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| Shanel White vs Shawn Stevens vs Vitorri; Triple Threat Match | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 18 2008, 05:25 PM (103 Views) | |
| Yours Truly Lance Mikes | Feb 18 2008, 05:25 PM Post #1 |
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HcW Co-Owner 'Yours Truly' Lance Mikes
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| Vittori | Feb 24 2008, 12:59 AM Post #2 |
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75% chance my post will be shorter than my sig.
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(No coding, but I think it speaks for itself.) The glass is breaking. That’s not the surprising thing; the surprising thing is that it didn’t shatter when he threw me against it. Shouldn’t come as a shock. This place, they went through a few front windows the first year they were open back the last time I was in this town, and decided it was more cost-effective to lay out the extra cash for the safety glass. Save them from having to replace it every time there’s a brawl in here. Which is pretty regular I’d imagine. Any case, I’m not bitching. Wasn’t for the guy who had the bright idea, I’d be on the sidewalk right now, my good leather jacket cut to ribbons and my face sliced up in all kinds of new and interesting ways. But now it’s breaking, it is most definitely breaking. I’m sure about that because my face is jammed up against it. The big question for me is whether this is the kind of safety glass that bursts into thousands of tiny pebbles when it breaks or the kind that turns into shards. Pebbles would be fine. Shards, not so much. The window creaks. Tiny fissures appear in front of my eyes. Okay, time to stop worrying about the glass, time to start worrying about getting this guy off of me. I can’t expect any help from the bartenders or the crowd, not after they watched him pound on the bouncer with that pool cue. And I don’t see any helpful officers of the law rolling up outside at this point. Not that I have any intention of being here when the cops show up. So, I guess it’s just me and him. That’s okay, I can go this one alone. Not like it’s new to me or anything. I just wish he really was on PCP; if it was just PCP he’d be pretty easy to deal with. But this? This is gonna take grace and style, maybe even a little tact. He shoves my face harder into the big front window. People out on the sidewalk flinch as they see my features squashed yet flatter against the glass. The glass creaks again. The fissures grow another millimeter. He’s still screaming, babbling insanity at the top of his lungs, howling so loud I can barely hear Boxcar Willie on the jukebox: You load sixteen tons and what do you get? Another day older, and deeper in debt. Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth. He’s enraged that my face won’t just explode through the damn glass the way he wants it to. He rears back, and before he can slam my face forward, I’ve slipped to my right, spun, twisted my arm free of his grasp, winced as a clump of hair is torn from the back of my scalp, planted my right foot in the hollow behind his right knee, hammered my elbow into the back of his neck and sent him face first through the window in my place. The sidewalk audience scatters as he hits the pavement. I step through the dagger-edged hole he left behind. Shards it is. He was spazzing the second he came out of the bathroom. Before that, I hadn’t even noticed him. Why should I? Not like I’m working; not like there’s any reason I should be doing anything but paying attention to the booze in my glass, the cigarette in my mouth, the pool game in front of me and the girl by my side for tonight, who I'm attempting to be especially sweet to. No sense in letting my ass tendencies run rampant yet. I can save that for the female I'm gonna be fighting come the house show. But I don't particularly want to put this girl off. Especially the girl. Girl like this, most everyone in the place is paying attention to her. Want to be invisible? Hang out with a girl like Evie. All that red hair, the body that not only won’t quit but works weekends and holidays, too. That smile. She’s the kind of girl guys like to look at, but most aren’t sure how to go about approaching her. Too bad for them. They miss out on the best parts. Anyway, a girl like Evie on your arm and you turn into a shadow, just the lucky fuck taking up space next to the best view in the place. So a night like this, when it’s so cold out and the girl of the moment's a girl like Evie here, who's wearing her leather pants and a tight old thermal top with the Jack Daniel’s label silk-screened across the front, a night like this where she’s glued to my hip and every guy in the place wishes he was me, is it any surprise I didn’t smell him the moment he came through the door? Most nights I would have picked up his scent right off. Couldn’t miss it. After all, he smells just like me, a whole lot of trouble, only different. But what with the Early Times I’m pouring down my throat and the Luckys I’m sucking on and Evie rubbing up against me, I just can’t be bothered. Still, he couldn’t have been in here all that long. Sooner or later I would have smelled him no matter how distracted I was. It wouldn’t have meant trouble right now necessarily; we would have eyeballed each other a bit, sniffed each other’s asses like a couple of big dogs, but there wouldn’t have been any trouble, not in here, not where everyone can see us. That shit just doesn’t happen. As it was, I was lining up a neat little combo that was gonna let me run out the rest of the table and he came out of the john and started spazzing out. This wasn’t your run-of-the-mill junkie-who-just-shot-up-in-the-can stumbling around. He came out of there like the Tasmanian Devil: spinning, arms flailing, kicking anything that came in range, sending tables and people flying; a full on spaz. A space quickly opened up around him while he whirled and gibbered and foamed at the mouth. The bouncer, a nice enough guy goes by Gears, came over and tried a little sweet talk. "OK, man, settle down, settle down. Take it easy. Got yourself a dose of some bad shit, but we’re gonna take care of you. Got some 911 on the way, gonna get you to an emergency room and get that shit out your system. Just take it easy." Moved in slowly, arms spread wide, talking soft. Might as well been trying to soothe a rabid dog. The guy stopped spinning long enough to jump at Gears and swing his arm like a club. Guy was freaky fast. Gears got lucky when he fell on his ass out of the way. Guy’s arm hit the backside of a bench made out of two-by-fours and a couple of them cracked. Then he went back to spinning. By this time folks are starting to clear out, and I’m starting to pay attention. Gears gets back on his feet, muttering something about fucking PCP, grabs himself one of the cracked and twisted house cues from the rack and goes after the guy. But I’ve taken a good whiff by this point and I know the guy ain’t on PCP. Not exclusively at least. Gears would be lucky if that’s all it was. I mean, I don’t know what he’s on, but I know he doesn’t need it; he’s dangerous as hell to start with. Gears waits ’til the guy has spun his back to him, and brings the cue down on top of his head. It makes a nice noise, but before Gears can get too proud of himself or maybe think about bringing the cue back up for another swing, the guy has turned around, snatched the cue away, kicked Gears’ legs out from under him and gotten busy finding out how hard it is to break a pool cue by pounding it on someone’s face. That’s when I figured I should do something. Not that Gears is so big a friend. I barely know him except to call him by name when I come in the place, but The Spaz is out of control, causing the kind of scene that’s bad for business. If I don’t deal with him, the cops will. That will get very ugly very fast. There are other people who will hear about it. And some of those people will want to check it out. And I don’t want those people around. Not down here. Not in my neighborhood. So I jump on the guy’s back. Figure I’ll get him to the floor, put a sleeper hold on him and drag him out of here. Make up some story for the crowd about how I know him and I’ll take care of it. Get him out before the cops come; get him someplace private and get rid of him before he can make this scene worse. That’s the thing to do. Except he shrugs me right off his back, picks me up off the floor and throws me at the window. And when I bounce off the glass instead of going through it the way he wanted me to, he grabs me by the hair and tries to shove my face through the glass. I've been thinking about cutting that hair. It's too popular as a handle, but I like it this way so much better. And lucky for me, strong and fast as he is right now, he’s a lousy fighter. Once he’s on the sidewalk I handle it pretty much like I wanted to inside. Knees in the middle of his back, pin him to the scummy pavement, arm around his windpipe and cut off the O2 until he goes asleep. He does a fair amount of thrashing around, and I have to hold on good and tight to keep from getting bucked clear, but once I’m locked on to him I’m not going anywhere. When he’s nice and sleepy I toss him over my shoulder and point at one of the bartenders who’s come out to watch how the story ends. "Get me a cab, will ya?" "Ambulance is on its way." "Let ’em deal with Gears. This guy, I know him. I’m gonna take him back to his halfway house. See if I can keep him out of the shit." "What about the cops? What about the window?" "Hey, come on. I got the guy out of the place. Give me a fucking break." "Yeah, sure." She flags a cab. The cabbie’s none too happy about me piling in with blood-drippy guy, but he sees I’m in no mood for debate and just gives me a dirty rag to put over The Spaz’s face. Before we pull away, Evie runs up and passes my pack of smokes and my Zippo through the window. "Want me to come?" "Nah, I got it covered." "Meet you back at your place?" "Yeah. Maybe a half hour at the most. You gonna be okay?" "Don’t start." "Right. Sorry ’bout this." "’S Okay. Nobody can say you don’t know how to show a girl a good time, D." I wonder if that's sarcasm or not. The Spaz tries to come to in the cab. I pinch his esophagus and he goes back under before he can cause me any more trouble. I have the cabbie take me down to the housing project just below Orlando. It’s a couple blocks outside what I’d usually call safe turf, but no one really has a claim on it, so it seems like a good place for an impromptu dump. I manhandle The Spaz up the steps to the pedestrian bridge. It’s nearly two in the morning on a Tuesday. Cars whiz by below, but the lights on the park playing fields were shut off hours ago. My eyes penetrate that darkness well enough to maneuver. Too cold for any homeless people to be camping out. I do see what looks like a couple junkies sitting on a bench at the far end of the park, but they’re facing the river. I pause at the top of the concrete stairs that lead down to the park. The Spaz is still alive, alive and reeking of blood. And of general hell. I noticed it back at Doc Holiday’s; the same vibe I carry with me. Nonetheless, I give him another good sniff. Hell, maybe I was wrong, maybe this guy really is just whacked on PCP. His eyes pop open and he glares at me, locking his fist around my throat. No, no such luck. But there is something about him, something about his actual scent that’s a little off. Must be whatever he was taking in the bathroom. No surprise I guess. The choke's starting to get to me. Time to deal with the problem at hand. I grab his hand, lock my fingers down in that pressure point in the joint of his thumb to break his grip, spin out into a hammerlock, then slam down into a DDT. Who says this stuff doesn't work in the real world. Out he goes again, clean, and on the concrete I wonder about his actual physical condition. Wonder, not worry. From there, I scrounge in a trashcan and find nylon rope. The Spaz gets tied to the mini pillars of the bridge, where he can't reach his hands or anything else for that matter. He isn't visible from the street, though they could probably hear him yell if anyone were there. Anyone stupid enough to untie him gets a gold star. Either way, even if it's the cops, they're not in my part of town anymore. "So it's Shanel White and Shawn Stevens?" "Yes, sir, that's correct." Sir. Well, apparently somebody has manhandled some respect into the usual promotion stooges before I got there. Sir. I like it. I know I don't look like a Sir, so it was a lot more respect for someone to pay me here. "Well. Amazing." I shrug. Time to snap into wrestling interview mode. It's not working too much today. I'm just not feeling it. "'Caramel Perfection' Shanel White. I guess you can't help your surname, but boy, it sure ties up a lot of contradictions, no? My suggestion, stop worrying about being a female and stop worrying about your skin tone, because at the end of the day it just doesn't come into play here. Caramel, chocolate, vanilla, whatever flavor you'd like to throw on it, everyone's the same color inside. Red. Trust me, I know. Or don't trust me, whatever. Shawn Stevens. I'm trying even harder to care about you. You've been around and you're big, but you're plain as fuck. You don't have a flavor, I guess our other opponent would say. You too have a nickname, and yours is 'suicidal'. How convenient. I mean, I don't understand that mindframe, not the way I'm wired. Perhaps you could explain it to me. Is it one of those 'spirit of the business' things? Do anything to entertain the fans attitudes, even die? That isn't the spirit of this business. The spirit of this business is a bunch of men who have nothing other than their own flesh using it to rip money out of a carnival crowd-- not even the circus, not enough to get a tent over their labors. We're not that different now. We might be in arenas, but this is the lowest of the lowbrow entertainment folks. We go further than anything else. We're more raw than intercollegiate wrestling, we're more raw than boxing, we're even more raw than ultimate fighting. Nobody else beats each other with chairs. This is not a sport, it's legalized assault, two people doing whatever it takes to NOT be the bloody mess left behind. That's what I'm here for. Not Caramel Perfection and not a big guy who's more interested in entertaining people than saving his own skin. That's what the ticket buyers and the home viewers are here for, no matter what they tell you. "Shanel, go save your pretty self for the modeling and acting, don't bring it here. Fighting isn't conducive to good looks and I'm not going to go easy on you just because you're attractive, my job's more important to me than your face. It's not for people who have to worry about missing some teeth. Shawn, if you're suicidal, go do a snuff film. You'll accomplish your goals and clear the way for people who have drive to win. "Then again, like I should be complaining about human sacrifice. "Speaking of human sacrifice, I'm sure people are waiting for me to talk about Gerard and Taryn. No, I am not pleased. Not in the least. Some bitch who can't even be fucked to show up stole my certain glory for her undependable alliance. While I could've sympathized with their little group and its goals, they crossed the line when they stepped in my business and interrupted me doing what I do best. Jarrell Howard and Tyke Index already interjected themselves in and did my work for me, that already pissed me off, but they... "Well, I could go screaming for revenge, but really... I think I'll pick my time. I'll wait til you stop looking over your shoulder and then I'll be there. Like the everyday folly of the unwary, those little mistakes that don't seem much of a risk: the alley short-cut, the ride you accept when the last bus has gone, the man who picks a fight with you in the bar. I'll be around the corner of the halls, waiting for a slip up. "See you soon." |
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| Shanel White | Feb 24 2008, 11:58 PM Post #3 |
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The First Lady of HcW aka Car
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OOC: Ok Shanel talkin is purple, movements are green.. little disclaimer.. there is alot of cursing... sorry about the lack of rps... i had a situation.. enjoy! . . . . . . . . . . . . ...you have got to be fuckin’ kidding me! Shanel slams the packet down on her desk and pushes her desk chair back. She gets up and walks around her office with her arms crossed. She has on a hot pink dress with pink heels and all of her hair pulled up. Clearly she is pissed off because she is pacing back and forth in about a two feet area. For a minute these two men were adrift in the harbor of my patience, but now they are at the mouth of the harbor, rushing into my radar of anger, making them next on my list. They can’t even decide who won my last match, but they can put me in a match with these two random ass dudes that I could care less about! What the hell kind of shit is this?! She picks up the phone to call her brother, but is caught off guard by the HcW promo that is gracing television airwaves all over the country. She drops the phone on her desk, and walks around the desk to lean on the front and finish watching the promo by Mr. Vitorri. Things like “You should model” and “save your pretty self” and “strictly entertainment” fall out of the mouth of this perfectly ignorant asshole sitting on the screen. Shanel laughs an incredulous laugh and looks at the screen as his promo closes. [Shanel laughs] The nerve of theses little bitch made dudes these days! I can’t believe he actually got on television and made himself look like an asshole! Then again, some people don’t have to try to hard to do that. Vitorri, what is your purpose darling? You put yourself on television/ live web cast to do what? All I’m seeing is some random ass person that I have never paid any attention on a date with an even more random bitch, beat up a STILL more random man, and then manage to tell me how beautiful I am, but wrestling is not for me. I think I need to call Lance, because this has got to be a joke! Vitorri, you’re a jobber, so you have never had the chance to be in the presence of perfection, such as myself, so let me let you in on a little something. Some of the things you said were valid. Yes, I am beautiful, and yes, this is some hardcore ass shit… hence the name “Hardcore Championship Wrestling.” But do you think I am an idiot? I knew exactly what I signed up for when I signed the papers, and I feel as though I have more than shown that I am capable of handling myself in the ring. Yet you still choose to focus on my looks. [Shanel thinks for a second, then her face lights up] Oh! I see it now! You’re focusing on my looks to downplay my in ring ability to yourself! You had to psyche yourself out in order to do your promo because you are very well aware of my abilities in the ring and you know deep down in your heart that you don’t have a fighting chance in this match. I knew it sounded more like you were convincing yourself than our viewers. I feel that it is so sad when a man has to attack me by talking about my physical features… overcompensation to make up for what you lack, not only in the ring, but I’m guessing in other places too, but I digress. Right about now I feel like a lion, or in this case lioness, that is watching her prey. I watch your movements, your speech, and even your pathetic showings in the ring, all the while knowing that you have no chance! I’m the predator… you’re the prey. You know I’m coming, and I know you are scared. Bad move Vitorri, fear is not a good look for you! But come Monday night, please don’t go easy on me! As a matter of fact, I am begging you to show up and show your ass! Bring all the chairs and wrestling ability you can find! Muster up that courage to put on that wrestling outfit, have them cue the music and walk onto the ramp. Keep the courage to walk down the ramp and step in the ring, and have all the courage and confidence you can find within yourself to have when that bell rings. But don’t think that for even a nanosecond you will defeat me, because you won’t. Monday night you will be just another name on the list that I had to White out. [Shanel giggles] I think I kinda like that! Shanel pauses for a second before she goes on and walks around her desk to her huge picture window. She takes a sip of her screwdriver, sighs, and gazes out across the city. The sound of her cell phone ringing breaks the peace of the moment, but doesn’t seem to stir Shanel. Finally, the ringing stops, and the silence is restored, but not for long. The phone starts to ring again, and this time, Shanel hears it. She walks over to pick it up and looks at the screen. Shanel shakes her head and presses the ignore button. About a minute later, the phone alerts her that she has a new voicemail. She calls to check it, and after entering her password, puts the phone on speaker phone and sets it on the table. ...You have a new message from phone number 808-727-0990. To review this message, press one now… Shanel presses one, and a familiar voice is heard... ...Shanel, I know you see me calling this damn phone. You better start picking up when I call or I’ll have to deal with you. But I need you so you need to get your ass over to my house real quick, and don’t forget my Dr. Pepper. I’ll see you in a few minutes. Shanel hangs up the phone and shakes her head... Sacrfice is my middle name when it comes to him. I’ll do anything he asks, because he asks. It shouldn’t be like this, but when you feel the way that I feel about him, your willing to do anything and give up anything, for him, right? She gets up, fixes her dress and her hair. She then finishes her screwdriver and grabs her keys off the desk. She then walks out of the room, shaking her head. |
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6:58 PM Jul 11