Promo YOINK~!

[The Ill One 0]

OoC: Apologies ahead of time. Screw anguish.

 

 

(For the most part the Wachovia Center is empty. Most wrestlers are taking their sweet time arriving wondering if they can somehow reserve blood transfers due to how brutal the upcoming Lockdown appears to be. However many employees are busy carting around accommodations for the show. Matter of fact two scrawny workers are struggling to move a long, heavy cardboard box towards ringside. They both whine as the ring is being set up and other workers finish up with the barricades).

 

“Man how do these things weigh?” One grunts. We’ll call him Phil.

 

The other shrugs and signals for the other to ease up and the two cautiously let the package rest against one of the barricades. “Way too much,” The other, Rufus, grunts as he jerks his head to the side where many of the same packages rest against the barricade on the opposite side. “How many did you buy?”

 

Phil pauses and scrunches his face. “Shucks, fifty at least," he figures.

 

Rufus’ jaw drops. “Fifty? Christ Phil,” He says as he smacks Phil on the arm. “That’s, like, over a hundred glass panes! They come in packs of two!”

 

“Well let’s get going for the others,” Phil sighs as they walk back up the aisle.

 

Suddenly a head pops up from behind the barricade and the black spiked hair with green streaks showing are a dead give away. Soon half of Luchador’s face can be seen as he glances over the area. He notices nobody else is paying any attention so he quickly shoots out his arms and yanks the cardboard box over the barricade. “Yoink!” He says as he begins to crawl back to the backstage area.

 

The men working on the ring all stop and glance around at each other. “Who yoinked?” They ask as they look for the “yoinker.” After a quick glance around they all shrug and go back to their jobs.

 

--

 

The Insane Luchador, Andrew Rickmen, walks down the isolated backstage hallways that are barely even lit. He has the cardboard box slung under his one arm and tucked against his side as his left hand fishes out a cell phone. He uses his chin and hands to flip the top open and stare at the digital screen.

 

“Ah what the hell,” He says to himself as he stops in front of an unmarked door. He secures the cell phone with the should-and-ear routine then he fumbles with the doorknob. Nearly dropping his precious package he kicks the door open.

 

…

 

 

This reveals a room cluttered with various weapons everywhere. He casually waltzes into the room. With a happy grin he slowly drops the package in the only empty corner. He then pauses and dials a number taking a huge breathe in before walking towards the exit, careful not to step on any of the weapons. In an odd way this looks like a solider attempting to cross a minefield.

 

Suddenly there’s an answer on the other line. “Hello?”

 

“Spencer!” Andrew fakes his happiness.

 

“Rickmen… is that you man?” A confused voice asks.

 

“The one and only,” Rickmen snaps back as he shuts the door to his ‘treasure chest.’

 

“…Hey man, it’s been forever!” He says.

 

“Wwaaayyy too long since the days we rode in Lucky’s car,” Andrew agrees.

 

“You mean we rode in the car, you rode in the trunk. Yeah man, I was going to call a while back but you seemed pretty damn evil and vile on the TV…”

 

Luchador pulls the phone away from his ear. Oh yeah, True Plague, right. “Done with that shtick. Sssooo Spencer, crazy idea.” He slowly walks towards a locker room hallway and takes a right turn carefully reading each sign.

 

Spencer’s pause and sigh could be audibly heard. “Sure, man, shoot.”

 

IL pauses at a doorway and double checks the sign-

 

“Unholy Trinity”

 

He carefully creaks opens the door and peeks in. Luckily none of them are around. He invites himself in and glances over the gloom room. Man this is about as bad as the Clan’s locker room… but there are no sacrifices here.

 

“Still living in Easton, Spencer?”

 

“Yeah, I am,” Spencer says with a hint of worry.

 

“Cool, so you know my old house that that Rex Matthews technically owns for making meth…” Rickmen says in reference to the man who killed his brother, mother, and father yet somehow managed to make Luchador pay protection money to keep his location from being told to every gang member on the East Coast when Andrew turned informant.

 

Spencer coughs. “Andrew, Matthews was killed… remember?”

 

Rickmen holds the phone away from his face again and stares at it as if Spencer could see him. Yeah, I killed that bastard. This was the truth- Andrew did go on a rampage and killed at least four guys that night. Let’s see Nekura top that. Andrew jokes to himself. Funny how multi-talented wrestlers can be.

 

“Oh yeah… served the fucker right,” IL snickers as he nods his head. “Anyway then this is even easier…”

 

Spencer sounds exhausted already. “Just say it Andrew.”

 

“Just go into the house and pick up my stash o’ goodies behind the cabinet with the wooden doorway that slides.” Luchador slowly walks into the corner and glances around for people in paranoia once again. He spots the weed whacker in the opposite corner. Bingo.

 

Spencer’s breath is heard caught in his chest. “Christ, is everything alright?”

 

“I could use some of them… so you know, just drove them down to the arena and then I’ll be happy to pick them up. Free tickets,” IL throws in.

 

“Man there has to be in it for me than that, the cops watch that house.” Spencer rambles as Luchador is too occupied messing with Dace’s weed whacker before he slings it over his shoulder.

 

He can get a new one.

 

“Oh so our friendship has detoriated into this? I have to make it up for you?” IL says trying to sound like Ferris to Cameron.

 

Spencer pauses. “Basically, yeah. What’s in it for me, Andrew?”

 

Luchador walks out of the Unholy Trinity’s locker room and shuts the door.

 

I am going out to grab a drink with Flesher later…

 

“I can hook you up with Alyson Reischl, easily,” IL offers.

 

Spencer pauses and considers. “Really?”

 

“Oh yeah, easy,” IL promises.

 

“…Well… okay…” Spencer says as he quickly hangs up. Luchador grins to himself as he puts back his cell phone.

 

With a weed whacker slung over his shoulder, a bounce in his step, he walks away humming “What a Wonderful World.”

[Toxxic 0]

Not even the Weedwhacker will save you from me, my friend. And after me, you'll have to worry about Dace...

[Guest Aecas]

Just wait till I come after you with the Scythe and more importantly REGGIE.

 

REGGIE wants your blood!

 

Its' good for his soil!

[janusd 0]

IL broke taboo.

 

He touched the Weedwhacker.

 

The only response is DEATH!

 

But still, a nice promo, man. For some reason, IL's 'treasure chest' of hardcore weaponry gave me a chuckle. Have fun writing your match and all that. (Y)

[Guest Suicide King]

Good stuff, once you get past my intense distaste for characters who are presented as murderers outside of storyline.

[Dace59 0]

IL, I'd kill you if I didnt like the promo so much.

[The Ill One 0]

Yeah Dace, I know, I still live in fear. Maybe I can juice it up or put on some nice blades... oh, and King- yeah, I did it a while back and still regret it. That's why I was poking fun at it.