Combat Arts & Wrestling 2.1

Combat Arts & Wrestling 2.1 from the MassMutua Center, Springfield, Massachusetts

Other info:
*New C.A.W. President Scott Harris will be sitting in the front row, observing the entire show and will make an announcement regarding the Pure Wrestling Championship at the top of the show.


-----

PM me if you want a match or would like to make an appearance. Post your one RP in this thread, it is not for discussion or trash talking. The deadline is in two weeks on Saturday, February 19 @ 9:00 P.M. U.K. Time.

Quote :

C.A.W. President has called for us to announce that new signee Shelton McNeil will be added to the Krash VS Genocide match up thus causing the match to become a triple threat match.

Krash yawned as the crew members in front of him all struggled with their equipment and yelled at each other for various reasons. He tried not to show his boredom as a cameraman assured him that this “Won’t be a minute, sir,” even though it had been about 20 minutes since the technical problems started. First someone forget to take the lens cap off the main camera. Then someone had tripped over a large cable of wires and pretty much unplugged everything. So, really, Krash was trying really hard not to go to sleep. Gotta make a good impression with the new management… But daymn, the concrete floor looks like a great place to sleep at this very moment…

While chaos continued to unfold itself around him, Krash glanced a look into the full length mirror, just out of camera shot. The man staring back at him was still unfamiliar. Krash had done away with tights, proclaiming that the tights were too tight, and thus had switched to his classic look. Red & white sneakers, always a favorite. Black pants, the Anarchy symbol on the back pockets not looking at good as Krash originally thought it would, but oh, well. He’ll find a better logo later. Basic black elbow pads and white wristbands. Simple, yet still looking good. The stubble on his face had started to fade in too, giving him a roughish badass look. His hair, he’d grown longer, almost to his shoulders, and without the hair dye it had reverted back to its natural blonde. It was probably going to take some time to get used to the absence of purple and blue in his hair.

A sudden smash knocked Krash out of his trance as he glance at the bickering crew. Looks like someone had accidently knocked over a camera and it was now lying broken on the floor. One old, heavy-set man, probably the head of this crew, was yelling at one of the younger minions about costs and budgets and shiz like that. The younger minion seemed to shrink in intimidation as the older one shouted stuff about it coming out of his paycheck. Something like that.

Krash rolled his eyes and leaned back against the burgundy wall behind him. At this rate he’ll be dead before they’re ready. Another quick glance at the bickering technicians told him this would probably last a while. “Screw this.” Krash muttered pushing himself off the wall. He began walking away as the bickering grew louder, everyone else too engrossed in the growing argument to even notice him. He walked through the large double doors, reaching an empty hallway just as his mobile phone began ringing, the tune of ‘Blood Theme’ (Daniel Licht) echoing in the empty hallway. Krash checked the caller I.D, and raised his eyebrows.

“Jake Morrison speaking.” He said, holding the phone up to his ear as sat himself up on top of a metal crate.

“Hey, hon.” The sound of one of his close friends, Brooke Drayton, spoke through the phone, and Krash grinned. Brooke Drayton was, pretty much, the only friend Krash had who knew nothing of his wrestling job, partially because the first time they met Krash told her he was an airplane pilot. It covered the whole constant travelling thing, right? Sure, Krash lied, but so what? He didn’t really feel like talking about wrestling that night.

“Morning, Brooke. How’s the bar?” Krash was, of course, referring to the tavern Brooke worked as a bartender at. Recently, it had fallen below payment, and was in risk of being shut down.

“Dark and depressive.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Oh, yes. It’s the happiest place on earth, right after Disneyland.” Brooke dryly replied.

“Don’t be silly. We all know that the happiest place on earth is Las Vegas.” Krash heard Brooke chuckle at this.

“Oh, I’ve missed talking to you.”

“Yeah, if I went a long time without talking to me, I’d miss it too.” Krash absentmindedly mused, and this time Brooke laughed louder.

“You’re a funny one, Jake. We’ve got to meet up again sometime soon.” She said, the last sentence causing Krash’s smile to fade a bit.

“I’ll see if I can grab a few days off. No guarantee, though.” He quickly added. “You know how much of a hardass bosses can be.”

“That I do.” Brooke admitted. “Alright, well… I’ll see you soon, hopefully.”

“Yeah, hopefully. See ya, Brooke.” Krash said, and hung up. Tossing his phone back into his pocket, he frowned slightly. Did she sound disappointed when he said there wouldn’t be any guarantee’s? He does have a busy work schedule, but maybe he should see if he’s got some ample time to travel down and visit her.

Krash jumped off his makeshift chair and brushed himself off. From the sounds of it, the argument that had preoccupied the technicians was dying down. Which hopefully meant he could tape his promo and go to his rented apartment and sleep for the next 8-12 hours. Sauntering through the double doors back to his promo area, it did indeed look like it was quieting down. The old, heavy set crew member was all red in the face as the younger one looked like he was resisting the urge to cower and cry before the shouting man. Krash slipped through the crowd , managing to reach his previous promo standing point before anyone could point out that he had been gone.

“… NOW GO DO YOUR JOB RIGHT, SO WE CAN FILM THIS PROMO AND GO HOME. GOT IT?!?” The heavyset man screamed at the near-tears younger one, and turned back to Krash. “Sorry for the hold up, Mr. Krash.” He apologized. “Let’s get this over with.” And stepping over the broken down younger man, the heavyset man approached the main camera and aimed it appropriately. “Ready when you are, Mr. Krash.”

Krash simply nodded at this, and waited for the countdown to signal the beginning of his promo.

“Three… Two… One.” And the heavyset man made a ‘Go’ gesture with his free hand. Krash grinned his usual cheerful grin, and began his promo.

“Well, hey there. How do I look? See anything different?” Krash asked to the audience that would soon be watching this. “Yes, folks, I’ve had a makeover!” Here, Krash had to resist the urge to say ‘again.’ It was an inside joke in the internet forums that Krash would have a midlife crisis once a month and change his look. Some witty users compared it to a woman’s menstrual cycle, and no doubt when this aired a good percentage of fans would shrug and mutter that it must be Krash’s time of the month.

“I’m not going to mince words, ladies and gentlemen and people of unidentified sexes. This week on CAW, I face two nobodies in a triple threat match. Who are these nobodies, I hear you ask? Well, if I knew who they were, they wouldn’t be nobodies, now would they?” Pause for the audience to laugh. Or cough awkwardly. Either way, Krash reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, talking as he did so. “Never fear, people watching this. I knew nobody would know who the other two in the match are, so I took the precaution of bringing along the match card!” And thus, Krash presented the now-uncrumpled piece of paper in front of himself, clearing his throat as he did so. “Ahem. ‘Krash versus Genocide versus Shelton McNeil.’ Triple threat. No stip. Me against two guys who have yet to get a win in CAW. Although, in Genocide’s defense, this is his debut, so I’ll let him slide. Shelton McNeil, on the other hand, well... How do I put this nicely…” Here, Krash put a hand on his chin and began thoughtfully stroking his stubble. Then, after a few seconds, his eyes lit up and he clapped his hands once, then pointed at the camera. “He couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag. I don’t think he’d gotten a single win in his entire career. I’m sure that if I poke him in the ribs during the match, he’ll instantly tap out… Assuming of course he doesn’t trip over during his entrance and K.O himself, of course. But moving away from Shelton McNeil’s terribly unimpressive Win/Loss record, to the debut of CAW’s latest acquisition, Genocide. Hi, Genocide. Welcome to CAW. Have fun and don’t piss me off. Or I’ll be forced to kick your skull in. See you in the ring.” Krash nodded at the camera, signaling for it to cut to black. Which it did so sucessfully.

Shelton McNeil was asleep in his bed when all of the sudden the phone rang.

"Hello?" Shelton asked half asleep.

"Are you ready to die?" The voice on the other end of the phone asked.

"What do you mean?" He responded.

"Show up for your match this week in Springfeild, and you'll find out." The other voice said as he hung up the phone.

McNeil thought for a minute, decided it was probably a prank and went back to sleep.

Sorry, but this is exactly what I need.

The scene opens in a cold dark room where Alyster Black and Steve Storme are seated at a small square table. Alyster is wearing a black suit, his hands are placed on his knees, he seems to be very tense. Storme is wearing a grey hooded top and black pants, his mask sits on the right side corner of the table closest to Steve. Both men’s faces are concealed in the darkness, half of Storme’s and all of Black’s.

Black: Why did you do this to me?

Storme: You hurt?

Black: Yeah. You could have stopped this at any time....but you didn't.

Storme: Hurt physically? Did I crack your skull hard enough for you to realise your role?

Black: My role?

Storme: Yes, your role. The supporting act. The sidekick. A role you should be grateful for having because it makes you more important than you could possibly be on your own.

Black: ...

Storme: You want to fuck with me, huh? Take my lighter, stop me burning people... no. I beat you within an inch of your life and took your gimmick. For what? To put you in your place. Accept it.

Black: You tore my face off... You burnt the only part of me that kept me going in this place.

Storme: Cry me a river. Cry me a river. I wear that mask for a REASON. You wear it for an act. Get over yourself - nobody cares that you lost it except you.

Black: Why do you hate me so much? I didn’t burn your face!

Storme: I don't hate you, Alyster. I just don't give a fuck about you. And no, you didn't burn my face but as though you're some sort of mentor figure, you keep sticking your nose in my business. For someone who "cares", you're pretty fucking selfish. To protect your gimmick, you'd be happy to unveil my scarred deformed face to those brain-dead pieces of shit. And you wonder why there's nothing but contempt between us.

Black: I just...

Storme: What? Was the pride too much? You didn't want to be pushed around? You wanted to stand up for yourself? Well don't bother. Look where it's got you. You don't have the right to have an ego, Alyster. You don't have the right to challenge me over a fucking thing. You're the worst kind of failure - one that had potential.

Black: I ju...I just wanted to bring the real you back. The one that's hiding behind that mask. Cause believe it or not, I know what it's like to hide behind one. But you're right I am a failure. And that's why I brought this with me.

Black reaches to his side, the sound of a bag being unzipped can be heard. He then pulls his tag team title out and places it across the table.

Black: This...is yours. I want you to keep it.

Storme: That's right. Walk away. When the pressure's too much, you buckle. If you have any guts, Black, you'll defend that title until the bitter end.

Black: I don't think you understand...I want you to keep that title. I will however earn it back.

Storme: And how are you going to do that?

Black: By eventually, making you show your real face.
Not this plastic imitation.

Storme: Well ain't this some shit. -takes the belt as he shakes his head back and forth-You won't be seeing this for a long time then, Black.

Black stands up then leans over the table so he can look Storme in the eye. Black's face comes into the light showing a bald man with scratch marks covering his forehead, cheeks and eyes.

Black: I've come to accept my own face Steve. I haven't in a long time. So I thank you for that. And someday soon I'll repay the favor and we will see the real you, not this coward who's concerned with appearance.

Storme grabs Black by the throat with both hands and pushes him backwards forcefully. Alyster and his chair go crashing to the floor. Storme gets to his feet and looks down at his partner.

Storme: Don't you EVER call ME a coward. You're the one that's walked away every time a challenge was too much for him. I've rised to every occasion. If you had this... -Storme gestures to his face- You would have never come back to this ring. I carried the weight of CGS' survival on my back and I...... I failed. I couldn't save it. You would have walked away as per fucking usual. Don't judge me, Black.

Black sits up while rubbing his neck.

Black: *cough* Someone has to *cough* judge you.

Black gets up to his feet and gets into Storme’s face. He smiles then reaches for Storme’s mask. Storme grabs him by the wrist but Black knees him in the groin. As Steve doubles over Black picks up the mask and examines it. He then smiles and puts it on Storme’s face.

Black: I’m going to leave now before you recover and this escalates. I’ll see you Saturday night.

As Black walks out of view Steve looks up at him and utters the final words of the scene.

Storme: You’re going to fail again Black, and I’m going to end up watching you burn.


2 weeks ago...Alyster Black is sitting alone in the Bloodshed locker room, still dressed in his wrestling gear and visibly shaking following his bloody battle with Steve Storme. Alyster’s forehead has two small puncture wounds from when Storme stapled him, a small laceration on his back from when Kayla put him through the table and most noticeably of all, a maskless face. Black starts rocking back and forth whilst holding himself, he whimpers in pain and embarrassment.

So much pain...got to ignore it. Not important right now. My face...He turned my face into ashes. Steve Storme ripped off my face and burnt it...my face...

Black reaches for his face, he slowly touches his features, scratching off some dried up blood as he goes. He gets to his forehead and feels the puncture wounds left in there, he then starts scratching it, drawing blood. Black pulls his hand away from his face and looks at his bloodied finger tips.

Steve did this to me...my tag team partner. He let this happen. He let it get like this. Steve Storme. STEVE STORME.

Black continues to claw at and scratch his face. Drawing more blood and leaving some bright red cuts in the wake of his fingernails.

Steve Storme let this happen to me. He took my face. He burnt it. Just like his.

Just like his.


OOC: Storme dialog provided by Alex. Will jazz up the RP later, too tired to do it now.

An Aesha RP: Intro.

After the news that Aesha has found out from her friend, she has kept herself isolated in her and Dash Blade's apartment. The news of a new CAW management did not affect her in the slightest: she thought that she had more things to worry about, so she just let her personal assistant handle everything that had to with wrestling. She was scheduled for an interview with Ella DeMarco, but she cancelled, leaving everybody on CAW wondering what has happened with her.

---

---

Ella D,

Apologies for cancelling the interview. Here are my thoughts on my opponents and partner, and the match itself. Tell everybody that although I've been MIA for the past couple of weeks, I'll be back.

Aesha.

---------

Alyster Black.

The supporting act, the sidekick. Will ever only be second best to Storme. From the looks of it, they’re already having disputes. Who wouldn’t, right? Being the shadow to someone IS embarrassing. But if he doesn’t like it, then he could easily walk away. Why doesn’t he? Is it because he’s irrelevant without Storme? Is it because he can’t make a name for himself if he wasn’t ‘Storme’s partner’? Is it because he’s nothing without Storme? I don’t know for sure. I won’t judge. If he chooses to be a weakling and get bullied by Storme, I wish him well with that.

Kayla.

The psycho, needy bitch who thinks she’s so much more. She can keep telling herself that. Obviously it makes her feel better. But why would she? She says that she’s obviously so much more because I study each and every move that she makes? Bitch, say what? Of course, I would. She’s my rival. My weekly opponent. You see, I’m a good student. It might be so interesting for her to know that her boyfriend taught me that. Storme taught me to KNOW the strengths and weaknesses of my opponents, however irrelevant they are. Storme taught me that when I find a weakness, that’s where I strike, and that is what I do, because however much of an asshole he is, I learned from the best. So yes, my darling Kayla, here’s your answer. I study each and every move you make because it’s beneficial for me. It’s not because you’re not a sorry excuse for a human being, because you are, and it’s definitely not because you’re important to me. Get your facts straight, before you start lying to yourself like a little bitch that we all know you are.

She says that she’s surprised that I don’t understand the love that she has for Steve, and then goes on to compare their relationship to mine and Dash’s. First of all, Dash and I have been together for years. We’ve broken up more than we probably should have, but we always got back together after each and every single break up. What about her relationship with Steve? Didn’t she stalk him endlessly and fought a prostitute while Steve had his eyes set on me? If they’re happy together, then that’s good for them. I won’t object, I won’t kick up a fuss, but that doesn’t mean that I’ll stop having opinions. If she’s so deeply hurt by whatever I say about her and Steve, then that’s her problem and not mine. Why would she react if their relationship is as perfect as she makes it sound it is? If it is, then I should be the one looking like a dumbass, but instead, she makes it so hard for herself and tries so hard to prove to everybody else how amazing they are together instead. A word of advice Kayla, and I know that this is surprising that even I am surprising myself: if you’re happy, don’t let other people’s opinions affect you. If they affect you, then maybe there is something wrong. I’m just saying.

---

---

She thinks that I think I’m so amazing that I claim to be perfect. No one is and will ever be perfect. Everyone has weaknesses, and I know I have mine. Contrary to popular belief, I can be weak. Yes, I can take care of myself, but I’ll always have my weak spots and those will never change. They never changed as I grew up, I’m sure they never will now. But these weaknesses I still have to go through, as does everybody else. But then again, with every weakness comes strength. Some things and some people may be capable of making me feel weak, even scared at times, but that doesn’t change the fact that all these years, I’ve gotten through each obstacle that these weaknesses have given me. And I will continue to, but getting there would be hard. What matters most is the result, and I damn well know that I’ll kick ass at whatever I do. After all, I’m Aesha, and I’m the Head Bitch in Charge wherever I go.

No one’s perfect, but I sure am pretty damn close to it.

---

---

Steve Storme.

The leader of the trio. See, I should be scared that the match will turn into a three-on-one handicap match, since Storme has a clear hold over his partner and his girlfriend, who happens to be my partner(yeah, what the fuck is up with that, management?), but I’ll be fine. I’m definitely not scared of the three of them. They can beat me up to a pulp if they want to, but who cares? I’m not gonna die. Storme hates me, I know this, so maybe he’ll even just take me out himself, but again, who the fuck cares? I sure as hell don’t, because whatever they do to me, I’ll be fighting back with as much strength as I can. At the same time, I’m not gonna be like Kayla and live in my own bubbly fairytale life. I know reality, and I’m not expecting to win. Everyone can expect me to be a badass bitch that I always am, I’m not going to deny that to everyone, but if it’s ends up to be a handicap match and two of them happen to be twice my size, I’m not gonna say that I’m gonna win.

Stevie, I know that you’ll know each move that I will make. You did teach me all of them after all, but don’t forget that I know your tricks as much as you know mine. Remember what you told me every single time before you trained me for a match? “Channel all your anger and emotions to your move, and I assure you, the execution will turn out perfectly.” You always told me to not get my emotions and problems in the way of my wrestling, and to not worry about winning as long as I perform my damn best. I promise you, my ever dearest mentor, that I won’t fail you at that.

Even if you try to tell yourself everyday that I’ve been nothing but a failure to you.

Fade in. With his face cast in shadow, Steve Storme walks slowly into the main seating area of a small church. His eyes flicker round the dimly-lit room, scanning over pews and intricate stained-glass windows. The echo from his foot-steps breaks the silence, causing a priest to rise from his knees. He is no older than sixty five or so, with a somewhat hunched frame. He peers through thin spectacles at a man dressed in an immaculate black suit. They approach one another but as the priest moves closer, he sees the prosthetic mask and stops, jaw dropping in surprise.

Priest: Steve? Is that you?

Storme: The one and only.

Priest: My grandson told me what happened...

Storme: And by that you mean?

Priest: What happened to your face, my son.

There’s a brief silence before Storme’s cold laughter cuts through the air.

Storme: Do you remember the last time I was here?

Priest: Well, yes... but that was a long time ago. It must have been-

Storme: Six years. I was eighteen and my future looked bleak. I was lost in the world and came here of all places for advice, telling you my hopes and dreams, how I wanted to wrestle on the grandest stage. And do you remember what you told me?

Priest: I... I... I told you-

Storme: You told me to follow my dreams.

The priest nods once, eyes looking down.

Storme: So I did. I lifted weights, I ran miles and I trained harder than anyone at my wrestling school. It wasn’t long before I had signed a contract with CGS Wrestling.

Priest: You’ve done so well for yourself, Steve.

Storme: Oh is that so?

Priest: Well I’m not much of a wrestling fan, but my grandson sure is and he tells me you’ve won everything there is to win. You were even voted as the greatest wrestler in CGS history, right?

Storme: Correct.

Priest: Then you did it, you achieved everything you ever dreamed of.

Storme: At the expense of friends... loved ones...

Priest: I... I don’t know what to say.

Storme: Look at me.

The priests eyes stay rooted on the floor.

Storme: I SAID LOOK AT ME!

The priest looks up into the cold eyes of the mask-clad Storme.

Storme: That’s the price of my success. Tell me, father, do you regret what you said to me six years ago? Do you wish you had advised me differently?

The priest’s eyes fall to the floor again, avoiding Storme’s piercing gaze.

Priest: It seemed right at the time - you wanted to wrestle more than anything.

Storme: And yet here I am, face burnt beyond recognition.

Priest: As terrible as it is, you can’t blame me for what happened, Steve.

Storme: Who is to blame then? How about your precious god?

Priest: God gave man free-will.

Storme: So god stands idly by while the innocent suffer horrendously just so humanity has free-will? I’m not even referring to myself here, I’m far from innocent but a lot of people suffering are.

Priest: Would you like to repent your sins?

Storme: Answer my question.

The priest sighs a little and he feels tiny droplets of sweat run down either side of his face.

Priest: If there was no evil then there would be no good. God gave us free-will so we could choose the right path and build a meaningful relationship with him.

Storme: What about the babies slaughtered? They never got the chance to choose any path. They were without sin and yet nothing was done as they were murdered. What kind of a god intervenes on this planet to turn water into wine but allows such horrors to continue? Not a benevolent one, father, no fucking way.

The priest closes his eyes and runs a hand through his thinning hair, exhaling once again.

Storme: What’s wrong, father? Have you run out of lies to spew already? I’m surprised. I expected you to keep on justifying your god’s apathy towards the evil deeds inflicted upon good people every single day. Don’t tell me I’ve destroyed your beliefs so easily.

Priest: No no, I’ll never lose my faith, but I pray that you find yours. I know times are hard but God can help you through the darkest days. Trust me.

Storme: Your god can’t save me now. He can’t give me what I want. He can’t give me what I NEED. Besides, I couldn’t bring myself to bow down to a deity such as yours. This is the depths of hell, this earth with all its evil. This isn’t just about my burns, you have NO idea.

Priest: Then tell me, Steve... please, I want to help you.

Storme chuckles through the mouth slit in his mask, turning slightly to his right to study a stained-glass window of the Virgin Mary.

Storme: What could you do to help me? You don’t understand my line of work, you don’t know the kind of fucked up people involved in this industry. You can’t just reel off some shit from the New Testament and expect everything to be okay.

Priest: I don’t, but perhaps I can help you come to terms with it... so you can move on.

Storme: Come to terms with what? COME TO TERMS WITH WHAT?!

The nervous priest bites his lip, feeling uneasy in the presence of someone so unstable.

Storme: Come to terms with the hideous burns that deform my face? Or the death of the very company I’ve done everything I could to protect? How about the relationship between my half-brother – a piece of shit that I loathe - and the woman I love? Oh wait, here’s the best one... come to terms with the fact I’m... responsible for...

Priest: Go on, my son.

Storme: I MURDERED Kaya, alright?! I MURDERED her! All it took was one push and she fell screaming to her death!

The priest’s eye widen in horror and he takes small paces backward.

Storme: What’s wrong, father?! What’s the matter?!

Priest: Y-y-you need help-

Storme: I thought that was the whole point of this exercise.

Priest: Who is this Kaya?

Storme: Who WAS she? Well, I’ll get straight to the point: I loved Kaya... but my love for my work caused her to sleep elsewhere. I put up a brave front; I pretended I was over it. But when she was at her lowest, stood contemplating suicide, I made the decision for her while scenes of her promiscuity flashed through my mind. I... I just couldn’t help myself.

Storme bows his head in regret. The priest’s eyes close as he looks up to the heavens, almost asking God what to do with this broken man. His attention is drawn back to Storme as the masked wrestler speaks out softly.

Storme: I’m near breaking point, father. I only have one thread of sanity left... now I fear that it won’t take much more to push me past the brink of sanity forever.

Priest: I need to make some phone calls, Steve. So you can get the help you need.

Storme: I told you I’m on the edge. Don’t push me over it.

Priest: I’m worried about you.

Storme: And so you should be, because I won’t hesitate to do something that I may later regret. Keep that in mind while you’re making your phone calls, father.

Storme turns on his heel and walks casually towards the exit, leaving the priest to reflect upon the coldly delivered warning. As the church door slams shut, the priest takes a handkerchief and wipes the sweat from his brow, signing in relief. Fade out.


Since End of Days, I’ve drifted apart from so many friends and allies. I haven’t to spoken to Kyle Evers, Krash or Psycho Dragon in months. I can only tolerate Alyster Black long enough to let him know that he’ll be anything more than my subordinate. We’re both just using each other to pursue our own individual goals. We’re no team, there’s no bond of trust.

I tried to see my daughter Cassie but she didn’t want anything to do with me. All she saw was a stranger in a creepy mask – like something from a nightmare. This is her father? This broken man, the weight of world forcing him into insanity. I’m no father. The burns have ruined any chance of that. The new Storme is nothing but a cancer on people’s lives, a corrupting substance that poisons minds.

I won’t fight the last person in my life that believes in me.

Fuck this match, you can’t make me fight.

Yea the turnout for this card wasn't all that good. Thanks to all who RPed for the card and I'll have the results up either later today or tomorrow.