Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]


We hope you enjoy your visit.


You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free.


Join our community!


If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:

Username:   Password:
Cold Cut Combo with Mustard and Banana Peppers; Renegades v. CZW Match
Topic Started: Jan 13 2011, 07:28 AM (86 Views)
Justin Marsham
CZW Wrestling God
Mitsubishi.

Black.

Elegant.

The engine purrs when Marsham’s slender digits caress the hood of the vehicle. He drags the tips of his fingers down the frame of the car and to the door handle. One gentle motion pulls the door open and he slips inside. Beyond tinted windows, Marsham’s azure eyes peer – directed back towards the building from which he just left. It is brought into the view of the camera, reflecting off the waxed surface of the hood. The structure is small, single-storied and a spot renown for local recording artists.

Questions erupt from the scene – asking why someone like Justin Marsham would be visiting a recording studio. Is he cutting his first rock album? Has he taken up the guitar and sought out playing the blues? Whatever the case may be, answers most likely reside in the small black binder he sets upon the passenger seat. Still, that binder remains secure – held closed by Velcro and zippers – with its contents unseen.

He travels alone with nothing but his stereo. The bass rumbles as Avenged Sevenfold plays, welcoming Marsham to the family. While he is physically driving down the road, his mind wanders. Endangering no one and focused upon the road, Marsham cannot help but recount what transpired last week. He had an amazing match last week with Eric Collum and it sought to rival that of the main event. No one could have predicted the outcome to the match or how it came about.

It was a stereotypical Justin Marsham finish. He had taken advantage of Collum’s ultimate weakness – his concern for another. Repeated a hundred times, Marsham has proclaimed that when he steps into the ring it becomes a job albeit a job he loves. He does it for the money and nothing will stop him from winning. Winning equals cash after all.

Never did he plan to win like he did, but when the opportunity presents itself it would have been foolish not to take advantage. The ends always justify the means; and it is that mentality he uses to validate his actions at Overdrive. To Marsham, there was no wrongdoing despite the fact he would have much rather had Collum on the canvas, tapping out to his patented High-Elevated Single Leg Crab. Had Collum belted out the chorus to his Executioner’s Song, Marsham would have had a much better night. But – the Epitome of Technical Finesse will take what he can.

Cameras fade with the image of Marsham’s car vanishing into the horizon. It would soon be followed by commercials, but alas return to another segment involving Justin Marsham. Everything that follows on CZWtelevision could be considered the Marsham Hour.

- - - - - -

“I’m glad you two are here.”

Marsham’s voice welcomes CZW audiences back from the commercial break. He is sincere with his words, though the target of which has yet to be revealed. Cameras pan out from a close-up of Marsham’s pale lips, unveiling a small locker room. Or so it appears. White washed walls are relatively bare with the exception for an occasional movie poster. Framed posters from films such as Machete and The Crazies can be seen just over his shoulder.

When the camera rotates, steel lockers now come into view – lining a wall behind the two Marsham speaks to. Before they even come into sight, the viewers are all ready guessing that he is speaking to Idolized – Evan Tyler and Kyle Riley. Both men appear beaten up, especially after what happened to them a few days prior. One thing that unites them all, though are the black t-shirts that are signature of The Renegades. Riley is seated, leaning leisurely against a card table. Tyler, however, stands with his back pressed against a locker. Neither man appears ready to perform or – for that matter – willing.

Stepping off from the locker, Marsham greets Tyler with a hand-shake. While Marsham’s right hand extends to meet Tyler’s, his left retains its position and contains the black binder he had been seen with before.

“WOW! Marsham’s happy to see us. What’s this world coming to?” a very sarcastic Tyler replies whilst patting Riley across the back. “We were tryin’ to come out and do some good by you last week, but that big ass goon Mortius kind of stopped us.”

“I know you were trying to help—but I obviously didn’t need it. Still, I do appreciate the offer,” Marsham retorts.

“Were you lookin’ to go out to the club again?” Riley questions.

Marsham shakes his head. “Not quite. I have something very important for you to do. I need to trust that you’ll do it too.”

“Woah, something tough I imagine,” Tyler remarks.

“Not really. I just have an errand for you two, actually,” mentions the Epitome of Technical Finesse as he places the black binder down on top of the table. Velcro is pulled apart and the zipper is undone, allowing Marsham to remove the contents.

“So—what’s the plan?” Riley asks.

Marsham pinches two CDs between his fingers. The jewel cases are pressed together though the discs – both a bright blue – are clearly visible inside. Etched across the face of the plastic jewel cases are two names – Eric Collum and Mortius – respectively. He holds them out for the duo to take and adds, “I need you to deliver these to these two.”

“Collum and Mortius?” asks Riley with an arched brow.

Marsham nods and hands the discs over to Tyler who promptly accepts the task.

“Why these two?” Tyler inquires – a very peculiar tone infecting his voice. Inquisitive eyes scour the discs, inspecting nearly every inch as if looking for clues as to what is contained on them.

No answer is immediately given. Instead, Marsham simply glares at the duo. He does not ask much of them and does not feel that the contents are much of their business. Rather than be rude to his fellow Renegade comrades, he allows a playful though sardonic smile to take shape over his lips. His response soon follows but reveals no answers to Idolized.

“Just deliver them.”

“All right, we can—“ begins Tyler, though Riley interrupts.

“—we can, but we’d like you to do us a favor this week too,” Riley interjects.

It is in that moment that curiosity finds its way onto Marsham’s countenance. “And what would you like ME to do?”

“Aw Hell, you’re probably all ready going to do it, but the way I see it – if we ask you to do it, maybe you’ll put a lil’ more focus to doin’ it,” Riley starts – building Marsham’s interest. “After what the son-of-a-bitch did to us last week, we’d like you to enact a little revenge on our behalf. We’d like you to knock that punk ass El Pablo out of that match, send him to the back and we’ll do the rest. Make sure he’s out first so any back up he’d have is still in that ring.”

Marsham smiles. “You guys really are some sneaky bastards.”

“You don’t become CZW greatest tag team of all time just sittin’ around,” Tyler responds.

“I suppose not. Well, I’ll see what I can do. But you know damn well that El Pablo isn’t some push over. It’s not going to be as simple as what you make it sound. So, don’t expect miracles. Besides, don’t you think I may want a shot at him too? He is – after all – the reason I lost my Intercontinental Championship. Hell, that match was when I first injured my knee, so had it not been for stepping into that ring with him – I may still be Intercontinental Champion,” Marsham smirks. “—and you know I’m not the only one in that match. I’m sure the others would like a hand on him and his techno colored dream coat.”

With a slight pivot upon his right heel, Marsham turns to the door. Both members of Idolized react the same way – muttering out a near inaudible “Umm” – as if not ready for Marsham to make his departure. Marsham zips up his binder and tucks it under his arm, starting off towards the exit.

“You headed to a promo for your match?” asks Riley.

Marsham shakes his head. “To be honest, I’m tired of doing all of this cliché bullshit that you are required to do. I’m not doing some promotional spot for this match. That’s what’s expected of me, but how is berating my opponents this week going to help ME beat them? Screw that.”

In disbelief, Riley responds, “Seriously?”

“What the Hell do you expect? I could go spout off about Damage’s precious CZW Heavyweight Champion, but what’d be the point in that? Eddie Rowan’s good. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be the champ. I’m sure as Hell not going to cut a promo on how he’s talented and shit. That’s his job. If he wants to stand in front of the camera and reaffirm that he’s badass and try to convince these fans that him and his CZW team are going to win, let him be the one to do that. I don’t NEED to convince people with my words. I let my talent do the talking. Who else? Buzzsaw? Why would I waste my breath? I don’t really even understand why he is in this match? He’s more ignorant to the whole scheme of things than some ninety year old woman who has no idea what CZW is. To be perfectly candid, I probably won’t even bother watching any spot he puts on. If I want to see some drunken asshole make incoherent ramblings about bullshit that makes no sense, I’ll schedule a trip back to the states and visit my Dad.”

When that final word leaves Marsham’s lips, Tyler and Riley unite with a standing applause. Hands clap together loudly as Tyler calls out, “Looks like you just cut yourself a nasty promo anyway.”

Turning his back to Idolized and redirecting their attention to the discs in hand, Marsham retorts, “Just make sure those get to who I’ve said…and soon.”

“Ay-ay captain!”

- - - - -

Time elapses and rejoins Idolized in a narrow corridor. The duo proceeds down the hall with their feet carrying them quickly over red carpet. The discs that Marsham gave to Tyler and Riley are not the only things carried down the hall, but so are their voices.

“What’s on these discs?” a curious Evan Tyler asks – throwing his inquiry in the direction of his Idolized comrade.

Riley shrugs. “I don’t know but we might as well get them to their destinations.”

“But – why Mortius and Collum? If it were about the match this weekend, wouldn’t you think he would have one going out to each of his opponents?” reacts Tyler whose curiosity appears to become suspicion. “—isn’t that odd? And isn’t it odd that he’s not cutting a promo?”

Riley laughs. “You’re doubting Marsham? Seriously?”

“Well—NO!”

“Looks to me like you are.”

“Well—aren’t you a little curious? Why send some private message or whatever to those two? He’s not known for being the most trustworthy character here, you know? He takes advantages of situations that benefit him and everyone on the roster knows that. They point it out all the time,” explains Tyler while taking a brief hiatus from their mission. He stops abruptly in front of a water fountain and motions back in the direction them came. “—and don’t you think those CZW assholes want to get him off the playing field? I’m not sayin’ he’d jump ship for a bigger paycheck, but don’t you think he would?”

“Are you being serious?” a concerned Riley questions.

“Well—“

“Think about it. That would mean Derek Damage would be signing that check and do you think – after all of this – that Marsham would just accept that?”

Both men approach an unlabeled door and stop. It is clear to the audience that neither Collum nor Mortius reside inside that room. Had it been this easy, Marsham would have simply delivered the discs himself. So, it is odd that Idolized stop abruptly in front of the room. Viewers would not have to wait long to discover why. Riley pushes forth, opening the room. A television resides in the corner of the room, equip with a DVD player. It does not take a genius to know what these two have planned.

“I’m not doubting him, but just want to make absolute sure,” Tyler jokes as he slips the disc labeled for Eric Collum into the DVD player.

------

It plays.

The video package is simple. Justin Marsham is shown, seated in front of the camera inside the recording studio he had been seen leaving earlier in the night. He takes a deep breath and allows the silence of the room to overtake him. He would only break this silence once his thoughts are in order, shattering the anticipation that has built.

“Eric Collum. I really don’t even know what to say.”

He pauses, allowing a mournful expression to come and go from his countenance – washing over his face like a wave and receding back into the ocean with the tide.

“The match we had at Overdrive was EPIC. Moves countered, interference on the horizon. Yet – you retained your composure. For that I commend you. Talent-wise, I don’t think I would be generous in saying that you and I are comparable. You convinced me this week. You’re good and that’s the kind of competition that I live for. So, to say that I am looking forward to this week would be an understatement. You and I – we’re going to light that ring up on Sunday and I’d like to think we’ll be the last two standing.”

Marsham’s arms slide across his chest and he leans back in the chair.

“—but talent is as far as our similarities go. You see, I don’t share the same compassion for others that you seemingly do. You want to make poor decisions in a match then you do that. But, you have to understand that you will pay the penalty for those mistakes. Last week, I capitalized on YOUR mistake. Otherwise, I feel comfortable believing that it would’ve been a much closer match. I still would have won…but it would’ve been closer.”

He leans forward and flashes the camera a weak grin.

“And I’m sure you’re wondering why you are personally receiving this message. It was a decision I made earlier in the week when I took a step back and looked at the match as a whole. You and I both know who we are facing. You and I both know who the real weak players in this match are. I really didn’t feel as though I needed to stand in front of a camera and remind ourselves of these things. I decided that I didn’t need to waste my breath on piss poor people like Buzzsaw or to hype raw talent like Fiscus and Sawyer. Instead, I wanted to issue this message directly to YOU.”

One final pause interrupts Marsham’s message. He takes a deep breath and then continues:

“Take a real good look at WHY you’re facing us this week. Renegades versus CZW is just another name for Baines versus Damage. Look at what side you’re on. You hate Derek Damage so much, yet you still are willing a part of this? Then, you’re a hypocrite. What about your team mates this weekend? Do they love Damage as much as you? I’m willing to bet not. You see, Collum, that’s what separates our teams. I’m thankful for Baines. Can you say that you’re thankful for Damage? Keep this in mind when you step into that ring. Oh and if you don’t want this to be over – then it won’t be. I’ve got no problem facing you week in and week out. Sooner or later, it’ll be humiliating for you. Keep that in mind too when you step into that ring….”

The footage concludes and the disc ejects from the player. Riley quickly takes it out and slides into the disc labeled Mortius.

“Marsham seems more determined than ever. It’s a damn good thing he’s on our side,” Riley mentions.

Tyler nods. “Damn straight.”

It only takes moments for the second disc to begin to play. It begins like the previous one – in the same room and with Marsham seated in the same position. What separates it, however, is Marsham’s countenance is marred by an expression of displeasure.

“Mortius,” he says letting his tongue carry the S as if it were serpentine. “My God, Mortius, you really do not grasp the concept behind my involvement in the Renegades, do you? I turned my back on CZW? I have joined a war that doesn’t involve me? What fuckin’ planet are you on? Derek Damage is the Great Adversary. He is the antagonist in this story and – yet – you are somehow trying to twist this around on me? Why? Because I am here to get at Damage? Because I want some retribution? The Renegades are victims of his Damage Control matches -- to which -- you could consider me the first. I got injured in a match and – as a result – was terminated. So, how is does this NOT involve me?”

Marsham’s voice shows no bend. His face is overtaken with a stern, uncompromising look. He is neither humored nor impressed with Mortius it would appear.

“—and don’t try to paint me as some traitor…some turncoat who’d stab his best friend in the back if a better opportunity came around. The fact that you’d even say such just shows me that you’re grasping at straws. You have not a damn thing you can call me out on and it kills you. But hey, why not? You wanna go down that road? Then, let’s go. So, you say I turned my back on CZW. How so? I never received a visit, a call or – Hell – even a letter from any one of you sons’a bitches while I was laid up on the shelf. I never received a ‘Sorry that Damage let you go’ text. Yeah and you want me to personalize it for you, Mortius? I never saw you come to my house and shoot the shit with me. I never had Mortius come and ‘hang out’ after my dismissal. So, did I really turn my back on CZW…or did CZW turn its back on me?”

He leans back in the chair, holding his hands out to either side as if questioning Mortius’ understanding.

“One thing, though, you were dead right on. You were very adamant that my punishment would be you; and that’s for damn sure. But, the punishment has already been levied and it was of having to ENDURE your pathetic ramblings. You say you want to be tagged in when I’m in the ring. Go for it. Tag away! But don’t expect me to back down. You act like such a bad ass – but I don’t find that threatening. If I did, I’d be cowering in fear of Tim Timmons. So please, in the future, don’t waste your time trying to intimidate me. And what? You want to jump on the bandwagon and portray me as a criminal? Somehow since I set a vendetta against Derek Damage – a man nearly everyone on the roster hates – I have become the bad guy. Well, you’ve got it all wrong. You see, I’m anything but the bad guy in this story. I’m the judge, jury and the executioner; and you – dear Mortius – are on death row. So, consider January 16th the date of your execution. There are no pardons. There is no reprisal. There are not threats. There is only your ruin.”

Apparently disgusted at himself now, Marsham is quick to follow:


“Ugh! Now, I’m sounding like some apocalyptic douche-bag like yourself. I guess it’s infectious,”
remarks Marsham as he presses two fingers against his wrist – sarcastically checking his pulse. “Oh no, wait. False alarm. I’m still not that lame. You may not have been deserving of this personalized message and I could’ve cut this a hell of a lot shorter, but where is the fun in that? Hell, I really only have five words for you. Good luck and good riddance. Oh yeah, that's what I'll be whispering to you after I eliminate you from the match this week...in case you needed to spelled out for you ya cocky asshole.”

Those final words conclude the disc. Riley quickly snatches the disc from the player and turns to Tyler, no longer doubting Marsham’s intentions. Marsham did not need to address each of his opponents for Extreme Insurrection. Idolized waste no time and packing up and heading out to deliver these discs to the correct performers. With time drawing closer to the hour, most assume that this is the end of the footage. However, such assumptions are untrue for a third disc – still contained in that black binder – would eventually air.

That final disc, however, is not directed to one of Marsham’s opponents – but to his true opposition.

Derek Damage.

It would not take long for the disc to find its way into Damage’s hands. Aggravation would undoubtedly take shape over the old man’s face as he watches the video. Much like the previous two videos, Marsham is seated inside the studio. Yet – for Damage – Marsham took the liberty of decorating the room like some guerrilla-warfare, uprising liberator. Renegade banners and Wanted posters with Damage’s face on them are plastered across the back drop. The lighting is also much more dim, casting shadows down on Marsham as he speaks.

“Derek. Derek. Derek. You’ve managed to evade me ever since I’ve returned to ruin your little party. I’m beginning to think you don’t like me. You never send flowers, never say Hello. You just…simply…avoid me. Now, I’ve made it no secret that you’re the reason I’ve come back. You want to sit up in your ivory tower and pretend like I don’t exist – you can, but that’s not going to work for very long. Somehow, this weekend, you’ve got five men who despise you, putting their bodies on the line to defend YOUR company…for YOU. Excuse me, to defend CZW. What they don’t seem to realize is that CZW doesn’t really need you and when they do finally realize that – YOUR ass will be MINE.”

He makes no threats, only promises.

“Until then – I’ll play these games. I’ll wrestle these matches. I’ll beat whoever you put in front of me and I will continue to do so beside these Renegades. Honestly, I think it scares the shit out of you. With all of this talent at your finger tips, you still have no way of stopping this invasion from happening. Come Extreme Insurrection, this life that you’ve made yourself here in CZW will be made a living Hell. You’re already starting to feel the heat. Imagine what that will feel like when we start going for your precious CZW championships, then start convincing your staff where the true talent resides. There’s a whole world of hurt at your doorstep…and if I can’t get my hands on you directly, I’ll make sure it hurts elsewhere.”

He pauses for a moment, leaning towards the camera with a malicious look in his gaze.

“You thought it was something brilliant when you convinced Ace King to come and be the official for our match, didn’t you? You always were full of these…brilliant ideas. But, you know what? It doesn’t matter. Let him be the official. Let him unfairly score our match. Just keep in mind, things just always have a way of working out. But, you know what? Out of good faith, I’ll make you a promise. Each time I step into that ring, each time that I’m face-to-face with some self-righteous CZW asshole. I promise not to murder them. After all, it’s not their fault. It’s YOURS; and sooner than later you’re going to get what you deserve.”

The final image is a close-up of Marsham’s smile; and so ends the Marsham Hour on CZWtelevision. He has now shared words with Mortius, his long time rival Eric Collum, and his nemesis Derek Damage. His message is clear and it is sent. What would be the fallout? The world will find out at Extreme Insurrection: Retribution!
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
« Previous Topic · PPV RP Archives · Next Topic »


powered by podcast garden
Theme created by Heretic/Hawtsauce and converted by Jenny of the ZetaBoards Theme Zone.