Promo: Confrontation III~!

[The Ill One 0]

OoC: Far from my best but it's setting up what it's coming.

 

 

(In Vancouver our not-so-noble SWF commissioner finds himself hunched over his cluttered desk in his office. He’s already doing paper work and putting the finishing touches on the card. A few scribbles later he finds himself crumbling the paper in his hand. With much panache he chucks the paper towards the corner of his room at the wire trash basket. It hits the nearly filled brim and bounces to the ground. Well, we all have our off days. A heavy sigh is released by Alex before glancing back at his work- wondering how he went from a kooky, drunken “Carney” smashing down mailboxes with GSMS’ slugger at two in the morning with a pimped out golf cart to the bitter, bitter bastard he is. Either way he’s stuck trying to finish up the paper work as it approaches late in the night when the first batches of wrestlers find their ways to the arena).

 

Slowly the door creeps open and Alex looks up, exhausted. “Come in,” he mumbles while his head begins to hang low. With a swipe of the arm he straightens up the desk and knocks over the bottle of Advil to the floor. The door swings all the way open and he lifts his head- just to see the Insane Luchador, Andrew Rickmen, standing in the doorway with a scowl.

 

“God damn it,” He whispers. The two have met and the two were far from drinking buddies. He doesn’t even bother to show interest. “What do you need, Rickmen?”

 

Luchador slowly walks into the room with a baggy black sweatshirt on, loose khaki cargoes, same beaten up black skate shoes, the wild spiked hair with green streaks, and an incredibly intimidating look on his face. He approaches closer to the foot of the desk and doesn’t say a word or even blink.

 

“I said…” Zed begins with an edgy tone.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Luchador demands. “Are you trying to kill me? Trying to mother fucking kill me?” Rickmen repeats as he props his hands on the desk, clutching papers and crumbling them with his hands.

 

He snatches the few undamaged papers and looks up at his visitor. “Well Jesus Andrew, I thought you were doing a fine job of that yourself!”

 

Luchador stands there in silence before letting a smirk creep across his face.

 

“Look Andrew, I need to get back to work-” Alex almost pleads as Andrew’s head is somewhat tilted while he stares.

 

Luchador suddenly snaps back into reality. “No, Zed, you look here. I don’t give a damn what you have to do. You’re trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?”

 

The Commissioner stares in disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about IL…?”

 

“Book me in hardcore matches against some of ‘the best?’” Luchador snarls while he swats down a rock with the word “patience” engraved on it.

 

Alex loses his cool for a second. “Andrew that’s what HARDCORE wrestlers tend to do- wrestle in hardcore matches... you're Mr. Masochist, I figured it'd fit you like a glove.”

 

Andrew Rickmen suddenly does a complete 180* turn. “God damn right it does! I’m GORE-MOTHER-FUCKING-CORE!” He glances down and sees the Advil bottle on the ground. His head jerks towards it. “You know us wrestlers get more pain than a headache every night you little pussy,”

 

The Commissioner quickly snaps back, “I’m a wrestler too, damn it!”

 

“You used to be a wrestler! There used to be that mutual respect, alright? A wrestler doesn’t go down for a ten count off a PUNCH. A god damn punch! Look! A punch!” Luchador nails himself in the eye so hard that it’d make Tyler Durden proud. His head whips back and he nails himself again square in the nose. Slowly he brings his head level as blood streams from his nose. Alex stares too stunned to speak. “I want a shot at that World Championship,” Luchador says and pauses to let the blood drip down his shirt.

 

“No, Andrew, you don’t deserve that shot,” Alex calmly replies. It’s hard to be edgy with a man who willing, hell, enjoys a good punch to his own face.

 

Luchador cocks his head to the side and the blood slowly drips down each droplet splashing against Alex’s desk. Suddenly and violently the Luchador grabs the desk’s edge and flips it over! Papers and other items are sent flying as Alex lunges back in his swivel chair to avoid getting hurt.

 

He stands up, absolutely fuming. “Now what the hell do you want? You’re running around like the maniac you are and now you’re being a complete creepy dick everywhere. What makes you think in that twisted mind of yours, Luchawhore, that you deserve a favor? I already gave you a HGC chance for the next show!”

 

“Then I just want Crow in that match!” Luchador snaps out as he slowly moves closer.

 

“No! God damn it! You don’t run this show! You, don’t, Christ, you’ve fucking trashed my desk!” Zed yells. “You’re on a losing streak comparable to Cutthroat you little shit!”

 

Luchador steps into the frame of the desk.

 

“Another step and so help me God I will get so many fucking security guards on you!” Alex roars as the confrontation just gets more and more heated.

 

“Crow and I have unfinished business. I want to settle that in the ring without those other two!” IL refers to his match.

 

Alex just stares in disbelief as the Insane Luchador turns around and he slowly walks out. He’s in too much rage to even call security as he tries to calm himself down.

 

“Where’s my fucking stress ball?” He mumbles as the self-proclaimed Psychotic Hardcore Prodigy slams the door shut behind him.

[Crowe 0]

...ahahahahahahahahaha.

 

Not bad at all, young man. This gives readers an indication of Insane Luchadore's mindstate and how unstable is really is. I think you might have been a little too blunt and straight forward with the mood swings and think a more subtle approach would be better next time. Your grammar needs a little brush up too. Other than that, this promo does it's job and establishes you have an issue with the Antichrist Superstar.

 

We'll talk soon.

[The Ill One 0]

Yeah I needed to throw it up real quick and I realize it sucks. But I just wanted to get that out of the way 'cause it'll be a busy weekend for me... oh and I wanted the turn to be really "Whoa, what the fuck" because I decided it shows how even more unstable IL is. 'Cause otherwise the subtleness could be seen as PMS...