Lindsay Troy vs. Cameron Cruise
- Thread starter DBrunkGXW
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QueenOfTheRing
AKA Mom
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A funny little happenstance
Fade-in: Lindsay Troy, standing in the center of a hotel room in New York City, having not yet left for England. She smirks at the camera and shakes her head.
Y'know, when Dan Ryan and I had our little heart-to-heart a few weeks ago about the whole managing thing, the last thing I expected from him was to offer me the opportunity to make a splash in his home fed of GXW. Since my respect for him goes far deeper than I expect anyone to understand, I graciously accepted his invitation to compete in the world title tournament, which was sure to bring about some of the best talent this industry has to offer.
So, this poses the question...what the hell is Cameron Cruise doing here?!
Her smirk widens.
Hey Cam, how's it goin? Have you come whimpering out of the dog-house yet after your crushing loss to a walking soda fountain and her invisible partner?
Let me get this straight. The crowning achievement of your life was finally getting married on a CSWA PPV, because so many people cared, right? Wow, what a sentimental fool. Maybe at Battleground Britain we'll see the divorce occur that always happens in wrestling marriages.
You can't stop the inevitable, Cameron.
Just like you can't stop me from walking all over you, grinding you under my right boot, and advancing on to the next round of the tournament where I'll deal with the next jive-talking moron who stands in my way.
I'll tell ya what, Cam. You just crawl back to whatever rock you came from and stick to losing, like you're accustomed to doing. I'll just stick to the winning part of the gig. After all...winning is what I do best.
Fade...
Fade-in: Lindsay Troy, standing in the center of a hotel room in New York City, having not yet left for England. She smirks at the camera and shakes her head.
Y'know, when Dan Ryan and I had our little heart-to-heart a few weeks ago about the whole managing thing, the last thing I expected from him was to offer me the opportunity to make a splash in his home fed of GXW. Since my respect for him goes far deeper than I expect anyone to understand, I graciously accepted his invitation to compete in the world title tournament, which was sure to bring about some of the best talent this industry has to offer.
So, this poses the question...what the hell is Cameron Cruise doing here?!
Her smirk widens.
Hey Cam, how's it goin? Have you come whimpering out of the dog-house yet after your crushing loss to a walking soda fountain and her invisible partner?
Let me get this straight. The crowning achievement of your life was finally getting married on a CSWA PPV, because so many people cared, right? Wow, what a sentimental fool. Maybe at Battleground Britain we'll see the divorce occur that always happens in wrestling marriages.
You can't stop the inevitable, Cameron.
Just like you can't stop me from walking all over you, grinding you under my right boot, and advancing on to the next round of the tournament where I'll deal with the next jive-talking moron who stands in my way.
I'll tell ya what, Cam. You just crawl back to whatever rock you came from and stick to losing, like you're accustomed to doing. I'll just stick to the winning part of the gig. After all...winning is what I do best.
Fade...
TSiegel
I spoil things.
(Fadein, Buckingham Palace. People from different cities, countries, and continents walk about the areas accessable. Taking pictures, pointing and "gasping" at the Royal Decour, we notice Cameron Cruise and Mercedes Devon behind one particularly large group, as they slowly walk, holding hands through the hallways. Dressed warmly for the cold weather, Cruise finally takes notice of the camera and whispers to Mercedes, who in turn looks, and smiles, nodding to him.)
CC: Ms. Troy, it's good to see you too, but really, lest we REALLY talk about the art of losing when I've barely seen tapes of you at all actually WRESTLING?
You see...Your Majesty....dare I even try to call you that, you claim that I'm just a sentimental fool, that I shouldn't even bother to put up a fight or really show up at all.
After all, according to you, I'm just a "jive-talking moron", right?
Never mind the fact that I just finished beating the ever-living HELL from someone who claims to be somewhere far superior from everyone else on the NFW Roster not once, but TWICE in the span of two weeks.
Actually to tell the truth I really shouldn't be to proud of that, now that I think about it, being that the same guy apparently couldn't be more proud of being a winner walking out of Burger King.
Now, you tell me Ms. Troy, it isn't quite that literal, but isn't that kinda part of the plan in the first place for the employees who work there?
But, yet, he's somehow someone of great respect in A1E, irregardless of the fact, while to you Ms. Troy....I'm more or less a a CHUMP ?
Be that as it may, and whether you think so or not, I'm still in the hunt for the prize everyone seeks; The Ultratitle. Meanwhile you sit around after your matches in A1E hanging out with JOEY MELTON of all people...
MD: Which needless to say....is just GROSS.
CC: ....as his valet. (To Mercedes) Right.
Or so you think.
Now, it's pretty obvious by stats, and critics and Ebert and Jon Lovitz, that you've got some skill, so I'm not going to even bother with the rant about "You're a woman, you have none."
Hell, you think that just because Mercedes and I lost a tag match to a woman and her incompetent partner-to-be, that I don't have the guts to even show myself in Public?
Ms. Troy, look around....(Gestures to the palace surroundings) Buckingham Palace is as about public as public gets. As far as losing to a woman? Ms. Troy please, you act as if I actually GIVE A DAMN.
I took a guess and overshot it and because of it, it's on record that I lost to a woman, so what? Mercedes here, was the one who helped me improve my skill, and make it to where I am today.
You beat Dan Ryan, and the man has probably more pride in his work effort than I do, and that's saying quite abit. However, please notice Ms. Troy, that even after the fact, the man hasn't cared lesser than I about it, so why start?
Now, because I....*WE*...haven't quite seen too much of you in the ring other than A1E, I can't say that you're lying in the fact that you're use to winning. We can't.
But we can say one thing about me meeting you in the ring at Battleground Britain (camera close up as Cruise and Mercedes' expressions become very sincere.) :
This isn't the A1E, and I'm definately NOT a jive-talking moron.
But what I definately am....is your biggest challenge to date. I don't give up easy and I definately don't intend to.
MD: Now that....Your Majesty, is a reality check you just....won't like.
Tourists continue to walk back and forth past the couple, while they remain still, and sincere, the camera backing up.
Fadeout.
CC: Ms. Troy, it's good to see you too, but really, lest we REALLY talk about the art of losing when I've barely seen tapes of you at all actually WRESTLING?
You see...Your Majesty....dare I even try to call you that, you claim that I'm just a sentimental fool, that I shouldn't even bother to put up a fight or really show up at all.
After all, according to you, I'm just a "jive-talking moron", right?
Never mind the fact that I just finished beating the ever-living HELL from someone who claims to be somewhere far superior from everyone else on the NFW Roster not once, but TWICE in the span of two weeks.
Actually to tell the truth I really shouldn't be to proud of that, now that I think about it, being that the same guy apparently couldn't be more proud of being a winner walking out of Burger King.
Now, you tell me Ms. Troy, it isn't quite that literal, but isn't that kinda part of the plan in the first place for the employees who work there?
But, yet, he's somehow someone of great respect in A1E, irregardless of the fact, while to you Ms. Troy....I'm more or less a a CHUMP ?
Be that as it may, and whether you think so or not, I'm still in the hunt for the prize everyone seeks; The Ultratitle. Meanwhile you sit around after your matches in A1E hanging out with JOEY MELTON of all people...
MD: Which needless to say....is just GROSS.
CC: ....as his valet. (To Mercedes) Right.
Or so you think.
Now, it's pretty obvious by stats, and critics and Ebert and Jon Lovitz, that you've got some skill, so I'm not going to even bother with the rant about "You're a woman, you have none."
Hell, you think that just because Mercedes and I lost a tag match to a woman and her incompetent partner-to-be, that I don't have the guts to even show myself in Public?
Ms. Troy, look around....(Gestures to the palace surroundings) Buckingham Palace is as about public as public gets. As far as losing to a woman? Ms. Troy please, you act as if I actually GIVE A DAMN.
I took a guess and overshot it and because of it, it's on record that I lost to a woman, so what? Mercedes here, was the one who helped me improve my skill, and make it to where I am today.
You beat Dan Ryan, and the man has probably more pride in his work effort than I do, and that's saying quite abit. However, please notice Ms. Troy, that even after the fact, the man hasn't cared lesser than I about it, so why start?
Now, because I....*WE*...haven't quite seen too much of you in the ring other than A1E, I can't say that you're lying in the fact that you're use to winning. We can't.
But we can say one thing about me meeting you in the ring at Battleground Britain (camera close up as Cruise and Mercedes' expressions become very sincere.) :
This isn't the A1E, and I'm definately NOT a jive-talking moron.
But what I definately am....is your biggest challenge to date. I don't give up easy and I definately don't intend to.
MD: Now that....Your Majesty, is a reality check you just....won't like.
Tourists continue to walk back and forth past the couple, while they remain still, and sincere, the camera backing up.
Fadeout.
QueenOfTheRing
AKA Mom
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Are you American or Retarded?
Fade-in: Lindsay Troy, standing in a large gym facility, dressed in work-out clothes with her hands on her hips. She gives the camera a "what the f*ck" look, before speaking.
Troy: Ok Cameron, I'll attempt to look past the fact that my time and record in A1E should speak for itself, and I'll try and dumb this down so people of yours and Mercedes {honestly, who names their child after a car company that assisted the Nazis in World War II?} "intelligence level" can understand.
Maybe I was wrong about the sentimental fool part, I'll admit it. I should have left out the sentimental part and substituted "idiotic" instead. I won't make the same mistake again.
But clearly I underestimated what you've done lately in NFW. After all, how can I look past the fact that Pariah almost single-handedly won that tag match that the two of you were in. Who takes pot-shots at their partner all week and then expects to have a significant affect on the outcome of said match? What sort of imbecilic moron would do such a thing?
Oh...I believe I found my answer.
And I believe that you proved my point about "jive-talking morons", of which I wasn't referring to you in the first place since you, for once, spared us the torture of having to hear you speak, if only for a little while. But now that you've graced us all with your infinite wisdom and commanding presence, I guess I have no choice but to lump you in with the rest of the people in this title tournament. Except for Dan Ryan and Rob Sampson. Those are two people who I am friendly with and respect.
Y'know somethin else? Melton may get under my skin and drive me up a wall, and I may have been tricked into managing him in the first place, but I sure as hell have a lot more respect for him than I ever will for you. Ya see, the man's been to the top of the mountain. He's won the Ultratitle, on more than one occassion. That's a feat that you'll only hope to see in your dreams, because the way you're goin bucko, you don't have a hope nor a prayer.
But when I get done with my matches in A1E you won't find me hanging around with Joseph. That's something that's kept separate from my private life. Since you're obviously the blind squirrel who couldn't find a clue if it hit you on the top of your hollow head, let me show you just what company I keep when I'm away from the arena, away from all the crowds, and far, far away from Joseph Melton.
A man emerges from a side door and makes his way over to Troy. He stands 6'6" and is a mass of muscle and sinew. His long, blonde hair is tied back into a pony-tail, and he sports a neatly trimmed goatee. He gazes hard into the camera and runs his hand along Troy's finely sculpted arm.
In case you weren't aware, this is Beast. And as you can see, he's a far cry from Mr. Joseph "Look At Me, Look At Me" Melton. What Joseph and I have is business. What Dan Ryan and I have is business. What Beast and I have is both business and personal, and I'm sure you can relate to that on some sort of level. The only difference between myself and Beast and you and Nazi Child is that Beast and I are two of the best. The two of you, however, are just no-talent schmucks who've fallen all doe-eyed off the turnip truck and landed into a world of hurt.
Troy smirks, and Beast speaks slowly and calculatingly.
Beast: Let me illuminate to you the precariousness of the situation in which you find yourself, Cameron.
I don't expect neither you nor your wife to fully grasp the seriousness of this situation, but rest assured that if the need should arise, I will make no distinction between athlete and valet.
Lindsay and I both intend to see her succeed by any means necessary. And we do mean any means.
Continue to enjoy your crowded, public tour of the palace of a figurehead. The one, true Queen and I have much work to do. After all, I have a masked so-called prodigy to contend with once we arrive in England.
Troy: Get used to losing to women, Cameron. This week, you're going to lose to another on one of the biggest stages in this business. And, like in A1E, you can have the luxury of using the "overshot my opponent" excuse as to the reason why you lost.
And I'll tell ya something else...when you've been up on a scaffold with me, teetering on the edge of a fifteen-foot fall to the ground below, then you come talk to me about potentially being my biggest challenge to date. Until then, I don't think that your A1E World Heavyweight Champion Cross will take too kindly to your blasphemy, nor will he forget your utterance.
While this may not be A1E, this is a place that will learn to bow before the Queen, just like every other federation I've ever been to has done, or will learn to do. They bow out of respect for the authority that I command, and out of reverence for my abilities inside the squared circle.
You will bow before me, Cameron. When you do, we will all just have to see how benevolent and humble a Queen I chose to be.
For your sake, you'd better pray to whatever diety you believe in that I'm in a far better mood than I am in now.
She gives the camera a wicked grin.
There's a chill in the air. Can you feel it, Cameron?
I fear that something wicked this way comes...
BLACK
Fade-in: Lindsay Troy, standing in a large gym facility, dressed in work-out clothes with her hands on her hips. She gives the camera a "what the f*ck" look, before speaking.
Troy: Ok Cameron, I'll attempt to look past the fact that my time and record in A1E should speak for itself, and I'll try and dumb this down so people of yours and Mercedes {honestly, who names their child after a car company that assisted the Nazis in World War II?} "intelligence level" can understand.
Maybe I was wrong about the sentimental fool part, I'll admit it. I should have left out the sentimental part and substituted "idiotic" instead. I won't make the same mistake again.
But clearly I underestimated what you've done lately in NFW. After all, how can I look past the fact that Pariah almost single-handedly won that tag match that the two of you were in. Who takes pot-shots at their partner all week and then expects to have a significant affect on the outcome of said match? What sort of imbecilic moron would do such a thing?
Oh...I believe I found my answer.
And I believe that you proved my point about "jive-talking morons", of which I wasn't referring to you in the first place since you, for once, spared us the torture of having to hear you speak, if only for a little while. But now that you've graced us all with your infinite wisdom and commanding presence, I guess I have no choice but to lump you in with the rest of the people in this title tournament. Except for Dan Ryan and Rob Sampson. Those are two people who I am friendly with and respect.
Y'know somethin else? Melton may get under my skin and drive me up a wall, and I may have been tricked into managing him in the first place, but I sure as hell have a lot more respect for him than I ever will for you. Ya see, the man's been to the top of the mountain. He's won the Ultratitle, on more than one occassion. That's a feat that you'll only hope to see in your dreams, because the way you're goin bucko, you don't have a hope nor a prayer.
But when I get done with my matches in A1E you won't find me hanging around with Joseph. That's something that's kept separate from my private life. Since you're obviously the blind squirrel who couldn't find a clue if it hit you on the top of your hollow head, let me show you just what company I keep when I'm away from the arena, away from all the crowds, and far, far away from Joseph Melton.
A man emerges from a side door and makes his way over to Troy. He stands 6'6" and is a mass of muscle and sinew. His long, blonde hair is tied back into a pony-tail, and he sports a neatly trimmed goatee. He gazes hard into the camera and runs his hand along Troy's finely sculpted arm.
In case you weren't aware, this is Beast. And as you can see, he's a far cry from Mr. Joseph "Look At Me, Look At Me" Melton. What Joseph and I have is business. What Dan Ryan and I have is business. What Beast and I have is both business and personal, and I'm sure you can relate to that on some sort of level. The only difference between myself and Beast and you and Nazi Child is that Beast and I are two of the best. The two of you, however, are just no-talent schmucks who've fallen all doe-eyed off the turnip truck and landed into a world of hurt.
Troy smirks, and Beast speaks slowly and calculatingly.
Beast: Let me illuminate to you the precariousness of the situation in which you find yourself, Cameron.
I don't expect neither you nor your wife to fully grasp the seriousness of this situation, but rest assured that if the need should arise, I will make no distinction between athlete and valet.
Lindsay and I both intend to see her succeed by any means necessary. And we do mean any means.
Continue to enjoy your crowded, public tour of the palace of a figurehead. The one, true Queen and I have much work to do. After all, I have a masked so-called prodigy to contend with once we arrive in England.
Troy: Get used to losing to women, Cameron. This week, you're going to lose to another on one of the biggest stages in this business. And, like in A1E, you can have the luxury of using the "overshot my opponent" excuse as to the reason why you lost.
And I'll tell ya something else...when you've been up on a scaffold with me, teetering on the edge of a fifteen-foot fall to the ground below, then you come talk to me about potentially being my biggest challenge to date. Until then, I don't think that your A1E World Heavyweight Champion Cross will take too kindly to your blasphemy, nor will he forget your utterance.
While this may not be A1E, this is a place that will learn to bow before the Queen, just like every other federation I've ever been to has done, or will learn to do. They bow out of respect for the authority that I command, and out of reverence for my abilities inside the squared circle.
You will bow before me, Cameron. When you do, we will all just have to see how benevolent and humble a Queen I chose to be.
For your sake, you'd better pray to whatever diety you believe in that I'm in a far better mood than I am in now.
She gives the camera a wicked grin.
There's a chill in the air. Can you feel it, Cameron?
I fear that something wicked this way comes...
BLACK
QueenOfTheRing
AKA Mom
- Joined
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Further paving my road to victory...
Fade-in: Lindsay Troy, back in her hotel room. She's sitting in a large, leather chair reading a book. The only source of light in the room comes from standing lamp next to the chair, which glows dimly, and in the background a jazz ensamble of Christmas music plays. Beast is nowhere to be found. Troy lifts her head up and addresses the camera.
Troy: Thus far, Cameron, you have been adrift in the sheltered harbor of my patience. You've lost both oars and you're slowly careening out to sea with nothing to save you but your quick wits and survival instinct.
You really don't have a prayer, do you?
You obviously had to be seen in a large, crowded place because you need that comfort. The crush of people walking by you, their voices carrying over the space in which they are confined, makes you unable to think about your past failures and short-comings. Your mind is elsewhere, concentrating on the activities around you instead of the activities in which you previously participated in.
Allow me to remind you of two very simple things:
One, you may dog Melton, but he's in second place in his division of the South conference, while you're tied for second-to-last. This is attributed to his experience, his tactics, and me.
Two, your loss to Duchess and Justin Evitable {that's a winning name, let me tell you} was probably the most horrendous thing I've seen lately since CNN flashed a picture of Michael Jackson on the screen. You lost to a poor woman's me and a man who is just about on the same level as you. If you consider yourself to be such a challenge, then there's really no excuse for losing that match, especially since Duchess is one of the biggest jokes this industry has to offer. Her and that "superhero" {who "flies" up to her "Fortress of Truth"} Lady Freedom chick, who thinks she has a snowball's chance in Hell of making it in NFW, should form their own little social club for delusional, untalented, and fake trolls.
Furthermore, Third Reicht Lady helped you improve your skill? Right, that would mean you had some skill to begin with, which I seriously doubt given the nature of your being and the history that goes along with it. I heard you won a belt in CSWA a long time ago in an alternate universe far away; I guess Merritt was feeling especially giving that day and donated it to charity for a little while. If that's the case, then you've done jack since then, and Mercedes has been guiding you down the endless path of misery...
Somewhere, in sunny Florida, Doc Silver muses...
Doc: ...Only Happy When It Rains...
Back to Troy.
Troy: In the plane of existence that I like to call Reality, the only checks I like are the ones that have a dollar value on them. The check that your mouth wrote that your a** can't cash is going to bounce itself right out of the tournament and back into the arms of the ...thing... you love.
When this match is done and over with, you're going to be wishing this was A1E and you were back down at the bottom of the card curtain-jerking and clawing your way up the ladder, because Cameron...you can't handle me. Consider this your wake-up call.
I expect you to take this loss like a man, so don't disappoint me.
There's a loud knock on the door, and Troy puts her book down on a small chairside table and strides over to answer.
She opens the door and before her stands a figure, about her height, dressed in a black robe with a hood. Troy leans against the door and puts her left hand on her hip.
Troy: Can I help you with something?
Man: I have a message for the one who calls herself Queen.
Troy looks down at the man's hand, and notices some writing on his skin.
Troy: Your knuckles say "Dark 2 Light". <eyebrow raised> You don't look like much of a messanger to me...
Man: I'm a special classification.
Troy smirks.
Troy: Ever kill anyone?
Man: We're getting off the subject.
He hands Troy a white, sealed, piece of paper before stepping back away from the door.
Man: I bid you good day, my Queen.
The man strides away from the door, down the hall, and out of sight. Troy closes the door and leans back against it. She carefully opens the piece of paper and reads the contents inside. She slowly lifts her head, and the lamp that was above the chair goes out.
(OOC: This will be my last promo for this thread, unless I get out of work early tonight. Dave gave me permission to post again before I left for work around 4:30 EST.)
Fade-in: Lindsay Troy, back in her hotel room. She's sitting in a large, leather chair reading a book. The only source of light in the room comes from standing lamp next to the chair, which glows dimly, and in the background a jazz ensamble of Christmas music plays. Beast is nowhere to be found. Troy lifts her head up and addresses the camera.
Troy: Thus far, Cameron, you have been adrift in the sheltered harbor of my patience. You've lost both oars and you're slowly careening out to sea with nothing to save you but your quick wits and survival instinct.
You really don't have a prayer, do you?
You obviously had to be seen in a large, crowded place because you need that comfort. The crush of people walking by you, their voices carrying over the space in which they are confined, makes you unable to think about your past failures and short-comings. Your mind is elsewhere, concentrating on the activities around you instead of the activities in which you previously participated in.
Allow me to remind you of two very simple things:
One, you may dog Melton, but he's in second place in his division of the South conference, while you're tied for second-to-last. This is attributed to his experience, his tactics, and me.
Two, your loss to Duchess and Justin Evitable {that's a winning name, let me tell you} was probably the most horrendous thing I've seen lately since CNN flashed a picture of Michael Jackson on the screen. You lost to a poor woman's me and a man who is just about on the same level as you. If you consider yourself to be such a challenge, then there's really no excuse for losing that match, especially since Duchess is one of the biggest jokes this industry has to offer. Her and that "superhero" {who "flies" up to her "Fortress of Truth"} Lady Freedom chick, who thinks she has a snowball's chance in Hell of making it in NFW, should form their own little social club for delusional, untalented, and fake trolls.
Furthermore, Third Reicht Lady helped you improve your skill? Right, that would mean you had some skill to begin with, which I seriously doubt given the nature of your being and the history that goes along with it. I heard you won a belt in CSWA a long time ago in an alternate universe far away; I guess Merritt was feeling especially giving that day and donated it to charity for a little while. If that's the case, then you've done jack since then, and Mercedes has been guiding you down the endless path of misery...
Somewhere, in sunny Florida, Doc Silver muses...
Doc: ...Only Happy When It Rains...
Back to Troy.
Troy: In the plane of existence that I like to call Reality, the only checks I like are the ones that have a dollar value on them. The check that your mouth wrote that your a** can't cash is going to bounce itself right out of the tournament and back into the arms of the ...thing... you love.
When this match is done and over with, you're going to be wishing this was A1E and you were back down at the bottom of the card curtain-jerking and clawing your way up the ladder, because Cameron...you can't handle me. Consider this your wake-up call.
I expect you to take this loss like a man, so don't disappoint me.
There's a loud knock on the door, and Troy puts her book down on a small chairside table and strides over to answer.
She opens the door and before her stands a figure, about her height, dressed in a black robe with a hood. Troy leans against the door and puts her left hand on her hip.
Troy: Can I help you with something?
Man: I have a message for the one who calls herself Queen.
Troy looks down at the man's hand, and notices some writing on his skin.
Troy: Your knuckles say "Dark 2 Light". <eyebrow raised> You don't look like much of a messanger to me...
Man: I'm a special classification.
Troy smirks.
Troy: Ever kill anyone?
Man: We're getting off the subject.
He hands Troy a white, sealed, piece of paper before stepping back away from the door.
Man: I bid you good day, my Queen.
The man strides away from the door, down the hall, and out of sight. Troy closes the door and leans back against it. She carefully opens the piece of paper and reads the contents inside. She slowly lifts her head, and the lamp that was above the chair goes out.
(OOC: This will be my last promo for this thread, unless I get out of work early tonight. Dave gave me permission to post again before I left for work around 4:30 EST.)