Post by Hayden on Nov 3, 2012 18:47:55 GMT -5
Before the next posted match begins, a reply of last week's promo plays over the airways.
"This is my little slice of heaven. Welcome to Wellington, New Zealand."
The camera looks around the setting, capturing the views of his home, Lyall Bay. When the camera returns, Hayden is standing and ready to continue his tour.
"Let's face it. This business has been good to me. I live comfortably, nice house, nice car... Quiet suburban paradise.
I've been around long enough to acquire riches, titles, glory and honor. I've been around long enough to retire twice over... And yet, I'm still around. I still turn up every week, give it my all and put my body on the line."
Hayden walks down the steps of the porch onto a freshly mown front lawn. He smiles as he breathes in the scent of freshly cut grass, walking across the lawn towards the driveway, where a matte black 1970 Shelby 350 sits, the chrome trim glinting in the sun.
His smile turns for a moment and Hayden stops. Removing his shirt, the Kiwi Battler exposes scars and past injuries - telltale signs of a long and brutal career.
"I have a lot of... memories.
This scar here (pointing to his left arm), courtesy of Honey the Bear in my very first King of the Deathmatch title win.
This one (turning around to show a scar that runs the length of his back), a reminder of the match between myself and my Doppelganger - falling nearly 20 feet through a merchandising table.
Skin grafts from being lit on fire, concussions, broken bones. My left bicep, torn from the bone and surgically replaced."
Working himself up into a stage, Hayden takes the time to compose himself, deep breaths calming himself down before returning to the point he had long windedly begun to make.
"I have trained people, led a mafia, won more championships than half the roster combined, I was here at the beginning, when GHW first opened its doors, and I will be here until the end of the road, when the doors finally close.
But, you know what - I am only human.
My body is not what it once was, I am slower than I used to be. It takes me longer to recover between matches. I bleed easier, I bruise easier. There will be a time where competing in the ring is no longer possible.
This title is a sign that I still have it, I am still relevant. As long as I hold the King of the Deathmatch Championship, I am still at the top of the heap.
I will take on anybody and everybody. Consider it an open challenge. Each and every week, a new challenger, a new match - title on the line. Hayden HardKore will run himself into the damn ground before he retires, and I'm going out on top.
I know you are all listening backstage to this. Consider it your invitation, an open challenge every week. All you have to do is be first to turn up - But know this. If you challenge me and lose, it is to the back of the line for you. That means you will not be eligible for another KotDM challenge until each and every person in the roster has had their turn.
So, what about it people, who wants to get their hands on the Old Man? Who wants to get their grubby fingers on my title? Come one, come all - Step right up and take it from my cold, dead hands."
Hayden smiles as he turns and heads to the car, opens the door and cranks the engine. At once, the v8 roars into life. Hayden smokes the wheels for a second, before tearing up the driveway and peeling out onto the street. The roaring engine cuts through the suburban ambiance like a sex scandal. His challenge lain, Hayden drives off into the distance, leaving the message to sink in to all who are around to hear it.
By the time the promo finishes playing, Hayden HardKore is standing in the center of the ring, forgoing his usual entrance. He has a microphone in his hand and is poised ready to speak.
"That was last week, and I am a man of my word. So, here we are - an open challenge for anybody out the back to come down this ramp and take a swing at this..."[/i]
Hayden points to his King of the Deathmatch Championship belt, still slung over his shoulder. The glint of light catching the metal catches in the lens of the camera, beckoning those backstage to join Hayden in the ring.
"This is what the King of the Deathmatch Championship is all about. Freedom - No rules, no regulations, no holds barred, all weapons legal and no planning.
All you have to do is beat everybody else to the ramp to claim your shot. I will face whoever comes out first.
So - Glory and Honor Wrestling... Who is it going to be?"[/i]
Hayden lowers the microphone and listens attentively for the sound of his challenger's music.
TBC
OOC: The match is a standard deathmatch style, all weapons legal, no holds barred - one fall.
Hayden sits on a porch in a comfortable deck chair, rocking back and forth with a soft creak accompanying each motion. Cicadas chirp their merry song in the trees around the neighborhood. In the distance, a lawnmower sputters into life, setting a nice suburban ambiance to the scene. Hayden smiles a relaxed smile and takes a sip of the glass of lemonade situated at his side on a coffee table. His eyes catch the glint of sunlight reflecting off his King of the Deathmatch Championship, placed carefully on the table behind the glass. Shielding his eyes from the light, Hayden tips his trademark aviator sunglasses over his eyes. He speaks in his unique kiwi twang, doing his best to speak clearly so that there is no error in translation.
"This is my little slice of heaven. Welcome to Wellington, New Zealand."
The camera looks around the setting, capturing the views of his home, Lyall Bay. When the camera returns, Hayden is standing and ready to continue his tour.
"Let's face it. This business has been good to me. I live comfortably, nice house, nice car... Quiet suburban paradise.
I've been around long enough to acquire riches, titles, glory and honor. I've been around long enough to retire twice over... And yet, I'm still around. I still turn up every week, give it my all and put my body on the line."
Hayden walks down the steps of the porch onto a freshly mown front lawn. He smiles as he breathes in the scent of freshly cut grass, walking across the lawn towards the driveway, where a matte black 1970 Shelby 350 sits, the chrome trim glinting in the sun.
His smile turns for a moment and Hayden stops. Removing his shirt, the Kiwi Battler exposes scars and past injuries - telltale signs of a long and brutal career.
"I have a lot of... memories.
This scar here (pointing to his left arm), courtesy of Honey the Bear in my very first King of the Deathmatch title win.
This one (turning around to show a scar that runs the length of his back), a reminder of the match between myself and my Doppelganger - falling nearly 20 feet through a merchandising table.
Skin grafts from being lit on fire, concussions, broken bones. My left bicep, torn from the bone and surgically replaced."
Working himself up into a stage, Hayden takes the time to compose himself, deep breaths calming himself down before returning to the point he had long windedly begun to make.
"I have trained people, led a mafia, won more championships than half the roster combined, I was here at the beginning, when GHW first opened its doors, and I will be here until the end of the road, when the doors finally close.
But, you know what - I am only human.
My body is not what it once was, I am slower than I used to be. It takes me longer to recover between matches. I bleed easier, I bruise easier. There will be a time where competing in the ring is no longer possible.
This title is a sign that I still have it, I am still relevant. As long as I hold the King of the Deathmatch Championship, I am still at the top of the heap.
I will take on anybody and everybody. Consider it an open challenge. Each and every week, a new challenger, a new match - title on the line. Hayden HardKore will run himself into the damn ground before he retires, and I'm going out on top.
I know you are all listening backstage to this. Consider it your invitation, an open challenge every week. All you have to do is be first to turn up - But know this. If you challenge me and lose, it is to the back of the line for you. That means you will not be eligible for another KotDM challenge until each and every person in the roster has had their turn.
So, what about it people, who wants to get their hands on the Old Man? Who wants to get their grubby fingers on my title? Come one, come all - Step right up and take it from my cold, dead hands."
Hayden smiles as he turns and heads to the car, opens the door and cranks the engine. At once, the v8 roars into life. Hayden smokes the wheels for a second, before tearing up the driveway and peeling out onto the street. The roaring engine cuts through the suburban ambiance like a sex scandal. His challenge lain, Hayden drives off into the distance, leaving the message to sink in to all who are around to hear it.
By the time the promo finishes playing, Hayden HardKore is standing in the center of the ring, forgoing his usual entrance. He has a microphone in his hand and is poised ready to speak.
"That was last week, and I am a man of my word. So, here we are - an open challenge for anybody out the back to come down this ramp and take a swing at this..."[/i]
Hayden points to his King of the Deathmatch Championship belt, still slung over his shoulder. The glint of light catching the metal catches in the lens of the camera, beckoning those backstage to join Hayden in the ring.
"This is what the King of the Deathmatch Championship is all about. Freedom - No rules, no regulations, no holds barred, all weapons legal and no planning.
All you have to do is beat everybody else to the ramp to claim your shot. I will face whoever comes out first.
So - Glory and Honor Wrestling... Who is it going to be?"[/i]
Hayden lowers the microphone and listens attentively for the sound of his challenger's music.
TBC
OOC: The match is a standard deathmatch style, all weapons legal, no holds barred - one fall.