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 FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD

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The Celt
Ashburn
Tromboner Man
MASS Caesar
Slegna
David GS
cYnical
Leviticastform
The Dude
War Machine
Vincent Van Rose
David Ravish
Seth
Easty
Drew Michaels
Abel Steele
TyranT
Pissant
John Andrews
MPD
Edible14
RCA
Anwyl
the nick bryson
Hannibal Frost
Rottata
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David Ravish

David Ravish


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Join date : 2011-01-28
Age : 50
Location : Palmerston North, New Zealand

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FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 12:08 am

Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
Dussy vs. David Ravish vs. Seth Rotunda vs. Nate Stone vs. "Outlaw" John Andrews vs. Shaker Jones
Only cause everyone else is voting for themselves!

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy vs. Leon Caprice (c)

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood vs. Seth Omega vs. The Celt

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost vs. TyranT (c)

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Abel Steele vs. Mystery Entrant vs. Apostasy** vs. Atlas Adams vs. Axel van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. the Celt** vs. Chris Austin** vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. cYnical vs. Damien Inferno vs. Daniel Pleasant vs. David GS vs. Drew Michaels vs. Dunnwood** vs. Eddie Chamberlain vs. Gray vs. J.L. Anwyl vs. Jack Phoenix vs. Jeff Watson vs. Jeff Whitt vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Leon Caprice** vs. Leviticus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Nick Bryson vs. PX vs. Seth Omega** vs. Storm vs. Trey Spruance

Reading remaining RP's and then may adjust voting
Very Happy Very Happy Very Happy

VOTING UPDATED!




Last edited by David Ravish on Mon Feb 14, 2011 12:21 am; edited 3 times in total
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MPD

MPD


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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 3:29 am

Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
David Ravish

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
?, Levi, Whitt. (GSW voting block go.)
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MASS Caesar




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Location : Allen, Texas, USA

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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 4:01 am

I have returned. MUHAHAHAHAHA

Back to my country.

My home.

And in a match that can bring me great glory and prestige, not that I need any of that to begin with.

FMW is in for a bloody reawakening. Caesar has come home. I have crossed the mighty Rubicon and made my stand.


Mercury: Are you reading from a script from the HBO series “Rome”? I see you can't come up with your own material...


Caesar jumps quickly and pulls a Nigel De Jong, placing his foot right into the chest of Mercury.

Caesar: As I was saying, before so rudely interrupted. Prepare the feasts. Ladies, lock up your daughters and hire some high priced whores. Your Imperator has returned!

***************************************

We open the scene in a town in Italy, where Caesar and his contingent (two people) are staying for the Mount Vesuvius show. It has been months since Caesar has been in a ring. It is 2am, and Caesar is out cold from a wine induced sleep. Young Judas de Dios watches the door of the home, making sure that the grounds are safe. And Mercury is sitting asleep, exhausted from having to keep Caesar calm during the week. Mercury sleeps a deep sleep, until he hears a voice that stirs him.

Voice: Wake up, Brother. It has been awhile.

Mercury comes to and sees that time has apparently been frozen and that his brother Mars, the Roman God of War, stands before him.

Mercury: Where am I?

Mars: I am in your dream, brother. It has been too long and I just wanted to oversee how you and your charge are doing?

Mercury:
It would be better if I was free again.

Mars: Yes, well that is not happening until Caesar finally accomplishes what I wish him to do.

Mercury: Well, good luck with that. You would have better luck getting a duck to eat a lion.

Mars: That is what troubles me. As evil and skilled as he is, what holds him back, Mercury?

Mercury: I can't give you a straight answer my lord.

Mars: Certainly you must have an idea. His wrestling pedigree and having the mind of one of the most maniacal Roman generals should make him a shoe in for success, yet he finds away to fail or fall off the map entirely. What has he been doing the last couple of months, by the way?

Mercury: Orgies, more orgies, and more orgies. Though in his spare time from the orgies, the Together Demon Brotherhood has entered him into some illegal fighting tournaments in Southeast Asia to keep his fighting skills up. These tournaments are right up Caesar's alley.

Mars: No rules?

Mercury: Precisely, though they seem to frown on weapons. The first tournament Caesar fought in, the Street Fighter or some non sense like that, he beheaded this one guy named Dan and was disqualified. The opponent was useless, but still.

Mars: Anyway, what is it that keeps him from fulfilling his immense potential.

Mercury: Having to be around him for some much of my time, I would say arrogance. If you recall last year, even when he fought the FMW Champion in a non title match, he believed he would tie the man in knots, kick him in the head a number of times and finish him quickly. If that isn't delusional and arrogance, I don't know what is.

Mars: Maybe it is more than that, Mercury.

Mercury: What do you mean, my lord?

Mars: Caesar has allowed his overconfidence to be his crutch. He has gone from feared to a caricature. He goes so over the top with his actions that people, while slightly disturbed, find him funny. Like last year, when he punched out that comic and almost fed him to wolves.

Mercury: Oh yeah. The Jay Leno incident. Leno swore that it was a Team Coco conspiracy and Caesar was the hitman.

Mars: And how in the hell did he find a box with wolves in it?

Mercury: Don't know, sire.

Mars: Anyway, it was disturbing, but people say it as funny, not horrifying. Caesar must find himself. He needs to curb the over the top shenanigans. He needs to be more focused on victory. I wonder if he is more content with just showing up and wrecking havoc than actually attaining victory.

Mercury: What do you mean?

Mars: In FMW, he is going to need to be more than just a great tactical brain with the patience of a three year old and temperment of a German. He must learn to be cold instead of prancing around like a wild hyena after he has killed or defeated his foes. And I may have a solution for what ales us all.

Mercury: What would that be?

Mars: There is a very high end bar in Rome that you must go to. With Caesar. Dress him up like someone in this century, please. When you get there, someone will wave you both over. He will show Caesar what power in this world is. And that is what he needs to see. He sees power being manifested only in the Roman way. This, acquaintance of mine, will show Caesar how men of power get things done nowadays. And maybe he will help him become more the Caesar of old, who was a cold blooded killer on the battle field instead of this petulant child who gets too emotionally invested in his kills.

Mercury: Will Caesar respond though?

Mars: When he sees what is available and the power that will be in front of him he will eventually see the dark...er light. Well, little brother, I will see you soon. Remember what I told you. And since I see you forgetting, the address, name of the establishment and VIP passes are on the table in your journal. Until next time.


Mercury wakes up from his dream and sees everything is calm in the house. He shakes the cobwebs from his head and looks down at his journal, which was right under his arms. He notices something sticking out of a certain page and opens to see the items Mars had stated would be there, with a note saying “And never mention me in your girly little diary again! If you do, than being with Caesar won't be the worst thing you experience!” Mercury shakes his head and grabs the items. He looks toward Caesar, who is grinning like a demented child who just slaughtered something. Mercury has a good idea what Caesar is dreaming about and starts feeling nauseous over his upcoming task.

Mercury: Why me?


***************************************


Later that evening in Rome, we see Caesar and Mercury walking near the arena where the Mount Vesuvius event will be held. FMW is hosting many different activities for the locals and for visitors to enjoy. Mercury is starting to lead Caesar to the area that Mars instructed him to take Caesar, but Caesar gets distracted by the sight of the most obnoxious and disgusting thing to hit Italy. The cast of Jersey Shore.


Caesar: Where is Judas again? We could use him to clear our path of these plebs.

Mercury: He has gone to Vatican City to do a pilgrimage to visit the Holy city and view the pope.

Caesar: Him and his funny religion. We could use him to get those...things out of here!

Mercury: What is wrong my lord? You seem more agitated than normal. Especially since this is a very festive part of the city. I am actually impressed your clothes are still on.

Caesar: Who on earth are those ugly animals that are on that stage over there? They look like Parthians? And are those women or cows? Especially that one that looks like a large baked potato with clothing? What are they doing here?

Mercury: From what I understand, they are on some television show that shows them drink, tan, drink, tan, fight, drink some more, and get tanned. They are quite popular to some people.

Caesar: Those people must have been used as a club as children. What the hell is tanning? And what is so entertaining about watching people drink? You can do it yourself or pay a hobo to do it and not lose as many brain cells.

Mercury: I mean sure, it is not having Christians eaten by lions or having slaves fight against wild beasts, but some people might find entertainment in these peoples shenanigans.

Caesar: All the more reason to get them off the stage. Luckily, that nice fellow we meet earlier gave me some of these.

Mercury: Are you talking about the old guy who ranted for hours about how Italy needs to be returned to Mussolini and we need to bomb things for the hell of it?

Caesar: Exactly. And he gave me these things called...Molotov cocktails? Yes that's it. Now Mercury, get ready to head the security off at the pass.


Mercury grumbles, hating the “head them off at the pass” phrase and having to yet again counter Caesar's heinous shenanigans. Mercury would like to off the cast of Jersey Shore himself, but has the self control to hope that when there fifteen minutes of fame are up they will end up like Dana Plato or a hobo. Mercury hears screaming, and turns around to see the stage that the cast is on is on fire. The Jersey Shore cast escapes, only suffering third degree burns on their hairspray drenched hair. Their bodies are fine, since they are already burned to hell and can't get any darker. Police walk toward Mercury, asking him if he had seen a demented man with Molotov Cocktails running around. Mercury tells them that he just saw Dane Cook around the way with something that looked like Molotov Cocktails and suggests they beat him with rods, since he may be belligerent. The guards walk away as Caesar walks up to Mercury.


Caesar: Well, that was fun. So , where is this place we are to go, Mercury? I didn't agree to wear this undignified costume and only burn, not kill, those cretins just to make you think I like you!

Mercury: Undignified? That suit is top of the line!

Caesar: It isn't my armor or a good toga.

Mercury: UGH!

Caesar: Onward! We have someone to meet, Mercury! Don't be rude to our host. You where the one that made the reservation for Jupiter's Sake.


Mercury gives Caesar a disgusted look as they continue there walk to where Mars has guided them to.


***************************************


Moments later, they enter the arena area, where there is a big celebration going on. The security asks for ID. When Mercury hands them the tickets Mars had left for them, the head guard asks one of the younger guards to take them to the VIP section and keep them protected at all times.


Head of Security: Please enjoy, gentlemen.

Caesar: Thank you, centurion!


The Guard shakes his head as Caesar and Mercury follow the other guard to the VIP section. The guard is thorough, pushing the little people out of the way and making sure no one touches or breathes on Caesar wrong. Caesar is thrilled at this reception and is almost overjoyed at the sight of the VIP room. A sea of debauchery all around. Scantly clad women all over the male clients, alcohol flowing free for whoever wanted it, and the air filled with smoke and sin. This was a high roller party.


Caesar: Now this is how you party like a king! And all the more reason to party, since we all know I am going to win it all tomorrow!

Mercury: You haven't stepped foot in a ring in months and have only fought in fight tournaments where half the time you got disqualified and you are going to win that whole match against people that are 20x better than...


Mercury doesn't get to finish his point as Caesar smashes a bottle of Courvoisier over his head and starts to walk around. After slapping a few women on the ass, Caesar sees a mysterious figure motioning for Caesar to join him. Caesar walks toward this mysterious figure and greets him.

???: What an unexpected pleasure, sire, to have you with us. Take a seat. Take a number of women. This is a party! You must enjoy yourself.

Caesar: Why thank you sir, I believe I shall. Would I be mistaken that you are the host of this beautiful event?

???: Why no you wouldn't be. This is the reward for those that are great men. Would you agree, sire?

Caesar: Yes indeed. I do agree. Forgive me if my attention wanes, these twins are just delectable.

???: I must make some rounds, but have a blast. Do whatever you want to who ever you want. And to your victory tomorrow.


The mysterious man bends over to Caesar ear quickly.


??? (whispering): And if you would like to find a place where a person with your talents could be used, here is my card and number. We know your quality. And we know the glory you wish to attain. I have a way to do it and make people remember why you a feared man without them considering you the fool. Enjoy your evening.


Caesar looks at the card and sees the number and signature on it. He has a smirk on his face, than places the card in his pocket. He then lets the twins lead him to wherever they want to go.


Can Caesar realistically win this?

In his demented little brain, he believes so.

I wish he would look at things realistically, like I keep hearing he did when he was a grand general.

Maybe the lack of organization, the lack of a definitive goal, is what holds Caesar back. Though if I told him that he would hit me again. I just wonder if he had a concrete goal or a direction that leads to glory, would he stop believing that his opponents are going to bow to his ever loving will and fall and die while he marches to victory.

That surely never happened in the wars he fought. He should know it didn't happen against Guiomar. He should know now that it won't happen. Not with what is at stake at Mount Vesuvius. I hope Caesar knows what he is getting himself into.

But atleast he sees himself getting the victory.

He doesn't lack confidence, does he?


Last edited by MASS Caesar on Sun Feb 13, 2011 9:45 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Tromboner Man
FMW C-4 Champion
FMW C-4 Champion
Tromboner Man


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Age : 35
Location : Townsville, Australia

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FMW Superstar: Christian G. Smitten
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FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 8:11 am

It’s a big bad world out there.

I never have been one to go out and trash talk with the rest of the public. I’m not one who relies on the mass approval in order to build a rabid fan base. I have reached this point in my career through knowledge and skill. No secrets, nothing extraordinary. It’s the two best traits I possess.

Preparation for matches is always build around this. Scout my foe, or as it may be in this case, foes. From my scouting, I’ll work out what skills I posses best expose their weaknesses. On this same issue, a number of variables can disrupt my preparation. For example, being expected to run a wrestling federation is one. The other is running said wrestling federation single handed.

Full Metal Wrestling is dying, and I am doing everything in my power to prevent it from doing so, and quite often it feels like I’m receiving little to no help in the process. Jason Roy has abandoned me, ignores my pleas for him to think and act rationally. The one person on the board of directors who could think clearly, now lives in a 6 by 1 underground bachelor pad. I am expected to appear on all divisions to make the system work, and yet, at the same time, I’m expected to perform to a main event level.

I may have been able to fight my daughter’s case, dropping a murder charge against her in the process, but this is starting to look more and more unrealistic for me to save this once great and powerful federation.

So, here begins my eulogy for Full Metal Wrestling.


***

Christian G. Smitten walks out of a shower area in a foreign change room, with nothing up a towel around his waist, and thongs on his feet. The warm, humid environment has a dirty yet sterile feel about it. Smitten seemingly is the only one in there, however, in the background, showers can be heard running, and men can be heard conversing. Smitten rounds a corner to see a man standing before him, dressed very professionally in a suit.

C.G.Smitten: So you’re the man they call “President” Jeff.

President Jeff nods, acknowledging Smitten’s assumption. He extends his hand to Smitten. A little uncomfortable, seemingly because of how little he was wearing, Smitten accepts the handshake.

C.G.Smitten: Chritian...

P. Jeff: G. Smitten. Commissioner of Full Metal Wrestling, and representative of said brand here tonight. I know who you are, Your Honor. I make it my business to know exactly who are the guests in my federation.

C.G.Smitten: Please, call me Smitten. I’m a guest in your federation tonight, you shouldn’t have to refer to me by my official title.

P. Jeff: I’m just trying to show you the appropriate respect Mr. Smitten.

C.G.Smitten: Believe me, it’s noted and appreciated. I wish I had more people like you back in FMW.

P. Jeff: You represented your company well tonight. I was watching you, and I will say this. I was impressed with what you showed. Yes, you may have been caught off guard in one moment of weakness, but I also know you’ve only relatively recently returned to active competition.

C.G.Smitten: I was careless, let my guard down for a moment, and was rightly punished for it.

P. Jeff: I’m willing to chalk that up to ring rust.

C.G.Smitten: You’re too kind. BUUUUUT, regardless of what you say or do, I’m still going back there stinking of failure, so you’ll have to excuse me if I’m not accepting your compliments in a truly “gentlemanly” manner.

P. Jeff: What if I told you that you didn’t have to go back.

C.G.Smitten: I have to go back, I don’t have much of a choice.

P. Jeff: There is always a choice, Smitten. Sometimes you just need to open your eyes.

C.G.Smitten: Sounds like you stole that from a fortune cookie.

P. Jeff: I can offer you more as an employee of Action Packed Wrestling than Full Metal Wrestling ever can.

C.G.Smitten: I find that relatively difficult to believe.

P. Jeff: We have the reputation that FMW doesn’t. We have the exposure FMW wishes it could have. We have the corporate sponsorship FMW dreams about. There isn’t much out of my reach, you know.

Smitten chuckles, slightly flattered that President Jeff is trying to poach him, and steal him away from what he has worked so hard to maintain. Looking at Jeff, he notices that he isn’t laughing with him, instead standing there with an extremely stoic look on his face.

C.G.Smitten: Jeff, I am a Judge. Fully licensed, fully accredited Judge. There isn’t a lot you can offer me.

P. Jeff: How about job satisfaction?

C.G.Smitten: I am very satisfied with Full Metal Wrestling.

P. Jeff: No you’re not. Why else would you go behind your boss’ back in order to come here to compete in the Survive and Conquer match? It’s certainly not for the half a million dollar prize money. It’s not like you need that.

C.G.Smitten: To try and rebuild some of FMW’s tattered image. Because I’m a consummate professional, I’m willing to try anything I can see as a feasible option, just to try and get us ahead. That’s just the sorta guy I am.

P. Jeff: Well, I can tell you that you haven’t improved FMW’s reputation by competing tonight. You’ve definitely raised interest in yourself, but in terms of FMW as a whole, no.

C.G.Smitten: People will have noticed.

P. Jeff: All people will notice is the spike in my buy rates for my pay-per-view. You competing in the match has drawn FMW viewers, and some of which will not go back with you to FMW. That’s not speculation, that’s cold hard fact.

Smitten stands there, completely unimpressed. President Jeff shows no emotion what so ever as he stares down the man in front of him. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his business card, handing it to Smitten, who almost reluctantly takes it.

P. Jeff: I will hear from you. Once you’ve made up your mind, you will call me.

C.G.Smitten: And what happens if I don’t.

P. Jeff: Trust me Smitten. Everyone contacts me. You will too.

***

Born under the simple name of “Anarchy Wrestling Fedeation” on September 25, 2006, before a day later being renamed it’s current state, an entity ventured out into the corporate world. “Full Metal Wrestling” boasted a huge array of young and talented stars, and reached out to a forward thinking, revolutionary audience, under the guidance of men who wanted exactly that. While it stirred controversy through other federations, Full Metal Wrestling thrived in the early days, smashing expectations to be considered the hottest addition to the professional wrestling world in years.

The instant hit started strongly, and never looked back, revolutionising the way professional wrestling was handled for years. With the leadership of Jason Roy at the helm, the energetic, charismatic superstar had his finger very much on the pulse of what the fans wanted. With the strength of Ethan Black holding the Full Metal Championship, and the innovation of matches such as Mount Vesuvius, Ultamite C-4 and Hangman’s Holocaust, fans swamped to see the stars in play.

Even with a change in champion, and a change in Roy’s heart, the federation continued to attract more and more attention from all parts of the globe. With the superstars touching nearly every continent on the planet, FMW’s global appeal was brilliant, startling, and to rival federations, scary. However, it was at FMW Circus Maximus Two that FMW began to lose momentum. And thus, 2 years and one month into its life, the long and painful death of FMW began.


***

Mount Vesuvius looms in the near future. While he is to compete, Smitten is yet to begin any sort of preparation for it. He sits in the Commissioner’s Chair at a board room table. Normally, these events are frustrating, and today was no different. Meetings with the board of directors were tiresome events with morons who had a voting control of Full Metal Wrestling. Smitten was forced to sit in as the active representative of the roster.

While these meetings normally involved long, pointless discussions about slashing salaries of performers, increases in salaries for directors, and cutting the costs of running shows, this meeting was different for a number of reasons.


R. Clarke: You do understand what you’ve done wrong here?

This meeting, Smitten was being roasted, drawn over hot coals as it were. While his intentions, for once, were pure, the board of directors felt very differently.

K. Halycon: Lets make it clear, you’ve essentially betrayed FMW.

C.G.Smitten: Now hang on, let’s not get into betrayals and uprisings here.

J. Roy: If I remember Smitten, I did say no.

R. Clarke: Did you hear that, Jason said no. Yet you went and did it anyway.

J. Hollywood: That sounds like a big stab in the back to me.

C.G.Smitten: No. Jason said no superstar is to compete. I am the FMW Commissioner. I am no superstar!

J. Roy: So you’re more than a superstar?

C.G.Smitten: Of course I am. I’m a man who holds a portfolio in this company! Therefore, I am no superstar!

R. Clarke: Let’s get something straight, you are a superstar.

C.G.Smitten: Excuse me?

S. Wasko: Every member of the FMW roster who’s primary role is to actively compete is classified as a superstar. No questions asked.

C.G.Smitten: Yes, I know that Wasko. I wrote that myself.

S. Wasko: What I’m saying is, that your primarily contracted to FMW as a superstar. Nothing more, nothing less.

C.G.Smitten: No, I’m contracted as the Commissioner. My primary role in this company...

J. Roy: As of FMW Corruption 12.1 is to compete in active competition.

C.G.Smitten: I never signed anything saying such a thing...

J. Hollywood: You didn’t have to. It’s amazing what money can do for you.

R. Clarke: We have, as a board of directors, our own legal team. Ironically, you told us to do that to protect yourself, to try and make us look legit. It’s amazing what people can make for you these days.

J. Roy: Congratulations Smitten. You’re now officially a superstar first.

C.G.Smitten: Impossible.

K. Halycon: Hidden clause in the contract you signed when you resigned from active competition. Apparently, the wording “working behind the scenes to manage the talent of Full Metal Wrestling” could be construed as “will not compete”.

J. Hollywood: In order to protect ourselves, we had to reclassify you as a superstar.

C.G.Smitten: So what you are saying is that I’m no longer the commissioner.

J. Roy: On paper, yes you are. However, you know a lot, and I’m not sure I like having someone like that within reach of me.

Smitten is silent. His brain is running in overdrive. Commissioner on paper. He has seemingly lost control of his stake in Full Metal Wrestling. He takes one deep breath, trying to rationalise his thought process.

C.G.Smitten: Allow me to recap what I think you’ve told me, just so I understand what you lot are on about.

S. Wasko: It’s relatively simple, but sure.

C.G.Smitten: I, the FMW Commissioner Christian G. Smitten, returned to active competition following the protection of Jaro, and ensuring the legal murder of Celeste Rousseau-Roy.

J. Roy: That was a very good day.

C.G.Smitten: Because of this, I’m no longer classified as the FMW Commissioner, but I’m classified as a superstar. Because of this, when I loaned myself to Action Packed Wrestling to compete in their Survive and Conquer match, I violated FMW policy, and am being drawn across the coals here. Now we’re discussing my future in the company because you all feel like I’m a backstabbing, mutinous bastard, who’ll desert the company?

R. Clarke: And the idiot understands.

S. Wasko: You’re still the FMW Commissioner, Smitten. Do not forget that. It’s just no longer your primary role and classification.

C.G.Smitten: I see...

Smitten shuts up again for a moment as he thinks. A smirk comes across his face. He stands up, much to the surprise of all the other board members. He heads towards the door, not stopping as he is spoken to by Jaro.

J. Roy: Were do you think you’re going, this meeting isn’t over.

C.G.Smitten: I’m going to do my primary job. I’ve got a match to prepare for.

***

Circus Maximus Two featured two events which would turn out to be extremely instrumental events in the future of FMW. Firstly, Christian G. Smitten would capture the FMW Championship, upsetting the reigning champion John “Doc” Derrick. Derrick was a man many believed was settling in for an extremely long run as champion. The second event would be TyranT’s victory in the Mount Vesuvius match, winning the right to challenge the FMW Champion for his title as the main event of Ultimatum 2.

Interest in FMW spiked once again, as the two heavyweights looked set for a titanic bout on the biggest stage of FMW’s history. However, at the very next pay-per-view, Catalyst, the world would learn that this was just a massive cock tease by the super federation. Smitten would shocking lose the FMW Title to Nick Bryson, as Bryson pinned Derrick in a triple threat match to capture the title, while TyranT would lose the Mount Vesuvius torch to Dante “RAMPAGE!” Jones. Bryson would continue to reign as the champion, while Jones put the torch up for grabs in a tournament. Both TyranT and Smitten tried to capture the title, but would fall painstakingly short, with Alex O’Rion grabbing the belt.

With the main event of Ultimatum 2 set in stone, fans instantly began losing faith in the company. The lacklustre main event was one they did not want to see. With the shock retirement of TyranT, and Smitten shunned into a makeshift match with Eric Scorpio, and with a support card which, while sparkling, couldn’t raise the profile of the main event, fans started turning away in droves.


***

It’s an amazing thing.

A group of idiots can create something amazing with one hand, and destroy it with the other.

Do men do this to try and feel like a God?

I believe I have officially traced back to where the company went sour. Where the fans began turning their backs on FMW, and superstar satisfaction plummeted. The FMW Circus Maximus 2 through to Catalyst. There the fans were teased with greatness, only to be shown mediocrity.

Here we are now, a full season of FMW later, and the pulse is slowing. FMW’s heart rate is dangerously low, and the doctors are standing by to turn on life support. FMW cannot continue to survive like this. I have fought a solo effort to keep this company afloat since being promoted to Commissioner. Yet men like Jaro continually force the company to take two steps backwards for every step forward I make.

It’s ironic that while I’ve been able to identify exactly where FMW went wrong, that Mount Vesuvius provides a change for us to put life back into the rotting corpse people have accepted as the modern day Full Metal Wrestling. It’s also ironic that the two men who can be attributed to the downfall can also be the two men who fix it.

It’s also ironic that we are in opposite situations to where we were last time.

I am competing in the Mount Vesuvius match. I strive to capture the torch which leads me to the main event of Ultimatum 3.

TyranT is competing in the Full Metal Championship match. He aims to turn back another dominant contender on his way to creating a legendary legacy, on the level of men like Eric Scorpio, Drew Michaels and Ethan Black.

At Mount Vesuvius, we can ensure a bout between Christian G. Smitten and TyranT for the FMW Championship as the main event of Ultimatum 3. The one known antidote to FMW’s poison.


***

Valliantly, men tried to save FMW. Stars rose. Men like The Celt, PX, Hannibal Frost, Skyler Striker. A new generation, a new guard. However, out of touch with the public. They continued to try and force themselves into the spotlight, to win over support from the general public

The once proud FMW Championship floated between waist to waist. From Nick Bryson, it gravitated to Alex O’Rion, threatened to move to Flare, before settling on Hostyle’s shoulder, and then made it’s way to the shocking return of TyranT. The horror of TyranT’s return sparked interest once again, and gave a jolt to the body of the federation.

However, selfish stars tried to hog the spotlight, and with Jaro’s leadership drifting further and further away from what the fans wanted, concerns grew in the federation. Marrying into power, he then shot FMW in the foot again with the legal murder of his wife. While a controversy of this magnitude would have revived FMW in its earlier days, now, it came across as tacky, desperate, and offensive.

With the federation on its death bed, some men still fought to save it. Valiantly exploiting every opportunity and option that presented itself, even going as far as sacrificing their own health for the attempt to turn it around, but to little or no avail.

So, with a surviving group of hardcore fans left to mourn the passing of a giant, Full Metal Wrestling fades into history, unable to get up from its own weight.

Rest in Peace, Full Metal Wrestling.

An entity that should, but will not, be missed.


***

Smitten sits at his office in his home, staring at his computer screen. The voices of Stone and Foxx can be heard bickering in the background. The slamming of bodies on a wrestling mat echoes through the room, as Smitten watches old footage of FMW. The retro footage makes Smitten smile, as he watches Dr. David Diabolical defend his C-4 Championship against Alex O’Rion. He sighs deeply, pausing the video. Running his hand through his hair, he picks up the phone on his desk, and dials some numbers.

C.G.Smitten: Good evening. I’ve made a decision....

***
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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 8:15 am

-FMW presents Mt. Vesuvius LIVE from the Roman Coliseum in Rome, Italy-
Tonight's Card:


Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
David Ravish

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
TyranT (c)

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Chris Austin, Christian G. Smitten, Drew Michaels
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The Dude

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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 10:23 am


Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
"Outlaw" John Andrews

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Seth Omega

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Alex O'Rion

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Axel van Osbourne, Trey Spruance and hannibal frost
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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 10:49 am


Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
"Outlaw" John Andrews

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
1. AVO 2. Anwyl 3. Cynical
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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 1:24 pm

-FMW presents Mt. Vesuvius LIVE from the Roman Coliseum in Rome, Italy-
Tonight's Card:

Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
David Ravish

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Celt

* Dunnwood and Celt did a great job. Celt, that was a beautiful promo sir.

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
TyranT (c)

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*

Chris Austin
Nick Bryson
Drew Michaels


* You must vote for three people in the match.
** These people need to only promo once.


Last edited by MASS Caesar on Sun Feb 13, 2011 4:51 pm; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 2:21 pm

FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 Mtvologodraft

-FMW presents Mt. Vesuvius LIVE from the Roman Coliseum in Rome, Italy-
Tonight's Card:


Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
Dussy vs. David Ravish vs. Seth Rotunda vs. Nate Stone vs. "Outlaw" John Andrews vs. Shaker Jones
The three of you who've showed so far have only proved to FMW that the Rookie Class of '11 will provide some excellent talent. However. Seth's promo was far and away the best, and this is because we, the readers, managed to see what it's like inside his head, rather than just having a balls-to-the-wall 'I'm going to win' speech. The others said it, you said it with conviction. Good job.

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy vs. Leon Caprice (c)
Leon. Don't be like your SoA team-mate now, come on.

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood vs. Seth Omega vs. The Celt
Look, if you guys don't show up I'm gonna be like 'graargh, I stayed up for ten hours for this? Then I'll come to your house and stab you both. But it's cool because we can have a beer first.

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin (c)
Rob, you'd better not have been hit by a car or swam across a river or locked your laptop in your car or anything like that again...

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost vs. TyranT (c)
Sorry Ty Sad This one just fell a little flat with me. It only really seemed to say 'yeah, yer Daddy's a prick, what's yer point PunK?' ...and I've always wanted to do that, sorry. Congrats on your superb reign, but Hannibal deserves this one.

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Abel Steele vs. Mystery Entrant vs. Apostasy** vs. Atlas Adams vs. Axel van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. the Celt** vs. Chris Austin** vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. cYnical vs. Damien Inferno vs. Daniel Pleasant vs. David GS vs. Drew Michaels vs. Dunnwood** vs. Eddie Chamberlain vs. Gray vs. J.L. Anwyl vs. Jack Phoenix vs. Jeff Watson vs. Jeff Whitt vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Leon Caprice** vs. Leviticus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Nick Bryson vs. PX vs. Seth Omega** vs. Storm vs. Trey Spruance
Yeah, I know, I know, I chewed you out over being Queen Abel. But honestly it was a good promo. It was a good display of emotion from a piece of writing. Drew, you were above-par as ever, not your best work but certainly no Jack Riot. And since I've been following your story it's nice to see a lot of loose ends tied together. But answer me this; is Jade the Oracle? And obviously, I voted for myself because I'm an egotistical prick. Really though, I'm proud of what I wrote. That's probably the best thing I've done since I got here and easily the one I've put the most effort in. Will I win? Fuck no. But I'll be damned if I didn't give it a good crack.

Votes are finalised, apologies to those who haven't had a chance to get their promo up in time, but... I'm on GMT, so screw you guys. Also a big thanks to everyone who voted for my opponents who haven't yet submitted anything.


Last edited by Easty on Sun Feb 13, 2011 2:45 pm; edited 2 times in total
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RCA
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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 2:33 pm

Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
David Ravish

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
The Celt
Fucking Celt made this a really hard decision, loved the approach he took. This one still needs time to decide.

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Chris Austin, Christian G. Smitten, Nick Bryson/MASS Caesar


NOT FINAL. Need to reread TyranT's promo.


Last edited by RCA on Sun Feb 13, 2011 3:49 pm; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 3:32 pm

Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
David Ravish

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Chris Austin, Dunnwood, cYnical

Votes are all subject to change.
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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 3:37 pm

Her body is actually trembling in anticipation; she can feel it all over. She can’t keep still, and when she tries to she can hear her heart trump so hard she thinks it’s going to explode out her chest, which would be a shame because it’d positively ruin the gorgeous and incredibly expensive dress she’s wearing. Pure white, silk, full train, it probably cost the yearly output of a small nation-state. Her decision to wear gloves had been a terrible one; she can’t believe how clammy her hands have gotten so quickly. Wide-eyed, her eyes dare from side to side as the car draws ever nearer to the Church. To her left her father smiles proudly, a pillar of strength now on a day seemly built on the concept of organised chaos. She presses her hand to head; there’s so many thoughts running through her mind she’s got a borderline migraine. She wishes so badly now she hadn’t wore her hair up, the hairdresser has tightened it so much it feels like her scalp is exposed.

“Are you alright Honey?” asks her father, taking her hand in his, his eyes piercing into her. She fights to keep her emotions under control, and replies to him with a weak smile and a shrug. He chuckles and pats her hand gently.

She turns her head back to the window, fearing if she holds herself in his gaze he’ll unearth too much.
“2 minutes” calls out the driver. “Oh God, why’d he have to say that?” she thinks as her stomach clenches something wicked. Her mind begins to imagine the Church, decked out just as she planned, flowers everywhere of course, full to the brim with her family, his family, and all their friends, they too dressed in their very best. The build up, the planning and the hype had probably taken years off her life in the form of stress and sleepless nights. Looking back, she now intensely realises she bought far too much into the “biggest day of your life” thinking so often thrown at women. She’d lost herself in the sense of occasion and self-progression rather than actually think out the consequences of this day.

Well now those consequences seemed to weight on her mind like a sack of bricks.

She can see the rows and rows of cars now, all lined up to her and her marriage. The sudden outlining of the scale of this event only compounds this all. The fear has now very much so begun to flood her mind. The car approaches the drive now.


“Don’t turn”. The sound of her voice escapes from her body as a yelp of panic. Her father turns aghast. “What are doing?” he says, sounding more concerned than he has in years.

“I can’t do this”


*****


Everything is so incredibly silent now. Everyone else is already inside now and he’s left completely alone. He just stands and stares at the school’s main building from afar. This is it, this is what his entire education so far has built to this, this day. Today is the start of what surely should be described as two weeks of government run hell. How anyone can think it’s far to judge someone’s entire education on the basis of two weeks of incredibly pressured performances is amazing, amazingly stupid that is. What’s worse is that this is actively said amongst most people; with so many actively proclaiming the hardest tests of their lives. The attitude that students just need to go in and “get it over with” was fine and dandy to say, but how could they not see that this is akin to torture? The whole idea was lost on him.

And yet here he stood, facing down the metaphorical barrel of the gun, dressed in this stupid uniform with a bag on his shoulders filled with over two years of notes.

Why do they have to do this way? Why do they have to make it so it’s either do or die? Convenience he supposed, it’s easier to herd sheep than it is to chase something with a brain. The worst part was the personal sense of reasonability; do this for yourself had become like a mantra from his parents. But that was a fucking lie. His entire family had something riding on this. Out of over a half dozen cousins all around his age that a single one had made it successfully to third level education, yet he
was expected to overcome this like a skip and a step. “You’re more than capable of this” Says who? Says you? I know myself and I know I don’t need this.

“Fuck this”

He turns his back and started walking.



*****


3 unread messages, 7 missed calls, and yet his feet were glued to the ground. They’d completely frozen to the spot and all he could do is sit with face in his hands on the couch. Why was this suddenly so hard? Okay, this wasn’t planned but he had 9 whole months to adjust to the idea. Hell, he liked kids, he loved her, what was the problem?

Maybe it was the fact for at least the next 18 years his life would be defined from this day onwards. This wouldn’t be a game he could pick up and put down when he liked, this would be his responsibility 24/7. From right now he will be expected to love, protect and provide not just himself, not just his partner, but an entire family. He’s not ready for that; for fuck’s sake he not even really a man yet, he’s just an overgrown teenager who snagged a beautiful woman on a fluke; without supervision he’d probably starve to death after 3 days if left on his own.

This was killing him, he needed to be there; she needed him now so bad. But he can’t do it; he just can’t lift himself up from this zombie like trance. God, what would people say if he missed this, the birth of his first child? Hell, would he be able to look himself in the mirror?

His head is spinning, this is all too much



*****

It’s going to happen again isn’t?

Celt stomached tightens up like the hand of man hanging onto a pole for dear life. The familiar feeling of pressure was back, and it was kicking like a shotgun blast to the face.

And the build-up...and the hype, all the expectation


Celt bites down on his bottom lip as he taps out a nervous rhythm on the wooden table with a H2 pencil. There’s no continuous beat, just random tapping as if Celt’s hand was jittering. Sitting cross-legged, Celt jots away abstractly into an old beat up sketchbook. Celt looks sternly at his own sketchbook; Wide, quick strokes reveal an abstract but held together collection of scribbles, mainly seeming to depict Morrígan, The Ultraviolent Championship, Jack Eastwood and Seth Omega. Heavy, dark strokes over the imagery of Eastwood give the strong impression of a sinister, grim figure, while Seth Omega is depicted as distinctly menacing, his facial expression heavily implying cocky determination.

Been here before haven’t I? Three times before to be exact. It around about then I starting losing sleep, isn’t it?

The warm breeze of the outdoors isn’t enough to comfort Celt today as he sits in the outdoor section of a small Cafe. Beside Celt sits a tall cup of black coffee, which he’s already made quite a dent in. Perhaps a bit worryingly, Celt has spiked it with some Irish whisky, despite it being only 11 in the morning. Celt continues to draw into his sketchbook, the figures in it becoming ever more foreboding. Noticeably Celt captures the million mile stare that Eastwood is known to have, as well as exemplifying Omega’s size and menace. Flakes of burnt tobacco cover his work as Celt lets a cigarette hang lazily in his mouth.

“Celt, it’s way too early in the morning to be drinking, it’s not even Noon”

A shocked Celt looks up from his work to see Leon Caprice standing cross armed in front of him. Immediately Celt flips his sketchbook over and tosses into the table, not wanting Leon to see it.

“How’d you know?” asks Celt rather vacantly, simply surprised to even see Leon.

“The bottle’s sticking out of your pocket” says Leon somewhat dismissively, somewhat disappointedly.

“That oblivious huh?” says Celt deadpan, but his following smirk is lost on Leon. Celt clumsily pushes the bottle further down his pocket, out of sight.

“What are you doing?” asks Leon as he takes a chair. Not “Why are you spiking your own drink” or “Gee, this looks dumb”, simply “what are you doing?”

Celt looks Leon’s in the eyes but just doesn’t really an answer. He’d come up with a witty response, but only getting 2 hours of sleep over 48 hours tends to dull that side of the brain.

They need someone smart, I was never smart, just determined.


“I don’t know, what’s it look like I’m doing” says Celt nonchalantly.

Brav-fucking-o genius, way to put Leon in his place there.

“You look like a crap Celt, you’re eyes are completely bloodshot. I thought you’d worked out your sleep pattern” Says Leon, glossing over Celt’s childish retort. There’s a look of genuine concern on Leon’s face.

They need someone tough, but am I just tough enough to survive?

“Yeah, I did, or I had...for a while. Um, it’s sort of...fucked, at the moment. Go figure” says Celt, somewhat scrambling for an answer.

Leon doesn’t say anything for a moment, he just stares at Celt clearly considering his options. Then, with a spurt of life he becomes animated and reaches across the table, taking Celt’s sketchbook and flipping it. Leon shoots Celt a glance before looking down and into his work.

“Something on your mind you want to tell me Celt?”

Celt looks a little dumbfounded by Leon’s straightforwardness.

“Look, what you want Leon? What are you even doing here anyway?”

“Hannibal said this was the best place for a coffee within walking distance of the clubhouse, but that’s not important. What’s important is that you get your mind right for your match” said Leon.

“Who says I got a problem Caprice?”

The retort barely phases Leon, and his reaction is to simply raise an eyebrow quizzically at Celt.

“Get a grip on yourself Celt” says Leon boldly.

“Excuse me?” replies Celt, more aggression in his voice now.

“C’mon Celt; Bloodshot eyes? Dishevelled appearance? The Whiskey in the coffee? Is that really how you operate?”

Leon’s words put Celt on the defensive and his body language adjusts accordingly, causing Celt to sit up straight in the face of what Leon is saying.

“Look Caprice, I don’t know what game you’re playing but I’m perfectly fine, alright?”

“Is that right?” asks Leon quizzically

“Sure is Caprice” replies Celt in a cocksure kind of way

Suddenly Leon reaches over the table and flips over Celt’s sketchbook. Picking it up, Leon examines Celt’s pencil work showing mainly two dark figures in Jack Eastwood and Seth Omega.

“The graphics department couldn’t make these two anymore threatening then you’ve made them look Celt. “

I can’t deal with this, not now. Shut him out, please just make him go away.


Without saying a word Celt plucks his sketchbook back out of Leon’s hands.

“I don’t know what you think you’ve got going on here...but listen Caprice, we ain’t friends, so stop acting like it” Celt says sharply, hoping to disarm him.

Leon twitches his head at the shot, but only takes a second to compose himself.

“You’re only confining yourself to your situation Celt; you don’t have to ball all this stuff up you know?”

“You’re not my psychologist Caprice”

“Please, a five year old could tell you’re struggling to deal with those “monsters”

Celt rolls his eyes rather visibly

“Caprice, I don’t give a shit about Eastwood or Omega...they’re not the problem”

“Ah ha, progress, the admission of a problem. Well then what is Celt? Give me something to work with here”

Celt opens up his sketchbook on a new page and begins drawing a new image.

Oh Gods don’t do this

“You ever...um, you ever watch Alex O’Rion from when he first debuted?”

Leon’s brow furls at the surprise mention of Halifax’s own.

“Yeah, I’ve seen the clips”

Please don’t tell him this, Gods don’t go down this route again. How many times now have people turned on my trust? Not a fucking nother please; PX PX PX PX PX PX PX PX

“From day one, he was ready” says Celt hesitantly.

The statement hangs in the air for a moment, and Leon is left to decipher it.

“Sure...”says Leon, prompting somewhat.

“From the very first time he walked in FMW he was ready for the responsibility of being a top guy. He had a good head on his shoulders, he had the confidence and he had the success. I don’t know if he knew it then, but he already stood for something at that point. He was really someone people could look up to.”

Leon, sensing the moment, keeps quiet and lets Celt speak at his own pace. Celt at this point isn’t even paying all that much attention to Leon, instead focusing the drawing of a bloody and betrayed man, scarred so many times.

Oh Gods please stop, don’t tell him this next bit. Please. Who are facing at the PPV? Seth Omega. Omega was a friend once...now look at the shit he’s doing. Stop putting your trust in people.


“I guess in a lot of ways...”

You tell him this and I guarantee you the entire locker-room will know in less than 30 days

“...I modelled my career after him.”

You’re a dumbass. A stubborn dumbass that can’t learn from experience, you know that right?


Leon nods his head in that accepting manner of body language.

“So, would you say that, you’re worried you’ll go off the deep end maybe like O’Rion did for a while?” asks Leon. To Celt, Leon almost sounds muffled now as his mind begins to thread elsewhere, as he continues to draw a battered and broken man, left hurt on the ground.

“No.” Says Celt decisively, “It’s ah, it’s not that. It’s...I’m not a, I’m not a leader Leon. I’m not someone who seeks or needs the spotlight, the attention. I mean, I’m able to stand on my feet and stand up for what I believe but...”

“But” hangs in the air awkwardly for a moment; even Leon can sense the degree of caution in the Celt’s voice.

“I’m not the all conquering Hero, I mean Gods everyone must know that by now. I’m not the guy who you can trust to slay the dragon in one go, or even three. I don’t know to ride in and save the day I just know how to work something til it’s done I, I fuck up so much stuff I’m expected to get right!” the distinctive sound of frustration can now be heard being carried in Celt’s voice. “I can’t be trusted to do this, I can’t be the people’s guarantee, I’m not built that way. I’m fucking inconsistent...and it eats away at me.”

Celt still doesn’t look up from his sketchpad, instead choosing to take a deep drag off his cigarette. Leon strokes his chin, intrigued by this development.

“Even if I do become UV champion, I don’t know I can be relied upon to be THEE guy, like Alex O’Rions and Drew Michaels are. All I’ve ever know is go in, put your head down and keep swinging til you hit the other side; if that belt is on me that’s not going to be good enough Caprice. I guess the bottom line is...I don’t think I can be an Alex O’Rion to whoever the current kids on the block are, and the problem they someone who can”

Bravado Genius, setup your own emotional blackmail instead of letting others do it for you, saves the villains all the trouble of working it out.


“Heavy is the head that wears the crown” remarks Leon, “Being a champion is definitely something which comes with responsibilities.”

“You would know” shrugs Celt. Celt looks at what he’s just drawn; himself beaten to a pulp, an image so often recurring in his career. Staring at it for a moment, Celt rips the page out of his sketchbook and begins again, apparently unhappy with his work. He begins drawing a lot quicker than he was before.

“Look Celt, what I’m about to say...this isn’t just hype, this true; you’re worried that you’re not cut out to be a figurehead, that you won’t measure up even if you do become champion, well you know what?” Leon is going into full on motivation mode now.

“I say you’re already that figurehead. I think you’ve been Corruption’s ace for months now. I mean, come on, you beat Christian G. Smitten on back to back shows, and he’s a former World champion! That’s incredible you know?”
“You’re not getting this Leon; I’m going to let people down. People are going to depend on me to hold down the fort and I already know I’m going to fuck that up!” says Celt interrupting. Leon, however, brushes these concerns aside.

“You said Alex O’Rion inspired you, but you know something, I bet it wasn’t the fact he won his matches that inspired you as a rookie, it was his character and his values that impressed you. Well I know you’re the type of man that influences people the exact same way. I mean I don’t think I’ve ever encountered someone in this sport with the sheer backbone you’ve got. Win, lose or draw Celt, you’re making the right impact out there, and that’s the God’s honest truth. You got that?”

Leon probes to see if he’s coming across here to Celt but Celt seems distracted, almost entranced with his sketchbook.

“Celt? ”

“Um, yeah” says Celt, shaking his head as if throwing off some hold over himself, “Thanks Leon...that was very...thanks”

“Well, you know Sons of Attrition and all that” says Leon, modestly.

Celt looks down at his work; a blob of deep red blood has splattered onto his work. Immediately Celt puts a hand to his nose.

“Listen Leon, Um...thanks for the talk but I just remember there’s a thing I’ve got to, something I’ve got to catch now so I’ll be talking to again sometime alright?” Celt said hurriedly.

“Yeah sure, just glad I could help” replies Leon.

Rather clumsily Celt snatches all his processions off the tables and makes his exit.

Leon clears his throat

“...Leave faster Celt” Leon chuckles to himself, wondering what prompted Celt to disappear so fast.

*****

When I was a rookie I looked to people for guidance. I wasn’t really that savvy to the thing around me, you know? In a lot of ways I was dependant on other people in a child-like manner. I needed them to shape me rather than learn from my own experience. There’s nothing wrong with that, but you know you can’t stay the way forever, you’ve got to grow and mature and evolve. And that’s what I did over time. As I matured as a person and advanced in my career I became more and more aware of my responsibilities and the things that were shaping FMW. I started to speak up, I started to hold onto values, I believed in things.

I wasn’t until I had my arm broken though that things really turned around. It was broken by a man I was trying to help at the time, a schizophrenic by the name of Adema Aries. That was a cruel lesson taught to by FMW but oddly one I needed because from that point onwards I was never the same. I knew I had be a rougher, tougher person just to survive and it really when I came back from that injury that I put myself in the older brother mould.

I’m very proud, very happy that I’ve been able to do the older brother thing for Anarchy, for Corruption you know, it’s been fulfilling. I did what all good older brothers should do, and that’s set an example as well as protect the younger ones around me. FMW needed someone who could be that person and I was happy to oblige.

But now...right now I’m being asked for something more.

At Mount V. FMW is asking me to step up from the older brother role. At Mount V. FMW is asking me to be a figurehead and a leader by winning the UV title. And I’ll freely admit right now I thought that’s all I ever wanted to be. That has been my goal for years, to be what Alex O’Rion and Drew Micahels were for me starting out. But now, with the PPV looming, I see things a little clearer.

I’m just a man, you know? I not a great hero. I make mistakes. I disappoint. When you’re the older brother...that’s okay sometimes, you can stumble and fall and get back up and it’s fine because you’re not what people depend on. That’s perfect for me...you know me, I put my head and just keep swingin’ til I get to the otherside and maybe I’ll make it ha ha.

But Gods...a figurehead? A leader? A Champion? Champions can’t fall, Leaders can’t make mistakes, and figureheads certainly can’t disappoint because then they hurt people. I want to be a man for you FMW, for you Corruption...but I am not ready.

For years I have suffered pain, torment and trauma, I was built for that. If you’re gonna be dumb, you better be tough you know? I mentally and emotionally strong enough not need to be successful, or liked or popular. I protect others, I take the falls so that the people I love don’t have to. I’m the test dummy you crash the car with so children can be safe. I’m the dumb grunt you send in first in battle to soften things up for the real troops. I’m the player who gets replaced during the game to make way for the impact player.

So please, I’m begging you, don’t make me your hero. Please.

I...I not strong enough to hurt the people who believe in me. I can’t stand the look of disappointment in someone I love’s face. I need to be there for the people who need me. If I become a figurehead for people I’m going to disappoint so many people. You know this FMW, you know this. Look what happened with Jaro; I fought and I clawed and I scraped and I threw my fists until I couldn’t breathe because I was so exhausted...and I couldn’t do what was needed. I got your hopes up and I DASHED them.

That hurt me so bad. I swear, to the Gods, on my life, on all I hold, this is not me taking self-pity. It’s not, it really isn’t, but that was a blow heavier than anything I’ve suffered in the ring.

I know my place. I’m the supporting character in the film, I’m the friend but not the best friend, I’m the boyfriend you’re not really sure about, I’m the brother you don’t really see that much now that you’re older.

I love you FMW and I just don’t want to see you get hurt on my account. So I’m asking you; at Mount V, please please don’t put your faith in me. Don’t make me the saviour. Don’t hold me up as the best example.

And for the Gods’ sake...don’t love me. I don’t deserve it.


Don’t worry, I know there’s going to be someone better for you. He’ll be tall, and handsome and he’ll actually win his matches. He’ll win his first title in his rookie year and he’ll take the big bad in his second. He’s the one you want, not me. I’m just a...loser, you know?

So go on now, get going; PPV is coming up and I wouldn’t want you to miss that. Rut for someone you can trust, I hope he’ll make you happy, because that’s all I want.
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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 4:00 pm

-FMW presents Mt. Vesuvius LIVE from the Roman Coliseum in Rome, Italy-
Tonight's Card:

Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal

Dussy vs. David Ravish vs. Seth Rotunda vs. Nate Stone vs. "Outlaw" John Andrews vs. Shaker Jones

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy vs. Leon Caprice (c)

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood vs. Seth Omega vs. The Celt

What can I say? I've always marked for The Celt.

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost vs. TyranT (c)

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match
Abel Steele vs. Mystery Entrant vs. Apostasy vs. Atlas Adams vs. Axel van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. the Celt vs. Chris Austin vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. cYnical vs. Damien Inferno vs. Daniel Pleasant vs. David GS vs. Drew Michaels vs. Dunnwood vs. Eddie Chamberlain vs. Gray vs. J.L. Anwyl vs. Jack Phoenix vs. Jeff Watson vs. Jeff Whitt vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Leon Caprice vs. Leviticus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Nick Bryson vs. PX vs. Seth Omega vs. Storm vs. Trey Spruance


Last edited by cYnical on Sun Feb 13, 2011 7:56 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Seth




Posts : 71
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FMW Superstar: Seth Rotunda
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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 4:20 pm

Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
Dussy vs. David Ravish vs. Seth Rotunda vs. Nate Stone vs. "Outlaw" John Andrews vs. Shaker Jones

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy vs. Leon Caprice (c)

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood vs. Seth Omega vs. The Celt

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost[ vs. TyranT (c)

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Abel Steele vs. Mystery Entrant vs. Apostasy** vs. Atlas Adams vs. Axel van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. the Celt** vs. Chris Austin** vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. cYnical vs. Damien Inferno vs. Daniel Pleasant vs. David GS vs. Drew Michaels vs. Dunnwood** vs. Eddie Chamberlain vs. Gray vs. J.L. Anwyl vs. Jack Phoenix vs. Jeff Watson vs. Jeff Whitt vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Leon Caprice** vs. Leviticus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Nick Bryson vs. PX vs. Seth Omega** vs. Storm vs. Trey Spruance

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PX

PX


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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 4:51 pm

Full Circle
Part IV

“Showtime.”

With one almighty heave, PX pulled open the large door of the warehouse. The rusted door screeched as it slid along its track, unveiling the interior of the warehouse. A cold chill escaped as the door opened, sending a chill down the spine of Eric. The cold atmosphere isn’t hindered by the blue walls, the pale lighting or the blank floor. PX inhaled it all in: this huge space represented everything he had accomplished up until this point, and it is to be the point of PX’s ultimate victory over his rivals. There is one final, deadly game to be played, and then victory would be his.

PX marches into the warehouse, with Eric carefully following his lead. Everything about it screamed an unsafe environment, from the dust drizzling down from the ceiling, the eerie creaking that couldn’t be placed to any particular part of the building, the oil drums scattered around that could contain anything inside them, or the stairwell’s rusted core. It is a monstrosity of a building and justifiably abandoned. Only a madman could admire such a death trap, and PX was in heaven.

“Here we are, Eric. As you can see, down here will be your place of hiding.”
PX motioned towards one end of the building, encased in darkness. The platform above cast the shadow over this end, as the only lighting in the building was from the small windows above this platform. Eric gazed into the darkness, half expecting something to jump out of him as he etched nearer to it.

“Come now, there’s nothing to fear in the shadows, bar maybe the barrels of industrial waste”
quipped PX with a smile. The man was positively glowing, compared to the gloomy Eric. His gut was packed with butterflies the size of Eagles. Why was he having doubts now? PX was entrusting him with his life, and suddenly his mind has become afflicted with thoughts of betrayal. Eric believed from the beginning the two men were supposed to meet, but was he meant to aid the menace, or destroy him? He looked to the lord for a sign, but nothing was yielding…

PX slapped his trouser pockets, then his chest pocket, confirming that everything was in place for the occasion. He stood facing the doorway, the only entrance to the warehouse, filled with anticipation. His eyes couldn’t help but glance repeatedly at his watch. It’s a minute past one, where are those fucks? How typical of them to keep a mastermind in suspense…

xXx

“Is this the one?” asked Davis, pointing at the large warehouse coming into view in front of them.

“That’s it.” Allen replied without enthusiasm, and a sigh followed. The jitters were there, and he wrestled with them, not wanting to show any signs of wavering, but that sigh may have been a giveaway. Their vehicle quickly approached their destination, with Matsu tailing them in a separate vehicle.

This task felt almost like a bridge too far for Allen. It has certainly been the toughest job he’s had, and the most taxing on his reserves. The fact that he’s travelling to meet the criminal, where he could potentially be shot dead on the spot, was an unnerving thought on its own with the additional pressure he put on himself; the expectation in him to deliver. Not to mention the wildcard that is this woman showing up, causing even more havoc.

Both vehicles pulled up at a distance from the warehouse, not wanting to be heard approaching too easily. With the engines off in the vehicles, the silence in the air was even more unnerving. The three stepped out of their respective vehicles, and faced the house of their destiny. It had an unnatural feel about it. There was no escaping the tension hanging over them. With one final deep breath, Major Allen began his forward march, and the other two followed suit.

“Do you think she’ll show up?”
Allen left the question open to both men.

“I do. She’s always been there. At every scene, it seems, she shows up when he’s there. Today should be no different.” Matsu responded with insurance for his comrades. They need all the confidence they can get heading into this dragon’s den.

“And do you think we can nab her?”

“With the weapons and skills between you two? Without a doubt. It’ll be tricky, but you can do it. But she moves like nothing I’ve ever seen…”

“Maybe she’s fast, but I’d like to see her dodge a damn bullet from my Barretta.”

The trio were now only a few feet from the building, and its large entrance. Their hesitation could be forgiven. Allen and Davis looked at each, neither beaming with confidence.

“Ready when you are, Sir.” Davis prompted Allen to make the first move. His attention turned to the door. He closed his eyes, and concentrated on his breathing again for a moment, to focus himself.

“This is the only way out, Matsu. Be ready to fire at anything and anyone who bursts out here. Stay out of immediate sight. Let him come to you if he breaks free.” Allen spoke his parting words to Matsu, who nodded affirmatively and walked away, leaving just one more thing to be done."

Allen clasped the large handle of the door. This is it. This all ends now.

Allen tensed all his arm muscles and heaved open the rusty door, and it screeched and grated along its track. A cold chill escaped, sending a shiver down his spine. The building’s interior and contents were unveiled to him, and in particular, one man standing before him, grinning like a maniac.

“Mr. Allen! How delightful to see you! We meet once more on the grandest stage of them all! I’m finding it hard to contain myself, it is truly a pleasure.” PX’s voice almost cracked with the delight of seeing Allen. Both Allen and Davis’ expressions were quite a contrast to PX’s beaming eyes. The two shuffled forward, staying close together.

“Well then, what do you want? Let’s hear what you’ve got lined up for us.” Allen spoke bluntly, and to the point.

“Lighten up Allen! You’re so tense, you’ll never enjoy yourself like that, and you’re eager to tear into business! I haven’t had the chance to even offer you anything-”

“I don’t want to hear your bullshit; I came here to be serious with you. Now say what you want to say.” Allen kept a straight, rigid face, not allowing PX to be too comfortable with himself.

“Well if you are anxious to get into business, I suppose we can get into the terms of my release right away-”

“Your WHAT?” Allen was thrown back. It was a ball from left field alright.

“Well what else were we going to discuss? I didn’t bring you here for a casual drink or anything, I’m here to earn myself a little freedom. Is that so much to ask? Now, just before we begin-”

“You can NOT be serious…” Allen wasn’t buying this bullshit for a second. He didn’t want this, it’s some kind of stall tactic, or mindfuck, or something. Where is this going…

“-Just before we begin, I have to reaffirm, you came unarmed as I asked?”

“We did.”

The two locked eyes for that moment, looking for some kind of give in the other. PX smirked at Allen’s reply. It was a devilish smile, and he looked into Allen’s eyes.

“Is that so… Well isn’t that just a shame...” PX gleefully reached into his jacket pocket, alarming the two men immediately. Allen did not hesitating in throwing his arm into his back pocket, drawing his weapon in a shot, with Davis following up in the same manner. PX looks at them with a stunned face, and freezes for a moment, before continuing his action. His arm re-emerges from the jacket, his hand now grasping a banana. Allen practically gags at the sight in complete horror. Have they just totally blown their cover here? They had drawn too soon, and been made to look complete fools yet again at PX’s hands.

“Woah, somebody shouldn’t tell fibs now, Major. That’s not very nice. And I was just getting my lunch.”
PX cackles a demonic laugh, knowing he had played the two so easily, knowing they couldn’t risk not drawing their weapons. Sometimes PX finds it too easy.

At the prompting of the officers, Eric also drew his weapon in the shadows, preparing himself to fire as well. He was growing just that bit impatient in the waiting. As he sat there watching the conversation, he had thought that his doubts had left him, but after drawing his weapon, they resurfaced once more. Holding that deadly weapon, with PX standing so unaware in front of him, it would be so simple, so quick. He’d be dead before he ever realised he’d been backstabbed by the only man he trusted in the world. Suddenly it felt the better option to pick off the one man than the two. Heroic thoughts flooded his mind. Eric the Hero. Eric the Saviour. These images ran through his young mind and greatly appealed to his sense. People everywhere would admire him for slaying the mighty demon that terrorised the town. What a simple act it would be.

He raised the weapon, aiming it square at PX’s head. Suddenly this was happening, this change of heart was overtaking his body. The teenage fantasies were consuming him somehow, the ideals of heroism coming to the fore. The shot is clear, the goal is set, and only that odd creaking noise providing any sort of distraction to his absolute concentration. He is almost a little giddy now. How simple is this going to be after all, this Tyrant about to be brought to his knees so simply in the end…

Eric should have realised sooner. As he was taking aim, that creaking noise had been getting louder ever so gradually, It never once occurred to him to survey the area; to turn around. The thought dawned on him perhaps at the last second, but no sooner. Those soft fingers already wrapped around his mouth before his mind could comprehend turning, and the blade was already piercing his throat before he had realised what was happening. Blood rolled out of his neck like a running tap at a sink down onto his clothes, both over and under his collar. His body was let down gently by the red haired vixen that jumped him. She stifled her little laugh inside for once, showing some degree of control in herself. In spite of her stealth her presence did not go unnoticed, unfortunately for her. As Eric’s body grew limp, and his arms grasp failed, the weapon in his hand dropped, colliding with the floor, making enough noise for the three men to be alerted.

All three were curious, but it was PX who was burning the most on the inside. Something had happened, and it was not something he planned. He had suddenly lost his cool, and sweat was rolling down his brow. The two officers didn’t notice; their eyes were occupied on trying to pierce the darkness, to see where the noise had come from, and its source revealed itself. The girl stepped out of the shadows, in her attire of Tartan Skirt and White Shirt, and blood rolling of the blade held in one of her hands. To the men looking at her, it looked as if the blood was pouring from her arm, as the blade was concealed by her palm.

She surveyed the three men, and giggled at them, while waving her fingers at them. PX looked completely distraught. That blood could only belong to one man. How could he have been so foolish? He should have known this woman would destroy his plans yet again, as she always has done! Everything was going perfectly, until she showed up, unnoticed, and eliminated his assassin! Rage was beginning to fill PX now.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!!”

The Girl looked confused at first, but then made a heart gesture with her two hands in his direction. She let a little smile grow on her face.

“YOU RUINED IT! YOU’VE FUCKING RUINED IT!”

PX’s eyes were burning with fury, and he was breathing heavily on the spot. He was suppressing the panic building inside him. He wasn’t used to this sort of tight situation. It was Davis who was the first to snap back to his senses and realise the situation they were in. Davis took aim at the girl, ready to take her down, as they intended when they arrived first.

“Hold it right there!”

Davis had barely completed his sentence, when she charged forward. She moved at impeccable speed, faster certainly than either eye could keep up with. Before Matt could even think, she was on top of him, and he was pinned to the floor, her legs binding his arms to his sides. She drove the blade down into his chest, and Davis screamed out in agony. The crimson flowed out, and the girl burst into laughter.

Allen pointed his weapon as quickly as he could, but at his age, that perhaps wasn’t quick enough as the blade had already penetrated Davis before he could turn and aim. The gun was practically against her head. She could probably feel the end of the barrel against the hairs on her neck. The girl chuckled away as she watched the blood spurt from Davis’ chest, his screams like music to her ears. Allen could take no more of it.

“Dodge this, you bitch!”

As Allen let out a triumphant bellow, he had given her far too much time. In one blinding movement she turned her body on the spot, and drove another blade into his hand before he could squeeze the trigger. Before Allen had even processed the pain, she drove a kick into his shin, taking him off of his feet, and Allen crashed hard into the floor. These men were no match for this woman’s speed and power. Allen lay next to his weapon, but could not pick it up; his mind was too fixated on the immediate pain in his hand. It consumed his mind; he did not think of his leg, or the fact that he been defeated, as his eyes could see the damage done to his hand. He caressed with his other hand, willing it to heal, but knowing nothing was going to miraculously happen.

The Girl stood up, and faced PX. He had been taken aback by the carnage he just witnessed. She walked casually towards him, and gazed longingly into his eyes. PX didn’t quite understand just what sort of beast he was looking at, but he did know that it was looking back at him with some affection, something he couldn’t comprehend.

“Why… Why did you do this…”
PX stammered out a question. Even he was a little shaken by the destructive power she possessed.

“I did this… For You. I do this all For You. I love you…” her voice wavered also; she was in awe of the man in front of her.

She let her arm reach out, like a separate identity from her, and touch the arm of PX quite candidly. He did not recoil; he barely even noticed, he was so stunned, so absent minded right now.

“I love you… I’d do anything for you… ”

She slinked closer towards him, into his personal space. She closed in, lips pursed, intentions clear. In this moment, for the first time she didn’t look like the deranged murderer, but a normal, beautiful woman. This moment however, was interrupted by one sharp sound.

Bang.

A gunshot rang out, and the bullet tore through the Girl’s chest, the blood splashing onto the recoiling PX. She clutched at her wound, staring down at her hands, watching the blood seep through the cracks in her fingers, just like her perfect moment slipping from her grasp. She couldn’t suppress the emotion she was feeling. She burst into laughter.

The girl turned to the perpetrator of the action. Allen was on his knees, clutching the weapon in his weaker hand. His hand trembled; his old hand barely able to hold up the weight of his Baretta. She stepped towards him, still giggling a little, but dropped to a knee before she could reach him. Her life force was draining from her body quickly, sapping her strength. She looked defeated, but Allen wasn’t taking any chances, and fired a second shot into her chest once more. Her white shirt has been stained red, soaked by the blood escaping her body at a frightful rate. She could hold herself upright no longer, and with a cough of blood, she collapsed to the floor.

Allen was left staring at PX, both men shaken. He kept his gun upright, pointed straight at PX.

“Don’t move… Don’t you fucking dare move…”

PX could barely stomach the situation. Allen should be dead, they should all be dead, but instead he was there, staring him down. A broken old man had him pinned in place. It’s almost humiliating to be defeated like this. PX refused to accept this. He coughed out a little laugh.

“… Fucking… Catch me!”

And PX darted away in a flash towards the door, almost catching Allen off guard. His arm follows as best it can, and he lets fire another shot, but misses its target.

“FUCK!”

PX bursts through the door, shoving it aside with ease. Allen drags himself up, and hobbles after. Allen was rarely conscious of his age, but today it was truly catching up with him. He was practically hobbling on his leg after that sharp kick. Allen stopped giving his feeble chase, realising he needs to check on Matt. He turns back, and spots his prone body. The blade is still buried in his chest. He’s stopped bleeding, and the crimson colour has already faded to a darker shade. The colour had drained from his face. Allen was now in two minds, whether to check on his friend, or continue pursuit. The villain needed to be caught, and Davis was likely dead, but with his leg banged up, he could hardly catch the man.

Allen chose to tend to his friend.

xXx

PX stumbled back into the outdoors in a panic. His thoughts were racing a mile a minute. He spotted the two police vehicles, and sprinted in their direction. Escape was the priority now. This defeat would need to be brushed off, and he’d need time to recollect himself. However, PX had made another error in targeting the cars, for there, was another man waiting to foil him.

Matsu spotted PX bursting out of the warehouse and drew his weapon immediately. He also saw PX sprinting in his direction. He moved forward calculatedly, weapon raised, appearing from behind the cars. PX almost stumbled over stopping his momentum.

“Stop right there! There’s nowhere to run!”

PX’s mind was breaking down further with every minute. How could this be happening to him? Everything had been worked to a tee, and one blip destroyed everything. He needed to act quickly and cleverly to escape now.

“Easy now Matsu, you don’t know what you’re doing! We both know you can point that thing at me, but you won’t pull that trigger!”

PX needed to strike that fear back into Matsu. He been the most frightened of the bunch, but today he was much sharper, much more ready to face down his demon.

“You can’t frighten me! You’re beaten! Just give it up now, and go quietly with me!”

“Quietly? I don’t know how!”

PX turned and ran once more. Matsu needed to shoot, but found himself stalling. He hadn’t shot down a man before, and the pressure was impairing him. PX was quickly getting away, he had one shot at this. He squeezed the trigger, and squeezed his eyes shut at the same time.

“AAAHH!”

The bullet tore through the air, and tore through PX’s calf as he fleed, and he fell to the floor in the process. He let out a yelp. Damage had been done. Matsu ran down after him, cuffs at the ready. PX was too flustered to worry about his leg, and tried getting back up and fleeing, but he was unable to put weight down on his leg, and fell once more. The defeat was setting in as Matsu closed in, and it was like torture worse than any he’d performed himself.

“It’s over. You’ve lost.”

Matsu grabbed one of his arms to cuff him, but PX lashed out at him, and took a swing at him, only missing narrowly. PX sat up, arms raised.

“C’mon then, fight me if you want to get those damn cuffs on me!”
PX shouted at Matsu with real venom, ready to take him on even in his sorry state. It was then Allen returned, and stood next to Matsu.

“It’d be easier for all of us if you’d just give it up. You’re done.” Allen spoke apologetically, almost sympathising with PX to see him his fall from grace. He walked around him, and just like that the cops were surrounding him. The taste of defeat was bitter beyond belief. It easily masked over the pain of his suspected torn calf muscle in his leg. This game that PX had so carefully crafted, has come to a most unsatisfactory conclusion.

“You win this round, gents. Well played. Well Fucking played.”

PX raised his arms in the air, hands open. The game is over. This beautiful game he had so carefully created, has reached its untimely end. The cuffs were slapped around his wrists, and the two men hoisted him to his feet. PX felt a little emotional to see the end of his game. It was truly the most fun he had in a very long time. As the two men carried him to their vehicle, it was PX who looked the happier.


“It’s been a blast, gents. Good game.”

PX was tossed into the backseat of the car. Allen picked his phone from his pocket to make a call while Matsu started the engine.

“The ambulance will be here soon, but it looks too late for Davis. God damn shame too. He was a good guy. I’m going to wait with him. I owe him that much. Take him in Matsu.” Allen taps the roof of the car, and walks back towards the warehouse, leaving Matsu with PX. He flicks on the siren, and pulls away.

“Well then Matsu, are you gonna read me my rights?”

And with a sigh, Matsu does just that.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law…”


FIN
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PX

PX


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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 4:56 pm

Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
Dussy vs. David Ravish vs. Seth Rotunda vs. Nate Stone vs. "Outlaw" John Andrews vs. Shaker Jones

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy vs. Leon Caprice (c)

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood vs. Seth Omega vs. The Celt

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost vs. TyranT (c)
I love Tyrant truly, but Frost man, you killed it with that one. Fucking loved it

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Abel Steele vs. Mystery Entrant vs. Apostasy** vs. Atlas Adams vs. Axel van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. the Celt** vs. Chris Austin** vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. cYnical vs. Damien Inferno vs. Daniel Pleasant vs. David GS vs. Drew Michaels vs. Dunnwood** vs. Eddie Chamberlain vs. Gray vs. J.L. Anwyl vs. Jack Phoenix vs. Jeff Watson vs. Jeff Whitt vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Leon Caprice** vs. Leviticus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Nick Bryson vs. PX vs. Seth Omega** vs. Storm vs. Trey Spruance
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Easy

Easy


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Age : 33
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FMW Superstar: Eddie Chamberlain
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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 6:59 pm

THE SECOND COMING

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,


Sirens bounced from wall to wall, snaking down alleyways coated in water stains and through streets lined with shopping carts and lethargic homeless. Crack vials. Baby formula. Car parts. News reports caked the sidewalks, dating all the way back to November. Cambodian stampede kills three hundred and forty seven. Peruvian Mudslides claim eight hundred. Thirty six dead in a Russian airport bombing. The fall of the Tunisian government. The overthrow of the Egyptian president. A concrete diorama dedicated to the unhinging of the world.

From high above, blocky AC units growled, pouring a warm, nasty industrial scent out down the sides of the towering vertical neighborhoods, nicknamed ‘whateverplexes’ for the spirit of these buildings’ upkeep. Dew lingered on the few precious patches of green among the sprawling concrete. Barren lots, sectioned by pinewood fences and condo walls, where tiny flowers fought for attention among the jagged pests and colorless thistles. Patches of green, called grass only by the naïve and the hopeful. This is South Side Maoloa Bay, the last place Otto Parisi would pick to scout new talent.

With his loafers clicking the asphalt to a tune unfamiliar enough gain the attention of every scavenger, panhandler, and merchant in a three block radius, Otto kept a steady pace; quick, but not conspicuous. He was an outsider at just a glance: Corduroy khaki jacket over a periwinkle blue dress shirt. Laboriously pressed pants. Limited Edition Panerai Vendome wristwatch. Dressed for success in a land full of failure. Out of place by light years, and painfully aware of it. His arms were locked straight down at his sides, his gaze planted at the ground about thirty feet ahead of him, avoiding accidental eye contact while maintaining direction. It was only when he reached the crackling blue condominium of his desire that his true discomfort would be realize. Open air hallways enclosed with chain fence, clothing and personal items strewn about in an apocalyptic fashion along the ground and balconies, even floating through the air at higher elevations. News reports littered the walkways. A tower of Babel.

Fear hung about Otto like bad cologne. With each thug passing his peripherals, each conversation brought to a halt by his presence, Otto’s heart pumped a vicious new wave of it though his extremities. His only comfort was knowing he’d be angry enough to defend himself an attack should one appear. He hated being in Maoloa Bay and its disregard for basic normative standards, its detachment from morality. He hated his father’s romantic style of fighter management, delving into cesspools like “the Bay” hoping to mine Cinderella men from these blue collar imbeciles. He hated having to be the one to baby sit these naïve, usually drug addicted buffoons, through the so called perils of success. But that which he hated the most waited beyond the approaching door, waiting like a hideous beast, waiting like a growing tumor.

Opening the door slowly, the scene before him rivaled the cynical depravity he had imagined. The quarters resembled an attic more than a living space, wooden frames and pink cotton candy insulation visible at random sections, light pouring through the windows in dusty blocks. Youths lay strewn in various stages of undress and recreation across mismatched stolen furniture. There were knives on the tables, guns hidden between couch cushions and tucked behind dry wall paneling. The whole place stank of liquor, sweat, and water damage. Initially unnoticed, Otto’s gut reaction was to simply turn around and not look back, lie to his father, tell him he hadn’t found the kid, and move on to the next sob story.


“I ain’t buyin’ what you sellin’, nigga.”

Staring down the barrel of a cocked Grandpower K100 Slovakian pistol was wishfully omitted from Otto’s agenda, and yet a tall black man stood with handgun in his face, having waited to surprise the intruder. He was young, his face still vibrant with life, unlike the faces of the various youths sprawled throughout the place, their faces darkened and caved by drug use and overall hell raising. This one, Otto thought, he’s the boss. At a second inspection of his surroundings, Otto began to realize the cause for the heightened security; weapons, drugs, obviously stolen property, people in need of medical attention. He actually felt thankful to have stayed alive this long, counting his blessings as the young man methodically crept closer to his target, lowering the aim of the pistol to Otto’s throat. I doubt knocking would have made a difference, Otto thought to himself.

“Lookin’ for Eddie Chamberlain, heard he hangs ‘round these parts. Name’s Otto, I represent his management. This your place?”

He felt foolish, coating his introduction with a television tough guy tone, but for whatever reason believed his grammar and syntax would further distinguish himself as an outsider. With an outstretched hand, Otto hoped to extinguish the tension, and believed to do so at the growing smile on the young man’s face, only to sink back into himself as the smile turned into a chuckle, and the pistol pointed at his throat was now resting snuggly between his lips.


"Nah, my people's people's place. But they don't like soliciting neither."

With the crash of pots and pans, the object of Otto Parisi’s purest disdain came stumbling from forth from behind the make shift cubicle kitchen in the corner of the apartment, clutching a sloshing bottle of Sancho Loco tequila in one hand while scrambling to light a bent Marlboro with a green Bic with the other. Eddie Chamberlain’s hair hung just above his shoulders in nappy, dreaded curls, brushing his wiry black beard as he swung from side to side, eyes crossed as he frantically fought to ignite the end of his rolled tobacco. Beyond him, somewhere in the kitchen, an old clock radio hummed the hits of the oldies, “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, to be precise. His cacophonous entrance breathed life into a handful of souls laying about the flat, who regarded the gunplay at hand with the same import you would a passing mailman. Having finally lit the end of his cigarette, Eddie’s eyes raised to see Otto deep throating the barrel of a pistol. Eddie smiled widely, eyeing the petrified son of his manager, cigarette still perched between his chapped lips, slowing scanning down to the groin, hoping to spot the tell tale signs of an “Oh Shit Piss.” With no urine detectable, he decided it was a good time to defuse the situation.


“He’s with me, Dez. He’s cool…well, not really.”

“Huh-wo, Ehh-wie”

Through an angered glare, Otto greeted Eddie with malevolent relaxation, muffled by the barrel of a fire arm. Keeping his proximity, while lowering the pistol, the so called Dez wiped the saliva from the end of his barrel with the tail of Otto’s dress shirt. Eddie slowly sauntered towards the pair, snapping his finger to the tune.[/color]

“How’s shit hangin’, O-dog? See you met my vicious man slave Desmond.”

Without warning, Desmond delivered a vicious punch to Eddie’s chest, producing a brutal thump and lurching the smaller man forward, toppling him across a couch now occupied by three of the awakened junkie types. Chuckling as he gathered himself, Eddie threw an arm around the neck of Otto, guiding him to a small table housing an assortment of dusty glassware. Drawing two shotglasses from the bunch, Eddie pours two brimming shots and takes a seat at the table, kicking another one open for Otto.

“You know, something tells me starting your day drinking from a bottle of Tequila with a tacky Mexican stereotype on the label doesn’t spell success, and I’m not the one with an interview today. Think I’ll pass.”

Eddie glanced at Desmond, now across the room at a wooden desk, a deli scale, stack of money, and an assortment of narcotics neatly organized before him. Desmond met his glance with reciprocal understated bewilderment at this outsider’s judgment fraught remark.

“Firstly, so you know, you weren’t offered anything, my dear.

Quickly pouring back the shots, Eddie wiped his whiskers and popped another Marlboro between his lips, the first one having been extinguished during his fall.

“Secondly, this may be the morning, but this is not me starting the day. I’m still in yesterday by sleep standards.”

“…you haven’t slept all night? You knew about th-”

“THIRDLY, you need to calm the fuck down, homie. You wanna get me on a fitness program, take me to the gym? I’m down. But pardon me if I don’t match your vigor in pursuing trivialities like this. How’s me talking to some fat internet wrestling faggot gonna help me throw Drew Michaels or Chris Austin out of this match? I’m just curious.”

“Well you could always go back to throwing around truck drivers on a square of cardboard behind Denny’s. Even Heath Ledger over here could book you gigs like that.”

Pointing down at one of the comatose visitors of the apartment, Otto was slowly losing his patience. In all honesty, he really couldn’t care that this 19 year old found it charming to sabotage his own future while he had a management team to stop him from taking things too far. All Otto knew was that when he was on the clock, he had to pretend to care. Other than that, the kid was a pay check.

“You can either hop up and get your ass moving to this thing, or you can kiss a shot at FMW goodbye. And while I’m at it-“

Gracefully, Eddie hopped from his seat, pressing a dirty index finger to the lips of Otto. Otto fought the strong urge to imagine the last nasty harlot grinding on this same finger. Eddie looked to the group of junkies positioned on the couch, who struck up a round of jovial of “Buhn-duhn, buhn-duhn, buhn-duhn, buhn-duhn duhn” imitating the prechorus of the “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You” like a sunken eyed malnourished gang of back up singers, as he sauntered around the apartment like a lounge singer, swirling about an invisible long stemmed glass. Noticing Otto’s growing temper, Eddie couldn’t help pestering him longer.

"Say no more, you big beautiful man, it'll be you and me against the world!"

Grabbing Otto’s face in his hands, he began to belt the chorus as loud as he could, a drunken Frankie Valli, backed by his heroin fueled Four Seasons.

“I LOVE YOU BABY, AND IF IT’S QUITE ALRIGHT, I NEED YOU BABY, TO WARM A LONELY NIGHT, I LOVE YOU BABY, TRUST IN ME WHEN I SAY.”

Having enough, Otto finally pried Eddie’s fingers from his face and marched out the door, to the cheers and jeers of the inhabitants of the house. Without looking up, Desmond delivered a parting middle finger from his desk. Bowing and smiling, Eddie continued to belt the chorus out into the hallway until his voice was nothing.

Somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.


When they had arrived to the address, Eddie’s playful zeal had morphed into red eyed rage. There hadn’t been a security gate because there hadn’t been a security booth. There wasn’t a security booth because there wasn’t a security guard. No guard because the studio budget couldn’t allocate it, because there was no budget, and there was no studio.

When Otto Parisi’s Chrysler 300 reached their destination, there was only a suburban duplex, a nice lawn, a garage, some microphones, a video camera, a desk, and a laptop. A fat bald man, resembling the peanut M&M greeted them as they wiped their feet on the doormat. His name was Steve, the self-proclaimed “Glenn Beck of Wrestling Commentary.” Wall yourself off from society and you’ll never hear ‘em scream, Eddie couldn’t help but think.

As they entered the garage, posters and memorabilia lined the walls. Hulk Hogan movie posters, Austin 3:16 shirts pinned to the wall, Randy Savage coasters and Bob Backlund streamers. Undertaker action figures, DVD’s of that David Arquette movie, Ric Flair Bobbleheads. A walk in shrine to wrestling’s legacy, not to mention the forfeiture of a man’s pride and dignity. As Wes retreated to the kitchen with promises of his Aunt Dina’s famous finger sandwiches, Eddie slammed the door shut behind him, knocking Otto’s blackberry from his hand in disgust.


“Are you fucking with me? You got bent all out of shape to come do this shit?”

“Well what was I interrupting? A drug binge or an orgy? Maybe a if you didn’t spend so much time trying impress the dregs of society, you’d be able to get a better gig, but you gotta start somewhere.”

“We’re in a garage, staring at a Wal-Mart camcorder. This dude probably only shows this shit at his family reunions. You have seriously got to be fucking with me.”

The door swung open so hard it slammed the adjacent wall. The wide frame of Wes stood glaringly at the pair, a plate half full with sandwiches in his hand. It was apparent that a few hadn’t made it back from the kitchen.

“I’d like to inform you, ‘Easy’ Eddie Chamberlain, I have 317 viewers a month, and I’m featured on YouTube and DailyMotion. Beyond losing Jeff Watson, what do you do that’s so damn special.”

The ugly emphasis placed on his name sent an ugly chill down Eddie’s spine. It wasn’t necessarily that he was insulted by net nerd, moreso the idea that clowns like him would be throwing their opinions onto everything he would do, should he have a successful career at FMW. He would become a product of public consumption, a character in the minds of children, an influence in the eyes of the parents. It wasn’t about fighting, it was about being seen. This fat fuck didn’t phase him, but the notion of a manager who would lead him to this situation surely did.

“You know what, Wes? You’re right. I’m in your house, you’ve invited me on the show, and I should be grateful, but I was way out of line right there and I apologize. I don’t feel like it’d be right to have the privilege of being on your show after I just bad mouthed it like that, but if you’d let me, I could cut a quick promo for the big show coming up. Whadayasay?”

After mulling it over a finger sandwich, the fat man shrugged, waltzing over to the mounted camera and clicking a few commands into the laptop. Eddie meanwhile, keeps his gaze directly focused on Otto, who uncomfortably stays glued to his Blackberry. After a few seconds of typing, grunting, and finishing the finger sandwiches, Steve joined Eddie to open the show.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, it’s that time again. No, guys, not your girlfriend’s period…”

Fucking douchebag, Eddie thought. Tell me what a vagina looks like. That’s right, you can’t.

“…Much, much better, you’re back with Shootin’ Straight with Steve. Tonight, my guest is FMW hopeful Eddie Chamberlain, who has requested time on the big show here to tell you why he’s gonna win the Mt. Vesuvius match at Circus Maximus. Eddie?”

He cleared his throat, grinning widely at the camera, glancing at Steve once more, eyeing him up and down. Back pedaling ever so slightly, Steve nervously crept against the postered walls of the garage, the eyes of his idols silently watching. In an instant, Eddie’s on him. With the point of his elbow, he bashes the wannabe journalist in the temple, sending him flat to the ground. Brushing the hair out of his face, he looks to the camera.

“Wrestling is dead, and the popularity contest keeps on truckin’”

Grabbing him by the collar and waistband, Eddie hoisted Steve to his feet, only to drive him face first into the crown jewel of his wrestling collection: A floor to ceiling poster of Hulk Hogan as Thunderlips from Rocky III. Dragging him onto a chair, Eddie forced Steve to straddle it, before slamming his head against the wall again. Blood pours from the eyebrow and mouth of Steve. His nose is bent at an ugly angle to the side, bleeding profusely as well. Trying to keep his distance, Otto couldn’t decide whether to intervene or head for the hills.

“STOP! EDDIE FUCKING STOP!”

“I'm in the middle of something, Otto. Don't be a dick. ”

As Steve began to blubber and scream, Eddie folded his hand into the shape of a snake’s head and jammed it into the blogger’s mouth spreading his jaw too wide, beyond biting. Deep down, past the knuckle, to where Eddie could feel Steve’s uvula at the crest of his index and middle finger.

“I do a lot of special things, Stevie. A lot of special things.”

With his free hand, Eddie dragged Steve’s head against the wall. Reaching around front, Eddie ripped the button of Steve’s trousers off, stopping them to the ground with one foot. From his own jeans, Eddie clicks out the steel of a switchblade, twirling it in the light of garage. Steve’s face now turned a deep purple, his windpipe blocked. The only part of his body that was tensed was his anus, in self defense. With another twirl of the wrist, Eddie plunged the knife deep into Steve’s puckering asshole, jolting him awake, to his tiptoes to try and escape the punishment. Just as quickly as he had penetrated, Eddie drew the knife back, feeling hot saliva bubbling around his snake’s head fist as Steve tried to scream.

Eddie turned, smiling back at Otto, whose face was frozen in shock. He slowly let Steve go, prying his mouth open with his spared, blood soaked hand, before slamming him headfirst into the poster once more. Hulk Hogan was now smeared with a rich tapestry of blood, snot, tears, sweat, and feces. Eddie surveyed the room, this altar to wrestling’s legacy, before turning back to the bloody mess he left Steve. Wrestling’s worst enemy, Eddie thought as he chuckled.

Carefully, he waltzed over to Otto, his jeans splattered and caked top to bottom in congealing blood. With the bottom of Otto’s jacket, he wiped the blood and shit from the blade of his knife, folding it carefully, and stuffing it into his own back pocket. With a tussle of Otto’s hair, Eddie offered one last parting phrase.

“I don't need these fucking fans, or these fucking interviews. I'm going to fuck the place up. And I don't need you. You're fired.”


That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?



Last edited by Easy on Sun Feb 13, 2011 11:43 pm; edited 3 times in total
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TyranT




Posts : 161
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Age : 38

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FMW Superstar: TyranT/Faith
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FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 8:18 pm

Singing: Voting from America![/endsong]
Yo guys, I did intend to do some write ups with my voting and what not but my access is pretty limited. At least I got my votes in though so its not all bad I guess. Razz I'll try and pop on again sometime mid week if I can, but if I don't turn up I'll be back by the Saturday.... unless I die in a plane crash... On a side note, I went to Disney land today!!!


Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
Dussy vs. David Ravish vs. Seth Rotunda vs. Nate Stone vs. "Outlaw" John Andrews vs. Shaker Jones

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy vs. Leon Caprice (c)

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood vs. Seth Omega vs. The Celt

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost vs. TyranT (c)


3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Abel Steele vs. Mystery Entrant vs. Apostasy** vs. Atlas Adams vs. Axel van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. the Celt** vs. Chris Austin** vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. cYnical vs. Damien Inferno vs. Daniel Pleasant vs. David GS vs. Drew Michaels vs. Dunnwood** vs. Eddie Chamberlain vs. Gray vs. J.L. Anwyl vs. Jack Phoenix vs. Jeff Watson vs. Jeff Whitt vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Leon Caprice** vs. Leviticus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Nick Bryson vs. PX vs. Seth Omega** vs. Storm vs. Trey Spruance
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The Celt

The Celt


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FMW Superstar: Celtykins
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FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 8:19 pm

FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 Mtvologodraft

-FMW presents Mt. Vesuvius LIVE from the Roman Coliseum in Rome, Italy-
Tonight's Card:


Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
Dussy vs. David Ravish vs. Seth Rotunda vs. Nate Stone vs. "Outlaw" John Andrews vs. Shaker Jones

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy vs. Leon Caprice (c)

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood vs. Seth Omega vs. The Celt

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost vs. TyranT (c)

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Abel Steele vs. Mystery Entrant vs. Apostasy** vs. Atlas Adams vs. Axel van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. the Celt** vs. Chris Austin** vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. cYnical vs. Damien Inferno vs. Daniel Pleasant vs. David GS vs. Drew Michaels vs. Dunnwood** vs. Eddie Chamberlain vs. Gray vs. J.L. Anwyl vs. Jack Phoenix vs. Jeff Watson vs. Jeff Whitt vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Leon Caprice** vs. Leviticus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Nick Bryson vs. PX vs. Seth Omega** vs. Storm vs. Trey Spruance[/color]

* You must vote for three people in the match.
** These people need to only promo once.

PROMO ONLY until Friday, February 11 11:59 PM EST. VOTING AND PROMO (without penalty) until Sunday, February 13 11:59 PM EST.
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Leviticastform
FMW C-4 Champion
FMW C-4 Champion
Leviticastform


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Age : 41
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FMW Superstar: Leviticus
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FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 8:38 pm

-FMW presents Mt. Vesuvius LIVE from the Roman Coliseum in Rome, Italy-
Tonight's Card:

Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
David Ravish

FMW Abandoned Championship
Leon Caprice (c)

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Seth Omega

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match
?
Jeff Whitt
Leviticus
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Nicholas Gray
FMW World Tag Team Champion
FMW World Tag Team Champion
Nicholas Gray


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Age : 30

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FMW Superstar: Nicholas Gray
Championship: FMW Tag Team Championship

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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 10:44 pm

“Re-Introduction”


Allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Nicholas Gray. And I have spent my life trying to run away.

The woman keeps thanking me, shaking my hand, tearing up. I'm surprised she still has tears to shed, given that the whole duration of time I've known her, half a week, all she's done is cry at varying degrees of intensity. Her tear ducts must be in horrible pain, poor things. At least now they're tears of happiness. She keeps trying to force money into my hands, insisting I should take it for my work. I already told her, I did it for free for a reason. From behind her legs a head pops out, a little girl looking up at me. She manages to stammer out a thank you before darting back behind her mother's legs. Adorable. I reach up and tip my hat to them as they walk away, reunited. Worth the time.

Took me half a week to find the little girl. Looked all over town, talked to my informants (if they can called that...), and her friends. Finally found her in the behind her school. The place she was last seen, and I never thought to check around there until I had exhausted all other options. I still have things to learn about this business. Things like using common sense. But the important thing was her father hadn't taken her like the mother thought. The fact that I couldn't even find the man was a bit distressing, but it ended up being moot.

Since the mother or anyone else knew why, I ended up sitting next to her in the bushes, which is uncomfortable if you're not a 4 foot little girl, and asked her why she ran off. And she looked up at me and began telling me everything. About how she thought her mother and father fighting was because of her, how them getting divorced was her fault, how her mother's complaints of mounting debt was her fault. She didn't want to be a burden on her mother anymore, and so she ran off. I knew the feeling, thinking you're a burden on everyone you know and running from that, too well.

As we were walking back, the girl told me something that...resonated, I suppose, in me. She said she had been all over town the last half week, and only decided to stay at the school once she ran into a friend and found out I was looking for her. I thought it was to hide from me, but she said it was the opposite. She wanted me to find her, because she didn't think it right to just appear home like nothing and make all my work pointless. She said she realized that her running away wouldn't help things, and she had to stop running. If someone told me that that was not a child, but a midget I'd have believed them. She was much too mature for her age.

Of course, I only say that because a little girl is making me look immature by comparison.

I walk over to my desk, and pick up a box behind it. Inside are various trinkets from my life. Wrestling tights, FMW live show programs, a few DVDs that include the pre-shows I had been on. I grab a newspaper stashed in the bottom of the box, pulling it out and dropping it on my desk. The newspaper, nine months old, from my hometown, the good ol' shithole it was. Front page covered in a story about a drug bust that happened in Atlanta. You have to flip a few pages back to get to the laughably tiny story on how a never-was pro wrestler died when his house exploded due to a gas leak. Even when blown up I don't get any recognition.

How I wish it was as simple as just my house exploding.

I walk over to a mirror on the wall that I use for shaving and general modeling, and look at myself. It's a nice face I have now, very handsome, but it's not my face. I had a different face nine months ago. Not as handsome, but more average. Better to blend in with, to hide, to hunt. But that was nine months ago. When I was still wrestling, when I was...under the influence, before my mind was cleared of it all and I was able to realize what was happening. But by then it was too late. Even now, pieces of my mind are blank, some things still trapped down where it crushed them next to things I know now were changed, to the point where I'm not sure of anything I remember now.

After that, I ran. I ran as far away as I could, to this city. Something about it felt...right. So I opened a detective agency in a little run down building. I've always been good at reading people, and I figure it would help undo some of what I helped create. And I have helped, I've reunited families and helped others. But after seeing what this city creates, my running was futile, like it's always been. I ran when I was a teenager, I ran when I lost her, I ran nine months ago when everything fell apart. But now?

I sit down at my desk, shaking the mouse to wake my computer up. It comes up to what I left it on, an e-mail. It's short, whoever wrote it didn't spend much time on it because of who I am, and to the point. FMW's having it's Mt. Vesuvius match, and they need some bodies to fill it. Apparently I'm on a short list of people to call when you need people to come in and quickly get hurt. This is something I ran away from, that fed. Not once, but twice. But now? Can I keep running away, knowing now that running leads to nothing? Seeing what hides in this city, can I keep running?

Can I really let a little girl be more mature then me?

I lean forward and start typing a reply, asking if they'll pay for my travel, since I decided to not get paid this week.

My name is Nicholas Gray. And I cannot run away anymore because, in the end...

Time Judges All.
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Drew Michaels
FMW President
FMW President



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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 11:36 pm

Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
"Outlaw" John Andrews

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Apostasy, Nick Bryson, Drew Michaels
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Rottata

Rottata


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Age : 33
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FMW Superstar: Tiberius Jefferson / Romeo
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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 11:49 pm

-FMW presents Mt. Vesuvius LIVE from the Roman Coliseum in Rome, Italy-
Tonight's Card:

Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
Dussy vs. David Ravish vs. Seth Rotunda vs. Nate Stone vs. "Outlaw" John Andrews vs. Shaker Jones

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy vs. Leon Caprice (c)

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood vs. Seth Omega vs. The Celt

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost vs. TyranT (c)

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Chris Austin, Nick Bryson, MASS Caesar
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Leon Caprice




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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 11:53 pm


There has always been this one phrase that I couldn't stand while growing up. The one that goes "If you love something, set it free, and if it comes back to you, then it was meant to be." Up until this Mt Vesuvius Pay-Per-View, this little mantra had NEVER applied to me.

I lost my parents due to their selfishness at the tender age of 6. I lost the one guy that I imagined growing old with, and my singular mentor, a man who will now only be known for his last symphony. And at 12.3, the thing that I've cherished so much in recent memory was suddenly received into grasp by my own ability...

But now, I've become a firm believer! For now my clock has begun, I’m moving forward day by day, but I know a day will come and it’s sooner than I’d like when I’ll lose what I possess. But in foreseeing this I create myself as a piece of living proof that I, Leon Caprice, truly am MEANT to be its rightful owner!

It’s time to set it free and see if it comes back to me.

***Yo-He-Va-He***


Why does the victory never live up to the hype?

It wasn’t the first time Leon had asked himself such a question, but never did he anticipate just how worse his situation was becoming. The world around his had become nothing but an empty void, nothing but ropes separating his from the deafening sound beyond the dark. His breathing rate was heavy, his hands still trembling from the trauma of grasping the chains before the scaffold crashed down with the weight of Seth Omega. The bones in his ribs and upper back complained, a temporary pain, but one he would remember for the next few days was the point where he lost part of himself. There was an uneasy bloodlust in the air, that much evident from the approval of the unseen thousands that lay in the darkness. Hidden eyes stared at Leon, seeing him as their champion, their slayer of the beast. It seemed greater than any other moment, such primitive reactions from the crowd, but something was off. Leon used to bask in such an atmosphere, but no longer would it seem.

Before him lay Seth Omega, a monster of a man, the very man who ended Hannibal’s reign as champion, the person who Leon was heavily interacting with lately. But Leon wasn’t suppose to defeat him, that much was more then clear as Leon knew the great anger of Omega lay in wait somewhere. That he wouldn’t let such a match, such a moment go unreturned. He needed to leave his parting gift, a message that Omega was the champion for a reason, but for now that lay somewhere out of sight, untouched, unused. Leon was suppose to lose, he was always suppose to lose. So why was it that he finally won a singles title match? Was it his success and his victories that were driving people away from him? Was it the final moment of closure with Skyler? Is that why he carried more freedom, more energy? Leon certainly wasn’t the young boy he used to be as he stood in the squared circle, feeling his arm being raised by the referee as he was declared the winner of his latest Corruption match. Leon should have been ecstatic, it was the fight he wanted, his War Games title shot to once again try to succeed in the title opportunity. He never expected to win, yet he stood victorious to the chants of the passionate.

As the crowd cheered on and as his arm was raised up high, Leon felt nothing. No sense of glory or achievement, no rush from snatching victory against one of the biggest opponents he had faced. Leon didn’t even feel any anger towards the barking of his opponent, despite the reality that he had finally achieved the long term task of attained the title. There was nothing there, no real thought or emotion, it was as if some of his life had been sucked away from his, and Leon didn’t even care anymore. Had he finally become broken?

Hardly, at it slowly seemed that through the escalation of the moment, Leon looked to the crowd to find one person, that amongst the thousands in attendance, one person was missing. Although Leon now stood inside the ring in which was now covered in the rubble of shattered planks of scaffolding and metal he was left in void as the once ungraspable title was now resting in his own hands, the one person he wished to share it with was now resting at home.

Home is where the heart lies, and right now that applied directly to Leon, as his compatriots in Celt and Frost flooded to the ring, it took the physical touch of his stable members to break his deep desire to look out to the crowd and see the face of his wife, but for now there was only the unrecognizable faces of the crowds. With the hype fuelled in their words and actions both Frost and Celt lifted Leon’s exhausted arms in celebration, here was the man who had tried more than any to achieve this title, and it was finally his.


Celt: You did it, congrats!

Frost: The title is ours again!

Their words seemed over-ecstatic to Leon, or maybe that was just him. The lull of his thoughts slightly tainting his outward celebration, to what would be seen as a humble and withdrawn celebration, to him it was the lack of those who fought it out with him, the people that ultimately drove him to this moment. Sarah, Skyler, Brian…They were all gone. Sarah was no doubt busy with Joy at home, Skyler was now in rehab and Brian was dead. So here stood the New Abandoned Champion, a humbled man of past worries now surrounded with men who believed more in him that he did himself.

Why does the victory never live up to the hype?


***Yo-He-Va-He***


The scene opens into a nicely layered, grey, concrete walled locker room, heavy scented with the musk of sweat and barely lit with only a few rays shining through the gaps around the wooden door, slightly ajar, through the rays emitting into the room, one ray shone upon the exasperating figure sitting against the lockers. The room was lined with metal lockers at every turn, and with jarrah wooden benches placed around the room. In amongst the stillness though, that lone figure sat, with his head resting back and a smile on his face.

With the light rays on his face, the figure is the newly crowned Abandoned Champion, still showing the effects of that brutal match, the painful falls, the jaw breaking punches and the multiple heavy hits that Omega laid down, Leon was evidentially smiling, but almost with a grimace slightly running down the side of his smile.
As Leon sat there inaudibly with his seemingly heavy singles belt resting within his lap, he was exhausted, almost unable to twitch a finger. It took everything to lift Omega and bring him down, every breath, every punch, every time to get back to his feet, by no means was it an unjust victory.
Yet now here sits Leon Caprice, freshly bequeathed in victory, seemingly to be engrossed in his victory to Seth Omega, as evident by his head firmly resting back against his locker. Still wearing his sweat stained ring attire, he slowly reached above and brushed his fingers through his hair and lowered his head to view the dimly lit locker room.

With a few moments to allow his thoughts to consume his time, Leon would eventually reach across to his brown leather bag, aching as he stretched and clumsily fumbled through his bag until he steadily removed his mobile phone and rested it into his palm with a casual exhaust and moment to ponder. Viewing through his sweating brow he gradually entered a number and held the phone to his ear.


Leon: Hey

Sarah: Hi, I’m kinda busy, Joy just spilt juice all over the carpet, I need to get it out quick.

The casual reluctance to dive into his celebration slowly fell away as the urgency in Sarah’s tone was heard.

Leon: Oh, well do you want me to call you back?

Sarah: No it’s alright, what did you need to tell me?

Although she asked the question, her tone of voice clearly said otherwise. If Leon was after any form of heart felt congratulations, he wouldn’t receive it now. Not with Joy running a muck at home.

Leon: Oh don’t worry, I can tell you when I get home.

Sarah: Ok then, well on your way home can you grab some nappies for Joy and tampons for me, I’m out.

From being champion back to the busy husband, how odd it must feel. To being free above everything to then having to run the errans that no man would want.

Leon: Sure, I’ll get it on the way through, I’ll see you soon then.

Sarah: See you soon…

And that was it, husband, it all his loving attitude & generous heart, trumpt by a messy baby. What was the world coming to? Amongst the anguish of being reformed to keeping his in-built excitement at bay Leon casually flung the mobile into the bag once more, allowing his focus to drift off and refine his words & attitude for when he would arrive home.

Minutes passed by as Leon with a fatigued exhale tensed the muscles in his arms and attempted to rise from his seating. Removing the smile from his face and replacing it with a strong grimace he gradually rose to stand. With a relief expressed in his smile, Leon regained his balance, grabbing the belt, slinging the chunk of metal and leather across his shoulder, painfully making his way for the door. The warm hands of Leon envelope the cold metal of the door knob slinging the door open allowing the noise and artificial light of the crowded hallway to seep in. Leon, taken back by the intense noise and light, closes his eyes and exhales deeply before stepping into the crowd.

With that same grimace layered on his face, he began to feel the weight of his body pulling him to the floor, as a result, he staggered through the hallway, almost looking to meet the floor face to face at any second. Noticeably every man he managed to walk past looked up to him and gave a small gesture, whether a nod, a point of a finger, a wink or an extended hand, people were noticing Leon, and to Leon, it seemed like a change in the air. As he continued to lurch through the narrow hallway, with his hair falling past his ears and concealing much of his expressions, not wanting to show the joyful people he passed the ramifications of his match, it was his chance to show who Leon Caprice was, and he was by no means a weak man. Gritting his teeth slightly, Leon managed to reach the end of the cream painted hallway and rounded the corner. To his surprise, he came face to face with an old acquaintance, a man dear to FMW, however someone who recognized little of Leon’s accomplishment as he slowly licked the peak of a vanilla ice-cream cone, and through the enjoyment of its taste he sough to speak out to the newest champion.


Drew: Well look who we have here, the young gun himself, Leon Cap-Rice.

Leon: Hey Drew.

Drew: So what’s the hot shot new champ doing walking around the hallways, is this a victory lap.

Leon: I’m heading home, you’re just in my way.

A slightly awkward silence bestowed the conversation, however with a few moments to build the tension, Drew broke the empty dialogue.

Drew: Well I don’t want to get in the way of a rising star such as yourself.

The poison of Drew’s words was thickening as he continued to speak. In no way did he seem to really intend to congratulate Leon, like always he had a hidden agenda. But whatever it was, he kept it behind his constant returns to his ice-cream, plunging his mouth further into the flavoured gelatti with much delight.

Leon: Well you are still in my way.

Careless to Leon’s response, Drew continued to devour his ice-cream as he built up the words to say to Leon.

Drew: You know there was another guy much like yourself a couple of years ago, who rose through the ranks pretty quickly. He always seemed to be the nicest guy & the most determined man to get a job done, but it wasn’t long before people started seeing through him.

Leon: What are you implying?

Drew: It wasn’t long before his kindness wore off and he showed his true colors, and boy did he begin to stuff up. He even went on the drugs for awhile.

It finally clicked where Drew was going, who he was speaking of. With that sudden realization, the mood in Leon’s expression deepened & darkened as he eagerly awaited the bite of Drew’s final words. Yet through it all Drew failed to change his perplection, remaining to be consumed in the action of licking his ice-cream.

Leon: It would be bold for you to finish what you’re saying.

Drew: So, what a collapse he had, he then lost his family, his friends, his reputation, his charisma, heck he lost everything, over what? A silly title or a small rise in the ranks.

Leon slowly began to tighten the grip of his bag and belt as his body began to pump the anger of which his mind was consumed in, Drew was stepping over the line, and this time he wouldn’t stand for it. With a sudden drop of his bag Leon instantly lifted his hand and slapped the cold, delicious ice-cream from Drew’s hand. With a slow motion vision showing both the determined look on Leon and the slowly saddening face of Drew as the cone plummeted towards the greasy grey floor, to which it finally rested.

Drew: Seriously. You just had to do that. Why can’t people let me eat my delicious Ice-cream in peace.

Leon: Don’t disrespect him, you know what he stood for and what he achieved here.

Through the disappointment of losing his second ice-cream of the night, Drew tightened his gaze and focused on ending the conversation with a strong reality.

Drew: The man was riddles with lies and fake belief, he didn’t deserve what he had, well now he does. I heard he’s finally in rehab … Good for him.

Leon: You have no right to speak of him like that.

Drew: Well maybe you’re right, or maybe, just maybe, I’m right and he blew away the decent chance he had, he systematically ruined his life.

It was true, Leon hated it, especially hearing Drew Michaels, the man who epitomized Skyler’s lack of judgment, the man who almost triggered the collapse through his constant debate against Skyler, and here he was now tainting the same man’s legacy. Why?

Leon: And why do you care?

Finally a question that drew a decent answer out of the former C-4 champion’s lips, something that actually carried weight, rather than the simply floating words of degeneration he’d been spiting out so far.

Drew: I don’t imagine that you’d understand such a complex issue.

Leon: Try me.

Drew: You want to know, fine. When he was coming up I saw his potential, I saw what he could become. Heck that’s why I picked him for the Resistance, because he knew what was at stake and I knew and would take it on, and from there he continued and was the runner-up at last years Mt Vesuvius. All that potential wasted.

Leon: It’s not wasted, he’ll be back I’m sure of it.

Words of comfort were all Leon could muster up. Here was the made who lead the attacks against Skyler, the man who quite literally picked apart his reputation now caught in reflection of what once was.

Drew: Are you sure, really. You think that he has a reason to come back, don’t be so blind. He’s gone for good.

The words rolled off Drew’s tongue with a slither of poison and selfish belief. Here he was proclaiming that the man he once ripped apart was now beyond return.

Leon: You don’t know that.

Drew: I know enough about that, and also enough to know that if you don’t forget him, you’ll begin to go down the same path he did.

Leon: Do you have that little faith in me?

Drew: Was that a rhetorical question?

Drew continued with his sarcastic yet strangely stern remarks.

Drew: You weren’t here when this all happened last time so, let me refresh you. Skyler went through much the same things when people started leaving him. His wife died, Jade left him, and it basically felt to me to give him the advice to keep going. Now I’ll say the same to you as I said to him back then “It’s not your fault, Leon. Don’t be one to blame this on yourself. You know where that road leads.”

Leon: So what would you recommend then, Oh Chosen One…

Evident in his words Leon was unimpressed with Drew’s analysis of the situation, however he could do little to stop himself from being intrigued to Drew’s answer.

Drew: Find your faith again, let that guide you through all of this.

With a bemused draw in facial expression, Leon acknowledged Drew’s words with a humble attitude, in those simple words of faith it drew the line of similarity to what Drew was saying. In some ways he was beginning to make sense, but his motives were still in question.

With little momentium left in the conversation, Drew would acknowledge Leon with a slight nod before gradually striding down the hallway, no doubt to re-fill his apetize with another ice-cream cone. The scene fades to black with the pondering expression of Leon.



***Yo-He-Va-He***


Through the events shown in Leon's 12.3 promo he came into the possession of a book. The details of this book have been unknown to this point, however here is some information to shed light on this rather odd senario.

Here lies the first entry of Phil Barthers Journal.

11 11 11 11 11 11 11. There is something about these numbers. They mean something. I cannot remove them from my head, I dream of them have visions of them. What do they mean, how can I find out…



***Yo-He-Va-He***


Welcome all.

Welcome to Mount Vesuvius.

Home... to my biggest stage.

This formerly was the show where I was lost in the crowd, where I simply couldn’t stand tall. And it would be the first chance I would receive at an opportunity at that glorious title.

However today is a new day. A new beginning. Today I recognize my accomplishments since then and rise up to a level I’ve never been at. But unfortunately, It’s stacked against me. Not only do I have to compete against 29 other men, I now have to battle to save what is now mine, to defend the assault of Apostasy against my Abandoned Title. He will no doubt fight tooth and nail to prove to me and to prove to everyone else that he is more than they think.

But I will not succumb.

If he doesn’t win he will be knocked back hard. There is no greater battle for him and his career, much like the chance I got when I faced Skyler Striker what now seems ions ago by today standards. Long story short, my match at Supremacy help propel me to greater levels within this company and with that opportunity given to me, I made the most of it. So I expect Apostasy to make the most of it.

Because like I said, he has something to prove.

Yet, I will not be so humble, nor will I relent in my approach. He will have to come at me with everything he has, everything he knows, everything he’s worked up til now, and for him, everything that I can’t fathom as well.

Unfortunately for him, I have something planned for this recent acquisition of mine, something that will make it truly mine and finally pure. Something that epitomizes what I stand for, and what I fight against. Tonight I will declare this title in new birth.

Because what is a champion who simply lives in the history of the title. A man governed by a title rather than a title governed by a champion, it cannot be said about myself, so I must declare tonight that I am a man of faith, a man of belief and a man of opportunity. Someone who see’s the light and finds a way to spread it.

And lucky for me, I found a way.

So come Mt V...Apostasy... everyone else...

Time to bow down...

Because...

A Hallowed Champion... I will truly become...


Last edited by Leon Caprice on Mon Feb 14, 2011 12:20 am; edited 4 times in total
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Leon Caprice




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FMW Superstar: Leon Caprice
Championship: FMW Undisputed Tag Team Champions

FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 11:53 pm


-FMW presents Mt. Vesuvius LIVE from the Roman Coliseum in Rome, Italy-
Tonight's Card:


Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
Dussy vs. David Ravish vs. Seth Rotunda vs. Nate Stone vs. "Outlaw" John Andrews vs. Shaker Jones

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy vs. Leon Caprice (c)

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood vs. Seth Omega vs. The Celt

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost vs. TyranT (c)

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Abel Steele vs. Mystery Entrant vs. Apostasy** vs. Atlas Adams vs. Axel van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. the Celt** vs. Chris Austin** vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. cYnical vs. Damien Inferno vs. Daniel Pleasant vs. David GS vs. Drew Michaels vs. Dunnwood** vs. Eddie Chamberlain vs. Gray vs. J.L. Anwyl vs. Jack Phoenix vs. Jeff Watson vs. Jeff Whitt vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Leon Caprice** vs. Leviticus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Nick Bryson vs. PX vs. Seth Omega** vs. Storm vs. Trey Spruance

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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeSun Feb 13, 2011 11:58 pm

FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 Mtvologodraft

-FMW presents Mt. Vesuvius LIVE from the Roman Coliseum in Rome, Italy-
Tonight's Card:


Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
Dussy vs. David Ravish vs. Seth Rotunda vs. Nate Stone vs. "Outlaw" John Andrews vs. Shaker Jones

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy vs. Leon Caprice (c)

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood vs. Seth Omega vs. The Celt

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost vs. TyranT (c)

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Abel Steele vs. Mystery Entrant vs. Apostasy** vs. Atlas Adams vs. Axel van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. the Celt** vs. Chris Austin** vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. cYnical vs. Damien Inferno vs. Daniel Pleasant vs. David GS vs. Drew Michaels vs. Dunnwood** vs. Eddie Chamberlain vs. Gray vs. J.L. Anwyl vs. Jack Phoenix vs. Jeff Watson vs. Jeff Whitt vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Leon Caprice** vs. Leviticus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Nick Bryson vs. PX vs. Seth Omega** vs. Storm vs. Trey Spruance
* You must vote for three people in the match.
** These people need to only promo once.

PROMO ONLY until Friday, February 11 11:59 PM EST. VOTING AND PROMO (without penalty) until Sunday, February 13 11:59 PM EST.
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Nicholas Gray
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Nicholas Gray


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FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeMon Feb 14, 2011 12:41 am

FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 Mtvologodraft

-FMW presents Mt. Vesuvius LIVE from the Roman Coliseum in Rome, Italy-
Tonight's Card:


Rookies 6-Man Battle Royal
Dussy vs. David Ravish vs. Seth Rotunda vs. Nate Stone vs. "Outlaw" John Andrews vs. Shaker Jones

FMW Abandoned Championship
Apostasy vs. Leon Caprice (c)

FMW Ultraviolent Championship
Dunnwood vs. Seth Omega vs. The Celt

C-4 Rules Match for the FMW C-4 Championship
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship
Hannibal Frost vs. TyranT (c)

3rd Annual Mt. Vesuvius Match*
Abel Steele vs. Mystery Entrant vs. Apostasy** vs. Atlas Adams vs. Axel van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. the Celt** vs. Chris Austin** vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. cYnical vs. Damien Inferno vs. Daniel Pleasant vs. David GS vs. Drew Michaels vs. Dunnwood** vs. Eddie Chamberlain vs. Gray vs. J.L. Anwyl vs. Jack Phoenix vs. Jeff Watson vs. Jeff Whitt vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Leon Caprice** vs. Leviticus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Nick Bryson vs. PX vs. Seth Omega** vs. Storm vs. Trey Spruance
* You must vote for three people in the match.
** These people need to only promo once.

PROMO ONLY until Friday, February 11 11:59 PM EST. VOTING AND PROMO (without penalty) until Sunday, February 13 11:59 PM EST.
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Slegna
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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitimeMon Feb 14, 2011 12:42 am

And this thing is now locked. Good luck, gentlemen.
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PostSubject: Re: FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW MT. VESUVIUS VOTING AND PROMO THREAD - Page 2 I_icon_minitime

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