with all the rest of the grime and filth. But there came the point where I started to think. Of all the sad stories I could tell, did I want mine to be the same? When the world passes on the story of Peter Jacobs, what would they say? That when one last golden opportunity presented itself, he folded? That... that's pathetic. That's more than pathetic. That's just damn insulting. I've been thrown down before. I've had my face in the dirt, and I've had the weight of my doubts and my struggles sit on my shoulders, trying to keep me from standing right back up; that I was too old, that I was past it but every time... I stood up. I was never going to lay down because someone told me to, whether it was someone I loved, someone I respected, or even myself. I was going to get back up, and I was going to do what I wanted, get what I wanted, life be damned. But when the world tells you have limitless potential only to turn around and throw a big fat stop sign in your face, and tell you; that’s it. Game Over. This is where you get off. Heh..."



    A soft chuckle slips through Jacobs' lips.

    Peter Jacobs "I'm well aware of hypocrisy. Life is what you make of it, and I made it a game. Everyone decides to pass on their life lessons to you, but they never seem to be aware of just how much they contradict. My daddy, for example, he used to sit me down and say; 'You can be whatever you want to be', but he never said... “as long as you align with what I want.”' You have the power to change the world' he told me “as long as you change it into something that everyone else likes” he meant. You grow up, and the narrative starts to take a tonal shift from idealism to crushing cynicism, hoping that somewhere along the way, they balance out to hit that golden mean of realism in your head. Everyone only notices their own lives, but they don't notice what happens when you take all the evidence and pull the statistics out of it. You build your kids up to bring them down. They tell them you can climb up to the top of that hill, then scoff at them when they're so surprised when they fall as if wondering what the hell you expected. They expected what their parents told them, that if you resolve to do something, you can accomplish it. What those parents forgot to mention are all the failures and all the losses that slowly chip away at that resolve, but what else can they do? No loving, responsible parent will tell their child no. It's much more comforting to tell your son or daughter what they can be when they grow up, not what they WILL be when they give up. They'll let them climb that hill and cheer them on the whole way through..., and the truth will knock 'em down soon enough."


    Silence falls once again as Jamie glances to the side, lingering on the cynical message he's just left everyone with. As he turns his head again, he looks at the camera for the first time before he continues to spill his thoughts.



    Peter Jacobs:: "Not everyone gets up when they fall. There's the irresponsibility that the world expects, that every single time someone falls, they get right back up. They neglect the reality of weakness. Not everyone has that fight in them. Not everyone will stand back up, and when you roll down the hill and eat the dirt enough times, sooner or later, you'll give up. And once you're satisfied with your life at the bottom of the hill, once you've resigned yourself to a life laying at the feet of people who chose to stand and be better than you, the world comes right back up and hands you your consolation prize. Congratulations, you tried, and ultimately, you failed, just like every other lifeless body lying around you. And when they get up, and they haul themselves away to the gutters to drown? That's when you hear it. Those distinct, hollow footsteps. They don't walk to where they want to go, they walk to the only place left for them to go, and they walk with the weight of a person who only has the strength left in themselves to fall back down."




    He stops for a moment, quietly rubbing his hands upon his face before pressing his fingertips together, a sharp, focused look growing in his eyes.



    Peter Jacobs: I shouldn’t be here; that’s what they all say.“They told me I wouldn't wrestle again. They told me that I shouldn't. They told me that if I tried climbing back up that hill again, the next time I fall, it would be catastrophic. And for a moment, I listened. I stared up at the sky, I gave up, and I resigned myself to my fate and stayed down. But when I look at everyone else around me, everyone else in my position who push their sad, pitiful "life lessons" onto their children, I get sick. My story had to end with the same cynical, bitter taste that theirs did, and now I had to do the same? I had to give up, and pretend it was fine? Well... it was true. I could have accepted it. The thing is, I didn't. I chose to get back up because I have one. Last. Hand to play, the biggest gamble of my life. I'm not going to be like them, and you're not going to see the same from Peter Jacobs that you see from them. The people who say you can't, the ones who don't just say it but honestly believe it? They're the victims. The victims of circumstance, the victims of weakness, the victims of fate, whatever you want to call them, and if I was going to lay with them, I would be the same. I am not a victim. I refuse to be one, and I refuse to let others tell the story of how I was a helpless victim, powerless to change his destiny. If I have to take a risk, so be it. Getting up is always going to be a risk because what goes up must come down. That's what they tell you, right? But what goes up can go even higher, if it chooses to stand and climb. And if I have to take that risk of not getting back up, I will. If this is the last time I stand back up, then let them say I came tumbling down and died on impact, instead of rotting away in the life of a philosophical corpse. I chose this life that led me here. I chose to fight; I chose to gamble. I chose to risk the injuries and the pain, and I wanted it because I wanted the rewards it would get me. The glory, the fame, I intended to write my story as a life of triumph. I'm not going to give up on it again. I'm not going to succumb to that weakness, and I am not going to let someone tell me to stop because I am not a projection of their fears and their weaknesses. If anyone wants to tell me no? If anyone wants to drag me down and keep me away from what is going to be mine? Then I am going to step up, I am going to meet each victim face-to-face, and I am going to make them see, because what they tried to do to me... I will make sure I do to them."



    Jacobs nods assured with himself, and at peace with his motives before picking up his deck once more.



    Peter Jacobs So Johnny Vegas, Mark Merriweather. Welcome to the table; take a seat, split your deck and pick your hand, and play my game. I might not be the quickest on the draw, but I’m still the smartest, and if my fate is to win this game only to get crushed by a hungry animalistic primal Nate Savage….



    A small bitter smirk appears on his faces as he shakes his head



    Peter Jacobs: “It’s the fate of every Gambler to gamble one hand too many, and if it’s my fate to die face first on the table with one last ace in my hand. I wouldn’t have it any other way.


    CWA: A Decade of Decadence
    Maybe the end of something great.
    Maybe the start of something new.
    Stay tuned.

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