Post by ~Seraphiel~ on May 6, 2010 19:06:35 GMT -5
Four large echoing bangs ring out through the narrow empty halls of the GHW arena--getting louder and louder each time--til a shadowy figure can be seen approaching through the thick glass windows of a double door, which is itself inturn swung against the powdercast walls as Seraphiel barges through.
"Bastards!"
Not addressing the camera directly he marches on at pace through the dull grey winding corridors, staggering the cameramans efforts to keep up with him. The screens central focus bobs uncontrolabley as Seraphiel continues raving to himself:
"You work...you graft and you work, for years to be at the peak of your physical game...you prove your the best in the business by physically and mentally destroying all who stand before you...you prove your worth all over the wrestling world by holding belts everywhere you've been...yet the troglodytes they put in charge of this shithole are too focused on one measly stinking cage match, that they don't care to book you a match whatsoever...ME! They didn't book ME a match! Can you believe that..."
Leaving the question unanswered he turns right onto a dead end hall, lined with small rooms. Not hesitating for a second he proceeds down the walkway, swinging each roomdoor open as he passes... until the very last. By the process of elimination he knows this is obviously his intended destination so allows a slight smirk to cross his face and his brow to lower as he looks straight down the lens of the exhausted cameraman and explains.
"If they won't give me an opponent, I'll just need to find one for myself! If I need to drag them, kicking and screaming, to the ring with me, then on the managements heads be it!"
Pushing down on the chrome handle he lets the door open and proceeds onwards into the room, looking around what is now clearly shown as the locker room (distinguishable by the lockers and sweat draped Fighty fighty persons) he sees no less than a dozen sets of beedy eyes peering at him, though the attention he garners doesn't last long as they all promptly go back to doing what they were before. His eyes widen and nostrils flare as he scans the room--noticing more than a few familiar faces, from former team mates and allies to foes alike. His eyes slowly cut through the crowd, discerning worthy foes from the bunch, eventually settling on Pyro and Kazue he maintains a cold gaze on the uncaring ninja until he finally looks up to make eye contact. Sliding along he gives an uncharacteristically friendly nod to Darth before his attention is caught by another former Armata member in AJ Scally. Whether or not AJ notices him is unclear but nevertheless the "New Peoples Champion" is flashing a widemouth/clenched jaw smile in Seraph's direction.
"What the--?"
Before finishing his sentence, his attention is caught by another Fighty fighty person in the rag-tag group of feinds. One he's never had the pleasure of dealing with before, in a friendly manner or otherwise. The young man nervously shifts as he tries to avert the sultans gaze but it'd seem his attempts are to late, as the brute strides over to where he is sitting and pulls him off the bench by his collar and drags him to the center of the room. Unlike most of the Fighty fighty persons there he is offering up a good foot in height to Seraph and atleast fifty pounds, perhaps unsurprisingly he'd be considered easy pickings within a group of average joes nevermind the GHW roster. Staring up at the aggressor, the young man's lower lip begins to quiver and his eyes start to tear up.
"Yeah...you'll do!"
Grabbing a handful of the youngsters fringe in his left hand and wrenching the upstarts head back he cocks his right fist back behind his head and prepares to unleash.
TBC by They Know Who
"Bastards!"
Not addressing the camera directly he marches on at pace through the dull grey winding corridors, staggering the cameramans efforts to keep up with him. The screens central focus bobs uncontrolabley as Seraphiel continues raving to himself:
"You work...you graft and you work, for years to be at the peak of your physical game...you prove your the best in the business by physically and mentally destroying all who stand before you...you prove your worth all over the wrestling world by holding belts everywhere you've been...yet the troglodytes they put in charge of this shithole are too focused on one measly stinking cage match, that they don't care to book you a match whatsoever...ME! They didn't book ME a match! Can you believe that..."
Leaving the question unanswered he turns right onto a dead end hall, lined with small rooms. Not hesitating for a second he proceeds down the walkway, swinging each roomdoor open as he passes... until the very last. By the process of elimination he knows this is obviously his intended destination so allows a slight smirk to cross his face and his brow to lower as he looks straight down the lens of the exhausted cameraman and explains.
"If they won't give me an opponent, I'll just need to find one for myself! If I need to drag them, kicking and screaming, to the ring with me, then on the managements heads be it!"
Pushing down on the chrome handle he lets the door open and proceeds onwards into the room, looking around what is now clearly shown as the locker room (distinguishable by the lockers and sweat draped Fighty fighty persons) he sees no less than a dozen sets of beedy eyes peering at him, though the attention he garners doesn't last long as they all promptly go back to doing what they were before. His eyes widen and nostrils flare as he scans the room--noticing more than a few familiar faces, from former team mates and allies to foes alike. His eyes slowly cut through the crowd, discerning worthy foes from the bunch, eventually settling on Pyro and Kazue he maintains a cold gaze on the uncaring ninja until he finally looks up to make eye contact. Sliding along he gives an uncharacteristically friendly nod to Darth before his attention is caught by another former Armata member in AJ Scally. Whether or not AJ notices him is unclear but nevertheless the "New Peoples Champion" is flashing a widemouth/clenched jaw smile in Seraph's direction.
"What the--?"
Before finishing his sentence, his attention is caught by another Fighty fighty person in the rag-tag group of feinds. One he's never had the pleasure of dealing with before, in a friendly manner or otherwise. The young man nervously shifts as he tries to avert the sultans gaze but it'd seem his attempts are to late, as the brute strides over to where he is sitting and pulls him off the bench by his collar and drags him to the center of the room. Unlike most of the Fighty fighty persons there he is offering up a good foot in height to Seraph and atleast fifty pounds, perhaps unsurprisingly he'd be considered easy pickings within a group of average joes nevermind the GHW roster. Staring up at the aggressor, the young man's lower lip begins to quiver and his eyes start to tear up.
"Yeah...you'll do!"
Grabbing a handful of the youngsters fringe in his left hand and wrenching the upstarts head back he cocks his right fist back behind his head and prepares to unleash.
TBC by They Know Who
