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[ToC '08] Round 3 Thread

TH

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It's the Wild-Card Round!

- Welcome to the realm of situational writing! In this round, your task is to write a RP where your character reacts to being sneak-attacked by another entrant in this tournament. There is a twist, however. Because of the rash of sneak-attacks, TEAM CEO Jess Chapel has decreed that the next person to make physical contact with another wrestler before the ToC begins is disqualified. So your task is to write about how your character will get back getting PEARL HARBOR'd without physically assaulting the person who did it in the first place.

- You are not restricted by tense, person or format. You may write from your character's perspective, from the 3rd person perspective, from another person's perspective, etc.

- You do not need permission to use the character you want to sneak-attack you. However, if you plan on using other characters, you MUST have permission from that handler to use them.

- No "ganging up" on characters. IE, once someone picks a character to jump them, that character is off-limits to the rest of the field. For example, if Dusk picks Tyler Rayne to sneak him, then no one else can pick Tyler Rayne. Also, there will be no retaliations. Using the same example, if Dusk picks Tyler Rayne, then Tyler Rayne in-turn can't pick Dusk. Also, you may use any character that posted a Round 1 RP for this task.

- You have a RP limit of 1 for this round. The deadline is Sunday, November 2 at 11:59:59 PM, give or take a second.

- You are only eligible for this round if you have posted RPs for BOTH Rounds 1 and 2. That list is as follows:

Chad Kurtis, Cameron Cruise, Ravager, Irishred, James Varga, Tyler Rayne, Jay Phoenix, Jesse Jamester, Olvir Arsvinnar, Chris Bagwell, Dusk, Ken Cloverleaf, Larry Tact, Fusenshoff

Alright... BEGIN!
 

RStrawsma

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Valhalla Productions 213 - The Last Temptation of Olvir

(Open up outside the Cow Palace on the eve of the much-anticipated Tournament of Champions, sponsored by TEAM, the leading name in inter-fed professional wrestling entertainment. The fans are coming in droves from near and far—we see a fly-by of a license plate from a crew of friends driving out from North Carolina to converge on the acclaimed event.)

(With the sun down, trunks pop open, grills come out, and a blend of tail-gating and ritual fan-festing occurs, with travelers from all over the nation blending with the local flavor. With their wallets come the merchants, setting up their kiosks and shilling out a variety of t-shirts and posters and DVDs—one fan in an EPW t-shirt buys himself a copy of the recent NAPW event, with an intrigued look on his face.)

(Here and there, we see one of the entrants in the tournament, moving through the crowd, stopping here and there for an autograph or photo op with a fan. They look cautious at all times, especially when crossing paths with men they would very well be competing against in just 24 hours. But everything remains calm, and with good reason; TEAM security regularly patrol through to keep the peace, and even Jess Chapel is out and about, working hard to make sure all of his loyal fans are happy. So far, there have been no complaints.)

(But that’s all about to change.)

VALHALLA PRODUCTION COMPANY
Presents

(After this montage of these inter-mingling fans and talents outside the arena, the camera focuses in on the barge “parked” at the far end of the parking lot, a large hunk of wood carved in the likeness of an elegant Norse dragon longboat, the size of a spacious bus, resting atop a set of wheels. Just outside the aquatic-turned-terrestrial vehicle are literally DOZENS of exciting fans, all cheering a single name that can be heard quite audibly throughout the entire parking lot.)

“OLVIR!!”

“OLVIR!!”

“OLVIR!!”


OLVIR ARSVINNAR
In

(And standing there, alone upon the bow of the ship, stands the massive, god-like form of the Norse superman known as “THE BUTT-DOMINATOR” OLVIR ARSVINNAR, bearing his standard fur-matted boots, fire-brazen gauntlets, toughened-leather loincloth, and erect-horned helm! His long golden beard flows in the gentle wind, as he stands in a well postured position, his arms flexed in a manner that makes his entire chiseled body seem to glow with force, and his colt Arctic blue eyes staring off eons through the Universe, into the faces of the gods themselves. The dastardly Viking appears to be meditating to himself through his own form of Tai Chi—or as the Norse call it, Fjorkin er Bjorken Njorken. Say that five times fast. Or six, if you think you’re awesome.)

(He stares off into the distance, paying no attention at all to his legion of loyal fans. His face bears a grave expression of importance, which is automatic give-away that something is unusual. At a time like this, amid a party with so many bountiful maidens in his presence, we could be certain that the Great Olvir would be gettin’ busy with his notorious debauchery. For now, though, even as women throw their underwear in his direction, he only appears to be bothered by it all.)

(Something is not right with the Olvir Arsvinnar we know and love.)

"THE LAST TEMPTATION OF OLVIR"

(Sliding into the frame is the past-his-years professional wrestler-turned-field reporter, Terry “THE IDOL” Anderson, looking snazzy in his leisure suit and brawny with his well-groomed beard. He flashes the camera a smile and a wink as he raises the mic to speaking level.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Hello yet again, fans of TEAM!! It’s the one and only Terry “THE IDOL” Anderson, here on the scene of the Cow Palace parking lot, where all of the most devoted fans have come to this MECCA of professional wrestling events! If you’re at home watching this, then truly, you’re missing out on one HELL of a bash!

Fans have come from far and wide, from EL-AYE to EN-WHY, turning out to see their favorite professional wrestling star compete in the Tournament of Champions that takes place in just one day. Let’s talk to some of them now!

(He approaches the nearby crowd that have converged around Olvir’s longboat—specifically, the chicks with the nice cans wearing the low-cut tank-tops that read “My Butt Got DOMINATED At the ToC!”)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Well hello, ladies! What are your names?

Tiffany
Hee-hee… Tiffany!

Britney
And I’m Britney!

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
A pleasure to make your acquaintance, ladies! So tell me, Tiffany… Britney… who did you come to see compete in the Tournament of Champions!

(They look to each other and giggle like school girls. To be fair, both these girls look a bit tipsy, and probably have only half a brain cell between them, but Terry appears to be enamored with their cleavage at the moment. Simultaneously they turn to the man standing tall on the boat and point right at him.)

Tiffany and Britney
THE GREAT OLVIR!! WWWOOOOOO!!!

(This merits another big cheer from the fans. Again, however, Olvir doesn’t react, moving his arms around into a new posture that shows off another angle of his infallible form. The fans are delighted, but the Viking seems to be doing this more for himself.)

Britney
So hey… Mr. Important Man, sir… I have a question for ya.

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Just call me “IDOL”, girls. Now what did you want to know?

Britney
Well, Idy… you think there’s any way you could sneak us on board Olvir’s big ship??

Tiffany
Oh yeah, Idy! Introduce us! We TOTALLY want to meet him!

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Heh heh… sorry, ladies. You gotta have a press pass like one of these to get into the VIP areas.

(He taps the laminated card held by a lanyard around his neck as proof. The two bimbos edge closer to him, clutching his arms and making his face turn beet red.)

Britney
Are you sure you don’t have just a couple more of those tucked away somewhere?

Tiffany
We can help you find them! Are they here in your pants…?

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Oh wow…

Britney
Is there anything we can do for you? Anything at all??

Tiffany
We’ll TOTALLY show you a good time if you help us out!

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Oh yeah… JACKPOT!!

(Terry is about to turn to ooze… when—)

“ANDERSON!!”

(—the reporter pops nearly three feet into the air as his voice is suddenly announced. Then, stepping into the frame is none other than the owner of TEAM himself, Jess Chapel!)

Jess Chapel
Just what the heck are you up to?!

(Terry quickly shoves his groupies aside and straightens himself up as the man who signs the check approaches him.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Oh, Mr. Chapel! Uhh… nothing much!

Jess Chapel
You weren’t about to let those two girls into the VIP area, were you?

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
…of course not! Boss, come on! They didn’t even have media passes!

Jess Chapel
No fans are allowed inside the VIP areas, Terry… period. The VIP areas are specifically for the talent and the TEAM officials only; it’s the only place other than the locker room where these guys can get away from all these kids and families looking to get their posters autographed. The fans shouldn’t be in there under any circumstances. Do you understand?

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Clear as crystal, Boss! I was just continuing to cover the fastest rising star in today’s wide world of professional wrestling! Did you happen to see the MASS of fans he’s brought out to this event??

(On cue, the fans unanimously CHEER in support of their hero! Chapel does look impressed.)

Jess Chapel
Okay, Anderson… so you weren’t lying about his star power. But the fact remains, he’s a loose canon… and if there’s one thing I don’t want on my hands right now is a bunch of trouble!

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Trouble?! Aw, come on, Boss! The Great Olvir isn’t here to make any trouble! He’s just here to mingle with his fans and have a good time… and show a few of them a good time, if you get my drift!

(Chapel briefly glances at the noble Viking standing upon the ship, oblivious to the outside world.)

Jess Chapel
What’s he doing now?

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Well… I’m not sure, Boss. He’s been acting strange lately. Whatever this is that he’s doing, he’s been at it for a few hours. I don’t think he wants to be bothered.

Jess Chapel
…hm. Well, he doesn’t appear to be bothering anybody in doing it, so it’s no problem for me. But if anything changes, Anderson, make sure he keeps his nose clean!

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
It won’t be a problem, Mr. Chapel!

(The TEAM Owner and General Manager exits, meeting up with another group of fans and asking them how they’re doing. Anderson wipes a bead of sweat from his eyebrow, and is immediately tense again as the two airhead babes grope him from either side.)

Britney
So come on, Idy!

Tiffany
Yeah… we wanna go on board!

Britney
You wanna go on board with us, don’t ya?

Tiffany
We wanna be on board all night long!

(Terry chuckles devilishly, but throws an uncertain glance to Olvir. Is he even up for it right now?)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Heh heh… tell you what, ladies. Let me run up there and tell the Great Olvir himself that the two of you are eager to meet him personally! We’ll all be up there sooner than you know it, and then…

Britney
…then we can get the PARTY started!

Tiffany
Oh yyeeaaaahhhh…

(Sighing lustily, they continue to grope at Terry until he hastily excuses himself and hurries up the rampway in the background that leads to the deck of Olvir’s land-based vessel.)

(We cut to a shot on deck as Terry, practically salivating all over himself, quickly hurries up to the side of the silenced Viking warlord.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Hey Olvir… how’s it going?

Olvir Arsvinnar
…what brings you here, Son of Anders.

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Hey, uh… you look busy, but man, there’s these two girls down there that TOTALLY want to get down, and I thought you might want to get in on that action!

Olvir Arsvinnar
…not tonight, my friend. I wish to be alone.

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Whoa… are you serious?? What’s gotten into you, Olvir?

Olvir Arsvinnar
Maybe some other time, Son of Ander. For now, I must focus on the task set before me.

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Yeah, but… whatever happened to getting all pumped up before the big fight by trying to BANG as many chicks as you could in a single night?! Remember how much FUN it was back then?

Olvir Arsvinnar
It is different this time. I… must not fail.

(From below, the crowd begins to pick up their “Olvir!” chant once again. Terry looks from the crowd back to Olvir, who only seems irritated to have his concentration interrupted. Gruffly, he breaks his post and heads to the starboard side of the ship, away from the parking lot.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Hey… where you goin’?

Olvir Arsvinnar
Away from here! Maybe to a secluded grove where I can be alone with my thoughts!

(With that, the Great Olvir agilely SPRINGS over the side of the longboat and disappears into a copse of trees that originally bordered the parking area. Terry peers out into the dark, looking for him.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Whoa, Olvir! Hey… OLVIR!! Come back, man! You can’t leave me hangin’!

(Another set of eyes peers over the rail next to him—barely—belonging to the captain of Olvir’s dwarven guard, Stumpy.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
What’s gotten into him, Stumpy?

Stumpy
Ya got me, Idol. I ain’t never seen him like this. But whatever it is, I figure it’s all his to work out.

(From behind them comes a familiar annoyingly playful and slurred voice.)

Tiffany
Hay Iiiiiiddddyyyyy…. where’d you go??

(Anderson glances to the midget beside him.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Can I trust you to have my back on this?

(Stumpy drops his pants on the spot and runs in the direction of the voice.)

Stumpy
Geez, bro, thought you’d NEVER ask!

(Terry looks into the dark again, seeing nothing.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Stay outta trouble, Olvir!

(A smile suddenly peeking out on his face, Anderson ran after Stumpy, clapping his hand excitedly.)

=================================

(Meanwhile, within the dark and obscured grassy area away from the parking lot, the Great Olvir strode briskly through the night, seeking quarter from the myriad of distractions that surrounded him back there. Despite his focus, however, he took no notice of the shadowy figure that quietly followed in his massive footsteps, making great efforts to remain unnoticed.)

(Eventually, the Great Olvir steps between a pair of shrubs, and emerges onto the sidewalk just down the road from the arena. Traffic is passing by as even more fans try to converge on the location. Olvir is unsure of where to go from here, looking in either direction, until—)

“Hey there, big guy…”

(The Viking spins around, and apparently appearing out of nowhere is a sultry-dressed woman who looks like she’s been taken right out of a copy of Penthouse. With a sexy smile, she plays with a strand of her hair while her eyes look upon the perfect form of Olvir.)

Sultry-Dressed Woman
I think I recognize you… you’re the Great Olvir Arsvinnar! The Butt-Dominator himself! Is it true what they say about you?

(Olvir carefully looks upon her much-exposed figure, and seems internally torn. A part of himself wants to spring forward and carry this maiden off immediately, but another side keeps him standing in place. He forces himself to turn around.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
Away, woman! I desire solitude at the moment…

(He tries to leave, but—)

Sultry-Dressed Woman
That’s too bad, cause I’d love some company with you right now! I hear you have a reputation for being able to go all night long! That’s good to hear, cause sometimes I like to go three nights in a row!

Oh, by the way… my name is Elantra.

(Again, Olvir must force himself to turn away.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
Well, Fair Elantra… though I am well-reputed to do just that, I am hardly interested in doing it at the moment!

(The mysterious Elantra glances away momentarily as though listening to a voice that we cannot hear, and nods.)

Elantra
Oh, I see how it is… I guess they were wrong about you then.

(The Great Olvir stops dead in his tracks, his eyes popping open…)

Elantra
That’s really a shame… a Viking pornstar that suddenly can’t get it up? Well, I guess you’re not the only meathead around here I can get some tubesteak from…

Bigger tubesteak, I’m sure!

(Olvir twirls around, his face contorting into blatant offense.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
Watch your venomous tongue, wench! There is not a MAN on the planet as ENDOWED or as ERECT as the GREATNESS that is Olvir!!

Elantra
Oh yeah…?

…well why don’t you prove it!

Olvir Arsvinnar
VERY WELL!!

(In an instant, the Viking’s massive arms shoot out and pluck the voluptuous woman from where she is standing. Immediately, she is slung over his shoulder, and he is quickly stamping to the closest location to begin the rites of consummation.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
Blasted woman, you DARE question the strength of the Great Olvir’s most powerful MUSCLE!? By the Throbbing Hammer of Thor, I will PART your taut cheeks aside and DEMOLISH your supple ARSE with the fury of Fenrir!

Elantra
Oh, I can’t wait! Take me, Olvir! Hurry!

(Something in her voice sounds like she’s only putting this on.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
You shall soon SEE, ignoble woman, the GREATNESS that is Olvir for yourself, as soon we come to a obscured place to begin this noble act of sodomy!

(He suddenly stops dead in his tracks.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
Um… where might I find such a place, anyway?

Elantra
Um… we can go to my motel room. Just down the street here… Room 16A.

(From between a pair of knockers about to spill out, she pulls out her room key. The Great Olvir tears it out of her hand and continues down the sidewalk. The parking lot of the motel in question is just in sight.)

Elantra
Hurry, Olvir! It’s just down at the end!

Olvir Arsvinnar
SILENCE, foul hen! Save your breath to BELLOW my might name when my GREATNESS is inside you!

(Olvir steps into the parking lot and quickly spies the door at the very end of the building, bearing the number “16A.” He makes a quickly beeline for it.)

Elantra
Faster, Olvir! FASTER!! I want to FEEL it!!

(come on… any day now…)

(We suddenly cut to another angle… on top of the building. We’re looking at Olvir through a pair of crosshairs trained right at the mighty Viking’s scowling face.)

(As quick as we had this view, we go back to Olvir continuing to stomp across the parking lot, now halfway to his destination.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
By the Great Single Eye of Odin, puny lass, you will NEVER be the same after you have been PENETRATED by the GREATNESS that is—

*THWIP!*

(A small, feathered object suddenly materializes in the center of his massive pectoral. Olvir takes notice, but in a way that one would react to a mosquito.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
Now THAT is strange! The Great Olvir does not recall an instance where his diamond-cutting nipples turned into FEATHERY PHALLUSES when he grew excited!

*THWIP!-THWIP!-THWIP!*

(In the blink of an eye, nearly a DOZEN more appear. The Viking's eyes begin to flutter.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
Oh… MY…

(In a rare scene, the titan's knees buckle, and he collapses. From his shoulders, Elantra quickly frees herself and falls safely onto her feet.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
What… is HAPPENING?! My STRENGTH is LEAVING ME!!

Help me, Fair Maiden!

*WHAP!!*

(The sound of her heeled shoe cracking against the cheekbone of the barbarian's bearded face rings like a thunderclap through the empty parking lot. The Norseman falls onto his back, struggling to move.)

Elantra
Help yourself, you freakin' slime!

(Olvir grunts and struggles, but can't move more than a few inches at a time, despite all his strength. A look of concern appears in his typically fearless eyes.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
I am… IMMOBILIZED!!

Fiendish… woman!! You have… led the Great Olvir… into a TRAP!!

(Elantra lets out an evil laugh. Then there is the sound of approaching footsteps.)

“I'm glad you were able to catch onto your own folly, Olvir.”

(The voice came from the shadow that fell upon the fallen Viking. Immediately, Olvir recognized his face, and managed to snarl.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
RAVAGER!!

(In his best black suit, Ravager enters the frame, carrying a used tranquilizer rifle in his arms. He smiles proudly over his handiwork, soon approached by Elantra.)

Elantra
Well, looks like your plan worked. Where's my money?

Ravager
In your room, along with your train ticket. Take it and never speak of this.

Elantra
Pleasure doing business with you.

(With a final apathetic look at the Viking struggling to breath on the asphalt, Elantra departs for the motel room and disappears. Ravager observed the several darts buried in the skin right over the berzerker's heart.)

Ravager
One tranquilizer on its own is enough to keep a normal man for a few days... but I decided to give you the lot. I'm honestly surprised you're still conscious.

Olvir Arsvinnar
YOU… did this… to ME!! But… WHY?!

Ravager
Come on, Olivir… did you really think I wouldn't be prepared for you? Did you think I'd just FORGET about you after the Invitational Tournament? I knew you'd blindly come after me for revenge… and like the hunter I am, I let you come and walk right into my crosshairs.

You're predictable, Olvir. It's why I bested you the first time, and why I've bested you here again.

Olvir Arsvinnar
You will… PAY… for THIS!!

(Olvir's eyes begin to flutter. He's slipping out. Ravager leans in close so that he'll be able to hear his final words.)

Ravager
It's like I told you, Olvir… I'll do ANYTHING IT TAKES to win. Even it means putting you on the sidelines for this tournament. No big deal though; it's not like you were even meant to qualify.

But you're not my problem anymore, Olvir. With you out of the way, there is nothing to stop me from winning the Tournament of Champions... and my shot at the Champion of Champions. Sorry, old buddy... but I'm not going home empty handed anymore.

(A sneering grin crosses his face.)

Ravager
As the saying goes… it's nothing personal…

Just business.

(With that, Ravager SPITS in the eye of Olvir. The defenseless Viking can do nothing but lie there as the shadow looming over him disappears and Ravager quietly leaves the scene... and a moment later, another shadow appears.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Whoa, OLVIR!! Man, these chicks are CRAZY!! They're—

…Olvir?

(The reporter drops the mic as he sees the Viking in a place he's never seen him before—ON THE GROUND, nearly motionless! Truthfully, Olvir is just now going to black.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
OLVIR!!

Olvir Arsvinnar
rrrRRRRRRRRAAAAaaavvaagggeeerrrrr…

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Oh man! Haang oonn buuuddddyyyy...

(Black…)

=================================

“OLVIR”

(His eyes popped open, and where the Viking warrior found himself was like nowhere he had seen before. Truly, his surroundings were a landscape of ethereal shapes and clouds, sightless and intangible, yet everywhere at once.)

(Then, from this storm of light, emerges a line of four figures, each clad in the most illustrious armor ever invisioned. They are equally infallible, regal, and proud. Truly they could only be…)

Olvir Arsvinnar
By the Gods!

(…the Gods themselves!)

(Stepping forward is the stately one-eyed All-Father, ODIN.)

Odin
OLVIR.

THE GODS ADDRESS YOUR GREATNESS.

Olvir Arsvinnar
Father Odin! I am SHAMED to show my face to you! Again, I have FAILED to preserve your honor!

Odin
TAKE HEART, NOBLE OLVIR. AND STOP BEING A PANSY-ASS. IT IS IN THIS TIME THAT YOU MUST REMEMBER YOUR VIKING PRIDE AND STAND MIGHTY.

Olvir Arsvinnar
But… this RAVAGER fights with DECEPTION and TRICKERY!! He fights on a level below the ways of the noble Viking… and has bested me at my every effort!

Odin
YOU MUST NOT FAIL IN YOUR TASK, DOMINATOR OF MANY HINDS. YOU SERVE A GREAT CAUSE IN OUR PLANS. YOU ARE DESTINED TO BE THE CHAMPION OF THE GREAT NORSE GODS. AND AN INSPIRATION TO THE THOUSANDS OF THOSE WHO ADORE YOU.

(With a wave of his hand, the spectral lights part and open a window in time. We see the crowd still gathered in a vigil outside the longboat in the parking lot. The fans stay in wait, chanting his name…)

“OLVIR! OLVIR! OLVIR! OLVIR!”

Odin
YOU WILL INFLUENCE AN ENTIRE GENERATION WITH OUR VIKING WAYS. MANY WARRIORS WILL BE BRED THROUGH YOUR GREAT INSPIRATION, GIVING US MANY WARRIORS TO FIGHT ALONGSIDE US IN GREAT VALHALLA DURING THE WAR OF RAGNAROK.

(Olvir stares long into the faces of his fans. He had always seen them as commonplace… the occassional fine-arsed maiden to be plucked out here and there. But now, for the first time, he understood and cherished their support. They were the warriors that would follow him during his ascent to the title of Champion of Champions! And he would not fail them!)

(With newfound confidence, Arsvinnar turned to the Gods in his presence.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
In the Name of Odin, I will not fail you!

Odin
THEN TAKE WITH YOU THESE GIFTS TO HELP YOUR ASS-BLASTING DOMINANCE.

(Tyr, the God of War, comes before him.)

Tyr
WRATHFUL OLVIR, TAKE WITH YOU THIS GIFT OF BLOODLUST. MAY YOUR RAGE NEVER CEASE AS ENEMIES STAND BEFORE YOU.

(The Great Olvir's eyes turn to red hot FIRE as the rage of Tyr enters him!)

(Thor, the God of Thunder, comes before him.)

Thor
POWERFUL OLVIR, TAKE WITH YOU THIS GIFT OF MIGHT. MAY YOUR STRENGTH NEVER FALTER AS FOES COME TO STRIKE YOU DOWN.

(The Great Olvir's muscles BULGE with fierce intensity as the strength of Thor enters him!)

(Freya, the Goddess of Love, comes before him.)

Freya
ENDOWED OLVIR, TAKE WITH YOU THIS GIFT OF POTENCY. MAY YOUR LOINS NEVER DESIST AS BOUNTIFUL ARSE PRESENTS ITSELF.

(The Great Olvir's loins SWELL with unmatched girth as the lust of Freya enters him!)

(Finally, Odin, the Father God of All, comes before him.)

Odin
GREAT OLVIR, TAKE WITH YOU THIS GIFT OF WISDOM. MAY YOUR ALL-SEEING EYE UNDERSTAND ALL THE CHALLENGES PUT BEFORE YOU.

WITH THESE GIFTS, NONE SHALL STOP YOU.

(The Great Olvir's eyes feel with EVERLASTING TRUTH as the wisdom of Odin enters him!)

Odin
GO, OLVIR!

IN THE NAME OF THE GODS, FIND VICTORY.

AND BRING US BACK A HAM SANDWICH.

Thor
AND AN IPOD, IF YOU CAN. THE RADIO SUCKS HERE IN VALHALLA.

Olvir Arsvinnar
DO NOT FEAR, MIGHTY NORSE GODS!! I WILL NOT FAIL YOU!! THE VIKINGS WILL PREVAIL!! THE VIKINGS WILL—

=================================

Blonde Nurse
Go ahead, look at it!

(A blonde nurse and brunette nurse—both incredibly attractive—are bent over the prone body of Olvir as it lays motionless in a hospital bed. They seem to be focused on the place in his hospital gown where his crotch would be.)

Blonde Nurse
Come on… you’re not afraid are you.

Brunette Nurse
Afraid? Of course not!

Blonde Nurse
Then go ahead!

(Egged on by her cohort, the brunette lifts up the end of the gown to take a peek at what’s beneath. Her eyes nearly pop out of her head.)

Brunette Nurse
Oh man, it’s HUGE!! They really WEREN’T lying!

Blonde Nurse
Not at all. You think you could take that entire thing where he usually sticks it?

Brunette Nurse
Oh, I couldn’t imagine! Still… I hear he has a way of making it work.

Blonde Nurse
I don’t even think I can hold that entire thing in my mouth!

Brunette Nurse
Well why don’t you try it out?

(She looks flabberghasted.)

Blonde Nurse
What, here? Now?

Brunette Nurse
What better opportunity is there?

(She looks uncertain…)

Brunette Nurse
Come on… are you afraid?

Blonde Nurse
Oh, I’ll show YOU who’s afraid!

(Hesitating with every second, she slowly pulls up Olvir’s hospital gown, and he doesn’t react, his meter beeping quietly at a steady rhythm. With a deep breath, she sticks her head in…)

Blonde Nurse
…mmph…

Brunette Nurse
Well? Is it in?

Blonde Nurse
Mm-hm.

Brunette Nurse
Can you get it in any deeper?

Blonde Nurse
Mmm…

Brunette Nurse
Well, hurry up! I want a chance to—

Olvir Arsvinnar
—PREVAIL!!

Blonde Nurse
G’RK!!

(Without warning, Olvir BREAKS out of sleep, barking his final words to the Norse Gods into the silence and startling the brunette nurse onto her feet! Olvir’s mighty arms reach out for anything—and his massive hands only find the front of the nurse’s white gown, which is quickly torn away revealing her undergarments and figure beneath. Benny Hill would be loving this now.)

(In surprise, she screams and covers herself. The blonde nurse, meanwhile, is having a hard time of her own. In more ways than one, if you catch my drift.)

Blonde Nurse
MMMNNN-GGGDDDDD!!!

(Olvir suddenly realizes where he is and looks at first confused… then impatient.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
OH!! Fair Valkyries!! Please forgiven my intrusion on your duty, but it is not time for me to enter the Valhalla!

(He takes the blonde nurse’s hair by the ponytail and pops him off his “greatness” with a SFX “pop” noise to go with it. She reels back, revealing her mouth, now stretched open as though she has lockjaw.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
It appears you’ve come to DISCOVER my GREATNESS! HA!! Seek me later tonight, woman, and I will introduce it in OTHER places!!

(He quickly brushes her aside and comes to his feet, tearing his flimsy hospital gown off in a single stroke just as the camera zooms in above waist height. He stands NUDE in the center of the hospital run as the stunned nurses quickly flee, the monitor now beeping LOUD and INTENSELY.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
But for now… the Great Olvir must find VENGEANCE!!

(Cut out into the waiting room, where Terry “The Idol” Anderson, still in the suit he was wearing last night, is midway through conversation on the phone. Sitting patiently nearby is Stumpy, silently guarding his master’s battle axe and a bag of his things.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
…well, I don’t think he’ll like hearing that at all, Boss! He’s going to want to strike back!



Oh, so this guy gets away scot-free, and meanwhile Olvir lies paralyzed in a hospital bed, missing out on the Tournament?



Fine, whatever…

(Frustrated, he hangs up. As he does, the door opens and a middle-aged doctor enters, coming to him. Terry is eager to hear the news.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
So… how is he, Doc?

(The physician is about to answer, when…)

*BAM!!*

(…the door comes FLYING OFF ITS HINGES behind him, and the Great Olvir, fire-eyed and glistening in sweat, not to mention completely naked, barges into the room. Anderson looks completely STUNNED!)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
OLVIR, you’re… you’re FINE!! And BARE-ASSED NAKED!! Where did your clothes go?!

(On cue, Stumpy pops into the frame and hands Olvir the bag.)

Stumpy
Here ya go, Master!

Olvir Arsvinnar
Thank you, Stumpy the Humble!

(Olvir tears the bag open, and quickly attires himself in his furry boots and britches and brazen bracers and helmet. As he does this, Anderson, looking for answers, turns to the doctor.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
I don’t get it, doctor! Last night, you told me that the levels of that paralysis toxin in his blood would keep him in a coma for at least a week!

Doctor
Yes, well… I’m equally baffled by this recovery! I’ve never seen anything like this in all my years! It’s as though this guy was more than human.

Olvir Arsvinnar
Puny poisons are not enough to stop the GREAT OLVIR!! I am the CHAMPION of the realm of Asgard, and that will NOT be forgotten!!

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Phew! Well Olvir, it looks like you’re back to 100%... and maybe even 200%, by the way you look. Good thing you woke up the very next day, because the Tournament of Champions is tonight!

Olvir Arsvinnar
Indeed it is, Son of Ander!

But something more important is at hand! STUMPY THE MINISCULE!!

Stumpy
What ho, Master?!

Olvir Arsvinnar
Hand the Great Olvir his MIGHTY BATTLE AXE!! There is a BEARDLESS FOOL I must cleave for this treachery!

Stumpy
You got it!

(On command, Stumpy hands the Viking his weapon of choice.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
THANK YOU, Stumpy the Lesser-Endowed! When you return to the longboat, you are welcome to use the Great Olvir’s hot tub, and are welcome to all the women who join you!

Stumpy
Thanks a BUNCH, Master! I’ll see you later tonight!

(Delighted, Stumpy runs off to his reward. Olvir, meanwhile, throws the axe over his shoulder and, with his gaze confidently set out before him, walks straight for the exit.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Whoa, Olvir! Where you goin’?!

(Anderson hurries after him, leaving the doctor shaking his head in disbelief. In the now open doorway behind him, we see the two nurses who encounters Olvir’s “greatness” moments ago scamper by like mice.)

(Cut to out front of the hospital. The sliding doors part aside as Olvir steps into the morning sun, battle axe drawn and ready for battle.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
A blood-filled sun rises on the morrow!

VENGEANCE WILL BE HAD!!

(Anderson suddenly runs out after him, and before Olvir can bound down the street swinging wildly at everything in his path, as he’s known to do, Terry stands in his path, causing him to stop.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Olvir, wait up!

Olvir Arsvinnar
Step aside, Son of Ander! I will have the HEAD of Ravager on a pike!

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
You can’t do that!

Olvir Arsvinnar
His offense must not go unpunished!

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Look, I know you want to rip his head off, but listen to me for a sec! I just got off the phone with Jess Chapel. News has spread about the attack on you last night, and it’s got everybody on edge! Chapel heard it through the grapevine too, naturally… and he’s come out and said that the next entrant in this tournament that attacks another will be immediately DISQUALIFIED from competition!

If you go after Ravager now, then you won’t get your shot at him in the Tournament of Champions, Olvir! If you get yourself thrown out, then who will stop him from winning?

Olvir Arsvinnar
We’ll see if he can win after I rip his ARMS AND LEGS OFF, and SHOVE THEM UP HIS WEAKLING, BEARDLESS ARSE!!

(Enraged, Olvir is continuing to charge forward, but Terry keeps him restrained by pushing both of his arms against the Viking’s impenetrable pectorals and bracing himself.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Olvir, don’t you get it?! He’s just making you walk into another trap!

(Olvir suddenly stops. Anderson sees he’s reaching through to him.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
It’s psychological warfare, Olvir! He’s trying to get under your skin, because he knows you’re his greatest threat! He’s hurting you where it hurts the worst—down to your very Viking Way! He’s tempting you to fight on his level, but Olvir, you’re above that! THE VIKINGS are above that!

(The Great Olvir thinks this over quietly to himself, stroking his beard.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
Yes… my All-Seeing Eye sees that you are RIGHT, Son of Ander! If I will attain vengeance, I will not do so out of rash anger! My rage must be focused in the ring!

…except that for right NOW, I am BRIMMING ALL OVER with pent up ENERGY!! My Viking anger cannot be CONTAINED, and until it is RELEASED, I cannot think straight!! Either I must immediately DECAPITATE some fool, or FORNICATE some hind!

(Anderson slaps the Viking on the shoulder.)

Terry “The Idol” Anderson
Olvir… we’re at a hospital. And you know what hospitals have?

NURSES!!

(Olvir’s eyes BULGE WILDLY!)

Olvir Arsvinnar
Then COME, Son of Ander! We shall tell these fair maidens to OPEN WIDE and say AAHH!!

(Spinning around, Olvir CHARGES back into the hospital… and Terry Anderson, looking proud to see the spirit of Olvir renewed and back to his animalistic ways, creeps out of the scene with a smile spread over his face.)

(Back in the hospital, a now red-haired nurse pushes a patient down a hallway. The guy looks like he’s been through hell and back, literally covered head to toe in casts and bandages. They suddenly stop when a towering figure appears before them.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
EXCUSE ME, Puny Mummy Man! The Great Olvir’s mouth HUNGERS for this fine lady’s ripe bosoms!

(In an instant, Olvir BOOTS the heavily injured man in the chest, causing the wheelchair to drive WILDLY in reverse!! The patient moans in fright until he finally goes tumbling down an empty elevator shaft. Meanwhile, Olvir quickly plucks the nurse over his shoulder and hurries off with her…)

(…taking her into a supply closet! We briefly cut inside as the Viking sets down his trophy… right in between the blonde and brunette nurses. The nefarious Norseman stands above them, beaming brilliantly as he holds out his loin-area.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
So then, buxom maidens! Is this where I turn my head and COUGH??

=================================

(Back at the parking lot area outside the Cow Palace, where the tailgating fanfest is still happening. A mass autograph session is taking place, and people are lining up down the block to earn an opportunity to briefly meet with their favorite superstar. Everybody looks excited, as the event is only a few hours away…)

(…but the excitement seems apparently dead off in one corner of the parking lot. The mass of fans gathered around the longboat belonging to Olvir Arsvinnar are disheartened to have heard that their hero was attacked and incapacitated in a motel parking lot the night before. Now they stand a silent vigil, waiting for their hero to return.)

(The camera comes upon our favorite silicone-endowed ladies, Tiffany and Britney.)

Tiffany
Like, this SUCKS! What happened to that old guy who was getting us the passes?

Britney
Ohmigawd, Tiffany, I SO have a hangover right now…

(A random fan runs up, pointing down the road. Wait, that’s not just ANY random fan… that’s HAROLD RAMIS, making his bi-annual Olvir cameo!! Hi, Egon!!)

Harold Ramis
LOOK!! IT’S HIM!!

*BONNNGGG!!!*

(The face-melting guitar shredding of Yngwie Malmsteen kicks in over the soundtrack as “I Am A Viking” boldly plays. The gallant-faced Olvir appears triumphantly marching back into the parking lot to his own tune, battle-axe held over his shoulder and gaze fixated on a single destination.)

Britney
OH-EM-GEE, IT’S HIM!!

Tiffany
IT’S OLVIR!!

(The fans unanimously CHEER in awe as their hero return! Olvir stops in place and turns to them, waving them to follow.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
Loyal Olvirnauts!! ASSEMBLE!! March behind your CHAMPION as he goes to deliver a message to the face of the FIEND that tried to stop him!!

(Without delay, Arsvinnar continues on his trek, and the fans, a bit perplexed with his words, tepidly follow after him. In time, he comes upon the line of fans leading up to the autograph tables set up in front of the studio. His bulging pectorals bump the guy standing last in line, who turns around. He looks like you’re typical internet smark.)

Wrestling Snob
Hey, you’re that “Rocky Daymon” guy, aren’t you? Why don’t you actually learn to SELL A MOVE, and maybe you’d—

*BAM!!*

(In the blink of an eye, the mighty melon-sized FIST of the Butt-Dominator SLAMS into the poor fool’s face, sending him SOARING through the air and landing in a bleeding broken heap not far away! The other fans in line look stunned, but stand like sitting ducks as Olvir EFFORTLESSLY swipes them aside with his trunk-like arms!)

Olvir Arsvinnar
MAKE WAY, Puny Fools!! The Great Olvir has WORDS for your “HERO!”

(The camera looks up the line… and wouldn’t you know? Seated there signing an NAPW-press poster of himself is none other than TEAM’s own Challenge Champion, RAVAGER, still in his suit. He looks up, hearing the commotion coming to him. He glances briefly back at the security guards stationed behind him, knowing he’s under the watchful eye of TEAM officials. But will they be enough to save him?)

(Someone’s grandmother goes FLYING through the air as the Great Olvir continues barging through fan after fan, either steamrolling right over them, brutishly shoving them aside, or scaring them off with a gruff snort. Eventually, he tosses the 15-year-old kid at the front of the line aside, and now standing across the table from the Challenge Champion is OLVIR ARSVINNAR himself!)

Olvir Arsvinnar
RAVAGER!!

The Great Olvir STILL STANDS!!

(Ravager is noticeably troubled at this turn of events.)

Ravager
The… paralysis serum! Nobody could have recovered from that so quickly!

Olvir Arsvinnar
HA!! You are a FOOL to doubt the SUPERIOR IMMUNE SYSTEM of the Great Olvir! How do you think I FORNICATE SO MANY HINDS and not contract a SINGLE DISEASE!?

HAW!!

(With a MIGHTY CHOP of his battle-axe, Olvir EFFORTLESSLY cleaves the fold-up table in two! Ravager hops to his feet, and quickly, the security guards are flanking him!)

Ravager
Lay a single hand on me, Arsvinnar, and these security guards will throw you out before you can even strike a pose!

Olvir Arsvinnar
HMPH!! You think a few WEAKLING GUARDS can save you from my UNSTOPPABLE MIGHT?! You are a FOOL, Ravager… and a COWARD to think you could hide from me behind others!

Just like you were a COWARD last night, when you thought you could incapacitate me!

Know this, beardless Ravager… I could CRUSH YOU where you stand now! But I will OVERCOME your thieving and treacherous ways! I will preserve the sanctity of the VIKING WAY by SMITING you into the arena floor, where our war will be fought!

(A strong cluster of fans are now gathering around this extremely tense confrontation. Everybody’s trying to get a look on what’s going down. Of course, nobody could prove that Ravager was behind last night’s attack… but rumors have a way of getting around. Ravager looks caught off guard, but nevertheless, a smile spreads across his face.)

Ravager
Oh well… I suppose it doesn’t matter. I may have underestimated your strength, but that just leaves me the opportunity to beat you again in that ring. Just like I did in the Invitational Tournament, in case you haven’t forgotten.

(A ripple of approving comments come from the fans who do remember this. Ravager seems to have sold the point very well. Nevertheless, Olvir SNEERS and clenches his might fists! Truly, the snarling animal looks as though he could rend the smaller man where he stands!)

Olvir Arsvinnar
You succeeded only because I was unaware of the KNAVE that you truly are! Now I know, Ravager, that you will do anything to succeed in your own self-serving plans… even if it means trampling the virtues of honor and bravery!

(Ravager shrugs.)

Ravager
Honor? Bravery? They’re overrated, Olvir. I’m in it to win, and I do it my way. You can talk all you want about your “Viking Way”… it doesn’t change the fact that I beat you once before, and it won’t help you this time around when I find away to overcome you again.

(The smile widens on his face.)

Ravager
You want to stop me, Olvir… but all your anger and “rage” just makes me laugh. It shows how predictable you are. You’re the wailing barbarian running full-steam ahead out into the open, charging blindly forward with tunnel-vision.

And me?

I’m the archer lying it wait, taking precise aim. It only takes once shot to take you down, Olvir. So by all means… keep coming.

(Smugly, he lets out a dry chuckle. A lot of his loyal fans nearby chuckle with him. The snob from earlier, now with a face half broken and bruises, pops in once again.)

Wrestling Snob
Heh heh… Ravager just “PWNED” you, dude!

*BAM!!*

(The dirt-sheet junkie FLAILS out of the frame like a rag doll as Olvir’s massive arm pops into his face with crushing force. The Viking’s gaze, however, never leaves the eyes of Ravager. Boldly, he looms over Ravager, showing his excess height. Ravager now gazes back up to him beneath his shadow.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
Then PRAY, puny one, that you don’t MISS your one shot! Because against a target as QUICK and FIERCE as myself, a single mistake will send you straight to the LAND OF THE GLOOMY courtesy of my RAGING STEEL!!

One thousand years ago, the people who followed the Viking Way went on to conquer all of the known lands, and very soon, I will carry on their honor as I conquer the WORLD with my GREATNESS!! You think you get far in life with your foolish knavery… but when you time comes to its end, Ravager, and you stand before the Gods in Valhalla, they will THROW YOU OUT in utter disgrace! It is because you fight for yourself and your own gain, refusing you accept that you are WEAK and UNWORTHY of victory!

The Great Olvir’s will to VANQUISH your wretched hide is more than for his own personal vengeance!! I stand for the principles of MIGHT, GLORY, and HONOR!! Your defeat will not only reinstate my stolen PRIDE, but also RID THE EARTH of your villainous ways!

(He leans in close, his mighty beard literally TICKLING Ravager’s chin.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
And KNOW, Puny Ravager, that with your infidelities put to rest at my SAVAGE HAND and you are nothing but a forgotten memory, I will stand at the helm of this world as it’s CHAMPION OF CHAMPIONS![/i]

(He reacquires his battle-axe and stands upright, preparing to depart.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
My vengeance will be fulfilled in this arena TONIGHT! Make your peace with the Gods, Ravager, because you won’t have the opportunity to later with my HANDS strangling the life from your broken form!

As for right now… I must deal with some unfinished business with your partner in crime!

(Olvir turns and departs, leaving the stunned Ravager standing amid his band of silenced fans with a smashed table at his feet. He shakes his head in disbelief.)

Ravager
That guy is freaking loopy…

“EL CAJONES ES MALO!!”

*THWOKK!!*

Ravager
OOOFF!!

(Without warning, Ravager DOUBLES OVER and COLLAPSES as a flashy leg of blue, red, and yellow fabric swings in from out frame and CLOCKS him in the nuts! Darting in front of the camera is a MASKED LUCHADORE, identified by the very prominent BEARD that hangs out in the opened lower portion of the mask over his face.)

Bearded Luchadore
EL BEARDO has found justice this day! HOO-HAH!!

(Flamenco guitars strum as the mysterious “El Beardo” runs away, as quick as he came. The identity of this mysterious figure is completely questionable… and sadly, something to think about for another time…)

=================================

(…as we cut to the interior of a motel room. The door comes CRASHING off its hinges, and standing there in the doorway is none other that OLVIR, who storms into the room!)

(It is vacant, looking like the last occupant had left in a hurry. But though they left behind no trace of belongings, the Great Olvir’s all-seeing eye quickly spots a few shreds of paper left in the waste basket. He picks it up in an instant, literally sniffing for clues… and finally finds one, in the form of a train ticket stub!)

(The Great Olvir reads…)

(…and DEPARTS, the information he sought now firmly instilled in his memory.)

=================================

(Later on, at the train station. The 3:15 from San Francisco to Salt Lake City departed just five minutes ago, and is about to leave city proper. We’re on one of the cars, where the train conductor makes his rounds, checking for tickets.)

Train Conductor
Tickets, please…

(He checks on a couple, who show theirs… and finally comes up to the woman sitting at the end of the row.)

Train Conductor
Tickets, please…

(Peeking up from under a wide-brimmed straw hat is none other than ELANTRA.)

Elantra
Oh… I’m afraid I’ve misplaced mine! But is there anything I can do to help you forget about that…?

(The conductor briefly brushes… and then a shrill moment of static crackles in over his walkie-talkie. It’s one of the engineers, and he sounds alarmed. Somebody exclaims something about someone on the tracks. The Train Conductor suddenly forgets about Elantra, heading for the engine…)

(We cut to the engine room, where the two engineers on duty look through the front window, completely SHOCKED by what they see! The door behind them slides open, and the conductor steps in.)

Train Conductor
What’s going on?

Engineer
There’s… somebody on the tracks!

Train Conductor
WHAT?!

Engineer
It looks like a VIKING!!

(Perplexed, the conductor looks out… and his eyes nearly POP OUT of his head!)

(Standing TRIUMPHANTLY there on the tracks is the GREAT OLVIR, chest puffed out and bracing for impact!)

Train Conductor
Oh buddy, HANG ON TIGHT!!

Olvir Arsvinnar
FOOLISH CHOO-CHOO CHOAD-LICKERS!! NOTHING can stand up to the GREAT OLVIR’S IMPENETRABLE PECTORALS!!

*BAMM!!!*

(The sound of metal SCREECHING LOUDLY fills the air, and the passengers are suddenly SCREAMING in alarm as the entire train SHAKES VIOLENTLY!! Elantra, in her seat, has no idea what’s going on!)

(We cut back outside, where Olvir stands BOLDLY with his chest pressed forward and his heels digging into the dirt, the powerful train slowing to a STANDSTILL against his irresistible chest muscles!! When the entire locomotive has come to a stop, the Viking steps back and merely wipes the grease from his chest, as though this nearly superhuman act were commonplace.)

(Meanwhile, several confused passengers are disembarking, all questioning what caused the train to suddenly stop. Elantra is among them, tentatively approaching the front of the train… when she suddenly sees the tell-tale horns above the throng of other passengers, making bee-line right toward her.)

Elantra
Oh NO…! Not HIM!!!

Olvir Arsvinnar
COME, Odiferous Wench!! I have yet to fulfill my PROMISE to you!!

(Before she can turn to get away, the Great Olvir SEIZES her in his might arms and quickly sets her upon his shoulder!! Try as she might to squirm free, he keeps her held tight, a proud SMILE spread across his bearded face!)

Elantra
Wait a second, you can’t do this!

Olvir Arsvinnar
Come now, Lusty WHORE!! You DID doubt the POTENCY of the Great Olvir’s much exalted LOINS!! And I cannot have you going around spreading an unfavorable and UNTRUE reputation!!

Elantra
Wait, no!! Let’s make a deal here!!

(Olvir comes to the end of the train, and suddenly gets an idea.)

Olvir Arsvinnar
I believe I shall fornicate you in the caboose… IN THE CABOOSE!!

Elantra
In there?! But—HEY!!

(Before she can resist further, Olvir TEARS THE DOOR OFF the back of the last train car and hops inside, taking his bounty with him…)

(We hear the tell-tale sign of his furry britches being slide down his might legs, and then…)

*KABAMM~~!!!!*

(Like a ROCKET, Elantra comes SUPERMANNING out of the caboose—)

(—sailing gracefully by the window of a hospital room, where we see three nurses excitedly talking about the SIZE of it—)

(—flying with ease across the motel parking lot, where Terry “The Idol” Anderson gazes on in amazement, exiting a phone booth with a strange briefcase in his hand—)

(—soaring with avian splendor across the tailgating fanfest, over the heads of Ravager and his fans, and the security guards who hand him an ice-pack for his wounded groin region—)

(—through the mistral void leading to Valhalla, where Odin, Thor, Tyr, and Freya are currently caught up in a game of strip poker, that the Goddess of Love is noticeably losing—)

(—and finally RIGHT ON TOP OF the proud longboat of the Butt-Dominator, landing with a SPLASH into the hot tub currently occupied by two dwarves, one of whom happens to be Stumpy. The midget looks happily at the stunned woman with smoke rising out of her ass that just happened to drop in his lap.)

Stumpy
Hey man… you know what I love about this job?

(Go to black. THE END!)
 

Phoenix

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"What happened out there?"

Rick James, one of Jay Phoenix’s oldest friends, looked up in shock as Phoenix returned to his dressing room with blood running down the side of his face. Holding a wad of padded tissue to the top of his head Phoenix wearily dropped onto a seat and leant forward, resting his arms across his legs. Reaching out, tenderly, Rick pulled Phoenix’s clenched hand away and winced as he saw the jagged wound above the ear.

"Jay," he said, worried, "what happened?!"

"Pretty old story, boy goes out to wrestle," jay said, looking up with a pained expression, as blood continued to seep down the side of his face, "and boy’s head meets steel chair … gotta love those old-fashioned love stories, ey?"

"He used a chair!" Rick’s voice rose in indignation. "I thought that this was meant to be a promotional match; nothing serious – you promised that it was just an exhibition match!"

Since finding out that he had been entered into the Tournament of Champions, only a matter of weeks previously, Jay Phoenix had fought a two way battle. On one front he had to fight with his own instinct to simply say yes to the ‘invite’ and do what he loved to do – wrestle for the fans. The issue with that was that he had been on a self-imposed ‘retirement’ from wrestling and this tournament was not of his making; C.P. Cantrell – one of the ‘powers that be’ in PRIME – had realised that Phoenix was allegedly under contract with that company and had decided … without clearing it with Phoenix himself … to enter the Native American Warrior in the tournament, representing PRIME. So while Phoenix was admittedly tempted with the chance to take part in such a prestigious tournament he was also reserved about doing it under duress. The second front – the harder battle – wasn’t with himself.

It was with Rick.

For too many years his best friend, his closest friend, had stood by him through thick and thin. He had been the one who had seen first hand how very real such a ‘fake’ industry was; the injuries that Phoenix had suffered had been all to painful to watch let alone have. When Phoenix had decided to take a break from wrestling Rick had been quietly happy; while it had always been Phoenix’s dream to wrestle it had, over the last few years, turned into a waking nightmare. PRIME’s threatened legal action to get Phoenix back into the ring was something that they had decided to face together, no matter the outcome or personal ramifications but Phoenix’s obvious desire to step back in the ring for the Tournament of Champions was something that Rick was finding harder to fight against. Simply because he knew that it was a battle that he couldn’t win … Phoenix had already decided that he would take part.

For Rick James it was a simple choice – stand by his best friend when he put himself into harm’s way or try to force him to choose between his dreams and his friendship. That was something that Rick couldn’t bring himself to do. At least he didn’t think that he could until he saw the blood running down his friend’s face.

"It was, Rick, it was." Phoenix pointed out, softly. Catching his friends gaze he held onto it, staring at him with earnest green eyes. As Rick visibly calmed down Phoenix breathed a sigh of relief before continuing. "The match with Dusk went as planned and the fans loved it!"

Jess Chapel, the CEO of the TEAM – the organisation that fronted the Tournament of Champions – had decided that all entrants would take part in promotional, exhibition matches to showcase this year’s tournament. He had arranged bookings, over two nights, where different matches would take place for free knowing that, when the night of the actual Tournament came around, the fans would be clamouring for tickets and he would make a profit regardless. For Phoenix the idea of stepping back into the ring in such circumstance – where nothing was on the line and the only goal was to entertain the fans – was too good to resist. It had been the final straw that broke his indecision about taking part in the Tournament; he knew that he could get rid of his ring rust before having to actually compete … there was no risk so it was a win-win situation. That was, of course, until the match had ended.

"I let my guard down," Phoenix stated, "simple as that. I never saw it coming."

"… and Dusk blindsided you?"

"No, Rick, that is what I am telling you," Phoenix sighed as he leant back against the chair, dropping the sodden and bloody tissue to the ground in disgust. "It wasn’t Dusk; it was Cameron Cruise!"

"What?"

"One minute we were celebrating the end of the match," Phoenix continued as the blood dripping down his face left a crimson mask in its place, "and the next I caught a flash of movement – a glimpse of recognition – as Cruise brought a steel chair down across my head."

"But why?" Rick’s confusion was evident in his voice. "You guys don’t even know each other!"

"No idea," Phoenix muttered, perplexed, "I mean it can’t be because of the CSWA Presidential Title … that is all his now even if he never actually beat me for it … so the only thing that I can think of is that he is trying to take me out before the Tournament of Champions actually starts!"

"Did he say anything to you?"

"No idea, Rick," Phoenix laughed to himself then winced as the movement brought a flash of pain to his head. "All I heard was the sound of thunder inside my head; the next voice I heard was actually Chapel’s!"

"Why, what did he say to you?"

"To me," Phoenix pointed out, "nothing directly, it was more of a global warning to everyone; he said that the Tournament of Champions is meant to be something special, something honourable and that the very next person to make physical contact with another entrant before the actual tournament itself begins will be disqualified – they will be kicked out and banned from competing!"

"A little too late in this case," Rick vented, still angry, "he didn’t punish Cruise!"

"No," Phoenix admitted, "he just stopped anyone from doing it again which is, you know, a good thing."

"No, I don’t know that!" Rick exploded as he pointed at the bloody mess on the floor, "look at what Cruise did and know we can’t do ANYTHING back to him!"
Phoenix stares up at his friend, a little shocked – but not totally surprised – to see the vehement expression on his face. Pushing his blood soaked hair back from his face, gingerly as he avoids the seeping wound; a small smile plays across his face.

"Well now, I wouldn’t say that …"

.

.

.

.

.

"Mr Cruise?"

The young production assistant for TEAM’s Tournament of Champions second exhibition night event hesitates as he approaches the World famous wrestler. Cameron Cruise, dressed in a pair of ragged blue jeans and a black t-shirt whose logo is so faded that it can’t be read, pauses at his dressing room door and raises an eyebrow as he waits to see what he is needed for. When the young man holds out a brown envelope Cruise smiles and reaches into one of his pockets for a pen.

"Who shall I make it out to?" he asks as he starts to write on the paper.

"It’s not an autograph," the young man states, quickly pulling the envelope out of Cruise’s reach, "it is for you!"

"What is it?"

"Do I look like I either read other people’s mail or have psychic powers?" The young man quips as he turns and walks away, leaving a perplexed Cruise to stare down at the envelope. With a shrug of his shoulders he rips open the envelope and pulls out the single piece of folder paper from within. As he unfolds the paper his forehead creases in a scowl as he reads the simple words written on it:

They say revenge is best served cold but I prefer the HEAT!

Without warning, and like something out of an old episode of Mission: Impossible, the paper begins to smoulder and, as Cruise drops it with a gasp of shock, it curls up in a ball of flame leaving nothing but grey ashes that float to the floor below. Reaching out to the handle of his dressing room, his hand visibly shaking, he opens it and walks in. He drops his bag to the floor and turns to kick the door closed. An involuntary gasp escapes his mouth as he sees that there is a very real arrow sticking out of the door frame, embedded a good couple of inches into the surface. Hanging from the point of the arrow, pierced through the centre of the forehead, is a promotional poster of Cruise himself.

"What the …?"

Reaching out to the poster Cruise rips it down from the door and crumples it into a ball. With a burst of anger he wrenches the arrow out of the wood and snaps it over his knee and throws it to the floor where it rests beside the poster. Kicking them out of his way he storms through into a small bathroom that is attached to the dressing room and turns on the cold tap. Bringing his face down to the flowing water he splashes his face twice before wiping his hands over his eyes as he stands up again – and stares in shock at the mirror. The reflection that stares back at him is crimson face, with what appears to be blood dripping down in streaks across his cheeks. Stepping back from the mirror Cameron trips over the broken arrow and lands heavily on his backside. From his vantage point he can see that the tap is running red and, in shock and anger, he scrambles across to his bag and grabs a towel from within. As he wipes away at the red liquid, he smells theatrical greasepaint. Yanking open the door to his dressing room he spies the young assistant at the end of the corridor and calls him over.

"Has anyone been in my room?" he barks out.

"No, sir," the assistant states firmly, staring at the red tints that still smear Cruise’s face, "I just unlocked it when I saw you get to the arena."

"Are you sure?!"

"Of course I am," the young man nods definitely, "why do you ask?"

"No reason," Cruise shakes his head, sheepishly, "no reason at all!"

Before Cruise can close the dressing room door again the assistant stops him.

"You are on in five minutes Mr Cruise, you should be getting ready!"

Cruise looks down at his watch and swears, realising that he has very little time to get ready. Slamming the door behind him he pulls out the wrestling gear from his bag and throws it on before rushing back out into the hallway. Finding it empty he hurries along towards the gorilla position but, as he turns a corner, he stops as he sees graffiti like writing, in bright red paint, smeared across a wall in front of him:

The good thing about a Phoenix is that no matter what you think that you have done to ‘kill’ it, it always comes back …

Cruise can’t help but reach out and touch the pain and, when he pulls his hand away, he finds that it is still wet; he looks down, his eyes widening, as his hand almost appears to be stained with blood. Before he can react any further he hears his entrance music begin to play and the curtain to the ringside area is pulled back as the young assistant ushers him though.

"Have a great match, Mr Cruise!"

Cameron Cruise ignores him as he makes his way out to the bright lights of the arena. He blinks and takes a step back as, without warning and not part of his regular entrance, two bright bursts of flame erupt on either side of him. He stumbles forwards but, again, flames erupt either side. As he runs down the ramp he is surrounded by busts of intense flame that turn his cheeks red without actually touching him. He reaches the ring, panting and sweating, and eyes wide open; he ignores his opponent, a masked wrestler from a local indy federation, as he steps into the ring. The referee looks at him in concern as the bell rings but he makes no move to start wrestling but, instead, glances backwards as the screen above the entrance comes to life … and the blackness turns to intense flames as a disembodied voice whispers out through the P.A. system.

"Naughty, naughty, Mr Cruise. You took it upon yourself to try to extinguish the flames, to try to put out the fire but you didn’t do a very good job … all that you really ended up doing was making my passion run hotter and raking the embers of my ire into a full on inferno."

Cruise holds onto the ropes, staring intently at the screen.

"I suppose that you could say that you are lucky, in a way, that Chapel has decreed that I cannot touch you until the Tournament itself starts … but there are plenty of other ways to ensure that you don’t get any piece of mind until I get my payback. You see I can make sure that whenever you open a piece of mail you are not sure if it is going to burst into flames in front of you … I can make sure that you never know when you are going to see a warning sign – like an arrow carved just for you – left in the open … I can make sure that whenever you look in a mirror you see the streaks of blood that you left on me … and I can make sure that wherever you go there are messages that remind you just how much of a bad idea it was to go after me with such a cheap shot …"

Cruise’s expression suddenly reveals that he has put everything together as he realises that everything that has happened to him has been for a purpose, and from one person.

"… in fact, Cameron, I may just ignore Chapel entirely and – when you least expect it – take a much more ‘physical’ revenge on you, my friend. In fact I may do that right now …"

The flames die down on the screen and, suddenly, the familiar image of Jay Phoenix appears in their place. He is walking down a hallway that Cameron obviously recognises as Phoenix pauses beside the blood like graffiti that, mere moments before, he himself had stood beside.

"Your doom is coming for you Cruise; you should never have attacked me last night, you should never have taken it upon yourself to smash a steel chair over my head … I don’t think that Mr Chapel is here tonight so maybe I will just come down to ringside right now …"

The image changes to show Phoenix approaching the curtained area and Cruise stares in shock and anticipation at the rampway. Pyros burst into flames as Phoenix’s entrance music starts to play but, as no-one appears; Phoenix’s face comes back to the screen.

"… or maybe I am already there Cruise! Maybe I am at ringside, in the audience!"
The image on the screen changes to close in on a hooded figure sitting right at ringside, his face obscured. He starts to move and Cruise reacts by stepping back slightly. His shoulder’s relax, however, when a kid pulls back the hood and cheers to see himself on TV.

"… ok, that isn’t me, but maybe I am under the ring?"

Cruise leans over the ropes, and stares down at the apron, which remains unmoving. A smile plays across his face as he realises that he is being baited and he shakes his head to show that Phoenix cannot scare him.

"OK, ok, you are right Cruise … I am not at ringside, I am not under the ring. You see I am not that stupid, Chapel clearly stated that we cannot touch each other before the Tournament and I am not going to risk my chances at winning this thing on someone like you. I don’t need to do that to get my payback, all I need to do is make you look stupid and what better way to do that then by …"

As Cruise stares up at the large screen Phoenix pauses as if waiting for something. It doesn’t take long for Cruise to realise what it is as he finds himself being rolled backwards as his forgotten opponent reaches up and under his legs and pulls him into a schoolboy style small package. The surprise and momentum is enough to ensure that when the referee drops for the count he reaches three before Cruise can kick out. His opponent slips out of the ring and stands by the announce table as Cruise argues with the referee but he suddenly falls silent as Phoenix’s voice continues. Cruise glares up at the screen but is confused when he realises that the hallway shown is empty and that Phoenix has gone. The voice continues and Cruise, in mounting horror, turns around to face his erstwhile ‘rookie’ opponent who is slowly pulling the mask off as he speaks.

"… as my pre-recorded image was saying, Cruise," Phoenix states as he removes the mask and throws it into the ring where it hits Cruise across the face like a slap, "all I have to do to get some payback is pin you, cleanly, in a sanctioned match so Chapel can't say anything and in front of all these fans, to show just how easily I will do it when the Tournament actually begins!"
 

irishred

League Member
Joined
Nov 1, 2005
Messages
191
Points
0
Irishred sits backstage at an A1E house show in Brookings South Dakota at Frost Arena. He is completely relaxed, feet up on a chair, towell over his shoulders talking to his wife on his cell phone. His locker room door busts open...in run Torment and Jeffrey Roberts two of his MwM running mates. Torment holds a chair and for some reason Jeff holds a rubber chicken. Both wrestlers are panting.

T: Where is he?

Jeff looks high and low in the locker room including diving into the laundry cart of dirty towells.

IR: Who are you talking about Big T?

T: Cloverleaf? We saw him attack you after your match. Where is he? Are you ok?

IR: Guys...relax...ok? It was just an all out attack by Ken Cloverleaf. I don't even have a scratch, bruise or bump. Quite honestly my 9 month old son hits harder.

Now sit down and relax guys...everything will be just fine.

With that the scene slowly fades to black. Irishred looks up a the camera with a gleam in his eyes and talks as we fade out.

What you expected more? Ken Cloverleaf attacked me. Plus you had to endure 45 minutes of that idiot Viking and 30 minutes of the X-Man formerly known as Jean Grey...I thought I'd do you all a favor and make this short.

Black.
 

Ravager

League Member
Joined
Jun 28, 2006
Messages
104
Points
0
The parking lot of Polish Hall, home of the NAPW. It as a few hours before the NAPW's next show, and Ravager is getting out of his car. He sends away a few autograph seekers, and gets his bag out of the trunk of his car. And then he hears some footsteps behind him...

Ravager: Look, I'm not in the mood to sign anything right now...

He turns around just in time to catch a Superkick from "The Show" Chad Kurtis. Ravager's head is snapped back and he slumps against his car as Kurtis grabs Ravager by his short hair and pulls his head up so they can look each other in the eye.

Kurtis: I finally got an excuse you sick bastard. I don't know who the Hell you think you are, but it ends now.

Ravager: You're making a huge mistake...

Kurtis: You've gone too far. I've had to sit back and watch you and KRENSHOV sneak attack and injure people, but no more. I won't let you go any farther. We're going to be opponents soon enough. Starting now I'm going to make damn sure you don't win the Tournament of Champions...

Ravager: Then you better ****ing kill me...

Voice: (off camera) Hey!

Venue security and NAPW officials have seen what's happened and are out to make sure there isn't any more violence in the parking lot. Kurtis is surrounded by officials and walked back into the building. Ravager pushes away people who try to help him up, and crawls to his feet. He pulls out his cell phone.

Ravager: (on phone) Kenny. Get out here now. Bring the stuff..

Cut to a half hour later. We get a POV shot of NAPW Commissioner Terry Brandon.

Brandon: I heard what happened. You're not going to try to get some kind of revenge, are you?

Ravager: (off camera) Now why would you say that?

Brandon: Just a hunch...

Cut to a shot of Ravager and his tag partner KRENSHOV. Ravager has a steel chair, and KRENSHOV has the Faces of Death ring bell and black hood.

Ravager: I'll have you know that I carry this chair around because the ones here are so uncomfortable.

KRENSHOV: And I'm only carrying the ring bell because I don't want someone stealing it and putting it on ebay.

Ravager: Because we know you'd hate for us to attack one of your top stars...

Brandon: Look, never mind what I want, you'll just ignore me anyways. But I got a call from Jess Chapel. And he let me know that of any more participants in the Tournament of Champions attack each other, they're out. And that includes you.

Ravager: So Kurtis is just going to get away with sneak attacking me? After I did nothing to him? I was minding my own business, and he tries to crack my skull!

Brandon: Well, try and appreciate the irony.

KRENSHOV: What if we accidentally hit him?

Pause. Brandon raises an eyebrow.

Brandon: An accidental chair shot?

Ravager: Suppose I'm walking along and I have an involuntary muscle spasm...

The locker room opens and Danny Chaos, bags in hand, emerges. Ravager suddenly clocks him with a chair, sending the rookie into the wall.

KRENSHOV: (mock surprise) Oh no! How could taht have happened?

Ravager: (mock fear) This could be the sign of some undiagnosed neurological disorder!

KRENSHOV: You better get to a doctor before you hit someone else.

Ravager: Yeah, hopefully we don't run into Chad Kurtis, who knows what could happen...

Brandon: You want to get kicked out of TEAM, go for it. Just don't expect any sympathy from me.

Brandon tends to Chaos, who is dazed and somewhat surprised, but able to get to his feet.

KRENSHOV: And here I was itching to squash someone...

Ravager: He only said we couldn't attack Kurtis...

KRENSHOV: Oh, well then...

KRENSHOV walks off camera. We hear the voice of a sound tech..

Sound Tech: Oh, hi KRENSHOV, how are you... (screams)

The tech comes sailing into the picture and crashes against the wall. KRENSHOV walks back into frame, looking somewhat satisfied.

Ravager: I don' think that's quite what he meant...

KRENSHOV: Probably not. But it was still stress releiving. Now. What about Kurtis?

Ravager: He only said that we couldn't attack him...

Cut to another part of the building. Ravager is talking to Stone Zellor.

Zellor: So you want me to attack Chad Kurtis?

Ravager: That's pretty much the idea, yes.

Zellor: The man I'm about to face for the number one contendership.

Ravager: Yes.

Zellor: You want me to risk getting kicked out of the building before my match, with a title shot on the line, just because Chad kicked you in the face?

Pause.

Ravager: Is that a no?

Pause

Zellor: Are you at least going to offer me money?

Ravager: I hadn't planned on it. No...

Awkward pause. Ravager finally sighs and walks away.

Cut to another part of the building. Ravager and KRENSHOV look annoyed.

Ravager: I'm not asking much. Just someone to do my dirty work!

KRENSHOV: Some wrestlers can be so selfish!

Ravager: Tell me about it. I mean, you know I'd rather do it myself...

KRENSHOV: Oh, nobody has ever called you lazy...

Voice: Just an asshole...

Ravager and KRENSHOV turn to see the origin of the voice, only to find Billy Kryenik.

Kryenik: Hey Ravager. Heard you got your bell rung earlier. Too bad about that. I hear Karma's a *****...

Ravager: Billy, you need to mind your own business..

Kryenik: You mean ignore the two guys plotting against my tag partner? Sure I can do that.

Ravager: You're being smart for once.

Pause

Kryenik: I was being sarcastic.

Ravager: I knew.

Kryenik: It's just the way you said...

Ravager: You didn't notice my saracasm?

Kryenik: No, you sounded serious there.

KRENSHOV: To be fair it can be hard to tell with you sometimes.

Ravager: Why are you only telling me this now?

KRENSHOV: I never needed to bring it up.

Kryenik: Maybe try and show some emotion...

CLANG

Ravager hits Kryenik upside the head with his chair.

KRENSHOV: That was excessive. Unless you were trying to send a message to Kurtis.

Ravager: Not really. I mean I was just going to claim "muscle spasam" again, but your idea works too.

KRENSHOV: You're usually better planned than this.

Ravager: Normally I don't have to rush so much. But with our match, and now this...

KRENSHOV: So, what do we do?

Ravager: Well...

Cut to a locker room. Chad Kurtis surveys the floor, which is covered with torn clothes, torn up books.He turns around to see Ravager behind him.

Ravager: (loudly) Chad how could you?! There are pranks but this is too far! Look at what you did to that man's things!

Kurtis: What are you...

Kurtis suddenly senses something. He turns around to see a very angry Tommy Deathrow behind him..

Kurtis: Come on Tommy you don't really think...

Deathrow suddenly flies into a rage and launches himself at Kurtis, raining down punches. Ravager smirks and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. KRENSHOV is waiting for him.

KRENSHOV: That was easy.

Ravager: Too easy. And unsatisfying. Plus, did Kurtis really learn anything?

KRENSHOV: I'd say no.

Ravager: Indeed. So...

Cut to a while later. Kurtis, slightly battered and angry, walks down the hallway. He sees Ravager ahead of him. He gets ready to charge, but Ravager holds up a finger and wags it at him...

Ravager: Chad, you really want to cost yourself your shot at the Tournament of Champions?

Kurtis stops and seethes. Ravager smirks a little.

Ravager: You will regret ever getting in my business...

Before Kurtis can react, KRENSHOV is behind him, and forces a lucha mask over his head. Kurtis struggles to get the mask off, but not before KRENSHOV can kick a door open and shove Kurtis inside.

KRENSHOV: (shouting into the room) MASKED ATTACKER! MASKED ATTACKER!!

Voice: (from inside the room) Not on my watch!

We hear a commotion inside the room, stuff being thrown and broken. Kurtis is knocked into the hallway, his mask turned backwards so he can't see. "LDK" Lloyd Rees chases after him, nailing him with kicks and punches.

Rees: You'll have to get up earlier than that to fool me b'y!

Ravager and KRENSHOV sneak away, stopping only for glimpses of Kurtis being wailed on and unable to defend himself.

Ravager: Man, wrestling would be so much less interesting if people would just stop and think before attacking.

KRENSHOV: Less fun too. So, you think we're done?

Ravager: Probably. But if something comes up, I won't pass on the opportunity...

Ravager sees something on a door. And smiles.

Cut to a while later. Rees and Deathrow are walking with Kurtis, who looks like he's ready to snap.

Rees: Look, I can only apologize so much! You're voice was muffled and I couldn't have known it was you!

Deathrow: Mistakes were made, I can admit that...

Kurtis turns and glares at them.

Rees: So I guess we're not driving together after the show?

Kurtis sighs.

Kurtis: I just want this night to be over. I'll talk to you later.

Deathrow and LDK walk off. Kurtis opens a door marked "Men's Locker Room" and enters. A soon as the door closes, Ravager sneaks into frame and pulls the sign off the door, revealing another sign saying "Dirty Money: PRIVATE"

Cut to inside the room. Kurtis shoulders slump and he sighs deeply. Cut to the members of Dirty Money: Chris Casino, Krusty Kid Paul, and Evan Cartwright. All three of them look surprised, then angry.

Casino: Son of a *****...

Cut to outside the room. Chaos can be heard inside the room, much cursing, much furniture being tossed around, and general mayhem. Ravager stands outside the door, a smile on his face.

Ravager: And to think. I was ready to pay people to do this for me...

Ravager walks away, as a loud thud is heard, as if someone has been tossed against the wall.

Fade to black.

OOC Note: All characters appear with permission. For proof please look here:
http://napw-online.com/boards/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=2479
 

Evil James

League Member
Joined
Feb 17, 2008
Messages
316
Points
0
Location
San Diego, California
Today...

After a long and grueling weeklong tour of Japan that involved a mixture of wrestling, booze, and geishas, James Varga has finally arrived back in the United States at La Guardia International Airport where he is met by Darth Varga and some Church of the Unholy members as he arrives off the plane. James walks over and looks a bit surprised.

Darth: Surprised to see us James?

James stops in front of Darth and looks at them all.

James: Now what the hell is going on?

Darth: Well let me tell you what is going on, James. We are here to make sure that you do not **** up this ToC tournament like you ****ed up in NFW. See we, meaning the Church Leadership Council, are worried that you’re going to screw up again.

James looks a bit peeved to hear this.

James: SO?

Darth: SO this is what we’re going to do. We are going to help you out.

James raises an eyebrow, looking a bit confused.

James: How are you going to help me?

Darth looks a bit amused now.

Darth: We know that you were attacked over there in Japan.

James holds the back of his head, remembering the pipe attack by some masked individuals.

James: Yeah, that’s true. So how are you going to help me?

Darth: We’re going to take out one of your competitors with a sneak attack.

James doesn’t seem too pleased to hear this.

James: That’s not fair, that’s not right.

Darth: Why the **** are you acting like such a *****? It’s already underway.

James: What?

Darth: At the gym he is training at, I sent some of my ninjas to take him out.

James: Like on a date?

Darth growls with anger.

Darth: NO YOU INFIDEL SWINE! We’re going to attack him.

James: Kind of like Tonya Harding attacking Nancy Kerrigan?

Darth: Not exactly…

* * *

At that exact moment…

At the gym near the arena where the ToC round 3 show is taking place, Ninjas sneak inside to get near a man who is on the treadmill jogging. The Ninjas sneak over and get behind the man. The other men in the gym scatter. The Ninjas grab the man and toss him to the floor! It’s then apparent who the man is. He is a famous wrestler who is participating in the TEAM Tournament of Champions. The man then speaks and his identity is revealed…

Chris Bagwell: HUH?

The Ninjas get their kendo sticks and start beating Bagwell!

Chris Bagwell: THIS HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH VARGA!

The Ninjas continue the beat down until Bagwell is out cold. The Ninjas then see security come in and throw down a smoke grenade. Smoke then fills the room for a minute and then when it dissipates, the security looks around and the only person left in the room is the unconscious Bagwell. The Ninjas has vanished.
 

Fusenshoff

League Member
Joined
Feb 6, 2007
Messages
317
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0
Age
39
Location
East Lansing, MI
“Okay, that’s enough.”

Fusenshoff is sitting at O’Neill’s Pub in San Francisco, CA. He just finished shooting a promotional segment for EPW’s Unleashed pay-per-view. He’s writing something on a napkin and hands it to the cameraman, whose busy packing his things.

“Coit Tower, nine o’clock Monday night.”

“No sweat.” The cameraman replies.

“Thanks again, Johnny.”

Johnny leaves and Fusenshoff returns his attention to his beer. Florida is playing Georgia in a battle of SEC contenders. Out of the corner of his eye, Fusenshoff sees a vertically challenged man walk into the bar, but thinks nothing of it. He focuses his attention back on the game.

The little man watches Fusenshoff and waits for an opportunity to alert his companions. Once Fuse focuses his concentration on the bartender, he signals the rest of his friends. One by one, eight very short adult men waddle into the bar and occupy a table directly behind the ToC competitor. The last one in is Stumpy, the Viking Porn Star Olvir Arsvinnar’s minion.


“Alright boys,” Stumpy declares, lowering his voice slightly above a whisper, “the other Porn Stars should be here any minute, and then my master will arrive. Just be patient my friends.”

Fusenshoff, watching the game, starts to feel the effects of the booze and beers. He starts to nod off ever so slightly. His vision gets blurry and his head starts to spin. Just then he notices something funny about the bartender. The man looks strangely familiar. Fuse can’t remember the last time he felt this drunk.

Oblivious to the TEAM competitor, three well-known TEAMites- The Purple Snake, Captain Lance Ramrod and Thrustimus Maximus- enter the bar and nod to the bartender. The Captain and Thrustimus sit down in the stools between Fusenshoff and the door. The Purple Snake takes a seat on the other side. Fuse shakes his head and looks around. Despite his vision fading, he recognizes the men now sitting next to him. He remembers them as competitors in TEAM’s recent Porn Star Battle Royale. Fusenshoff looks at the bartender, who is now leaning forward, over the bar and towering above him. He recognizes the bartender well now- crime fighter and butt banger Booty Man, also a hybrid wrestler/male performer. Fusenshoff manages a mumble.


“What the h-“

Booty Man slams a prescription bottle down in front of Fusenshoff. “Like that last cocktail, Fusenshoff? Nothing like a little Rohypnol with your blackjack, eh?”

Fusenshoff jumps to his feet and sends his barstool flying five feet across the barroom floor. He is immediately grabbed by the four porn stars and surrounded by the vertically challenged adults. He fights to get free, but the numbers are far too overwhelming for one over-medicated man. As Fusenshoff tries to overpower all four men, the tallest of the short people steps forward.

“Fusenshoff,” Stumpy announces, “my master wishes to make an example of you before the TEAM Tournament of Champions. He feels you’re the perfect candidate to maim and mar as only a true conqueror can accomplish. Without further ado, let me introduce you to my master-“

“RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!”

Splinters fly across the room as Olvir Arsvinnar breaks down the bar’s entrance door with his giant Viking boot. He steps two feet into the bar and stares daggers at Fusenshoff. With his Battle Axe in hand, Olvir slowly makes his way over to his TEAM and EPW coworker. Olvir walks directly in front of a trapped Fusenshoff and stops with his massive chest inches from Fuse’s face. Both men stare fiercely at each other before Olvir begins to speak.

“Miniscule and puny Fusenshoff. Behold, I am Olvir Arsvinnar, the GREATEST Viking since before the Earth was round. I am the FATHER OF A THOUSAND VIRGINS. My PHALLIC MIGHT has DOMINATED THE HINDS of countless fair maidens far and wide. My BATTLE AXE has mangled the limbs of men far inferior and middling when compared to the GREATNESS that is Olvir.

“YOU, puny Fusenshoff, will make my already intimidating presence UNBEARABLE to the meager peasants partaking in this tournament of merit. Not only are you a TEAM stalwart, but your pathetic dependence on mead proves you have no HONOR. I will crush you under my boot and demonstrate my SUPREMACY as the MIGHTY BUTT DOMINATOR!!!”

Fusenshoff is almost unconscious now as the drugs have really kicked in. He is practically faint. Olvir takes a few steps back. He holds his battle axe with both hands and swings it around, with the blunt end facing Fusenshoff.

CRRAACCCCKKKK!!

CRRAACCCCKKKK!!

CRRAACCCCKKKK!!

Three forceful thrusts of Olvir’s impressive axe to the ribcage left Fusenshoff in a heap on the floor. Liquid crimson was the last sight of the fallen TEAM contender. Everything went black.

Four hours later Fusenshoff was on his back in an uncomfortable bed. His eyes wandered sporadically around the room- intravenous bag, heart rate monitor, first aid kit on the wall. He regains his senses. Sudden, searing pain rises from his cracked ribs. He jumps out of bed grimacing as alarms go off in the room. Stripping out of the white dress the hospital has appropriated him; Fusenshoff puts on his usual clothes. His jeans, wife-beater and the inside of his leather jacket are caked with blood. Fusenshoff storms out of his hospital room as nurses scurry in. Their pleas are met with deaf ears.


“Sir you’re in no condition to leave.”

“Please sir, you require further medical treatment.”

“If you go now, your ribs may never heal properly!”

Forty-five minutes later, outside Olvir’s mead hall.

Fusenshoff has himself a half-finished fifth of Jack Daniels in his left hand. He opens the large wooden door in front of him. Already the sound of an organ playing and merry voices wash over him. Little people and Porn Stars are littered throughout the room. The dimly lit hall occupies all the culprits involved in the attack, save one. Some are stumbling around the room and others are clumsily fondling the women who keep Olvir company.

Fusenshoff looks around as they slowly realize who just walked through the double doors. With a smirk, Fuse takes a large gulp of his bottle as Booty Man charges him. At the last minute Fusenshoff wipes his mouth and SMASHES the half-empty bottle over the Porn Star’s head. With that swift move everyone stops what they’re doing to focus their attention, once again, on the adversary.

The Canadian takes out one small-fry after another with clotheslines, knee-lifts and the closest mead flagons within reach. The vertically challenged are disposed of rather easily and surprisingly jovially, as the scene itself is quite comical. Fuse uses his last growler on the temple of The Purple Snake and his focus turns to the remaining three men- Captain Lance Ramrod, Thrustimus Maximus and Stumpy. Stumpy speaks first.


“You’re insane Fusenshoff. Do you really think you can defeat Olvir in the state you’re in?”

“You bet your ass,” Fusenshoff replies.

“There’s no way.” The Captain argues, “Olvir defeated every Porn Star wrestler willing to participate in TEAM’s battle royale. He finished in the Final Four of the TEAM Invitational Tournament this year. His power in the ring is only comparable to his mighty thrust in the bedroom.”

Thrustimus adds, “He is a POWERHOUSE of manliness sent to this age of weakness and insignificance in order reinstate the era of the Viking. Already he has redefined the porn industry and will not stop until he DOMINATES popular culture and government. The FATHER OF A THOUSAND BASTARDS is here to change the world, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him!”

Fusenshoff looks befuddled by the remarks spewing from these disciples of delirium. He realizes they’re probably done with their diatribe and chimes in.

“Are you morons finally finished?”

The three look at each other and nod their heads before turning to Fuse and bobbing in unison.

“Then defend your mighty leader. A nice warm-up couldn’t hurt.”

Thrustimus and Captain Ramrod slowly move in on the injured wrestler. Fusenshoff takes the initiative this time and throws a shoulder into Ramrod. Before Thrustimus can land a right hand, Fuse catches it and elbows the porn star in the chest. He grapples Maximus and executes a DDT onto the hall floor. As he’s getting up Ramrod goes for the ribs. Fuse doubles over in pain. The two film stars gang up on Fusenshoff and stomp on his back and ribs.

The pain is unbearable and Fuse isn’t sure how much more he can take. If he concedes now Olvir is likely to go easy on him. Another hospital visit is inevitable, but he’s not likely to threaten Fuse’s career.

Then Fuse grits his teeth and reengages his focus. He has never quit and he never will. It’s not in his nature. Not when the only thing he holds dear is on the line. Wrestling is all he has. He won’t give it up over some bruised ribs.

He sucks it up and gets to his knees. The Porn Stars start kicking even harder. Fusenshoff finds the will to open his eyes and lunges and the Captain’s right leg. Catching it, Fuse uses the leg for leverage and lands an enziguri. Back on his feet before Thrustimus can compose himself, Fuse boots the gladiator-themed adult entertainer in the midsection. Fusenshoff gives the acolyte a taste of his own medicine, knocking him out with a perfectly executed Domination. Captain Lance Ramrod gets to his feet just in time to suffer The Whiskey Bomb. Fusenshoff has a renewed fire and is ready to pounce on his foe.


“EEEEEEEKKKKK!!!”

Stumpy tries to shuffle out of harm’s way, but Fuse picks him up by his collar.

“Where’s the Viking.”

“I’ll never betray my master.”

Fusenshoff grabs Stumpy by the neck and slowly tightens his grip.

“Stop it! Oh, what the hell? You’re gonna find him in two seconds anyway. Take that hallway back there. He’s in the last door on your left.”

Fusenshoff hangs Stumpy up by a Viking horn protruding from the wall. He creeps over to the hallway entrance; though at this point there’s already been plenty of noise. As he nears the midway point of the hallway he hears loud snoring. Inching closer to the door the snoring gets louder and louder until it’s almost deafening. He actually winces from the reverberations. Fusenshoff cracks the door and sees Olvir on his back with his mouth open wide. Two voluptuous women are on each side of him. They’re stunningly beautiful, but look silly with the sound-deafening ear muffs they’re wearing.

Standing in the doorway, Fuse looks around the room. He finds Olvir’s battle axe in the corner. He picks up the weapon and walks over to the bed patiently. Knocking on the headboard a couple times with the axe, both women wake up. Their eyes bulge in fear. They cower away as Fusenshoff waits for his prey. He knocks on the headboard a couple more times, but Olvir continues to snore.

Finally Fusenshoff knocks on Olvir’s Viking helmet with the axe. The giant stirs. He opens his eyes to the image of Fusenshoff and the sharp blade of the axe near his neck. Olvir looks angry, but controls himself. After a few moments while the two stare each other down, Olvir starts to speak.


“Pun-“

“Quiet.”

Fusenshoff swings the blunt end of the axe into his left palm quickly enough to send the appropriate message. Olvir stops talking.

“I’ll do the talking and you’ll listen. Now I’ve got the axe. I could end your career right this minute. One swing with this thing and it’s all over. Your friends are out in your hall either nursing injuries or unconscious. You’re the only one without a scratch on you right now, myself included.”

Fusenshoff gives his words a few seconds to sink in. Olvir looks like he’s prepared to have a coronary spasm.

“You wanted to set a precedent, an example, and you chose me. I don’t know why and I don’t care. All I care about are the three bruised ribs under my jacket and the message I want to send you. Chapel says we can’t touch each other before the bell rings or we’re both disqualified. But I didn’t come here to leave you comatose anyway.

"I could've paid someone to come with me and give you a proper beating. You know it would be well deserved. But I didn't.

“I hobbled in here, took the beating your boys dished out and persevered just to let you know I can. Why? Because that sends a greater message than any mugging ever will. Think about it. You’re more likely to hesitate when faced with fighting a man who caught you off-guard and doesn’t leave you with a sample of what he’s capable of.

“You jumped me, and I came right back to give you a personal wake-up call. I knew what to expect and had the confidence to dish out the same.

“Next time Olvir, leave your opponent questioning your motives. Keep him off-balance. That’s what gives you the split-second you’ll need when the two of you finally lock horns.”

Fusenshoff winks at the overgrown wrestler in a Viking costume and hands the man his own axe. He turns his back knowing Arsvinnar won’t attack- as much as he’d like to- and leaves the mead hall as he passes Olvir’s cohorts.
 
Last edited:

CraigM

Member
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Jan 24, 2007
Messages
351
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16
Age
38
****!

The expletive rings throughout the medical center in the arena, doctors and aides cringing as they look at the man writhing on the table, in a massive amount of pain. Before they even have a chance to ask the wrestler anything though, the door explodes open and in rushes High Flyer with Mary-Lynn Mayweather right behind him, concerned looks on their faces. Flyer's look is one of bewilderment as he pushes the various doctors to the side to get to his friend.

"Dusk, you alright man?" he asks him as his face is one filled with contortion and frustration. It had only been minutes since Dusk had been subject to an attack by Tyler Rayne, crippling the Lost Soul by attacking his injured knee that was on the verge of forcing him to retire. The doctors move High Flyer to the side as they go to work on the Lost Soul, testing out his knee, and trying to figure out how much damage has been done to it. Yet, not too soon after they get started, they're getting an earful from Dusk.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Get the hell away from me!" he yells at them as High Flyer and Mary-Lynn watch in horror at the doctors and then at Dusk who is beyond pissed off as he starts to sit up and pushes some of the people away from him. Mary-Lynn rushes to Dusk's side, trying to calm him down, but instead of just standing there, High Flyer starts pushing people away.

"Where the hell did you all learn medicine? Back away from the man!" High Flyer yells at the doctors before going over to his friend and helping him to sit up on the table. As he does, Dusk immediately grabs his left knee and slowly starts to calm down, his breathing becoming steadier and his frame of mind correcting itself. He looks up at High Flyer as the moments are still fresh in his mind. Night Two of the Preview to the Tournament of Champions had been a rousing success for TEAM. The previous night he had been in a Marquee match against Jay Phoenix and now tonight, he squared off against fellow PRIMEate Tyler Rayne in the main event. The history between these two men hadn't been lost upon TEAM CEO Jess Chapel and he knew it would bring in the fans.

It certainly did.

Rayne had accidentally, or maybe even purposefully, knocked out the referee. Dusk was down on the ground, in pain from the long, grueling match. Then, before he knew it, Rayne was slamming a steel chair into his knee repeatedly, capitalizing on the injury Dusk had suffered at Great American Nightmare against Cozen. The pain had been too much for Dusk, every inch of his body on fire from the sneak attack, the loosest definition of one, and Rayne would go on to win the match, setting the stage for an explosive Tournament of Champions the following evening.

"I want to kill him," Dusk tells High Flyer who smiles at hearing those words come from his mouth.

"Good, because I've got a mill--," High Flyer begins to respond gleefully before being cut off by Mary-Lynn Mayweather.

"Jess Chapel just outlawed any attacks upon one another. If you go and attack Rayne, try and retaliate for what he did, then you're out of the tournament. Which, I know might not sound a lot since you're retiring after this tournament and all, but I know you still want to win this. Unless you want Tyler to win...," she says, her voice trailing off at the end to put Dusk's mind back in place. Dusk looks over at High Flyer before Dusk nods his head.

"She's right, you know. I just want to get back at that bastard. Remind him who the hell he's dealing with," Dusk tells him and by looking at the twinkle in High Flyer's eye as if a light bulb had clicked inside of his head, he knew something bad was about to happen.

"I've got an idea," High Flyer tells him.

Dusk had been correct.

---

Take a long look at him, ladies. And gentlemen, if you swing that way. Well, if you swing that way, then he might swing on you, and it's not the kind of swing you really want. Anyways, he stands there, glistening in sweat after his long, arduous match against the Baby Dusk himself. Wait, when the hell did he learn the word arduous? Anyways, standing there in his locker room, a bottle of Mountain Dew: Code Red awaiting him, and surely the hottest honey he's ever laid eyes on anywhere (Lindsay Tory, that is) somewhere in the arena, the man, the myth, and the legend known as Tyler Rayne was ready to get the **** out of dodge. His 5-Star Title staring him straight in the face and the Tournament of Champions weighing on his mind, Tyler Rayne would be what you call, a cocky son of a *****.

That is, until the door opens up to his locker room.

"Lindz, about time you came back here," he says, before turning around and finding a woman standing there, but it not being Lindsay Troy. Instead, he finds this mysterious and lusty blonde standing right inside of the door wearing a pair of short jean shorts and a low cut blouse that, well let's say it shows off her finer assets. Needless to say, this woman definitely has Rayne's attention at this point, in more ways than one. She stands there in one of those sexy poses while licking her lips, wanting Tyler to really pay attention to her.

Trust us, he is.

"Well, well, who the hell are you and how come I haven't seen you before?" Rayne asks in his usual vernacular and in that sultry voice that causes women to throw his panties at him. Actually, he gets hit with a pair right in his face. Unfortunately, it's not coming from the sexy woman standing there in the doorway. Instead, she decides to up the ante as her hands seductively slide down her waist to the bottom of the shirt she's wearing and she pulls it over her head and throws it on the ground. Now, many of girls had thrown themselves at Rayne before, but not quite like this.

"Well, you would be right. You're not wearing a bra and I can see why. No need to put those things away," he tells her as she starts to walk sexily over to him, that "do-me" luck in her eyes as she touches Tyler in the chest and pushes her chest up against his. As he wraps his hands around her, she kisses him softly on his neck, still not saying a word to him. After a moment, she breaks their warm embrace and walks over to a nearby chair before motioning Tyler to come over with her finger. Slowly, he walks over there before the mysterious girl pushes Tyler into the chair and offers him a warm smile. Before he knows it though, the woman has put handcuffs on both of his wrists, locking him into the chair.

"I don't think I've ever seen a woman quite as forceful as you before. I like it though," he tells her and she just smiles.

"Good," she says, her first words, and in this sexy, sultry voice. The moment is ruined though when the door opens up and in walks a person that causes Rayne's eyes to open rather large. In some ways, he's thankful it's not Lindsay.

Instead, it's Dusk and High Flyer.

"YOU!" he says, struggling to get up, and greet Dusk and High Flyer with a bevy of fists. Instead, with his hands locked to the chair, he's in the position that Dusk and High Flyer wanted him. The girl smiles at Rayne before she turns her back on him and puts back on the shirt she came in here wearing, in on the dupe. "You filthy whore," he mutters under his breath, causing her to turn around and slap him across the face. He can feel the burning sensation in his gut as well as his right cheek while the woman walks out of the room. High Flyer just watches, stunned by her beauty.

"Can I call you?" he asks her, but she ignores him as she walks out of the door. Once the door closes, Dusk locks it behind him, ready for his time alone with Tyler. High Flyer then looks back at Dusk with a shrug. "I guess your plan worked after all."

Dusk can only smile as he walks over to Tyler and sits right in front of him. He felt victorious over Rayne, knowing that he would have the last laugh. The past thirty minutes had left Dusk with a lot of time to think to himself, and think about the options laid out before him.

"So, you think you can just attack me with a steel chair? Try to take out my knee worse than your little friend?" Dusk asks him, referring to Cozen. Tyler just cracks one of his patented smiles as he feels like nothing could happen to him in the world that would ultimately matter.

"Rumor around the water cooler is that you're about to get out of the game. Apparently, that knee is worse than thought, and it's forcing you out. Thought I'd help you out the door. Friendly gesture and all, Baby Dusk," Tyler tells him cockily. Dusk just shakes his head as he inches closer to Tyler, almost daring him to kick him.

"I helped build this business, Tyler, to what it is today. I've learned a lot in my time, but to do something like you did is just sickening. You think you're going to help me out the door? Well, I've got something for you. I'm not going anywhere, pretty boy. I'll be competing tomorrow in the Tournament of Champions and you're going to see me every step of the way. I'll be in the Jewel in the Crown tournament and I can't wait to kick your ass. You thought I was going to retire? You couldn't be more wrong. I'm not going to just let some injury and a punk ass ***** like you think about pushing me out," Dusk tells him, each word more pointed then the previous one. The look on Tyler's face is drained as he listens to Dusk, not happy with this bit of news in the least bit.

"Good for you. Pat yourself on the back because I'll put you there and make sure I put you out of commission tomorrow evening and throughout the Jewel in the Crown tournament. Count on it. What're you gonna do about it now though? Because the way I see it, you've got me in this position here and are just doin' a hell of a lot of talkin'. Is it worth getting kicked out over?" he asks Dusk who just sits there and shakes his head.

"I'm not, Tyler. You got me there, I guess," Dusk tells him with a knowing smile on his face.

BAM!

After the fight, it would be said that Rayne got smacked in the face with his own Code Red. Before Rayne can even react to the flying bottle in his face throttling at something like 300 miles per hour, High Flyer is on top of him pounding away at the ground Rayne! Dusk only stands up and before he can even open his mouth to say some parting words to Rayne, High Flyer has grabbed the chair and is bashing it in Tyler's face.

"You see, this is why it pays to have friends, Tyler. Apparently, Flyer has no qualms with softening you up before your big match at ReVolution this week. Really, he offered himself up. Have fun," he tells Rayne, but the words surely never make it to Rayne's ears as Dusk walks out, leaving High Flyer to do his justice.

Revenge served.
 

QueenOfTheRing

AKA Mom
Joined
Jan 1, 2000
Messages
2,625
Points
36
(Again, for Shane.)

-------------

“This is some bullsh*t.”

Tyler Rayne was used to pissing people off. It’s one of the things he did best in life. Fortunately, one of the things he did better was fight… so in most cases the PRIME 5-Star Champion had no problems holding his own when it came to the inevitable fisticuffs people were so want to resort to in an effort to redeem bruised egos.

Handcuffed to a chair and jumped by a half-retarded psychopath was not, however, one of those cases.

The Underground Pimp was bleeding from both his nose and lip. The right side of his face was tender. His wrists stung from the cut of the handcuffs. His right arm throbbed with a dull ache where he’d landed on it. There was Code Red Mountain Dew pooled around his face.

Worst of all, he couldn’t even drink it.

Dusk and High Flyer had done made with the quick retreat, so he was at least spared the torture of Sunshine’s attempts at mockery. There was also, the small reprieve that Flyer would be stepping in the ring come ReVolution… so retribution was not entirely out of sight. Just delayed a bit. Start looking at the bright side of things and…

“Hey!”

…you’ll see someone walking down the hall just begging to offer assistance to an injured wrestler. Right? That’s the hope, anyway.

“Hey! Yeah! You! Come, uh… come in here! I need a hand!”

The man cautiously steps into the locker room. He looks around in confusion before noticing Tyler’s predicament laid out on the floor.

“Excellent. Look, man… I could really use some help here. Just, um, you know, like… pick this chair up or something. You look like a strapping lad. What, you ring crew or somethin’?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothin’, man. I’m just sayin’, you look bigger than most of the tech monkeys walkin’ around the hall. Figured you must work out. Heavy lifting and whatnot.”

“Yeah. Liftin’ punks like you.”

“Huh?”

“You really think I worked for the stage crew?”

“You don’t?”

The man rushes forward, putting that bigger-than-tech-monkey body of his to work. A boot sinking deep into Tyler’s abdomen. The kick is so hard it actually lifts Rayne from the ground an inch or two. Chair and all. Another vicious kick to the ribs has the Underground Pimp gasping for air. The following barrage of measured and quite violent punches have him grasping for consciousness. The attacker rises to his feet, popping the knuckles of both hands. He smiles down at the blood on his fist before taking a moment to spit down on Rayne.

“Name’s Irishred. You’ll remember it after I kick your ass out there in the ring.”

So that’s why he looked so rugged and manly. The fellow participant in this TEAM Tournament of Champions snickers down at his handiwork and leaves. Tyler spits a healthy helping of blood to the ground.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Man… this is some bullsh*t.”

There’s this one song. By this one band. About this girl who moves in mysterious ways. Well, that song isn’t about Tyler Rayne. Mostly because he’s not a girl. But he does move in mysterious ways. How mysterious? Well, he found a way out of those handcuffs. Out of that chair. Out of that locker room.

Fresh night air is what he needs. Some dried blood and a swollen face are nothing when there’s fresh air to breathe. Hell, Tyler hadn’t even bothered to change clothes. Just marched right outside wearing his ring gear. He did, however, remember to grab his cell phone before sprinting out the door and rushing for the nearest intersection to the arena.

“Yeah, I’d like to report a car accident. … Uh huh… Tyler Rayne… … No, ma’am. I just witnessed it. … … Yep. … … I’m not really sure, ma’am. … Uh huh… … … … No problem… … Yeah. … Uh…Second and Washington… Excellent… No, thank you.”

Funny thing about that phone call. There is no accident here near the intersection of Second Street and Washington Boulevard. There is a respectable looking hot dog stand across the street, though. Nothing says “feel better” than a big tasty wiener, right?

Hells yeah.

Tyler learned when he was younger to always look both ways before crossing the street. It’s a very important safety lesson for all you kids out there. Even a guy like Tyler Rayne knows how important safety can be. So yes, the Underground Pimp does look both ways before crossing the street. He checks for cars before running across Washington Boulevard to buy himself an oh so delicious dog.

Funny then (see how hilarious this RP is?) that a black sedan should be slamming on its brakes to avoid running down the PRIME 5-Star Champion. Odd, isn’t it? This car screeching down wet pavement, a terrified look in the driver’s eyes as he watches the front of his vehicle slide ever closer to the Tournament of Champions competitor. Closer and closer and closer and…

Stop.

Just about an inch shy of splattering the Golden Boy all across the hood. Tyler stops just long enough to look in through the windshield. To smile at the man behind the wheel. To raise his hand and flash a middle finger right at Irishred.

Then Tyler Rayne quickly scoots his ass a few more feet to the safety of the sidewalk. Unfortunately, Irishred, nor his sedan, can do the same. All the two of them can do is sit there as a pick-up truck slams hard into the back of the sedan. The trunk crumples. Irishred slams forward in his seat. Chest to steering wheel. The back end of the sedan drifts out into oncoming traffic. The car lurches forward. Spinning from the impact before…

BLAM!

A car from the oncoming lane swerves too late, clipping what’s left of the back end of Irishred’s sedan. The car is spinning wildly out of control. Dangerously close to the hot dog stand. Dangerously close to Tyler Rayne.

Not close enough.

Energy expended and momentum lost, the car slowly creeps to a stop. A dazed and dizzy Irishred looks up though his windshield. The door is jammed. His mind spins with that always pleasant post-accident confusion. Which is probably only compounded by the sight of Tyler Rayne purchasing a hot dog from a street vendor.

“You got any relish for this, bro?”

Fortunately Irishred was wearing his seat belt. His injuries should be minimal. Sirens wail in the back. Police and ambulance already on their way. How fortunate, as well, that someone thought to call 911.

Remember, kids. Safety first.
 

doubles69

League Member
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Feb 25, 2008
Messages
26
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Location
NJ
Website
www.s-fx.com
"THAT MOTHER ****ER!"

I literally screamed at the top of my lungs.

"YOU'RE MINE YOU SICK SONUVA*****! YOU'RE ****ING MINE!"

The sick thing, however, was that I just lifted myself from the ground after what could've been a game over for me. I peeled my body off the concrete from a hit from a man I knew a lot a bit.

A whole ****load about. And I give the bastard some credit...he hit me at a time I'd never expect it... I mean, for christ's sake I'm one night away from the single greatest night in my wrestling career. I'm one single night away from Dangerous Games.

And James Varga organized a hit on me.

Was it a good move? Of course it was! He knows what kind of match that is to me. He knows whats involved. And that sick **** knows exactly what it will take to throw my entire game off. He knows what will make me me tick. Hell, he knows exactly how to make me tick.

I taught that sonuva***** how to make a man tick.

And that bastard used it against me. My own damn tricks -- and he figured out how to turn them around and make them work against me. It was something I didn't want to have to admit to...but I had to. He outsmarted me.

James ****ing Varga outsmarted me.

And I just had to accept that. I had to try and accept it...just so I could figure out how to defeat it. Yeah, he pulled a fast one .. and he had one up on me.. but I still had a moment on him. He wasn't anything more than a man with a group victory.

He took me out because he had the help of a group.

His team. That's all it was. It kind of reminded me abot the time I was the leader of The Movement. I was the big man in GCW and I had a group of soldiers... or should I say slaves... that would do literallly whatever I'd command them to do.

They'd murder a mother****er if I wanted.

But I let that drop ball. I gave up the leadership in The Movement without a real fight. To be honest, I THINK Varga's little posse was dismantled, but I really don't know. I mean, for Christ's sake, James could have had the same group of bastards sucking his dick.

And those cocksuckers would have hit me.

But I didn't see it. ****, I hadn't seen it coming. Remotely. Really. I mean, it probably should've been a no brainer to me. I just convinced the guy's BEST FRIEND to turn his back on him. I sent my own army behind Axel Action to make sure that James Varga got sent the HELL out of GCW for good.

And it worked.

But never... NEVER... did I expect it to bite me in the ass. I thought GCW would've been the last I'd ever seen of Varga... EVER!

But I think I was wrong!

I'm cocky. I'm confident. God damn, I feel like I'm the best God damn wrestler in this pathetic tournament. But my handicap..my Jesus Christ!

My handicapp is a nigger!

James Varga hit that ****. I'm less than twenty four hours before the biggest match of my career. And I'm not talking about my dance with Clyde Fox -- I'm going to murder that sick sonuva*****. I'm talking about the big main event at Dangerous Games.

I'm going to mark myself out.

I'm going to cash in deals to put myself at number one and I'm going to walk out as the last man standing. I'm going to crush LeStatt Knight's record as the longest entrant in the match and I'm going to ruin every record of any GCW superstar winning.

And I'll do it one night after the Tournament of Champions.

**** JAMES VARGA! **** HIS LITTLE POSSE!! And hell, **** THE MOVEMENT, TOO! Each and every one of them turned their backs on Chris Bagwell. They turned their backs on the single... GREATEST wrestler that this God damn world has ever seen!

SO **** THEM!

I'm sick and I'm tired of being counted out as an underachiever. I'm tired of being dismissed as "the next big thing" or "just another runner up." It's my time to make something happen. Seriously... to make something REALLY happen. I'm not talking about some botched victory.... I'm not talking about being another guy with the TALENT to be big...

I'M SAYING IM THE NEXT...

****ING...

ICON!!!

And that's where my ego strikes into play. Of course I'm going to hype the **** out of myself. I mean Jesus Christ, I just got the **** kicked out of my by a group led by James Varga!! That sonuva***** doesn't know his ass from his elbow.

"Dammit Chris," said one of my best friends left in the business. "I still don't know what the hell you're doing in this stupid ****ing tournament."

Timmy wasn't a man to bull****.

Timmy was a man with a realistic mind. His goal was to make money and to become famous. Well, that was his goal for me. Although I'm positive that it was also his goal for himself. And hell, let the bastard have a dream. He really did do everything for me.

He gave me the world.

"You've got an opportunity to win a title shot at the GCW World Title Belt and you're succumbing yourself to this garbage?" He tried to question my motive for this tournament. This stupid ******* tournament that I had no real business being involved with. Yet, there was one big piece of irony attached to the whole scenerio.

He's the mother****er that signed me up.

"Ahhhhhh, **** you," I shouted back at him! I wanted nothing to do with this bull**** event outside the notoriety it would gain me if I were to win. I figured it'd be a one night stand that I could prance through without a problem at all. I figured I'd be like the New England Patriots in the 2007 football season.

But I still got that one, GIANT upset.

And that was James Varga. God damn was I pissed. But it wasn't just about Varga. It was about Timmy screwing me over and dumping me in a tournament with a bunch of no-names, when my concentration was on an event that would solidified my Global Championship Wrestling career.

But who the **** am I kidding...

I'm a duechebag. I'm a dickhead. I'm an asshole!!!

All I could think about what revenge on James Varga. "The hell with you, Timmy!" I had to shout back and maintain my dignity. "You're nigger ass got me involved with this **** and now... for some ****ed up reason.. I've got to try and take care of it!"

Timmy was definitely upset.

He knew I was livid about the Varga hit. He didn't see it coming. Hell -- who really would've?? Obviously nobody. The guy is a sick ****, but he's not so stupid to jeapordize his own well-being in a sneak attack. Part of me wants to give him credit for hitting me when I wasn't paying attention.

Part of me wanted to approach him and said, "GOOD!"

But the other part of me said, "I'M GOING TO RIP HIS ****ING HEAD OFF!" Timmy wasn't thrilled with the idea, obviously. That piece of **** was supposed to be my agent. Now what kind of agent lets their client participate in some shady ass tournament the night before he's got to be at a pay-per-view event in London?

One **** ass agent!

But whatever. I'm cool with it. As a matter of fact, competition feeds my hunger. Ahhhhhh, the hell with that. That's what everyone says. But seriously, I got this feeling like I strived off of hurting people.

People like James Varga.

Maybe if Timmy cleaned all the **** out of his ears, he'd actually have a brain back there. Maybe that brain would've given him good reason to make me so vunerable. Hell, maybe his brain would've given him reason to sign me up for a wrestling tournament one night before a thirty man royal rumble.

And maybe the bastard had a point.

He knows I get fired up with competition. He knows I get fired up when people disrespect me. ****, I'm starting to believe that he may have even paid James Varga to have his boys hit me because he knows how fired up I'd've gotten afterwards.

That sick sonuva*****.

The problem is, however, is what Timmy doesn't know.

Timmy doesn't know how I'd strike revenge. Timmy doesn't know how I'd hunt down the sick sonuva***** who smashed a chair over my head and make him eat that very same steel. Timmy doesn't know that I'd avoid extracting revenge directly on James Varga...

...but that I'd take it out on James' whole ****ing family.

I'd find Varga's wife and I'd ****ing ruin her *****. I'd slam her up against a wall and make her kiss me. And if she'd refuse, I'd smash her head against the concrete until she agreed. God forbid she'd pass out, I'd take that as her way of saying go for it.

And I know James would agree.

And if he had a daughter... I'd let her follow the same fate. But I'd be a bit more gentle with young lady Varga. I'd let her plead her case... and then I'd rape her too. All because Varga though it cool to send his little cronies after me.

"Alright," I muttered, "I'm going to bounce back from this thing!"

I had to shout something at Timmy so he knew not to withdraw my name from the tournament. I couldn't let a guy like James Varga curbside me from competing. I mean who else would he even have to consider challenge? The American Revenger? River Phoenix? Its Rayning Men? The Texas Cloverleaf?

Nice one, James.

Despite being a whackjob, he was a brilliant man. He knew how to manipulate a system in his favor. But he wasn't manipulating me. He wasn't manipulating the almighty Chris Bagwell. I'd kill his ass before I let that happen.

"I'm pleased to welcome the wife of the most controversial athlete in the business, Kim Varga! Welcome to TEAM, Kim!"

It's all I needed to hear. It was an unfamiliar commentator in an unfamiliar place. Yet, at the same time it was the perfect last name in the perfect environment. My sickest, most disgusting fantasies had come true.

Varga's wife came to watch.

And as for me? Ha, ha! I was ready to rape and ruin her!

Ready to ruin... him!

So let it be known and let it be sworn...


..

....

.....

My ****ing God ... her innocence was about to be TORN!
 

kcloverleaf

League Member
Joined
Oct 5, 2004
Messages
34
Points
0
Location
Pittsburgh PA
Still Standing

Fade into the backstage medical area where TEAM head doctor David Bailey is in the middle of stitching a wound on the top of Ken Cloverleaf's head. A trickle of blood slowly travels down one side of Ken's face, while dried blood forms around the area the doctor already sutures. Ken glares into the camera and begins to speak

KC- That son of a b*tch!

He KNOWS that I am the greatest to ever step into the middle of the ring

He realizes that I am the favorite to win the TEAM Tournament of Champions

The ONLY person in this match who has the professional wrestling ability to dominate the match and EASILY defeat every-single pretender that steps inside the ring with me.

So you decide to sneak attack me don't you?

You try to take out the man on top - the best in the entire match - to give yourself an easier path to victory

But it's not going to work

Because your gutless assault will not be enough to keep Ken Cloverleaf from becoming the winner of the TEAM Tournament of Champions

You're nothing but a coward your spineless attack was further proof that you don't have what it takes to walk out of the ring with the victory.

I don't even have a history with you. You don't even EXIST to a legend like Ken Cloverleaf

But you felt compelled enough to target the greatest

You didn't even attack me face-to-face like a man

You had to sneak up from behind me and jam a beer bottle in my eye to try and impair my perfect, outstanding vision

But you missed your target

I'm still standing Fusenhoff

And not only am I going to win the TEAM Tournament of Champions

But I'm coming after you

As for Irishred - I don't have any time for your foolish accusations

You wouldn't even be able to get out of bed if I ever decided to sneak attack you

I could've EASILY ended your career - hell Red I could've ended your LIFE - when I decimated you at Golden Dreams

You remember when I wrapped that leather belt around your worthless neck and had you trapped in the Texas Cloverleaf right?

Of course you do

You should just accept the fact that you're a disgrace to the world of professional wrestling and move on.

Because I have a match to prepare for

I have business to take care of with that gutless coward Fusenhoff

And I have a TEAM Tournament of Champions title to win

Fade to black
 

theshow

League Member
Joined
Dec 2, 2006
Messages
13
Points
0
Fade in...

Intern Pete: Hello TEAM fans, NAPW fans, and Rebel wrestling fans! Intern Pete here from NAPW on assignment as I cover the Rebel Carolina Champion, 'The Show' Chad Kurtis as he competes in the Team Tournament of Champions. Right now we are outside of Rebel rally to encourage citzens of Raleigh and Durham North Carolina to cast their vote in today's election.

Chad: That's right there Pistol Pete. Every vote counts so everyone needs to cast there vote rather it's for Obama or McCain. Make your voice heard.

Pete: So, I take it that you have already cast your vote for president.

Chad: I did my absentee since I knew I was either going to be here or in Canada during the election. I had to vote not only for president but in a very important congress race againt minority leader McConell and Langsford.

Pete: So, are you going to tell the wrestling world which way you voted on this historic election.

Chad: [smiles] My vote is my vote and I don't plan on endorsing either candiate. I think that is part of the problem in america politics too many celebs endorse their candiate and Joe Nobody is like I vote for so and so cause Joe Celeb said to. America needs to make up it own mind.

Pete: It's Mikey Massacre what is he doing here.

Mikey: I wish I could say I was here to wish Chad luck at the TOC, but I would be lying.

Pete: So, exactly why are you here.

Mikey: I have something for Rebel's favorite son. [Right then Mikey catches 'The Show' off guard and connects with a superkick and then gets him into the New Mexico Cloverleaf...

Pete: Security, Security.

Mikey: There is you champion. How do you like me now.[Mikey smiles releases the hold and walks away as Chad's entourage has rushed over to help him...]

Chad: Of all the lowdown moves. I sneak attack. What the hell was that. It makes me just want to... [Chad superkics Will Zalucki]

Pete: Calm down, Chad, remember the TOC head hanco said no physical redemption.

Chad: Damn! No physical redempion! What the hell! Somebody find out what hotel Mikey is staying at and call Papa John's and send 50 large pizza billed to him. Send a computer virus to his laptop. Somebody come up with something.

..................................................................................................

Note to my TOC comrades...

This was as far as I got in my third round rp and I knew it wouldn't count but I wanted to posted it anyway and let you all know why I didn't show.

As I have already explain to everyone in NAPW and Rebel I got a promotion and a transfer last week at week and have worked 15 days straight at two different locations.

So, anyway between work and my 3 kids and wife their just wasn't enough hours in the day. Sorry about no showing but real life comes first.
 

Fusenshoff

League Member
Joined
Feb 6, 2007
Messages
317
Points
0
Age
39
Location
East Lansing, MI
Note to my TOC comrades...

This was as far as I got in my third round rp and I knew it wouldn't count but I wanted to posted it anyway and let you all know why I didn't show.

Thanks for the heads up. I was looking forward to seeing what you wrote next. It stinks when life gets really busy at a bad time e-fed wise. You still had a great showing and helped make this ToC enjoyable.
 

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