PROMO: The Mag-7 Rings In 2003

[Guest Ace309]

The Ritz-Carlton New York, Central Park.

December 31, 2002.

5 PM.

 

Judge Mental, Danny Williams and Frost sit around the small table in the hotel room, all dressed to the nines in their New Year's Eve tuxedos. Frost looks particularly decked out, having had a special New Year's 2003 Frost Brand Cigar case made for the occasion. He offers them around, with Mental accepting the cigar and Williams simply sneering at Frost until he shrugs and takes his own cigar. Frost lights his cigar and Mental does the same.

 

"I'm still not happy," says Frost in between puffs. "I understand that someone has to travel with the Juniors, but it just doesn't make sense that I'm stuck babysitting Fasaki and Fugue."

 

"I'm sure it's not that bad, Frost." Mental, as always, maintains an even tone in attempting to diffuse the conflict between Flesher and Frost. "I used to travel with them. I know Fugue likes to rant and rave, but Ejiro was always a good travel partner, and if you let Fugue keep to himself, he won't bother you."

 

Frost sneers. "If you get along with them so well, why didn't you fly out here with them? Why were you so eager to travel with Flesher and Williams?"

 

Mental exhales a puff of thick smoke and shrugs. "Well, first of all, it didn't seem like a good idea for you and Danny to travel together. Tom said it would probably involve some friction between the two of you, and that's just not something we need right now."

 

"Yeah," says Williams coolly. "Like I said, it's not like I'd MIND wrestling you, but I'm sure you understand. We all have our jobs to do." Williams sighs and rolls his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just ask Flesher."

 

"Come on, Deathwish. It's for the good of the stable. Sit back, focus on Francis and let Tom worry about the schedule."

 

"What's taking him so long, anyway?" says Williams sharply. "We've been waiting for hours."

 

"Well," says Mental, "Fasaki and Fugue are still getting dressed. Besides, Tom needs to make sure everything's perfect tonight. You know about the photo ops tonight."

 

...

 

In the bathroom, Flesher stands in front of the mirror, freshly shaved and dressed in a spectacular white-tie-and-tails ensemble. Next to him on the counter is his black fedora, which he picks up and nearly sets on his head before changing his mind and putting it back down. He examines every curve of his own face, looking desperately for another flaw to fix, so that he can delay the public appearance a few more minutes.

 

I just can't believe it, he thinks to himself. It's not right, dammit.

 

He steps back, putting his upper body in full view of the wide-angle mirror. In lieu of the more traditional waistcoat or cummerbund, he wears his SWF Tag Team Championship. He looks down, sees the belt and grimaces sourly.

 

This was supposed to be my victory party. New Year's 2003, Tom Flesher, the SWF's Superior World Heavyweight Champion. Tom Flesher, leader of the Magnificent Seven, the man who walked the King's Road straight to the SWF World Championship. Tom Flesher, superior, damn good looking and the mainstream superstar.

 

...

 

Frost, Williams and Mental sit in uncomfortable silence, waiting for Flesher to emerge from his endless preparation and start their evening of revelry. A sudden rap on the door gets their attention, and Mental shouts, "Come on in!"

 

In walk Ejiro Fasaki, the SJL World Championship conspicuously around his waist in much the same fashion as Flesher's Tag Team title, and Fugue, incongruous with his expensive, tailored tuxedo and scraggly hair and beard. Frost looks over and rolls his eyes. "Oh, it's just the leaguers."

 

Fasaki smirks and pats his championship belt silently while Fugue steps forward and smiles broadly and begins to speak.

 

"Out with the old year and in with the new, this evening. It's like a half-cadence, a fourth to a fifth, completing the thought but somehow leaving you wanting more. And what more do we give them? We give them an exquisite seven-part harmony, a magnificent harmony of the top athletes in the world today."

 

Williams looks up. "Listen, shut up for a second, okay?"

 

Fugue, somewhat dumbfounded but still smiling, inhales, preparing another soliloquy. Unfortunately, Frost stands up and bellows, "TOM, WE'RE WAITING ON YOU!" before Fugue can launch into another thought.

 

...

 

Jesus, can't they just wait a few more minutes? Flesher stares forlornly at his reflection. They just expect me to go out there and pretend I'm happy. They seem to want me to pretend I didn't just piss away my first World Title shot. First I lost to Orochi. He took my ICTV Championship, but I didn't care. I knew I was headed further down the road, and I could let it go. But now... Magnifico. Someone I've beaten before. No. I didn't just beat him, I made him tap out. I made him admit he was weak to the entire world on pay-per-view, but I couldn't do it when it counted.

 

...

 

Mental gets up and raps on the door. "Tom?" he says. "Come on. Our reservations are at six, and you know how the traffic is."

 

After a moment, the sharp reply from inside the bathroom: "JUST A FEW MORE MINUTES!"

 

Frost fiercely grabs his cigar case and shoves it into his pocket. "I don't have time for this. I'm going downstairs to make sure the limo's here."

 

...

 

Flesher looks himself up and down once more and thinks to himself, This is unbelievable. He stares at his reflection, trying to come to terms with the fact that tonight he has to pretend to be someone he isn't. He has to pretend to be happy. He has to pretend he's not a failure.

 

A few more blocks on the road, he says silently to himself. And Magnifico better watch his fucking back when I get him in the ring again. I know I'll take him down, make him scream and make sure he can't walk out of the ring... but that's not tonight. Tonight, I'm a failure. This was supposed to be my victory party, but tonight I'm just another schmuck. And instead of the World Championship, I have this. Something that Frost can call his, too.

 

...

 

Just as everyone's getting ready to leave, the bathroom door bursts open. Dramatically, Flesher steps out and makes his entrance into the main part of the hotel room.

 

"Is everyone ready?"

 

He's met with grins and nods from the entire stable, save the absent Frost.

 

Just like him. Not a team player. Doesn't even give a fuck.

 

"Come on, men. Let's go show New York just how Magnificent we are."

 

Fucking Scandinavian asshole.

 

"And we'll ring in the New Year, Superior style."

 

I've got to get him out of the way. I've got to get to Magnifico again before he does.

 

Flesher pats Mental and Williams on the shoulders, and nods at Fasaki. "Let's go, gentlemen. The reservations are at six."

 

 

 

 

~fin~

[Guest realitycheck]

Tom, let me say this right now: This is the best promo you've ever written, in my opinion. Maybe I just enjoyed it more than any of your others, I don't know.

 

Regardless, a simple little idea that furthers Flesher's King's Road storyline. A simple little idea that's going to lead to some other things, bigger things...

 

Anyway, good stuff.

 

-Z

[Guest Powerplay]

Wow. That's a kick ass promo, Taamo. Great job on the characters. Tension between you, ELM, and Frost rises, and I like pointing out the past history between Danny and Frost. Once again you show why you are King's Road and why you SHOULD be on King's Road.

[Guest Edwin MacPhisto]

"The reservations are at six."

 

And they say we're no good at subtlety.

[Guest CED Ordonez]

Dammit I wanted to point that out and look smooth. Accurse your inherent powers of smoothness, MacPhisto!

[Guest 5_moves_of_doom]

*flies in from Australia*

 

*greets all of his M7 buds with a "Merry Christmas!"*

 

*runs into a wall*

 

*flies back*

[Guest AnnieEclectic]

Again and again, Tom Flesher puts on clinics. Usually its a clinic in how to write a beautiful match, but this time it's his superior promo ability. God damn, man.

 

-Annie