Not wanting to sound impatient or anything, but is the IC going up any time soon? I'm excited to get going!
Sarge Member
The Magnificently Whiskered
STATUS: Rebel Academy - Recruiting again, need a few more players! - roleplayerguild.com/topics/8.. 9 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: SgtKlum
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 138 (0.04 / day)
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- Sarge 11 yrs ago
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9 yrs ago
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Rebel Academy - Recruiting again, need a few more players! - roleplayerguild.com/topics/8..
9 yrs ago
Star Wars: Rebel Academy - Now Recruiting! roleplayerguild.com/topics/8..
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"Thanks, Drayden. See you at the next show!" Connor called after the veteran as he watched him disappear down the hallway. Having watched several of Drayden's matches over the last few weeks, it occurred to Connor that this was probably the guy he most wanted to step into a ring with at the moment. Even if he lost, putting on a good match with Drayden was just one of those things that always made the fans sit up and pay attention.
Connor knocked at the half-open door before leaning in and poking his head around it. The office was a little darker than he was expecting, but even in the low light he managed to make out the stark figure of Jack Flanagan reclining in a high-backed chair.
"Hey boss. You got a sec? Was hoping to talk a bit about your plans for the Battle in Seattle."
Connor knocked at the half-open door before leaning in and poking his head around it. The office was a little darker than he was expecting, but even in the low light he managed to make out the stark figure of Jack Flanagan reclining in a high-backed chair.
"Hey boss. You got a sec? Was hoping to talk a bit about your plans for the Battle in Seattle."
Well, if anyone wants to do a random weekly match with me I'm up for that. I'm thinking we do it in PMs then post it up after, makes it easier to do back-and-forth.
"Maybe. But I for one plan to keep showing the old man I'm willing to try. He might not be interested in pushing any of us right now, but that doesn't mean he can't bury us." Connor mused, knowing full well what would happen if he tried to get over on his own. Besides, as a heel he was getting pretty decent heat at the moment. Not quite 'Ivan Ivanowsky in his heyday' heat, but decent. Who knows, if he kept going at this rate he might even get a legitimate shot at the Champion at some point? A guy could dream.
"Speaking of which, I'm gonna pay Flanagan a visit before I head off for the night. The sooner I know what he's got planned for me at the Battle, the more time I have to prepare something good! See you guys at the next show!" He added, picking up his kitbag. He left the room to a murmur of "See ya"s and "Catch you later"s and headed in the direction of Jack Flanagan's office.
"Speaking of which, I'm gonna pay Flanagan a visit before I head off for the night. The sooner I know what he's got planned for me at the Battle, the more time I have to prepare something good! See you guys at the next show!" He added, picking up his kitbag. He left the room to a murmur of "See ya"s and "Catch you later"s and headed in the direction of Jack Flanagan's office.
Mike Blaze's reply caught Connor by surprise. Not least because from the way the guy had been leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed, he'd assumed he was asleep. Even so, the guy made sense. He'd seen it happen time and again. Promoters usually had one or two guys they wanted to hold the top belts, and everybody else had to make do with either doing the job for them or languishing in the midcard.
"Well yeah, but if that crowd is any indication the fans don't want Max Power any more. Even the great Jack Flanagan can only ignore that for so long. Perhaps we could be witnessing the dawn of a new age..." At this point, Connor stood dramatically, held a pretend microphone to his lips and put on his best impersonation of Flanagan's signature deep, raspy voice. "The Fall of Max Power!"
A laugh erupted from some of the wrestlers. Others just shifted uncomfortably. Those that had been here long enough knew that Mike was, in all likelihood, right on the money. There was a saying in the halls of GPW; "Only three things in life are certain: Death, taxes and Max Power going over!".
"Well yeah, but if that crowd is any indication the fans don't want Max Power any more. Even the great Jack Flanagan can only ignore that for so long. Perhaps we could be witnessing the dawn of a new age..." At this point, Connor stood dramatically, held a pretend microphone to his lips and put on his best impersonation of Flanagan's signature deep, raspy voice. "The Fall of Max Power!"
A laugh erupted from some of the wrestlers. Others just shifted uncomfortably. Those that had been here long enough knew that Mike was, in all likelihood, right on the money. There was a saying in the halls of GPW; "Only three things in life are certain: Death, taxes and Max Power going over!".
@Sarge in your post, were you referring to me with Matt Edwards? Just asking
Yeah, sorry, I didn't make it very clear. Feel free to not respond if you don't want to, I'm more into my open tags but I figured I'd try to get someone's name in.
Post up. The match is supposed to have taken place -before- the Max Power title match, but the conversation is happening in the locker room after the show.
"Watch the clotheslines."
Connor spoke the words carefully into his opponents ear as he clutched him close, then watched him stepped back as he was Irish Whipped towards the ring ropes. It was a routine he'd practised a million times: Irish Whip into ropes, clothesline, opponent pops back up, second clothesline, opponent goes for the reverse, counter into the DDT. Crowd boos as 'Rabid' Rob Reynolds goes for the pin. Kick out at two.
"Time to go home." Connor smiled down at the much younger wrestler, a local they'd brought in as a jobber for TV. Connor had made sure to run through his finishing move with the kid before the match, here's hoping he'd remembered their conversation. 'Rabid' Rob Reynolds leered over his battered opponent, then raised his head the the sky and let out a high pitched howl. His signature wolf howl. Even though he'd only been with PWG a short time, the crowd knew what it meant. This poor young man was about to get suplexed. Hard.
Connor leaned down and scooped the much smaller wrestler into a suplex hold. Just as they'd talked about, he raised him up and the kid did his best to post himself, hanging in the Vertical Suplex for what seemed like an eternity. The longer he held it, the more impressive it would look to the crowd. Finally, when it looked like he was beginning to wane (and his face started turning an unhealthy shade of purple), Connor ended it, bringing dropping him down and planting him with the slam. Just on the periphery of his hearing, he could make out the unmistakable sound of the commentary team screaming the name of his finisher down their microphones, really selling the move to the audience. The boos drowned out everything else as he crawled into the cover, lazily lifting his defeated opponent's leg up to signify the pin. One... two... three... ding ding ding.
"Your winner by pinfall... Rrrrrrabid Rob Reynolds!" The ring announcer called into his microphone as the sound tech did his job and began piping Ozzy Osbourne into the stadium. The referee stepped forward to raise Connor's hand. This was the part where he could really sell how much of an asshole Rob Reynolds really was. He shook off the hand, threatening him with a balled fist, before leaning over the defeated jobber and beginning to strike him repeatedly in the head. The referee immediately tried to pull Connor off of him, but was pushed back so that the beating could continue. The boos increased, if that were even possible, as more 'match officials' appeared and tried to pull him away from his fallen opponent, eventually requiring four referees to pull him off the man. Even then, 'Rabid' Rob Reynolds continued thrashing about like a wild animal, throwing elbows and headbutts towards anyone stupid enough to get within range. Finally, he was escorted back up the ramp and through the curtain, the crowd continuing to loudly boo him the entire way.
"Christ, did you see that crowd tonight? I got some pretty decent heat, but they fucking crucified Max during the title match. In all my years up in Fort George, I never saw a foreign heel cheered for." Connor turned towards Matt Edwards, another relative newcomer on the scene. He hadn't learned his real name yet, but had made sure to watch the match he'd had that night and was fairly impressed.
"Si, that was fucked up, man." A shorter man in a lucha mask joined in. "Don't know what is with these crowds.. back home, you cheer the good guys and boo the bad guys. These fans just want to boo everyone!"
"Right? Anyway.. did you hear the big news about the Battle in Seattle, Jimmy D reckons he overheard Flanagan saying he'll be putting a lot of the younger guys in the Battle Royal. Something about 'grabbing brass rings'. You reckon any of us are in for a chance?"
Connor spoke the words carefully into his opponents ear as he clutched him close, then watched him stepped back as he was Irish Whipped towards the ring ropes. It was a routine he'd practised a million times: Irish Whip into ropes, clothesline, opponent pops back up, second clothesline, opponent goes for the reverse, counter into the DDT. Crowd boos as 'Rabid' Rob Reynolds goes for the pin. Kick out at two.
"Time to go home." Connor smiled down at the much younger wrestler, a local they'd brought in as a jobber for TV. Connor had made sure to run through his finishing move with the kid before the match, here's hoping he'd remembered their conversation. 'Rabid' Rob Reynolds leered over his battered opponent, then raised his head the the sky and let out a high pitched howl. His signature wolf howl. Even though he'd only been with PWG a short time, the crowd knew what it meant. This poor young man was about to get suplexed. Hard.
Connor leaned down and scooped the much smaller wrestler into a suplex hold. Just as they'd talked about, he raised him up and the kid did his best to post himself, hanging in the Vertical Suplex for what seemed like an eternity. The longer he held it, the more impressive it would look to the crowd. Finally, when it looked like he was beginning to wane (and his face started turning an unhealthy shade of purple), Connor ended it, bringing dropping him down and planting him with the slam. Just on the periphery of his hearing, he could make out the unmistakable sound of the commentary team screaming the name of his finisher down their microphones, really selling the move to the audience. The boos drowned out everything else as he crawled into the cover, lazily lifting his defeated opponent's leg up to signify the pin. One... two... three... ding ding ding.
"Your winner by pinfall... Rrrrrrabid Rob Reynolds!" The ring announcer called into his microphone as the sound tech did his job and began piping Ozzy Osbourne into the stadium. The referee stepped forward to raise Connor's hand. This was the part where he could really sell how much of an asshole Rob Reynolds really was. He shook off the hand, threatening him with a balled fist, before leaning over the defeated jobber and beginning to strike him repeatedly in the head. The referee immediately tried to pull Connor off of him, but was pushed back so that the beating could continue. The boos increased, if that were even possible, as more 'match officials' appeared and tried to pull him away from his fallen opponent, eventually requiring four referees to pull him off the man. Even then, 'Rabid' Rob Reynolds continued thrashing about like a wild animal, throwing elbows and headbutts towards anyone stupid enough to get within range. Finally, he was escorted back up the ramp and through the curtain, the crowd continuing to loudly boo him the entire way.
***
"Christ, did you see that crowd tonight? I got some pretty decent heat, but they fucking crucified Max during the title match. In all my years up in Fort George, I never saw a foreign heel cheered for." Connor turned towards Matt Edwards, another relative newcomer on the scene. He hadn't learned his real name yet, but had made sure to watch the match he'd had that night and was fairly impressed.
"Si, that was fucked up, man." A shorter man in a lucha mask joined in. "Don't know what is with these crowds.. back home, you cheer the good guys and boo the bad guys. These fans just want to boo everyone!"
"Right? Anyway.. did you hear the big news about the Battle in Seattle, Jimmy D reckons he overheard Flanagan saying he'll be putting a lot of the younger guys in the Battle Royal. Something about 'grabbing brass rings'. You reckon any of us are in for a chance?"
Any good song ideas. I don't really know very many before 1996
His gimmick isn't really one that screams any particular songs at me, but somewhat related to his catchphrase: Don't Fear The Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult
Can't think of anything else, so just some cool era-appropriate songs:
Motley Crue - Kickstart My Heart
Eric Clapton/Derek & The Dominoes - Layla
Kiss - Rock & Roll All Night
Uriah Heep - Easy Livin'
El Tiburón
Name:'El Tiburón' (real name Marco Silva)
Hometown: La Paz, Mexico
Height: 5' 7"
Weight: 192lbs
Entrance Music: El Jarabe Tapatio
Alignment: Babyface
Gimmick: 'El Tiburon' (The Shark, in English) was a major success in Mexico, one of the biggest stars on the lucha scene. His father, 'Mas Peligro', is considered perhaps the greatest luchador to ever have laced up a mask. His goal in life is simple; he just wants to make his father proud, and no longer have to live in his shadow. He is typically cast as the plucky underdog babyface, usually involved in long-term feuds with much larger wrestlers.
Personality: Behind the scenes, Marco's fiery latin temper is well-documented. He suffers from a Napoleon complex, constantly trying to prove he's better than other, larger wrestlers and getting into no small amount of backstage drama as a result. The language barrier, coupled with his reputation as something of an emotional powderkeg, has made it difficult for Marco to make friends.
Biography: As the eldest son of one of the most famous Luchadors in history, Marco was never going to be anything other than a wrestler just like his father. He grew up watching his father perform every week and as soon as he was old enough he began training alongside him as well, acting as a sparring partner when he could so he could learn the fighting style.
It wasn't long before he took to the ring himself, adopting the name 'El Tiburon' and donning a mask with a shark motif. By this stage, his father owned his own promotion and began booking Marco in the midcard, often challenging for the second-tier title belt or the Tag Team belts. After a few years of this, Marco confronted his father and insisted that he was ready to perform at a higher level. His father agreed, and they engaged in a long storyline where Peligro lost the top title to his arch nemesis, 'Sin Miedo', and Tiburon set out to win back the family's honor, eventually leading to him winning the title belt and putting him over as the new top face of the company.
Unfortunately, financial issues forced his father to close his doors and Tiburon found himself struggling to be taken seriously by the other lucha companies, who thought he only made it big because of his father. Eventually, he decided that he would try his luck in America and began sending tapes of his matches around. He got several offers from smaller, regional broadcasters but as soon as he found out that GPW were interested, he knew that's where he had to be.
Wrestling Style: Luchador
Finishing Move:
Peligro Piledriver - Snap piledriver (Innovated by his father)
It should be noted that Tiburon can perform this move even against opponents he cannot lift (usually by dropping them to their knees first). In these instances it is more of a sitout facebuster than a piledriver, but the move uses the same name so as not to confuse the audience.
Common Moves:
Enziguri
Flying Headscissors
Jumping Clothesline
Hurricanrana
Missile Dropkick
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