Post by cain on Aug 16, 2009 0:31:13 GMT -5
(OOC: This is depressing. Let's get something going jackasses... Some activity would probably do this site well. We're like the typical fat asses who only eats McDonald's. At least eat Subway. Anyway, I forgot my point...)
As GHW Tuesday Night Triumph comes back from commercial break, every light in the arena dims slightly and fades across to a greener tint as a solo green spotlight shoots itself at the entrance tunnel. The sound of trumpets in a catchy little beat blares across the PA system while the audience, more in love with the song than anything, begin to hum along. As the “The Final Countdown” by Europe actually kicks in a man, roughly six feet in height, comes out carefully from out from behind the entrance curtain. Wearing an odd black mask with multiple green designs put all over it and long black pants with a similar design, Cain walks very carefully around the entrance stage for no reason in particular with a small whiteboard in hand. The audience, amused by the being’s odd antics, begin to lightly laugh and cheer for him.
Big Al: “Cain... Cain doesn’t have a match tonight. What could he have been brought out here for?”
Colin: “Maybe he just wants to have a word with everyone, ever think about that?”
Big Al: “The idiot can’t talk Colin. He can’t. He’s a mute and a freak.”
] Colin: “You two seem to have a lot in common minus the whole, you know, mute thing...”
Still taking his time to pace around the entrance stage like some sort of lost animal, Cain peers down the entrance ramp into the empty ring he’s competed in only once inside of this company. Outside of the mask, Cain appears lost and disoriented, behind it and only known to his true emotions, the man who is Cain is smiling in an ever so twisted fashion. Suddenly, Cain charges down the ramp at a full sprint, his tassels from his mask flowing majestically in the wind before making it to the ring in an immediate time and sliding in under the bottom rope. Sliding in on his stomach, Cain rolls forward once his body fully enters and, possibly totally forgetting his purposes, runs to a far turnbuckle and merely sits down patiently in it while his music dies down, leaving the audience’s cheers the only things to be heard.
Big Al: “... That’s it? That’s what he has planned? Why the Hell would he waste everyone’s time like this?”
Colin: “Shut up, I’m listening! What if he says something enlightening?”
Big Al: “Are you kidding me?! Let me slow it down for you. HE. CAN’T. TA-“
Colin: “Hush! This is the important part... Oh wait, he’s standing up again.”
Cain stands up and comes from the corner and stands in the middle of the ring, first looking to his left then to his right. He looks at the whiteboard and marker in his hand and looks up, ignoring it for the moment, before signalling to an imaginary crown on his head then to an imaginary title around his waist. Then, with his free hand, he points out at the entrance tunnel, “demanding” the appearance of the King of the Deathmatch champion.
TBCB: Preferably Gore or a GM but hell if you want to do something for Summer Ritual, by all means be my guest.
As GHW Tuesday Night Triumph comes back from commercial break, every light in the arena dims slightly and fades across to a greener tint as a solo green spotlight shoots itself at the entrance tunnel. The sound of trumpets in a catchy little beat blares across the PA system while the audience, more in love with the song than anything, begin to hum along. As the “The Final Countdown” by Europe actually kicks in a man, roughly six feet in height, comes out carefully from out from behind the entrance curtain. Wearing an odd black mask with multiple green designs put all over it and long black pants with a similar design, Cain walks very carefully around the entrance stage for no reason in particular with a small whiteboard in hand. The audience, amused by the being’s odd antics, begin to lightly laugh and cheer for him.
Big Al: “Cain... Cain doesn’t have a match tonight. What could he have been brought out here for?”
Colin: “Maybe he just wants to have a word with everyone, ever think about that?”
Big Al: “The idiot can’t talk Colin. He can’t. He’s a mute and a freak.”
] Colin: “You two seem to have a lot in common minus the whole, you know, mute thing...”
Still taking his time to pace around the entrance stage like some sort of lost animal, Cain peers down the entrance ramp into the empty ring he’s competed in only once inside of this company. Outside of the mask, Cain appears lost and disoriented, behind it and only known to his true emotions, the man who is Cain is smiling in an ever so twisted fashion. Suddenly, Cain charges down the ramp at a full sprint, his tassels from his mask flowing majestically in the wind before making it to the ring in an immediate time and sliding in under the bottom rope. Sliding in on his stomach, Cain rolls forward once his body fully enters and, possibly totally forgetting his purposes, runs to a far turnbuckle and merely sits down patiently in it while his music dies down, leaving the audience’s cheers the only things to be heard.
Big Al: “... That’s it? That’s what he has planned? Why the Hell would he waste everyone’s time like this?”
Colin: “Shut up, I’m listening! What if he says something enlightening?”
Big Al: “Are you kidding me?! Let me slow it down for you. HE. CAN’T. TA-“
Colin: “Hush! This is the important part... Oh wait, he’s standing up again.”
Cain stands up and comes from the corner and stands in the middle of the ring, first looking to his left then to his right. He looks at the whiteboard and marker in his hand and looks up, ignoring it for the moment, before signalling to an imaginary crown on his head then to an imaginary title around his waist. Then, with his free hand, he points out at the entrance tunnel, “demanding” the appearance of the King of the Deathmatch champion.
TBCB: Preferably Gore or a GM but hell if you want to do something for Summer Ritual, by all means be my guest.