Post by SmoothEddy™ on Dec 30, 2011 23:03:51 GMT -7
Smooth Eddy's Contract
All the plebeians, the fans who pack the arena for the weekly Triumph show remain vibrant with anticipation. Those in their seats remain seated, others go back and fourth from the restroom, to the concessions, and even the merchandising stores, yel all still on edge and utterly excited by the violence that has already transpired, and the action left to take place. The official Triumph show had not started, but the dark match they were treated to was sensational to say the least. And they would be treated once more.
The arena lights suddenly dim, causing the venue to go deafly silent. A small spotlight in the rafters suddenly cuts on, prompting a crimson shadow to bleed across the arena. The crimson hues float over the steel of the stage and entryway, and are somewhat absorbed the white white canvas of the squared hell. Energetic drums follow, gaining the attention of the spectators, thus heading into Labjacd's Stalefish. The flummoxed audience turns its attention to the entryway, the unfamiliar tune raising their anticipation and eagerness to substantial heights. The curtains dividing ringside and the backstage area suddenly thrown back, as the superstar behind the music emerges.
The Rican scans over the audience, a white towel wrapped around his neck, and a mango in his hand, while he stands draped in a blue, silk Hawaiin shirt which casts a silhouette across his bare chest. He passes his hands along his blue tights, the Puerto Rican flag cascading down his left leg, while his initials, plastered in white, run down his right thigh. He takes a deep breath, eyes continuing to survey the situation, his messy dreadlocks sitting freely in shades of brown black.
The superstar makes his way down the ramp with a steady march. His squinted eyes remain in front of him as he reaches ringside, "Stalefish" continues to blare through the speakers. He knees up onto the apron, quickly pulling on the top rope before using the elasticity of the ropes to propell himself off the apron and into the air. The Rican somersaults into the ring, immediately exploiting the momentum into a roll before springing to his feet, further exciting the crowd with his athletically flashy entrance.
He ventures to the nearest corner, slowly ascending it before perching himself up on the top, slowly removing his silk shirt in the process. He tosses it into over ropes to the floor, before taking his towel from around his neck and hanging it over the ropes. As he sits a top the top turnbuckle he surveys the crowd, slowly soaking in the moment. He slowly strokes his chin and he makes his way back down to the canvas. From this point his theme tune comes to an end, and requests a microphone from the nearby ring attendant.
"My name, is Smooth Eddy and I come from Puerto Rico. And the only things you need to know about me, is that I Know Smooth, and I'm here to win..."
"Now my opponent, Jerry Nate, he thinks he's cool. He thinks he's suave. He thinks he's smooth. Smooth men, wear silk shirts, not old garments. Smooth men, talk sophisticated, walk sophisticated, look sophisticated, not unmannerly and uneducated. And smooth men, drink fine wine and Pina Coladas, not cheap beer. See Mr. Nate, he's not smooth, he's a big of a scumbag, a two bit thug. He picks on the little guy, and tries to bully people around. That's not smooth..."
"So right now, I'm gong to give him a little attitude adjustment, and beat him one on one, here in this ring. And that ladies and gentlemen... is very smooth!"
Eddy tosses the mic down and rolls his mango into the corner, as he and the crowd await the arrival of the Shotgun Kid.
TBCB Jerry Nate
All the plebeians, the fans who pack the arena for the weekly Triumph show remain vibrant with anticipation. Those in their seats remain seated, others go back and fourth from the restroom, to the concessions, and even the merchandising stores, yel all still on edge and utterly excited by the violence that has already transpired, and the action left to take place. The official Triumph show had not started, but the dark match they were treated to was sensational to say the least. And they would be treated once more.
The arena lights suddenly dim, causing the venue to go deafly silent. A small spotlight in the rafters suddenly cuts on, prompting a crimson shadow to bleed across the arena. The crimson hues float over the steel of the stage and entryway, and are somewhat absorbed the white white canvas of the squared hell. Energetic drums follow, gaining the attention of the spectators, thus heading into Labjacd's Stalefish. The flummoxed audience turns its attention to the entryway, the unfamiliar tune raising their anticipation and eagerness to substantial heights. The curtains dividing ringside and the backstage area suddenly thrown back, as the superstar behind the music emerges.
The Rican scans over the audience, a white towel wrapped around his neck, and a mango in his hand, while he stands draped in a blue, silk Hawaiin shirt which casts a silhouette across his bare chest. He passes his hands along his blue tights, the Puerto Rican flag cascading down his left leg, while his initials, plastered in white, run down his right thigh. He takes a deep breath, eyes continuing to survey the situation, his messy dreadlocks sitting freely in shades of brown black.
The superstar makes his way down the ramp with a steady march. His squinted eyes remain in front of him as he reaches ringside, "Stalefish" continues to blare through the speakers. He knees up onto the apron, quickly pulling on the top rope before using the elasticity of the ropes to propell himself off the apron and into the air. The Rican somersaults into the ring, immediately exploiting the momentum into a roll before springing to his feet, further exciting the crowd with his athletically flashy entrance.
He ventures to the nearest corner, slowly ascending it before perching himself up on the top, slowly removing his silk shirt in the process. He tosses it into over ropes to the floor, before taking his towel from around his neck and hanging it over the ropes. As he sits a top the top turnbuckle he surveys the crowd, slowly soaking in the moment. He slowly strokes his chin and he makes his way back down to the canvas. From this point his theme tune comes to an end, and requests a microphone from the nearby ring attendant.
"My name, is Smooth Eddy and I come from Puerto Rico. And the only things you need to know about me, is that I Know Smooth, and I'm here to win..."
"Now my opponent, Jerry Nate, he thinks he's cool. He thinks he's suave. He thinks he's smooth. Smooth men, wear silk shirts, not old garments. Smooth men, talk sophisticated, walk sophisticated, look sophisticated, not unmannerly and uneducated. And smooth men, drink fine wine and Pina Coladas, not cheap beer. See Mr. Nate, he's not smooth, he's a big of a scumbag, a two bit thug. He picks on the little guy, and tries to bully people around. That's not smooth..."
"So right now, I'm gong to give him a little attitude adjustment, and beat him one on one, here in this ring. And that ladies and gentlemen... is very smooth!"
Eddy tosses the mic down and rolls his mango into the corner, as he and the crowd await the arrival of the Shotgun Kid.
TBCB Jerry Nate
