RMcConnell
New member
Gold Rush RP2: "The English Gent" Lawrence Stanley in 'Getting back in the Routine'
*OOC note: the italic text is Stanley's thoughts.*
The temperature in the gym was stifling, pure air was in short supply, most Los Angeles gym’s had air conditioning, but for one it had been turned off at the request of the man who had hired it out for the day. A boxing come wrestling ring in the corner was the focus of attention on another sun drenched day. Around the ring pictures of great fighters from both art forms adorned and decorated the old wooden walls, as if the fighters were casting their knowledgeable eye over new talent.
Beside the ring an old man stood, leaning hard n a walking stick, fanning himself furiously with a note book, as beads of sweat trickled down his skin as if to find cool respite on his clothing. Alfred glanced round, the only people in the gym besides him were Lawrence Stanley and his opponent. Alfred understood Stanley’s request to leave the air conditioning off, the sweat was pouring out of everyone, this was a real kill or cure way of training.
Lawrence Stanley observed his opponent almost in slow motion as his well placed clothesline dropped him to the canvas. He was slightly taller than Stanley, weighed less and clearly spent most of his days in the gym, he was festooned with tattoos, the most noticeable a giant phoenix which covered his back. The perspiring Gent dropped to one knee to try and suck in some air as his opponent struggled to his feet.
“Do you require water?” asked Alfred, Stanley merely shook his head and stood up tall. “Well I need some, its like a damned oven in here, you’re the only one needing to lose weight you know old chap!” mocked Alfred.
Stanley didn’t hear him, he was focusing on his opponent, he had been found at short notice but at considerable expense. He needed someone vaguely like Troy Windham, for that was who Stanley saw when he glanced at his recovering opponent, Troy Windham.
Arrogant upstart, who is he to talk to “The English Gent” Lawrence Stanley like that?
As the thought flew through Stanley’s brain he drove his knee into the stomach and ribs of his opponent, the sound of air disappearing from his opponent’s mouth coincided with his doubling up.
Me, hold open the ropes…..for him?
The Gent bounced carefully off the ropes, grabbing the neck and head of his opponent and flipping over into a well timed swinging neckbreaker. As both men hit the canvas, the tattooed wrestler grabbed his neck with both hands and banged his feet off the canvas as Stanley fought to get back to a vertical base.
Sometimes people can get an overblown sense of their own importance, it seems to be happening with Windham. I remember the time that he….OOOOOOOOOOF
Stanley is snapped back to the matter in hand by a right hand to the gut which winds him. His taller adversary backs him into the corner starts to wail away at his gargantuan chest with reverse knife-edge chops. Alfred, now drinking form a bottle of water, watches on impassively as Stanley continues to soak up punishment.
Damn it man, think about Windham later, you have more pressing matters to deal with, namely stopping yourself getting a beating by this tattooed Neanderthal.
The Gent waits for the next chop to come before crouching and driving his shoulder into the guy’s ribs, pushing him backwards before flipping him over in some kind of modified belly-to-belly suplex. As he landed the Gent grimaced in pain and gingerly favoured his right knee.
“Are you okay there Lawrence?” enquired a concerned Alfred, Stanley merely nodded and waved the concern away with his hand.
If I stand any chance of beating Windham for the title I’m going to need to be able to compete harder than this.
Despite the previous move it was Stanley’s opponent who got to his feet first, clubbing the Gent with a big forearm across his shoulders, causing Stanley to grunt in pain. The second time he did it, Stanley was waiting for him, grabbing his wrist, spinning into an arm lock before switching to grab his neck from behind and driving him down with an inverted DDT. The fire burned in Stanley’s eyes as he proceeded to drive the boot into the ribs of his opponent. Kick after kick rained down on him before an elbow drop to the neck seemed to slow him down.
That will teach you Windham, you can talk all you want about being the new main event, the cornerstone of the CSWA, but you cannot falsify DNA and biology, once a cretin, always a cretin. Taste this pain Troy, tell me how it feels, do you really enjoy coming through such brutal matches having lost as much blood as you have……
Stanley stops, staggering back as he realises that it isn’t Troy Windham he’s facing, but some jobber who is absorbing his punishment. Its as if the heat is causing the Gent to hallucinate, picturing the UNIFIED Champ cowering before him as he drives his knee into his cheek, the spurt of blood that results seems to shock him back to reality.
What has caused this metamorphosis in Windham? How can some retarded chimp, with one eye on a bar tab and the other on any loose woman who’s legs part more than the gap in his front teeth suddenly be the figurehead for the greatest wrestling promotion of all time? Does he really think that just because he’s been in some stellar matches he’s suddenly the greatest of all time? He’s just a percentage of a match, yes he keeps winning, but everybody has their day, some just prolong it slightly longer than others, soon his time will be at an end.
Stanley decides to test his knee out, he picks up the groggy wrestler and fires him into the ropes, cupping him as he returns and flipping him into a powerslam. The Gent bites his lip, his knee didn’t give out but it was still painful, as Stanley rubs his knee ruefully his opponent holds his back and tries to stand.
“Finish him Lawrence” remarked Alfred, adopting the tone and stance of some Roman official, as if watching a battle in some amphitheatre. Stanley wiped some sweat from his forehead and nodded, dragging the still groaning man to his feet, he knees him in gut and places him in a pump handle. Stanley braces himself and starts to lift him up.
Right then Troy, this is what you can expect soon……..AAAARRRGGGGHHH
As Stanley goes to drive the inverted powerbomb down, his knee goes and he and his opponent collapse to the floor. Stanley hops back up, pain and anger etched on his face, kicking his leg out as if trying to get the feeling back in it. “Lawrence…..are you….” Before Alfred can finish his sentence Stanley hooks his opponent up again, this time there is no problem as he hits the Facedown, the inverted powerbomb causes the wrestlers body to jar up after impact. The Gent flips him over and lies on top of him, tapping rhythmically three times on the canvas with his hand before rolling off him.
“Bravo old chap, not a bad work-out at all.” Enthused Alfred as Stanley sat on his haunches in the middle of the ring, still prodding and poking his right knee. He eventually rolled under the bottom rope as his opponent started to come too. “How is it?” asked Alfred, pointing at the Gents knee with his cane. “It’ll get there, I may need to wear some kind of brace, when I put all that weight and pressure on it, it didn’t seem too happy, although I have been out of the ring for five years, so I couldn’t expect it to be trouble-free.”
Hmm, I have three weeks to get back into some kind of shape needed to take the biggest prize in the sport, every day that the UNIFIED belt is draped over the shoulder of a Windham the CSWA goes down in the esteem of every wrestling fan out there. Today is just the first of many hard, gruelling sessions, whatever it takes I will undertake, this is my quest, this is my life.
“You still want to go through with this Lawrence?” Alfred’s question snapped Stanley back into the present. “Of course, why do you ask?” Alfred smiled at the Gent’s cautious retort. “No reason, just that the only people who know about your impending return are the CSWA head office, so if you think your knee is going to be problematic….” Before Alfred can complete the sentence Stanley again cuts him off. “…Alfred, I have never been more sure of anything in my life. The sooner people know about my plans the better, I need you to set me up an interview as soon as possible.”
“Yes, I was expecting this, I know how pig-headed you are! I wonder if Rudy Seitzer is still kicking about?” mused Alfred. “I’ll leave that up to you old chap, I need to go and wash up, quite frankly I stink.” Remarked the Gent.
I need to brush up as well as wash up, I stink in so many ways, I cannot let this opportunity pass me by….I won’t let it.
*OOC note: the italic text is Stanley's thoughts.*
The temperature in the gym was stifling, pure air was in short supply, most Los Angeles gym’s had air conditioning, but for one it had been turned off at the request of the man who had hired it out for the day. A boxing come wrestling ring in the corner was the focus of attention on another sun drenched day. Around the ring pictures of great fighters from both art forms adorned and decorated the old wooden walls, as if the fighters were casting their knowledgeable eye over new talent.
Beside the ring an old man stood, leaning hard n a walking stick, fanning himself furiously with a note book, as beads of sweat trickled down his skin as if to find cool respite on his clothing. Alfred glanced round, the only people in the gym besides him were Lawrence Stanley and his opponent. Alfred understood Stanley’s request to leave the air conditioning off, the sweat was pouring out of everyone, this was a real kill or cure way of training.
Lawrence Stanley observed his opponent almost in slow motion as his well placed clothesline dropped him to the canvas. He was slightly taller than Stanley, weighed less and clearly spent most of his days in the gym, he was festooned with tattoos, the most noticeable a giant phoenix which covered his back. The perspiring Gent dropped to one knee to try and suck in some air as his opponent struggled to his feet.
“Do you require water?” asked Alfred, Stanley merely shook his head and stood up tall. “Well I need some, its like a damned oven in here, you’re the only one needing to lose weight you know old chap!” mocked Alfred.
Stanley didn’t hear him, he was focusing on his opponent, he had been found at short notice but at considerable expense. He needed someone vaguely like Troy Windham, for that was who Stanley saw when he glanced at his recovering opponent, Troy Windham.
Arrogant upstart, who is he to talk to “The English Gent” Lawrence Stanley like that?
As the thought flew through Stanley’s brain he drove his knee into the stomach and ribs of his opponent, the sound of air disappearing from his opponent’s mouth coincided with his doubling up.
Me, hold open the ropes…..for him?
The Gent bounced carefully off the ropes, grabbing the neck and head of his opponent and flipping over into a well timed swinging neckbreaker. As both men hit the canvas, the tattooed wrestler grabbed his neck with both hands and banged his feet off the canvas as Stanley fought to get back to a vertical base.
Sometimes people can get an overblown sense of their own importance, it seems to be happening with Windham. I remember the time that he….OOOOOOOOOOF
Stanley is snapped back to the matter in hand by a right hand to the gut which winds him. His taller adversary backs him into the corner starts to wail away at his gargantuan chest with reverse knife-edge chops. Alfred, now drinking form a bottle of water, watches on impassively as Stanley continues to soak up punishment.
Damn it man, think about Windham later, you have more pressing matters to deal with, namely stopping yourself getting a beating by this tattooed Neanderthal.
The Gent waits for the next chop to come before crouching and driving his shoulder into the guy’s ribs, pushing him backwards before flipping him over in some kind of modified belly-to-belly suplex. As he landed the Gent grimaced in pain and gingerly favoured his right knee.
“Are you okay there Lawrence?” enquired a concerned Alfred, Stanley merely nodded and waved the concern away with his hand.
If I stand any chance of beating Windham for the title I’m going to need to be able to compete harder than this.
Despite the previous move it was Stanley’s opponent who got to his feet first, clubbing the Gent with a big forearm across his shoulders, causing Stanley to grunt in pain. The second time he did it, Stanley was waiting for him, grabbing his wrist, spinning into an arm lock before switching to grab his neck from behind and driving him down with an inverted DDT. The fire burned in Stanley’s eyes as he proceeded to drive the boot into the ribs of his opponent. Kick after kick rained down on him before an elbow drop to the neck seemed to slow him down.
That will teach you Windham, you can talk all you want about being the new main event, the cornerstone of the CSWA, but you cannot falsify DNA and biology, once a cretin, always a cretin. Taste this pain Troy, tell me how it feels, do you really enjoy coming through such brutal matches having lost as much blood as you have……
Stanley stops, staggering back as he realises that it isn’t Troy Windham he’s facing, but some jobber who is absorbing his punishment. Its as if the heat is causing the Gent to hallucinate, picturing the UNIFIED Champ cowering before him as he drives his knee into his cheek, the spurt of blood that results seems to shock him back to reality.
What has caused this metamorphosis in Windham? How can some retarded chimp, with one eye on a bar tab and the other on any loose woman who’s legs part more than the gap in his front teeth suddenly be the figurehead for the greatest wrestling promotion of all time? Does he really think that just because he’s been in some stellar matches he’s suddenly the greatest of all time? He’s just a percentage of a match, yes he keeps winning, but everybody has their day, some just prolong it slightly longer than others, soon his time will be at an end.
Stanley decides to test his knee out, he picks up the groggy wrestler and fires him into the ropes, cupping him as he returns and flipping him into a powerslam. The Gent bites his lip, his knee didn’t give out but it was still painful, as Stanley rubs his knee ruefully his opponent holds his back and tries to stand.
“Finish him Lawrence” remarked Alfred, adopting the tone and stance of some Roman official, as if watching a battle in some amphitheatre. Stanley wiped some sweat from his forehead and nodded, dragging the still groaning man to his feet, he knees him in gut and places him in a pump handle. Stanley braces himself and starts to lift him up.
Right then Troy, this is what you can expect soon……..AAAARRRGGGGHHH
As Stanley goes to drive the inverted powerbomb down, his knee goes and he and his opponent collapse to the floor. Stanley hops back up, pain and anger etched on his face, kicking his leg out as if trying to get the feeling back in it. “Lawrence…..are you….” Before Alfred can finish his sentence Stanley hooks his opponent up again, this time there is no problem as he hits the Facedown, the inverted powerbomb causes the wrestlers body to jar up after impact. The Gent flips him over and lies on top of him, tapping rhythmically three times on the canvas with his hand before rolling off him.
“Bravo old chap, not a bad work-out at all.” Enthused Alfred as Stanley sat on his haunches in the middle of the ring, still prodding and poking his right knee. He eventually rolled under the bottom rope as his opponent started to come too. “How is it?” asked Alfred, pointing at the Gents knee with his cane. “It’ll get there, I may need to wear some kind of brace, when I put all that weight and pressure on it, it didn’t seem too happy, although I have been out of the ring for five years, so I couldn’t expect it to be trouble-free.”
Hmm, I have three weeks to get back into some kind of shape needed to take the biggest prize in the sport, every day that the UNIFIED belt is draped over the shoulder of a Windham the CSWA goes down in the esteem of every wrestling fan out there. Today is just the first of many hard, gruelling sessions, whatever it takes I will undertake, this is my quest, this is my life.
“You still want to go through with this Lawrence?” Alfred’s question snapped Stanley back into the present. “Of course, why do you ask?” Alfred smiled at the Gent’s cautious retort. “No reason, just that the only people who know about your impending return are the CSWA head office, so if you think your knee is going to be problematic….” Before Alfred can complete the sentence Stanley again cuts him off. “…Alfred, I have never been more sure of anything in my life. The sooner people know about my plans the better, I need you to set me up an interview as soon as possible.”
“Yes, I was expecting this, I know how pig-headed you are! I wonder if Rudy Seitzer is still kicking about?” mused Alfred. “I’ll leave that up to you old chap, I need to go and wash up, quite frankly I stink.” Remarked the Gent.
I need to brush up as well as wash up, I stink in so many ways, I cannot let this opportunity pass me by….I won’t let it.
