|
|
Post by Dominik Santiago on Jan 28, 2012 20:20:06 GMT -5
Triumph was reaching the last leg of the evening. The crowd is still roaring, and ecstatic following the Main Event classic put on by Dustin Delta and Troy Meadows. The cameras cut around various spots in the GHW arena, zooming in on the tumultuous patrons before swinging back to ringside, focusing in on the ring, which is set up much differently than what had been presented to the audience the entire night. Two, black lounge chairs sit on the opposite of a wooden black desk which is situated in the middle of the squared circle. Resting in the heart of the table is a clipboard, with a plethora of important papers held together by a paperclip. The crowd looked on intently, realizing what the circumstances were; the official contract signing for the GHW Championship Match at Blood Runs Cold was moments from transpiring. And the overseer of the aforementioned event, none other than Big Al Mulligan, dressed in his same casual attire, possibly looking to downplay the severity of the situation, or choosing to dress himself in less sophisticated outfit so he wouldn't have to worry about ruining a suit during his escape when the combustible elements explode. Clutching a microphone tightly in his hand, Al begins to tuck who cue cards away, the expression on his face one of great enthusiasm as he looks determined to host what should be a historic moment in Glory and Honor Wrestling. Upon tapping onto the mic to get the crowd's attention, he addresses the spectators.
Al Mulligan: "Ladies and Gentleman, thank you for sticking with us throughout the entirety of this evening, because we've certainly saved the best for last. The fat lady hasn't started singing yet, because right now, in this very ring, Dominik Santiago, and Barta Bull are gonna sign on the dotted lines, for their championship title match at the Blood Runs Cold Pay-Per-View. So without further ado, lets give a warm welcome to the GHW Champion.... DOMINIK SANTIAGO!"
Almost on cue, do foreboding, warlike drumming, and ominous guitar riffs greet the crowd. Having been recently familiarized with the sounds blasting on the speakers, the Bostonians respond with a chorus of boos. The heat filling the arena almost drowns out the beginning vocals of "The Blister Exits" by Slipknot. The velvet curtains slowly part, the exasperated crowd locking their eyes on the emerging Californian draped in a three piece Paul Smith suit, looking completely polished in his grey, singled button, welted notched lapel jacket with matching pants. The sophisticated lay is accompanied by his silver rolex which sparkles in the limelight, black leather loafers and flat top super sunglasses, effectively complimenting his lavish wardrobe. Of course bringing the entire outfit together, is the prestigious GHW Championship strapped around the Assassin's waist.
Dominik smiles his usual cocksure grin from cheek to cheek, directing the ire of the sold out audience. The Lord of the Flies looks from side to side, surveying the crowd, continuing to stand tall with his arrogant aura standing as a barrier between he and the atmospheric hatred being showered at him. Upon the crowd's heat reaching its maximum potential, the narcissistic champion commences his strut down to the ring, shoulders and arms swaying with pompous bearing. The Ostentatious One ignores the fans reaching out to grab him, continuing his amble as he reaches the steel stairs. He gradually climbs the stairs, in a slow, drawn out fashion which demonstrates his complete self-absorption. Upon wiping his feet along the ring apron, he enters the squared circle, ducking through the middle and top ropes.
As his theme music begins to pan out, the Assassin saunters toward Al Mulligan. Having mutual respect for one another, the commentator turned mediator and the swaggering champion shake hands. Upon nodding at the esteemed staff member, Santiago walks to far end of the contract table, slowly pulling the chair back before taking a seat. Slouching down slightly, the champion commences to prop his feet up on the table, folding his hands in his lap as he gazes at Big Al.
"Alright Dominik good to see you, glad you could make it. And now, lets give a warm welcome to his opponent at Blood Runs Cold, the number one contender, and challenger to GHW Championship..... BARTA BULL! "
The GHW icon scoffs to himself as his rival's name echoes throughout the venue, meanwhile the crowd ignites with cheers in anticipation for his arrival.
TBCB Barta Bull
|
|
|
|
Post by Public Enemies on Jan 28, 2012 22:17:57 GMT -5
"BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAIN" by Aerosmith signaled the much anticipated arrival of Barta Bull to GHW Arena. To the displeasure of Dominik Santiago, his ticket-holding peers welcomed the Texan with warm welcoming arms. Diminutive moments passed before The Terrible Toro finally appeared before the masses atop the stage. Unlike most appearances, Barta Bull was in full apparel of a white suit and dress pants. Indeed, the whispers all pointed to the Texan looking like a cheap impersonation of > Boss Hog<! Barta Bull fine-tunes the crisp collar of his suit and merrily struts down the entrance ramp with microphone in-hand like a boss...hog. The Eight Second Disaster casually tips his hat to the ladies and the fell'ers in the crowd as he reaches the steel steps of the ring. "Big" Al Mulligan takes it upon himself to make his way to the corner and peel the second and third rope links apart for the challenger's leisure to enter the ring. The Texan generously accepts Al's act of generosity and enters the ring. The two competitors lock eyes as Dominik Santiago casually rubs his thumb and fore-finger like two frisky feline tails. The Terrible Toro stands before the table, still eying the champion. "Big" Al Mulligan returns to the head of the podium and brings the microphone to his lips. "Barta Bull...you may take your seat." Barta Bull reluctantly takes his seat across from the current champion. The Toro's eyes travel from the tip of Santiago's black leather loafers to his mischievous grin. "Thank you both for attending. Tonight, you two will sign that very contract you see in-front of you for your match for the coveted GHW Championship you'll be having at GHW's Dawn of Destruction pay-per-view February the fifth of 2012."
"As this match stands, the two of you will compete in a one-fall match for the GHW Championship whereas the first competitor to be pinned or submit will not be victorious."
"Calling from my own experience watching both of you compete in Glory and Honor Wrestling, I'm confident in stating that there's no chance you two will be competing in anything but an ordinary match."
"Dominik Santiago...you will have the first oppurtunity to voice any concerns with the contract as it stands. Please take a moment to overlook the statutes and conditions indicated in the terms and the stipulation."With that, Al Mulligan retires to himself as The Lord Of Flies musters the energy to snatch up the contract. TBC - Dominik Santiago |
|
|
|
Post by Dominik Santiago on Feb 5, 2012 21:24:06 GMT -5
Dominik scoffs to himself upon grabbing the contract. With the aforementioned document now placed in front of him, the reigning GHW Champion begins flipping through the pages, proceeding to grab a blackball ink pin off the table. He removes the crap and hovers the writing utensil over the areas where he is required to sign. Suddenly the Californian slams the pen onto the table, quickly picking up the microphone as his aura of condescending confidence vanishes, being replaced with a more serious, stern disposition. Staring straight into the pupils of his opponent, the current face of Glory and Honor Wrestling takes a deep breath, before speaking into the microphone.
"So you've dressed yourself up, in a failed attempt to try and vindicate yourself. An attempt, a wool over the eyes, fraudulent attempt to try and prove to everyone in this arena that you are a legitimate contender. But you're not. I see through your facade Barta. You're pathetic. You're a never will-be. A fill in, because management can't find a viable contender to this championship. And you wan't to know It doesn't matter what you had for dinner! It's because I've beaten them all."
Santiago removes his shades, tucking them inside his breast pocket before continuing.
"Ryan Hughes, Mighty Man Millson, Hayden Hardkore, I've beaten and retired them all. I've cut the head off of every snake, I've smashed every cockroach and I've climbed every mountain, and now I am the last man standing. I am the greatest professional Fighty fighty person of this era, the one's that preceded it, and the one's that will come after. I'm the truest image of perfection. The quintessential champion. My list of accolades, feats and accomplishments speak for themselves alone. King of the Deathmatch Champion. Tag Team Champion. Solid Core Champion. GHW Champion. I've held belts that men and women in this arena can only dream of capturing. People like you Barta, you have dreams and fantasies, but they will never come true."
"There's a distinct difference between you, me, the people in the audience, and the peons in the lockeroom. The thing that makes me better than all of you iis that I bring my aspirations to fruition, and my ambition becomes reality. I am a doer, and you're a shadow dweller. The moment is always bigger than you. You're a creature of mediocrity. A slave to inferiority. I am the perfect Fighty fighty person, and you're very being is comprised of every possible defect. And what happens when an imperfect thing is put fourth against its opposite, perfection... it gets embarrassed, and embarrassment is what faces you at Blood Runs Cold.
The champion slides the contract back to himself, commencing to sign on the appropriate lines. Upon finishing, Dominik tosses the clipboard toward Barta, hitting him in the chest. Barta maintains his composure despite the blatant show of disrespect from the champion.
"Blood may run cold, but Sunday, yours will run profusely when it trickles from your face as I open up your forehead. I'm going to liberate you from your exist via extermination. I'm going to to destroy you, and torture you, slowly. You'll feel your bones break, and then I'll tear your spirit apart, as if I'm ripping your soul and very will to fight right out of your chest. And then you'll beg for mercy. You'll beg and plead for me to put you out of your sorry misery. And I will grant your wish. Your fate will be sealed with an SKO and you'll become a permanent cog in GHW history. Your legacy will be cemented, as the words "AND STILL GHW CHAMPION" echo through the arena. And these degenerate monkeys will boo. They'll hate it. They'll throw concessions. They'll even riot. But one thing is for certain Barta. I will vanquish you, and I will leave as the GHW Champion.
"I'm walking in and leaving out the same way I came in. And there's not a damn thing you or anybody can do about it.
In a continuous display of impudence, Santiago throws his pin into the face of his opponent. The thread between even-keel and rage immediately snaps as Barta rises from his seat and pushes his chair back. His white suit jacket is carelessly tossed aside, intimating his clear frustration. The continue to mount, and the crowd remains on the edge of its seat, looking like it might get treated with a preview of things to come in the closing minutes of the Triumph program. But their appetite for anarchy and chaos is not satisfied, as a familiar entrance tune blares over the P.A. system, interrupting what seemed like an impeding scuffle.
TBCB He Knows Who
|
|
|
|
Post by Ryan Hughes on Feb 6, 2012 11:21:44 GMT -5
A familiar entrance theme indeed, yet one not heard since Hardcore Heaven last year.
James Hetfield's "Don't You Think This Outlaw Bit Has Done Got Out Of Hand?" plays out across the speakers, emitting a pop from a crowd which is happy to see the Lord Of The Flies shut up for once. At the top of the stage, Ryan Hughes sheepishly walks out from behind the curtain, pretending to be wary of the situation at hand as he enters the fray. Dominik Santiago seethes at the gall of the Mancunian who dares interrupt him, but he doesn't show his feelings so openly, simply gritting his teeth and locking his gaze on the former GHW Champion. Ryan smiles as if he was warmly greeting an old friend, before outstretching his arm, making it more apparent that there is something in his grasp.
Jennings: "That's Ryan Hughes, and is that- is that a briefcase?"
Hughes spreads his arms out lazily, letting the presumably stolen briefcase shine under the lights of the GHW Arena as he struts down the ramp. He smiles at Barta and Dominik in the ring, who are both less than pleased that the party has been crashed. Wearing a suit and tie, the Mancunian takes his time whilst climbing the steel steps, the smile not leaving his face. He steps through the ropes, but not before grabbing a microphone left for him on the ring apron.
Jennings: "I hope we get some answers here. God knows Ryan loves to talk!"
He takes one look at the cheering crowd, and he realises that they are going to get their fill of drama right now, mostly by his own hand. Ryan's first action in the ring is to approach Al Mulligan, who has a unique look of terror, blended with awe. The Ghost On The Canvas pats him on the shoulder, before saying "I'll take it from here.", which Al takes as his cue to get the fuck out of there quick. The two Dawn of Destruction main eventers remain standing, switching looks between eachother and Ryan Hughes, but the Englishman sits down on the plush office chair vacated by Mulligan, looking as cool as a cucumber. His music stops as he plonks the briefcase on the table before addressing the two fighters.
"You see that? That is me doing the two of you a favour. That is me saving both of your rear ends. And to be quite honest, I expected some sort of gratitude! I have gone above and beyond the call of duty in procuring this Golden Ticket, just for the sole reason that I hate seeing people take the cowards way in. Freddie McGavin was nothing but an underling at best. You cannot tell me that HE of all people deserved a cheap crack at one of the most prestigeous championships in the wrestling business? That is why I took it upon myself to rid GHW of that problem. I took it upon myself to make sure that the people here get to see a real David vs. Goliath encounter, without nasty little plebeians like Mr. McGavin spoiling the occasion with their dirty tricks. No one will be cashing in ANY Golden Ticket on my watch!
I have been in this company for over three years now, and everything I won came through hard work, non stop. The Tag Team Championship. Two GHW Championships. The NeXuS Deathmatch. All of these accomplishments came to pass because I worked my fingers to the bone to make it happen! And that is what I see here- men who aren't afrais to do what it takes to be the best. I see Dominik Santiago, a man who has mastered the art of mind games. A man who knows what it takes physically and mentally to reach the top. A man who defeated me for the GHW Championship in 2010. A man who can be considered one of the best Fighty fighty persons in the world."
A spattering of boos are heard, but some appreciative applause rings around the building also. Dominik's expression doesn't change- he simply grips that GHW Championship ever tighter.
"And then there is Barta Bull. A man who knows how to finish an opponent in EIGHT seconds! Count 'em! This is a man who has the world in his hands, a man who has a great future ahead of him! Ladies and gentlemen you could be looking at the next GHW Champion of the World come Sunday!"
A sea of cheers, with the vast majority of fans here rooting for the underdog. Barta nods in appreciation before Dominik butts in.
"Thanks for the nostalgia trip Hughes, but what's your game? You aren't the type of man to help anybody! I've known you for some time, and it's obvious you only look out for number one. I KNOW that you have got something brewing in that brain of yours, so you should spare yourself now and let us all in on your 'masterplan'"
"Fine, I'll admit. The briefcase isn't the only thing bringing me out here. You might think that I only look out for myself, but that is not true. I look out for this business. I am one of the greatest fighters to ever come to this country, and that label comes with a sense of responsibility. I feel it's my job to make sure this fine art doesn't fall to the wayside via cheap tactics and shock value. I am going to preserve this sport. I am going to make sure that nothing untoward happens at Dawn of Destruction...
Because you see Dominik? I've been assigned the role of special enforcer for this championship match!"
The fans pop for this, knowing that this could only mean trouble of the highest order. The tension in the ring reaches a fever pitch as both Dominik and Barta look incredulous at the revelation. Hughes breaks the buzz as he raises the mic once more.
"That means I am in charge of keeping order this Sunday. But you both know me well. If I feel it's necessary, I won't be afraid to lay out some rough justice. In fact... if you two want to fight right now, go ahead. Lord knows I need a good warm up before Sunday!"
The fans continue to cheer before a chant of "FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!" breaks out. Both BB and Santiago look to the left, then to the right, registering that these fans want blood.
Something has to give.
TBC
|
|
|
|
Post by Public Enemies on Feb 7, 2012 14:47:59 GMT -5
Barta Bull maintains his composure and casually settles the restless fans with the raising and lowering of his forearms like a steady elevator. At last, The Terrible Toro grips the ink pen and adjusts the clipboard-contract back to a decent nature that was tossed upon him by Dominik Santiago. The Texan leans down and scribbles in an instant, unfolding the pages, and gently setting down the writing utensil beside the clipboard.
The Son of the South nods graciously toward the GHW Champion and the newly assigned enforcer of the match, Ryan Hughes. The Texan raises a microphone to his lips as he returns standing before the table.
"I..."
He appears to be stumbling over his words.
"You know..."
"You know what?...I've never been good with words."
With that, Barta Bull drops the mic like a sack of potatoes onto the canvas. He begins unbuttoning his white suit as the fans respond with what they've all been waiting for. A cunning smile travels across the face of The Mancunian Mastodon as his ambitions become all too real. Dominik Santiago takes a step back from the table as he points across the table, giving fair warning to his would-be challenger at Dawn of Destruction. Barta Bull sheds his suit and steps toward the GHW Champion. The Assassin heeds one final verbal warning. Hughes remains sitting, huffing in all of the suspense.
Patience wearing thin, tosses the table over like a tornado in a trailer park, sending the Golden Ticket suitcase, and the championship to the ground. In the same instance, BB kicks back his office chair like a geriatric donkey. The Texan marches toward a retreating champion and has him trapped in a corner turnbuckle.
Before Barta Bull can arrive, The Lord of The Flies slips out of ring via the bottom rope and snakes his way around the decorated ring to the entrance ramp. The fans are livid with disappointment. Dominik throws his belt over his shoulder and turns his back to the two superstars as he makes his way up the entrance ramp. Back in the ring, Ryan Hughes scoops up his briefcase and stands at Barta Bull's side as they both watch the champion retreat. Having a feel for Barta Bull, Ryan Hughes raises BB's arm in the air as with a victory. The fans respond in awe of the show of affection. It's all smiles as the airing as the episode's about to end.
Barta Bull was still smiling, but Ryan Hughes wasn't. The Perfect Gentleman had both hands on that very suitcase as he prepared to strike. The Manc reared back and threw the face of his suitcase at the back of The Terrible Toro's like a flaming comet straight outta hell. The Texan falls forward in a dead heap as the fans calculate the unexpected outcome. The Mancunian Mastodon gazes at the downed challenger as he strokes the spine of his briefcase, then raises it high above his head for all the world to see. By the conclusion of Dawn of Destruction, that very briefcase may have more than a few dings and dents.
EOT.
|
|
