DM: Beast vs. O'Shaunessy

[The Templar]

Pavor’s contract: gahwo.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=rpcontracts&action=display&thread=11486

Beast’s contract: gahwo.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=rpcontracts&action=display&thread=11487&page=1

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The crowd continues to shuffle into the arena for GHW’s biggest event of the year. Around the arena, things are still being set-up, the lighting set sits at its normal lit state, and even the stage and road crew are scurrying along the ringside area. “Big” Al Mulligan and Colin “The Fuzz” Jennings sit at ringside, laughing along to themselves with their headsets off, making some fun of Charlie Coors who, always a good sport, and laughs along with them.

Suddenly, the arena lights entirely black out while a signature guitar solo blares throughout the PA system. Those still entering the arena and even those at ringside scurry into place as ”Fear of the Dark” by Iron Maiden begins to play. Charlie Coors quickly slides into the dark ring with a microphone in hand, unaware of what is actually happening, while a dim, nearly non-existent spotlight fixates itself onto the entrance tunnel. Listening to the voice over in his ear piece, Charlie Coors, unaware of the match taking place, listens for his place.

Charlie Coors:
“Uhh... Ladies and gentlemen, the following is your first dark match of the evening and it is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first; being accompanied to the ring by Pavor Nocturnus and weighing in tonight at three hundred and twenty pounds... He hails from a “State of Dysphoria”... In his first match in Glory and Honour Wrestling... BEAST!”

[/center]
Their walk to the ring was slow and almost painful. The methodical big man, wearing your generic black wrestling trunks, plain black mask, and elbow and knee pads to match, was being led to the ring by a cynical tyrant wearing a burlap sack for a mask. In most cases, a large pyrotechnic or lighting display was happening in the background but this time it was nothing but a dim spotlight in the middle of a blacked out arena. The strangest part was Pavor led the way, dictating Beast’s every step and move, even pointing to the inside of the ring to make him enter it; Beast was nothing more than a marionette for the ever so gracious puppet master.

”Big” Al Mulligan:
“I have never seen these two men before in my life... Yet, might I say, that ‘Beast’ fellow there is an intimidating presence as ever... You rarely see a man of his size here!”

Colin “The Fuzz” Jennings:
“It’s that guy leading him to the ring that bothers me... He just has a weird vibe coming off of him and you have to wonder what type of power he’s got if that big man follows him like a puppy...”

”Big” Al Mulligan:
“You’re right, he does have kind of a spooky vibe... Just in time for Halloween! This is probably just another one of those hippy-dippy flash in the pans. I mean, they didn’t even make it to the pay-per-view!”

Colin “The Fuzz” Jennings:
“Well... This one was from a special requests of Smarky Smark himself so you never know... They could be two new additions for ‘The Corps’...” [/center]
The lights gently come back on across the arena as Beast stands, almost awkwardly, in the middle of the ring, unsure of what to do without Pavor’s hand guiding him. Unlike most managers, Pavor grabs a seat at ringside beside the timekeeper and places his hands onto his lap, seemingly focused entirely on what his young protégé would be capable of tonight against his first opponent.

TBCB O’Shaunessy

[The Templar]

The anticipation was unbearable; standing in the ring, awaiting an opponent who wasn’t going to show. It’s a lot worse as a young green star, expecting them regardless, even though it was slowly killing you. For Beast, it was all new for him. For all he knew this was part of the charade, however in Pavor’s heart he knew what was going on and it disgusted him. Finally, refusing to make his client waiting any longer, the masked tyrant stands up from his content place on the steel chair and grabs a nearby microphone.

Pavor Nocturnus:
“Ty-ty-typically it’s expected... Every now and then workers do not show up... Every now and then other commitments arise and a match is halted. However... For us, this understanding in this business does not fly... Steve O’Shaunessy, you have choices in life. Everybody has choices. Tonight you get two ch-choices...

The first being is to show up. You have been demanding a match and, albeit in a dark match, on the b-b-biggest stage in GHW you’ve received one against an opponent who barely understands the d-difference between a power bomb and a piledriver... A pretty easy assumed win no?..

The second being is to not show up. It’s a lot of pressure to being tossed against a new opponent who you know nothing about on such a stage... B-Beast is an intimidating presence. He’s towering, massive and just appears to have that swagger where, he doesn’t care about winning or losing... Just hurting...”

[/center]
The crowd, entirely new to Pavor’s tittering and almost stuttering speech pattern, can’t help but let out a little laugh. A man wearing a burlap sack sending an understanding and simultaneously threatening message isn’t exactly the most convincing approach in the world. Beast, unsure of what is actually happening, makes like a good henchman and stands patiently in the ring. In Pavor’s mood though, his voice changes; rather than tittering and cracking with his attitude, it deepens and almost transitions into a low growl.

Pavor Nocturnus:
“Now... For every action, there is generally a reaction... One of Newton’s laws of motion, something any greenhorn collegiate would know, but I highly doubt the ‘Twisted Genius’ can count let alone comprehend any basic perception of physics... I mean, not once have I seen this man record a three count when he wasn’t on his back.

Basically... Let’s play a little game. It’s called ‘what if’. Now, what if O’Shaunessy mans up and appears against his opponent of choice? Well... Simple. He’ll be beaten. Plain and simple. Not in a hard fought battle or one to be remembered for the ages. He’ll be tossed around like a ragdoll and then pinned. One... Two... Three... Game over. Then, afterwards, he gets to go home to his family and everyone leaves happy.

What if O’Shaunessy doesn’t show up? Even simpler of an answer. He has two chances. Either until the count of ten or until anyone else on the roster that doesn’t have a match would like to test their grit against some new young rookie. Then... When he doesn’t show up and my Beast here reigns victorious... We’ll go and find Steve. Not tonight. Not tomorrow night. But some night in the near future. Then, he’ll be beaten. One... Two... Three... Or however long it takes for an ambulance to get to him. Then, afterwards, he gets to spend the next few weeks in any stylish hospital room of his choice and everyone leaves happy...”

[/center]
Behind his mask, to which is apparent to absolutely no one in the arena, a large grin emerges on Pavor’s face from cheek to cheek. Even the idea of tearing apart a human being adds some sort of sick pleasure to his face. To the fans, it seems like any new hotshot entering the ring on the mic; empty threats and declarations of dominance. Only this time... This time it all seemed different.

Pavor Nocturnus:
“... But don’t worry Steve, there’s really nothing to be worried about. Whatever choice you make will easily be the best choice of your future... Whatever you’d like your future to be... So, I’ll allow the performers to take their stage and send the open invitation to either Steve or anybody else on the roster... But like I said, don’t worry, there’s nothing to fear...

... After tonight, it’ll only be a nightmare...”

[/center]
At that, Pavor lowers the microphone and hands it off to the man he grabbed it from and sits back down in his chair. Beast was going to have a match tonight. Tonight was the night they would prove themselves. That was one thing he was certain of.

TBCB: Anyone

[TPK]

Moments pass, and no Steve O’Shaunessy. The crowd becomes restless as Beast becomes antsy, beginning to pace back and forth like a caged tiger. His manager Pavor encourages this.

Big Al: Like it or not, it doesn't appear that Steve is going to show up, no surprise. That's about what you might expect from "him". Hmph, really gotta look forward to Beast getting his hands on him.

Fuzz: Yeah, well, meanwhile we are without a match. And by the look of Beast he's wanting to fight in the worst possible way, if this drags on much longer I hate to think of what might happen.

All of a sudden the crowd begins to buzz as a member of the crowd pats his MoHawked "brother" on the back and climbs over the guard-railing. A heavyset man in a black T-Shirt with a "Security" logo emblem on the chest walks towards the rough and tumble looking man. The jean and leather jacket clad man reaches into his side pocket and pulls out a Stanley Knife Sellotaped to yet another Stanley Knife. The now infuriated audience member begins spewing insults at the guard who backs off with no further argument. The short fused man now grabs a mic and slides into the ring, he stares across at the six foot six Beast and smiles coyly at him.

Big Al: No clue who this guy is...but I gotta commend him on his weapon choice. Can never go wrong with the Stanley Knife...hell two is just that much better.

Fuzz: This is just...what the hell is this? A crowd member is accepting Beast's challenge, oh yeah...this one is going to be very short lived.

The crowd, not sure what the hell is going on here, buzzes. Before long it sounds like a hornet's nest had been busted open in the arena. The Biker brushes back his long gray hair and quickly raises his mic to his lips.

Mulligan: Your nightmare is gonnae be a reality when I rip your bastardin arms aff and batter ye senseless wi' them! I'll ram my hon that for doon your throat I'll be able to pull every hair aff your baws fae the inside. Ah'm gonna...

Coors: Who the hell are you man?

Mulligan: Who...am ah!? Don't get me started fanny baws, suffice to say ah amnae tae be fucked wae! But ah'll tell ye what, for the bennefit of those two dobbers, ah'll gies my name, Mulligan. Chances ur YOU wullnae ken me but I...fight across the pond, if you will. See alot of familiar faces ower here...same wankers different circle I guess. Enough ah the small talk baw bag, ring the bell!

With this Mulligan takes off his jacket, revealing a dusty black T-Shirt underneath. The Scottish Born Street Rat tosses the jacket to the outside of the ring, the leather vestment kicks up a bit of dust as it lands in a heap by the ring apron. Mully now makes a gesture to his place in the crowd, his brother in crime sees it and jumps the railing and takes his spot near the ring apron.

Big Al: It's probably a good thing this one won't be airing. I really hate to think of what would come of this, I mean he's saying he is from...the other federation. Still, dude has balls.

Fuzz: And it looks like this other guy is going to jump in to help, would you look at the hairdo on this one? What a Mohawk...screw it, I'm calling him Mo Hawk.

TBC
My Contract

[TPK]

The ref confusedly glances at Mully, and then shrugs his shoulders before calling for the time keeper to ring the bell. Pavor eyes Mulligan through his burlap sack, and steps out of the ring, allowing his henchman to do what he does best. Beast trudges towards the Mad Dog Scott, Mulligan sees the much larger man slowly making his way towards him and decides to make his journey shorter by walking right for the oncoming Beast. Right away Mulligan shows his lack of respect for his opponent, he balls up his right fist, and smashes his right forearm into the jaw of Dysphoric One. Beast's head is turned to the side by the shot, he seems unphased however, turning his head slowly back to it's starting point. The Masked Fighty fighty person brings up a knee, doubles Mulligan over, and clubs him across the back with a powerful blow that drops The Scotsman to the mat.

Big Al: Right away these two clubbing away at each other, can't say I hate it. Not sure what Mulligan brings to the table, but I sure hope the guys in the truck aren't letting the nudes of Fuzz's mom distract them from getting some background info on this man.

Fuzz: Already way ahead of you on that one, says here he's from Ayr, Scotland and he's had one match. Was a tag contest with his partner...who is named...HA got it right Mo Hawk. Also says that match was a win against Roadkill. Really? Might have to check my source on that one. Wow, yeah it's confirmed....I hate those friggin guys! You can't understand half of the shit out of this Mulligan guys mouth...but I like him already.

Big Al: You would...I don't know him, nor have I ever had any prior contact with him. But I consider that man a tarnish on the name I have laboured to make respectable!

Fuzz: If it makes any difference it was Mo Hawk who got the fall in the match, not Mulligan.

Big Al: It doesn't.

Fuzz: And James Walker took the fall.

Big Al: Seriously? Well, that makes all the difference.

Fuzz: Really?

Big Al: No.

Beast shoots a glance to his master, seeking his approval and guidance in the worst way. Pavor simply nods at his minion, this seemingly small gesture is enough for Beast to turn his attention back to Mulligan who is in the process of dragging himself to a less prone position. Beast is more than pleased to aid Mulligan in his attempt at a stand, however once he has Mully up Pavor's Ultimate Weapon hoists Mully up onto his shoulders, and holds him there for a moment. Mulligan puts up a fight, delving elbow after elbow into Beast's skull, The Six Foot Ten Monster is undeterred however and drops to his side driving Mulligan's shoulder blades into the mat. Mulligan rolls on the mat as Beast gets up and tries to drag him to a stand once more, this time however The Scottish Street Rat is ready with a move that has taken down plenty of giants in the past. Mulligan, seeing the ref out of position to see what he has planned, juts a bicep up betwixt the legs of Beast and gets a loan groan as he nails his mark right on. Knowing he doesn't have long to rest on his laurels Mad Dog Mulligan rises to his feet and places an arm on the back of Beast, he then pulls him forward and slams a stiff knee up into the ribcage. Mulligan repeats this trice more and ends off his barrage by backing away and rushing at Beast, he leaps up and lifts a knee up aiming it at the side of Beasts head. Beast sees the move coming and picks Mulligan right out of the air with a clenched hand across the throat, followed by a booming slam down to the dusty covered mat bellow.

Big Al: This Pavor guy really has a eye for talent it seems, Beast is taking Mulligan apart, even if he is just some random nobody who could never compare with Roadkill.

Fuzz: Yeah, well, Mulligan was doing fairly well until he was countered right there. I do, however, disagree with his use of the low blow to get to that point.

Big Al: The dirty, dirty, bastard.

Mo Hawk at this point takes advantage of the ref's position, he slides a chair in the ring just behind the ref and then quickly hops up on the apron. The ref completely misses the chair and rushes over to argue with Mo. Mulligan, seeing his friends assist, grabs hold of the chair and slams it upwards nailing the Man Beast in the head, metal on flesh can be heard, but Beast is phased only long enough for Mulligan to get back to a stand. Having a more vertical base to attack from, Mulligan smashes the chair once more into Beast's skull, once more Beast takes the shot with minimal reaction. The Short Fused Scottish Biker starts losing patience, he swings a third time, this shot however is less measured and misses Beast by about three inches, Beast simply forces his head downward. The head on head contact between the two Fighty fighty persons causes Mulligan to drop his chair and stagger back while Beast remains firmly planted in the same spot. Mully, no stranger to a good headbutt, shakes off the move quickly and readies himself for Beast. Beast stomps towards Mulligan, this prompts the smaller man to power off of his plant foot and speed towards Beast, once in range Mulligan connects with a arm to the chest area taking Beast off of his feet for the first time in the match. Mulligan, not wanting to risk DQ, kicks the chair out of the ring and signals for Mo to let the ref return. The ref turns back to see a reversal of what was seen when he was there a short few moments ago, he questions Mulligan as to what happened and Mully spouts out a long string of insults before pointing at Beast and turning his focus back onto his opponent.

Big Al: I don't like them...but damn if they aren't tricky little shits. Touche.

Fuzz: You were on the bandwagon until you heard they beat Roadkill. Whatever, Beast seems to be getting into Mulligan's head. Two chair shots and this guy practically asked for more, he did manage to get him down with a decent lariat but now what, he is wasting his time with the ref? I don't get it, but I suppose I don't have to.

Big Al: Oh I get it, and I'll be GETTING it. With your mom, after the show, Fuzzy boy.

Mulligan, fairly certain a pin is a no go at this point, lines up his shot and drops knee first into Beast's left leg, Mulligan follows this up with an elbow shot in the same spot, and goes to pick Beast up but is caught in the jaw by an illegal fist that gets a warning from the official. Beast, doesn't seem to care about the ref's warning, he gets back up and is once again towering over Mulligan who is rubbing his jaw and moving in Beast's direction. Mulligan drops downward and lands the soles of both feet into Beast's left leg stumbling him away. Mulligan, taking almost no time to get back up, goes for an Irish Whip but gets pulled back in, Beasts hurls his whole body at the incoming Mulligan and drops him to the ground. Mulligan hits the floor and slides a good two feet away as Beast glances back at Pavor.

TBC

[The Templar]

Sending a nod of approval to his minion’s way and a gesture with his hand to “speed it up,” Pavor continues to watch from his seat at ringside studying the two men in the ring. Beast, wasting time looking for a reaction from Pavor, turns his attentions back to Mulligan and bends over, grabbing him by the back of the head with both hands. Mulligan seemed to have been awaiting this, driving the top of his head directly into the abdominals of the Masked Monster. Recoiling back from the impact, Beast stumbles backwards as Mulligan scurries up to his feet and charges at the six foot ten behemoth driving his forearm straight into his sternum. Unsure on how to react, Beast merely covers his chest with both hands and bends over attempting to conceal himself and hope that the onslaught stops, however it only adds to Mulligan’s tenacious drive. Interlocking his hands across the back of Beast’s head and holding him down, Mad Dog throws in a flurry of alternating left and right knee strikes straight up into the Masked Monster’s chest, each impact tenderizing the already sore chest of the behemoth. Inching back a step after each strike, Beast winds up pushing himself back up against the ropes forcing the referee to intervene. Ignoring the initial beginnings of the five counts, Mulligan hopes to leave quite an impression and hammers in a few more knee strikes before backing off. The fans, looking for any sort of offence from the Beastly man and surprised by the lack of dominance, begin booing, letting both men know exactly how they feel about them.

”Big” Al Mulligan:
“The strangest thing of all has got to be the fact how submissive this Beast fellow is. I mean, he’s clearly big and strong enough to be dominating this entire contest but look at him! Cowering back to the ropes and lacking in any offense!”

Colin “The Fuzz” Jennings:
“It doesn’t help that the numbers game is racking up on him and that weird burlap wearing guy is just sitting there... Beast almost looks scared to respond...”

”Big” Al Mulligan:
“Scared?! That’s ridiculous! Look at the guy! People like that do not get scared. He should be ripping Mulligan apart in there! Albeit, he’s not one to be taken lightly either...”

Colin “The Fuzz” Jennings:
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Still though, this Beast has been looking over to Pavor longingly every single time he does something. Is he expecting him to finish the match for him or something?”[/center]
Hanging onto the ropes for dear life, Beast shakes his head as the referee questions whether or not he’d like to quit the match. Not used to receiving such a punishment in his life, the relatively green worker can’t help but feel sore and exhausted already just in the early goings. He looks up and notices the Scottish Street Rat advancing towards him like a starved dog looking for his first meal in weeks and decides to cower down in spot. Mulligan advances forward and clubs his arm across Beast’s back to soften him up before grabbing him by the wrist and sends him off for an Irish whip. However, not enjoying being sent all over the place, Beast spins and sends Mulligan off with an Irish whip of his own. Ready to clear the Mad Dog’s head directly from off of his shoulders, Beast swings his massive arm at Mulligan for a thundering clothesline but significantly overshoots his mark, failing to readjust his equation to include his height. Ducking under the huge standing clothesline attempt, Mulligan continues off the other set of ropes and flies back at the six foot ten monster with a flying forearm. Stumbling back from the impact, Beast still doesn’t topple and only holds his tender chest with his hands. Under normal circumstances, most men would have their drive collapse, unsure of what to do, but Mulligan decides to continue with his game plan.

Mohawk, pacing back and force at ringside, looks and waits for his opportunity to help out where he can but can’t help and make eye contact with Pavor Nocturnus. Still sitting patiently in his ringside seat, the glare from Pavor’s face is as threatening as one could be. Without exchanging a single word, it’s almost established that any interference would lead into a rather unfortunate series of events. Looking back up at the ring, The Scottish Street Rat gives Beast a quick shove before, once again, grabbing the Masked Monster by the wrist and attempting to Irish whip him at the turnbuckles at the far side of the ring. However, much like the few times before, the behemoth decides against it and counters, sending Mulligan back first against the opposite ring turnbuckles. This time though, almost feeling a sense of urgency, Beast charges in after him and collides with his full body weight at the stationary Scot with a body avalanche. Stumbling out of the corner like he just finished a happy hour, Mulligan almost seems surprised by the move, especially as Beast, moving surprisingly fast for a man of his size, runs back and bounces off of the ropes to build up speed before driving his right boot into Mulligan’s face with a huge running big boot. Feeling exactly like what a size fourteen foot in the face should feel like, The Scottish Street Rat falls flat on his back, starring up dizzily at the lights hanging up above in the rafters.

”Big” Al Mulligan:
“See! What did I tell you! Look at what this big brute is capable of! My oh my is he fast for such a big ugly bastard. Reminds me of your wife with that one!”

Colin “The Fuzz” Jennings:
“Not a way to start the night Al, I swear on that one. Look at it now! Beast must have felt a sense of urgency, he’s sizing up Mulligan now!”

”Big” Al Mulligan:
“He has to keep an eye out though; Mo Hawk has come into the match before. I mean it took both of them to take him down! I wouldn’t expect him to sit back idly and let this happen!”

Colin “The Fuzz” Jennings:
“And still though... That Pavor guy is just sitting there. I thought his job would be to come in and help him out if he needed?”[/center]
Looking down at Mulligan who is slowly regaining all consciousness, Beast quickly takes a glance back to the burlap wearing Pavor, who continues to sit watching. Giving a very subtle nod, Pavor Nocturnus gestures at his Beast to go for the end then takes a look over to Mo Hawk who immediately jumps up onto the ring apron. Still, Pavor sits, waiting to see how his Masked Monster will respond.

TBC