janusd

*watches Duran refuse to get in the ring with a psychopath and send Maddix in his place to be annihilated every time the Anti-Heel Hell Machine guy is in the ring*

Dummy, I know that. I'm just saying that the match played out that I feel Aecas didn't "gain" anything from facing Duran, but the match itself gain Aecas his wealth of "good heat". Get what I mean? It's 2:15am down here in Aussieland, gimme a break. And yeah, I get it.

Well, Duran's a hated heel. A face giving him any sort of beating = good heat.

Duran is correct. As anyone can see, there is a Duran vs Janus match on Lockdown. It was always there. Everyone must have been glazing over it or something. Now, on a completely unrelated topic, let's sing the praises of our incredibly handsome, genius head booker~! (This post has not been modified to protect the incompitant)

Hopefully my upcoming job as Presidential Footrest, and GOdrea's job as Presidential Coaster will pay well.

*quietly applauds Toxxic's user title* Damn straight you mark for me, boy.

You're gonna feel him up? *cries* How come -I- never get felt up? *this stereotypical furry comment brought to you by a guy in a tanuki fursuit with a giant scrotum*

MAIN EVENT INTERCONTINENTAL TELEVISION TITLE MATCH Charlie "Grappler" Matthews© vs "Coyote" Coy West ~ Close call. I'll bet on Coyjiro, though he has a tough foe in Matthews. YES THERE HAD TO BE A WACKY STIP MATCH Ann "Ichiban" Onita vs Landon Maddix Rules: Hardcore rules, first person to be trapped inside the cage loses, but there are only two people anyway. ~ ICH-I-BAN! CRUISERWEIGHT TITLE MATCH Wildchild© vs Todd Royal ~ Like Dub Cee is letting go of that belt anytime soon? NON- TITLE MATCH Aecas vs Sacred ~ I'll back the Brit I brought in and fellow Trinity member Aye-cas. USJL #1 CONTENDERSHIP MATCH "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins vs Johnny Dangerous ~ Johnny D, unless he can't write. HARDCORE TITLE CONTENDERSHIP MATCH Toxxic vs Jacob Helmsley ~ Jacob worships me for his M:TG card. Toxxic...marks out for Terrence/Janus's MPD. Hm. Toxxic. SINGLES MATCH Janus vs John Duran ~ Me, of course. SINGLES MATCH Aidan Redmond vs Insane Luchadore ~ Aidan noshows, IL noshows....so...whoever shows?

I always knew that I sucked.

*turns heel and GOOOOOOORES Dace away from the opening promo, then pops a pill and claims a relapse* Mine! Mine and Duran's! Muwahahaa!

I made them using a cheap little program that calls itself "CCG maker" pretty much. If you want one, just throw me a usable image and I'll think of Something to put in that's character relevant.

Ejiro, Muzz, I made some stat changes. Nothing too big, just the intro and a rare move or two. *beats head on desk* Must write...

By now the setting has become a familiar sight. As he parks his car outside the large building, Terrence Bailey sits at the driver's seat for a long moment, staring at nothing in particular. He knows he's been here before as him, and that as well as the memory of three months in a psychiatric hospital are fresh in his mind. Slowly, he climbs out of the car and locks the doors, green eyes focused dead ahead as he strides through the automatic doors. His boots echo loudly on the white-tiled floor, as the atmosphere inside is peacefully quiet. Trenchcoat fluttering behind him, the seven footer stops at the receptionist desk and clears his throat politely. The receptionist looks up at him, and not a word is spoken. She knows him as well as he knows the building itself. "Dr. Frood is waiting for you in the third office down the hall, Mr. Bailey." "Thank you." Striding from the lobby, the echoing footfalls of boot-on-tile become a more hushed boot-on-carpet as the man known as the Anti-Heel Machine heads down the hallway. Reaching the third door in a few long strides, he does not even bother knocking as he swings it open and steps inside. Inside, the thin and tweed-suited figure of Doctor Frood sits at his desk, and he makes a single motion with his hand. The Anti-Heel Machine takes a seat across from his psychiatrist, brushing his black-and-white hair from his face. "Good afternoon, Doctor." Frood makes a note on a sheet of paper and looks up, eyes narrowed yet calmly relaxed behind his glasses. "By your tone of voice, I'm talking to Terrence, am I not?" "You are, Doctor." "I thought I asked that you undertake no violent activities when you left my care at the hospital, Mr. Bailey." "I know. But..." the big man trails off and contemplates. "Wrestling is in my blood, I guess." "Ah, by your choice of words, you do not understand why you returned, am I right?" "I returned because I enjoyed it, Doctor. I had friends there, and I enjoyed going out and entertaining the fans." Doctor Frood scribbles some more notes down on the sheet in front of him, then eyes it thoughtfully. Scratching out something he'd already written, he puts his pen down and folds his fingers together, steepling them before himself. Across from him, Terrence waits patiently, his bulk relaxed and calm, as unintimidating as possible. "You're sure your return was not precipitated by the desire to cause violence, Mr Bailey?" "I was in remission, so to speak, Doctor. Janus was no longer a dominant personality." "He seems to think differently, from what I have seen on your show. What prompted his re-emergence, Mr. Bailey?" Terrence frowns, contemplating his best answer. Again grooming his hair out of his face with large hands, the Anti-Heel Machine folds his hands in his lap. He takes a deep breath, then lifts his eyes to meet those of the small doctor. "How about you ask him yourself, Doctor Frood?" Before the Doctor can respond, Terrence closes his eyes. His jaw twitches slightly, and he seems to undergo a change. His body gets a little tenser, and his lips curl into a slight smirk. The relaxed, untimidating aura vanishes, and when he opens his eyes again, they're icy cold. Unperturbed, Doctor Frood checks his sheet again. "Well, Janus?" "Anger and frustration at various things, my dear Doctor. Danny Williams losing the title and disappearing. His loss at the SWF Clusterfuck. The loss of his precious Hardcore Gamers Championship belt. He was less than happy..." "And you, Janus, the person steeped in blood and hatred, the person created by someone else, came to the fore once more." "Well, aren't you bright, Doctor." "Your sarcasm is unappreciated, Janus..." "So are you, Doctor Frood." That comeback gives the Doctor pause, and a flicker of real fear comes into his eyes. Janus leans forward, resting his hands on the edge of Frood's table. That smirk on his face widens a little, and he continues speaking. "You and Terrence sought to eliminate me, like I was a disease or something that could be confined, be controlled. Like it or not, Doctor Frood, the process that made me what I am is not reversible, and I am as much a person as our dear little Terrence." "Your...point...Janus?" Frood stammers. "Perhaps rather than all this pathetic, incessant discussion you so enjoy, you could do something better." "Have you two...ever considered...a truce? A mutual goal, something to stop you fighting against each other?" Janus cocks his head with an almost appreciative chuckle at the Doctor's sudden flash of inspiration. "It crossed our minds, but opposing personalities do not good negotiators make..." Frood nods his head, the spark of interest lighting in his eyes once more. "Maybe I can help with that..." Some Hours Later... The receptionist did not look up at the sound of doors opening and closing. She did not watch the trenchcoated figure of the Anti-Heel Machine walk at a quick trot towards the exit. Nor does she watch the second figure following close behind, equally tall, and in black attire. As Terrence steps out into the daylight, blinking his green eyes, a hand lands on his shoulder. Instinctively, the big man turns around. In a face of loosely ponytailed black hair, the dead white eyes of the Black Angel stare back at him. ".....Aecas?" the Anti-Heel Machine queries after a pause. The seven footer snorts and smiles coolly. "Gabriel. I'll be seeing you soon, Janus..." Sweeping past the surprised Australian, the seven foot figure of the Black Angel straddles his motorcycle. A loud roar fills the air, and then the hefty bike roars off into the distance. The green-eyed Terrence Bailey stares after it for a moment, the words coming off his lips to no one in particular. "....Terrence, not Janus..." ~Liar.~ "Just because Frood has us co-existing doesn't mean we have to like each other, you know..." ~Tell me about it...~ The Anti-Heel Machine frowns, and the frown stays on his face even as he climbs into his car and starts the engine, driving away from the psychiatric institute. On one side, there was Terrence Bailey, the nice, green-eyed, friendly Australian. On the other side was Janus, the darker, red-eyed, hellish psychopath. Watching the car pull away from one of his windows, Dr. Frood watches with a slight frown of his own. He turns away and picks up the phone, pressing one of the buttons to contact his receptionist. "Sasha, my dear, check Mr. Bailey's file and get me the number for Mark Stevens, if you please..."

*gets out a bag of nails and a hammer* -Annie *flips a coin* *ties Z down for the Queen*

I'd agree with you, but... He has a point.

You're not feeling it, but Kibs is. Probably right now. *ba-dum-tssssssh*

Piano wire would work if the dentist was Chris Wilson... ...then again that's just from what I gleaned of a character I know nothing about.

I thought only heels got gifts at Kingmas? And a merry birthday to our resident God of Heels!

Find someone faster and reliably than the lazy bastards who fixed it last time, eh?

Well, I'm not Tom, but... *prays it never happens*

In the aftermath of SWF Storm's main event, the arena is empty. Many of the superstars and others such as road agents have already packed up and gone home with the exception of the few still deconstructing the ring. Like a sulking beast, the form of Terrence "Janus" Bailey sits on the mat, leaning against the apron. The black and white hair of the Anti-Heel Machine hangs in his face, some of the white showing a bloody red hue. Under the hair, the face of the seven footer is grim and frostbittenly cold, made even more intense by the dried blood that covers it. He'd lost the Hardcore Gamers Title. Granted, it was not the highest of the high, yet it was something he'd earned by defeating the BEST Hardcore Gamers Champion in the business. Cold fury burned through his veins as he recalled hearing the three count, and of John Duran celebrating. He'd failed to take the impudent Notorious One out with the Rage Unleashed, and so it was the officials that had felt his wrath. And yet - he felt oddly at calm with himself. As if it were perfectly natural to assault so many men. ~Who am I?~ ~Janus.~ ~No, I'm Terrence...you're Janus.~ ~Ah, but the lines have blurred, child. You know you loved the violence you caused tonight.~ ~I didn't...~ ~You DID and you can NOT deny it!~ "SHUT UP!" the Anti-Heel Machine roared, surging to his feet with his hands clapped over his ears as if to shut out the voice in his head, expression a cross of fury and anguish. "Uh... Mr... Bailey... sir?" The bloodied face of Terrence "Janus" Bailey swings away from its blank stare into the middle distance, coming to rest upon the form of one of the more nondescript road agents. He holds a folded letter in one hand, and under the ominous glare of the Anti-Heel Machine, he holds it out. Yanking the letter from the little man's grip, the big man holds it up and scans it. The anguished, angry look on his face faded to one of stone, his expression unnaturally grim. "Do you know the contents of this letter?" he growled softly. "Uh... no sir... not at all. Mr. Stevens just asked me to..." "Get out of my sight." "Excu..." The road agent lets out a squeal of fear as Terrence sends a right hand swinging towards him, and falls on his rear. With a panicked look on his face, the little man scrambles to his feet and away from the bigger man, who watches with a smile curving his lips. The smile fades again as he looks down at the note clutched in his gloved hands. It was printed out, but at the bottom of it was the familiar signature of SWF Commissioner "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens. "Terrence Bailey, Concerning the aftermatch of tonight's show, your conduct is worrying. The level of aggression you displayed was hardly befitting of an SWF superstar, especially one with your known history of mental imbalance. Moments after the show went off the air, I received a call from one Doctor Frood. He told me you did not make your appointment with him, one you organised yourself. After seeing you in the ring tonight, it is of my opinion you will be suspended immediatley for a period of two to three shows, pending a psychiatric evaluation. You are to see Doctor Frood at your earliest convienence. Regards, 'Grand Slam' Mark Stevens SWF Commisioner" Crumpling the letter in his hand, the Anti-Heel Machine let out a low growl. How dare he, he thought. How dare Stevens suspend him for something as trivial as the brutality he'd shown earlier tonight. But on the other hand, what Stevens had said rang true. He had purposefully missed the appointment with Doctor Frood, and continued to wrestle. ~Indeed, who is he to do this? All it would take is a walk to his office next show, and show him our rage...~ ~We're suspended.~ ~You will let THAT...~ ~No, I won't let YOU influence my decisions! I'm going to visit Doctor Frood, and we'll shut you up again.~ ~I'm always here, Terrence. Always.~ That little whisper lingering in his head, the Anti-Heel Machine finally let the aggression drain out of his system, and sighed deeply. Clenching his fist tightly around the crumpled letter, he began to stalk towards the locker rooms. Dropping the piece of paper as he moved, the seven footer rounded a corner and vanished from sight. A moment later, another hand reached down to lift the crumpled piece of paper up and unfold it. The figure holding the letter slowly began to chuckle, a recognisable chuckle. Smiling broadly at the letter in his hands, the Notorious One folded it neatly and tucked it into a pocket, making his own exit from the arena. The Anti-Heel Machine, unknowing and uncaring, threw his bags into the boot of his Torana before climbing in and starting the engine. As the car pulled away from the arena, the expression on the seven footer's face was one of a relaxed exhaustion. It was only a temporary suspension, he reasoned, one that would be over the moment he visited Doctor Frood and they suppressed Janus again. But the question lingered in his mind. Could the Hell Machine truely be subdued? All that I know, there was no God for me Force that shatters all, absence of humanity Revive all my fears, revive wasted tears Revive void within, revive once again...

Expecting something more along the furry line of thought, Muzz?

Tarja, of Nightwish. *leeches Dace's bandwidth. </obvious?>

On a random 2:04 am note, that reminded me of a series of books I have... w00t.

The front is only for Dace and his misses. Anyone else that wants a ride and load up in the back and be VERY careful not to break all the bondage gear. Well drive more safely next time and I won't fall over into stuff!