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Post by Josh Duncan on Dec 6, 2014 13:40:18 GMT -6
1 RP Max. 300 word minimum. Deadline is December 13th at 11:59 PM Eastern.
Damien Crowley vs. Corey Bull vs. Anya Makarov vs. Eric James vs. Chris Night vs. Savannah
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Post by coreybull on Dec 13, 2014 20:30:05 GMT -6
 The church is something right out of either an old movie from the early 40’s or one of the common god versus devil movies. Huge peaks with a black shingles are the first thing one sees when they start from the top. As you work your way down, this church is old red sandstone brick. A large stone cross sits above the entrance, with stained glass windows to both sides. One depicts the Virgin Mary and the other the crucifixion of Christ. Below is a pair of double doors that seem to be the originals that the church was built with. When one enters this house of God, they are stricken by the pure simplicity and beauty of the interior. The old red sandstone bricks are obvious inside the structure and are accented by a red wood that is polished to a shine. Walking down the aisle into a confessional booth, is Corey Bull. And you can hear everything.
”Forgive us, for it has been a long time since we sinned.”
The cryptic voice that seems to flow and echo from the other side of the partition is one that would not be recognizable to most, but to those that have been with Bull before, know that it belongs to the very man that created the monster. The voice is that of Apocalypse.
“So the killer has been let out of the box.”
“Well someone had to get us on the right path again.”
“I put you in the box for a good reason. You are a loose cannon and….”
“And the reality is that we did not like your plans. You changed us in a manner we were not happy about. But we have adapted to it, molded it and found the spark we need to thrive.”
“I guess there isn’t a chance that you will go back in the box?”
Bull chuckles.
“Not a fucking chance. We are tired of sitting on the bench when we are first string material. The other entities in our mind understand that we are the one to lead them. While you rerouted our original plan, the goal has not changed. Fear to our enemies. Violence to those that oppose us. Destruction is our poetry, violence our symphony and we are going to get artistic on PWP. We just wanted to stop by and let you know. Wouldn’t want you to miss any highlights.”
There is silence. A stalemate of sorts. Finally, Apocalypse speaks.
“I see that the time of the loose cannon is now. The Hatebringer must come forth. There is much that needs to be realigned. What will you do with these other five in the Gauntlet match?”
A smile in the dark. Bulls face is like that in horror movies, where just the smile can be seen and the rest of his face is hidden by the darkness.
“Don’t worry, we have plans for them. And it will me glorious.”
Bull stands and leaves the confessional, walking down the aisle, a long black duster on his frame. It billows behind him as if it has a life of its own and seems almost to be black fire that follows the Hatebringer as he leaves the church and everything becomes white noise. **The lower realms. It has been a long time since a camera crew has had to walk into the bowels of an arena to see…..that creature. But it is exactly where it is traveling right now. Piping that runs heating and water is to the left of the camera, just over head level. The pipes have the occasional drip of water from condensation. Light bulbs, single ones every 50 feet makes the shadows more common then the light down here. The echoing of the cameraman’s feet on the cement gives you an eerie feel, as does the occasional drip of water. Every corner, every door, seems to hold something that you do not want to see. As we round a corner, we are greeted by a large oak door, obviously placed here within the last week. It has a olden feel to it, of a time when men fought everyday for the right to live. As the threshold is crossed, the large door making little to no sound, we see the room beyond is one of nightmares. Weapons of a forgotten time hang on two walls: maces and morning stars, claymores and katanas. Mixed in with those weapons are ones familiar to the wrestling world: a dented steel chair, a barbed wire wrapped bat, a Singapore cane. Centered in the room is a large oak desk. Behind that desk sits one of the several electric chairs that was removed from the prisons. This older one seems haunting, its entire frame seemingly stained with the souls of the dead. On the desk sit’s the black horned helm and the elephant killer axe. These pieces of legend, possessions of the Bull family legacy since the 12 century, are Bull‘s pride and joy. Their stories alone is enough to make the most lethal of individuals smile with appreciation. Leaning on the desk, his arms crossed and his head slightly lowered, but with a grim smile on his face, is Corey Bull. His dress is the same as always, the jeans and work boots with his prison shirt, but for some reason the circumstances adds to the entire situation, making Bull seem…unholy** “ The Professional Wrestling Project. We have been a part of this thing for a long time, but this will be the first time that we have stepped into the ring. A lot has changed since that first day we came to Duncan and told him we were in. Well….we have changed. When Duncan last talked to us, we had a wife….we were on medication that control the mental ailments we “suffered” from. Things were looking up for us at the time, in line for our eleventh world title shot, a rematch no less. And then….then the federation we were in went belly up, what with management screwing everyone but their “special” ones over. Then we disappeared and crawled into a dark hole to awake that which lied within the deepest recesses of our mind. Once we were that monster again, that beast of flesh and blood, we went to a new federation and started to open up the entire can on day one. Another world title was strapped around our waist. But our wife….our wife killed herself. She couldn’t handle the things she had done to us, though we never blamed her. But because of it…because of what she asked us to do, we stopped the meds and became the Hatebringer once again. And now, after we have had some time to sort out things, we walk into PWP and want a fight. And it seems the boss was willing to oblige us.” **Bulls massive frame pushes off the desk and slowly walks around it as he talks**“ A gauntlet match. Two start till a pin or submission, then another one comes down. To most people that seems like a pain in the ass. But to us, that is a buffet of destruction. That means we get to fill five individual body bags…one at a time. Oh the fun we are going to have at this holiday special. And where do we start. Who knows….who cares. We prefer first, because we want to knock people down one right after the other. Its time to create a masterpiece.” “ And it won’t matter who that person is when the master begins to ply his trade, for the finished result will be the same. A piece of physical and traumatic art that will be like none other. The cracking of Savannahs bones, the blood spraying from the face of Crowley, the lungs of James collapsing, Makarov’s tendons snapping like an overstretched rubber band, and the ragged breaths of Night. Oh yes, it won’t matter who’s being beaten or what we do to them. It will still be a work of art. Our art, the art of pain and destruction. And the fans….oh how the fans will love it. Every aw smashing, gut punching, bone breaking moment. When the blood of the fallen spray on the, they will only scream for more. And the best part of this?” “ We took the time to study our opponents. We watched their matches, we studied how they wage battle and what the prefer. And we found their weaknesses. But us…we are a wildcard, a x factor. No one can truly account what the mind of a monster is going to do next. Of course they will think this is a gimmick. But they are wrong. They are always wrong to assume this is all made up. This is our dark reality and we live it right on the edge every single day. So PWP….there is going to be a huge gift of holiday hate coming and we are going to nail everyone in that gauntlet match with our hate!” **The camera stays on the raging eyes of Bull, as it suddenly switches to white noise** |
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Post by savannah on Dec 13, 2014 20:39:37 GMT -6
Fade in: Savannah stands in the center of the Mayhem ring. Workers bustle all around her as the crew begins to tear down the sets after yet another successful show.
Savannah is in her usual corner, relaxed, showing off what few bruises she received with pride. At an invisible cue she begins to speak.
"It's been a hell of a ride this year for me, folks. The fiasco in London, the World Tour where I learned just how people thought of me, leaving one fed of my own choice for what I believe is a better one for me. Becoming a contender almost immediately there."
She scowls a bit at unpleasant memories, a scowl that softens slowly.
"Finding the PWP..."
The rough part of the trip down memory lane seems to be past as Savannah's smile returns in full.
"Yes, a lot of things have happened in the past year, a lot of great things- and I can think of no greater way to top it off than with what Josh has cooked up foe me this time around!"
Savannah begins to pace, her arms moving wildly, gesturing to match her frame of mind.
"I mean, think about it- a gauntlet match is one of the most grueling matches out there! If I start this thing out I'd not only have to beat one guy, but four of his friends as well!"
She stops, giving the camera a look that only a fighter can give at such news. Excited.
"I'm psyched for this. It's the perfect way to blow in the new year!
Now, let's take a look at the competition, shall we?"
Savannah studies the tablet she's holding. She nods to herself and smiles at the camera.
"First up is Damien Crowley, the rookie of this match. A big tough fighter just itching to prove himself in the big leagues.
Welcome, Damien. Welcome to the Wild Cat's Lair!
A little heads up about what to expect when we meet in the ring. Pain. Plenty of it. Consider it your baptism of fire. Don't think for a moment that you being bigger than I am is going to give you an edge. I've been fighting larger opponents ever since I started in this business 5 years ago- and I've put more than my share to the mat as well!"
Another glance at her notes, a flick of the 'page' with a practiced finger.
"On the other end of the scale we have Eric James. A veteran, 10 time World Champion by his own count- but he's coming off an injury that sidelined him for a while there.
Believe me, honey, I know how that feels! It will be an honor if we meet in the ring- but don't expect me to just hand you your first win on the road back!"
Another check, but shorter this time. We're getting into people she knows.
"Chris Night. You're starting to become as much a fixture around here as I have. You've even managed to win a match once!
I'm looking forward to our time in the ring. Maybe you can win a second?"
The smirk on her lips and the twinkle in her eyes say the answer is 'no'.
"Next up is an old 'friend', Anya Makarov. Anya, I remember you from back at Too Legit. We fought a close match where you just barely eked out an win on me. I really hope that when we meet you'll be relatively fresh- because I want to show everyone that that match could have gone either way. Call it a bit of Emerald City bragging rights, if you will."
The smile fades from her lips now, replaced by anger.
"Oh and by the way I wasn't able to reply to your promo, other than in the ring, but let me tell you one thing Miss Makarov. '
She puts the tablet aside. She's got this, no notes needed.
"You say that I was there for the power, but your wrong! You see, honey. I'm not in this business for the power or the gold or anything except the love of a good fight. If I craved power I could get it a hell of a lot easier than getting all battered and bruised in a fuckin' wrestling ring every week!
The spotlight you say I crave? I only crave it because they don't shine it on losers!
I don't talk about my private life much, Anya, but let me just say this. If I craved power all I have to do is make one phone call, give up all of this and take my position where my parents wanted me for so long. I could be another Kim Kardasian- some rich bitch living off of Daddy's name, but I don't want that.
I don't want power, hon- I want a fight! Ready to have another go?"
Savannah takes a moment to gather herself, quelling one set of emotions before speaking again. Her mood falls from angry to...subdued, hidden.
"Lastly, I want to talk about the Hatebringer, Corey Bull."
She shakes her head and smiles slightly.
"Corey.... Corey you are the one man in this match that makes me feel like running toward the ring - and away from it at the same time!"
She shakes her head, starting to 'pace her cage' again.
"You probably don't remember me,but I was just coming into IWF at the time that you and Haley Duncan bad those matches for the X title. You were brutal, you were sadistic. You showed me that Hardcore has come a long way since the last time I'd had a hardcore match.
It frightened me- and it turned me on. The sport you and Haley put on those nights was so beautifully primal."
Her look goes from pensive to determined.
"I have to thank you. Those fights heightened my resolve to get back into those kind of matches. Don't expect me to be frightened by you now. I've learned, I've grown.
I'm ready to take you on, no matter how the match goes. And, in a way I want to take you on more than anyone in this match. You see, Haley kept me out of getting a match against her any way she could. I never got to match myself against her talent the way I wanted to.
That, and IWF went and killed the X title.
Now she's out of the ring and … and here you are. I figure that when I meet you in the ring it's going to be just as good as pitting my skills against Haley's.
Maybe I'll prove I'm 'in her league' after all. Not that it matters anymore, seeing as her 'league' closed up shop long time ago."
Savannah chuckles.
"There's too much going on in this match to make any confidence about winning more than bravado."
She gives the camera a last, playful look.
"Of course, that doesn't mean I don't think I can win. I'm just not betting the rent money
But if you got a five you don't mind losing..."
She laughs.
"See you guys in Durham."
We fade to black
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