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[The parking garage... Two floors down. The wrestlers had a special area, roped off just for them, to park in. Mister Boston Bancroft, the Spoiler, the Devastator, and umpty-million other nicknames, was standing in the parking lot, sunglasses perched on his nose, a black "SSB" t-shirt on his chest, ring tights on his legs. Arms crossed, ass parked against the back of the rental car.]
[As a black Nissan Maxima pulled into a spot, Boston would rise fully to his feet, stepping away from the car, and head over to the side of it. He had seen the face of the man pulling in... Boston knew exactly who it was.] [The car cut off, and the driver's side door popped open. Out stepped the WWA Double Crown champ, former GEC heavyweight champ, former HRW heavyweight champ, former (insert a whole bunch of shit here)... Justin Brooks. As he glanced around, Boston broke into a grin, heading over to Justin's side of the car.] Boston: "Damn good to see you, kid. Decent flight out?" Brooks: "The usual." [The two shared a fist-pound, before Justin popped the trunk, and grabbed out his duffel bag. Shouldering it, Brooks would glance Boston over, head to toe. Eyes flicked back to Boston's face, an eyebrow arching curiously.] Brooks: "I don't need to worry about you doing a heel turn, like with Zortalk, do I?" [A moment's pause, and both men started to laugh. Boston patted Brooks on the shoulder, as he tuned to face the stairs they were supposed to use.] Boston: "Naw. Brothers have to watch one another's back, especially when we're fighting a redneck who wears a mask and a crazy white bitch, right?" [Justin chuckled softly, nodding his head softly. He glanced from Boston to the door, then back to his car. He slammed the trunk, and hit the alarm on his keys. Rentals were fun.] Brooks: "ESPECIALLY that first one." [Boston chuckled, and the two began to walk over to the stairs, where a paper sign said "WRESTLERS ENTER HERE". The pseudo-locker room awaited, and Justin couldn't wait to get changed into ring gear on the top floor of a parking garage. Good thing wrestlers tended to not have much physical shame.] Brooks: "So, what's the gameplan?" Boston: "I whip Jane's ass, you beat the masky redneck down, hot tag every few minutes and you play the hero, I play the bully?" [A moment's pause, before Brooks grabbed the handle to the stairs, pulling it open. He stepped aside, holding the door for Mister Bancroft. Boston smirked, and sketched a bow, before heading into the staircase.] Brooks: "It's doable." [Boston nodded, and the two headed up the stairs, up and into that locker room. The two were joking and laughing most of the way up, shoving one another and making dick jokes. They were wrestlers, after all.]
LIVE FROM THE FIFTH FLOOR OF THE FOUR QUEENS' PARKING GARAGE... SILVER STATE BATTLEGROUND PRESENTS... [The red hot crowd on top of the parking lot was filled to the gills. People were literally sent away so the show could go on. However, to calm their angers and make a bit of profit, a viewing room was set up in another room inside the 4-Queens and for a nominal fee, fans watched the show live on closed circuit TV.] [Factor in a few more special effects with the stage, like actually having a small ramp and stage in front of the elevators. No fireworks, no pyro, maybe a little fog from a fog machine, but there was no need for any of that, considering the flashing lights from Fremont and all.] [Whatever. You get the point.] ------------------------------ [Watts waves goodbye to his Coaches as they drive off from the 1st floor of the Parking Garage. He is alone and dragging his bags along. He pauses. For the first time, Jeffrey feels a good deal of sensation throughout his body. It is the first glimpses of a smile after the first two weeks of his wrestling career. There is two options for Jeffrey. He could go to the locker room area and sit around in awaits for his match which is some thirty minutes from now or check out the surroundings and get more of a feel for Vegas culture. He decides to take the walk down the ramp and towards the outside of the casino where he sees a short to medium build guy with brownish hair. The guy raises an apparent cigarette and inhales it slowly, exhaling into the air. Watts curiously and cautiously approaches behind the guy.] Jeffrey Watts- 'Xcuse me, sir... [The guy turns around, quickly, and almost guiltily flicking away the cigarette. His smile is wary as he takes in the kid standing before him, obvious gear bags in tow.] Larry Gowan- Hey, kid. Did you need something? [Jeffrey just stares at the guy. The kinda stare you get when you see your favorite wrestler or musician. Jeffrey takes a big gulp and looks back to the guy. Something looked familiar.] Jeffrey Watts- You are... Gowan. Larry Gowan! I...I'm Jeffrey Watts. [Watts extends his hand in friendship.] Larry Gowan- Guilty as charged. [Gowan takes the kids hand, and shakes it firmly. Watts senses something in Gowan's eyes and can’t help but to glance at the cigarette butt that Gowan tries to blindly pass aside like a bad habit. He looks back to Gowan with uncertainty.] Jeffrey Watts- What was that all about? [Gowan looks down at the cherry that's still glowing red, shaking his head.] Larry Gowan- Just... nothing. Bad habits I picked up somewhere... [Watts smiles and gives Gowan that pat on the back he certainly didn't expect. He gives Gowan a reassuring look.] Jeffrey Watts- Brighten up. Everybody has their bad habits. Even I do. I'm relatively new and still trying to make my claim to fame. Sometimes I forget that I have a lot to prove. Kinda hard being a kid in High School who ruled the world and then you come here and learn a whole new style of work. Know what I mean? [Gowan laughs.] Larry Gowan- Been a long time since I was in high school, kid... but I get what you mean. [Another bad habit from Watts. Forgetting to realize that he is probably the only person that is still a teenager. He needs to turn the conversation around before he embarasses himself even more. Watts struggles for the words as Gowan continues from the slight break to pick up the slack.] Larry Gowan- Watts... so, you're the kid they have me teaming with tonight? What's this tag team thing all about? Do you know? [Watts contemplates it for a second. He only knows about a gold belt and a tag partner.] Jeffrey Watts- Yeah, I am that kid. [Watts smiles back at Gowan.] Jeffrey Watts- Not too sure what it's all about but I am not too worried about that right now. I just wanna go out there and prove myself. Get the crowd on their feet! [Watts does his best Blue Collar PA imitation but failed miserably. Dancing isn’t for everybody, that is for sure. Gowan shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he reaches out to pat Watts on the shoulder.] Larry Gowan- Stick with what you know, kid. Parody's not your thing. [Watts face turns pale. Embarassed. Frightened. Words can’t describe how he feels. It is one of those things you keep at home. He isn't going to make "America's Best Dance Crew" anytime soon, that is for sure. Watts saves face and extends his hand again.] Jeffrey Watts- Yeah, so... Nice meeting you. Look forward to proving myself to you this week. [Watts smiles while looking at Gowan and to his hand in awaits for his response. For the second time, Gowan shakes the outstretched hand. He smiles at the over-eager kid, looking almost nostalgic.] Larry Gowan- You've got nothing to prove to me. Just go out there and have fun... [Watts grin is legit. Maybe even a little more overly than before, but legit. He is so caught up in the comment that he forgets he was grasping onto Gowan's hand a little longer than normal. He releases grip and immediately takes the walk back up the ramp as Gowan goes back into his pocket and pulls out another cigarette. He tries to light it while Watts is moving back up the ramp, and fails because his hands are shaking too badly. Muttering to himself, Gowan throws down the cancer stick in disgust.] Larry Gowan- We're so going to lose. [Watts kicks invisible dust and trash as he trudges back up the ramp. Fidgeting because of his stupor like mannerisms. He isn't thirteen anymore, darnit. He is a pro and needed to act like it. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cellphone, appearing to dial a number. He puts the phone to his ear.] Jeffrey Watts- Yeah, Michael. I am a fucking idiot... ------------------------------
Superpowers Collide! ["Surfing With the Alien" began screeching and screaming as the sports game addicted Ultimo Madden came out to the ring, jamming out to his Game Gear, old school style, six batteries and five hours of battery life left. He held the illuminating screen up over his head and pounded his chest a few times.] [But the worship of retro-gaming and consumerism was cut short as the hymn of the old soviet union began to cut through. Comrade PANE snarled at the new additions of the stage and material goods and then back at Madden, standing in the ring chomping at the bit waiting to get into the ring, however the Comrade had something to get off of his chest.] Comrade Pane: "Ultimo Madden." [He took a deep breath and growled.] Comrade Pane: "I must break you." [The Communist Crusher bolted into the ring arms flailing and voice wavering with yell that would make grown men cower in fear!] [The two gigantic men swung back and forth, slapping each other's chests, punching each other right in the face and delivering kicks that could break down doors, but neither man tumbled and neither man showed any weakness. Both men continued to no-sell moves as Pane scoop slammed Ultimo Madden, prompting Madden to jump right back up and take The Comrade down with a powerslam. Comrade Pane got back to his feet and gouged Madden's right eye. But Ultimo didn't care because he still had his spare and slapped the taste out of Comrade Pane's mouth.] [The shit had hit the fan.] [Comrade Pane lost it and began to pummel Ultimo Madden with lefts and rights from all directions. Madden doubled over trying to protect himself but Pane launched in the knees right to the sternum.] [The referee separated the two but Comrade Pane blatantly gorilla pressed the referee out of the ring and towards the ramp way. Pane grabbed Madden but Ultimo quickly hit a quick 3/4th turn neckbreaker, just in time for Mr. NAFTA to run in as the secondary ref to make the three count.] Winner: Ultimo Madden by 3/4th turn neckbreaker [Mr. NAFTA raised Madden's arm in victory.] [But quickly betrayed him with a low blow and Pane quickly demolished Ultimo Madden with "The Brink of Nuclear Holocaust" clothesline.] [The crowd booed as Mr. NAFTA removed his referee shirt to reveal another shirt, with the communist sickle and hammer. Comrade Pane got on the microphone again.] Comrade Pane: "Ultimo Madden, you may have won the battle but I will win the war, with my new friend in socialism, communism and capitalist rebellion. Comrade Pane and the Warsaw Pact will not be defeated." [The man formerly known as Mr. NAFTA, now known as "The Warsaw Pact" climbed the turn buckle and began to attempt a frog splash, moonsault, swantonbomb move, but another wrestler hit the ring!] [IT'S FAPPITY -- CHRONIC MASTURBATING ANEMIC CRUISERWEIGHT!] [He attacks The Warsaw Pact, Comrade Pane attempt to stop the cruiserweight fighting but Ultimo Madden is done selling moves again and tackles Comrade Pane to the floor just like the QB in Madden for the SNES, chopping and in 16 bit rage.] [The brawling spills out of the top of the parking garage and else where.] ------------------------------ [All of these promos and backstage bits you’ve been seeing in SSB, with the locker room and such, none of them actually exist. You see, The Four Queens Casino doesn’t have a locker room for wrestlers, for that matter, they don’t have anything for wrestlers. The closest thing to a “locker room” you’ll find is the Canyon Club, a small but luxurious club within the casino, and a known hotbed for blues and hard rock acts from across the country.] [So, these locker room bits? Pure fiction.] [Wrestlers either come dressed, or get ready in the can.] [Yes, even Jane.] [Frank? Well, he comes ready for war, not exactly a hassle when you wrestle in the same ratty overalls that you wear the rest of the time anyway. And so we find our intrepid hillbilly walking through the venue barefoot as usual, and having just arrived his hands are oddly free of beer.] FDJ: Gawdayum, Ah cain’t wait t’ git mah hands on them little bastids! [You’d think he was cutting a promo, but he’s not, he just talks to himself.] FDJ: BUTNOTUNTILAHGITSMESOMEBEER~! [The Hillbilly Jesus looks around, a wary eye out for anyone giving him any strange looks. What he hasn’t gotten through his thick skull yet is that he’s not the strangest thing people have seen in Vegas.] [Hell, he’s generally not even the strangest thing they’ve seen that day.] [Undeterred by the unusual lack of crying babies and such (the main reason he generally keeps to himself unless wrestling) in his wake, he makes a bee-line toward the bar and takes the same stool as last week. The bartender, also the same as last week, looks up from his never-ending cleaning of shot glasses.] Bartender: I ain’t gonna have no trouble outta you’n yer lady friends this week, am I? Boss says I gotta throw yer ass out the hard way if you break anything else. FDJ: Wadn’ mah daggum fault, hoss. Baretender: Still’n all, no trouble, aight? FDJ: YEAHSUREFINEWHADDEVERJESGIMMIEAPASBST~! [Unblinking, the bartender pulls a frosty beverage up from the cooler beneath the bar. Frank pops the top and knocks it back, guzzling the first half without flinching before noticing something out of his peripheral vision.] FDJ: GAWDAMMIT! Bartender: What? [Frank’s eyes go wild, the bartender visibly tenses.] FDJ: CLOCK! [The Redneck Riot Scene whips the beer can directly at the neon glowing martini glass-shaped clock behind the bartender. It smashes and fizzles out.] Bartender: I thought I tol- FDJ: [interrupting] RASSLEFIGHT~! [Frank leaps over the bar and the two begin to struggle, shattering liquor bottles and glasses everywhere. This is where security gets involved, swarming into the club as the scene switches elsewhere.] ------------------------------ [4 Queens Casino.] [Can’t you hear the bells ringing. Someone’s just won some sort of Jackpot. Someone is getting comped for breakfeast. These are the high rollers here. No, okay you got me there. These are the high end of the low rollers. This place isn’t even on the blip, but it’s packed tonight.] [Why tonight?] [Three letters.] [S-S-B.] [The wrestling fad that is sweeping the nation is back in it’s “home”. So the crowds are out.] [There is a room in the back reserved, it’s actually a parking spot with yellow caution tape marking it off and it’s chock full of people. Fat ones, skinny ones, hot ones, ugly ones, etc etc. They are all dancing, getting their THANG on.] [It’s BLUE COLLAR PA DANCE TIME!] Girl 1: This is burning like so many calories. Girl 2: Maybe I can get cheese fries later. [The two girls high five one another.] Guy 1: Man these chicks look busted. Guy 2: A few of them are okay. Guy 1: With bags on the head. [In the corner watching his pupils get their dance on is none other then the Zen Master himself. It’s the man with the tan, taking a line in the stand, with two hands, in the marching band, for the can...Blue Collar PA.] [He scratches his chin, or at least where it would be if it wasn’t covered with a blue mask and he shakes his head.] Blue Collar PA: Seeing all these people out here tonight getting fit, getting healthy leads me to believe that I was right in moving out here. Selling my apartment and boxing up my past and my present was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but this...this is worth it. [He breathes heavy and takes it in.] Blue Collar PA: I keep telling people that I don’t want the credit and they don’t believe me. They refuse to accept it. Well guess what...I don’t want the credit. I’ll say it again. I won’t even want the credit when I walk in and out of Crown of War the winner. Again tonight when I’m the winner I won’t want the credit. I do it just because I can and because I want to entertain people. That’s all, nothing more and nothing less. [Believe it or not, “Pump Up the Jam” is playing as we fade out.] ------------------------------ [It's almost time for the first round of the Campeonato De La Raza Tournament. C-Loc is sitting in a large, black velvet chair. With one last drag he finishes off a cigarette and places it in the ash tray on the round table next to him.] "Yo, Anthony. You got me twisted, I ain't a rapper. Now if you want me to spit, then that's legit. Spin me a track and let me drop a dime on it. Bring it back and i'll rock a rhyme on it. I can flow all day, tell you how I ain't gonna let you get in my way. That's not my style, id rather sit back and grab a bud from my big ass pile. This is my time to shine, and when im done I won't stick around to see you whine. Hell yea you blew it, dont act like you didn't expect to, even Frank knew it. I will be the champion, that's inevitable, don't feel too bad yo, it's not that terrible. See me and Psivage, gunna tear shit up like some savage-mother fuckers, leave you and FDJ lookin like a bunch of suckers. I know it's all purely speculation, but uh-- when I win, i'll invite you to my championship celebration. We're already in vegas, so you won't need to go lookin for the train station. See you at the titty bar, you ain't gotta go far. Hit up the bar tender for some patron cause you know when Loc is in town, shit homie it's on. Party all night you know it's gon' be tight. With C-Loc on top, ratings are never gonna drop. Have them fans fillin the stands. Don't worry, we'll save you a job here on the fourth story. The pay cut might seem like some opression but these fans gotta have their concessions. Even when you're in the stands, slangin SSB merch like one of the top brands, you can wear a replica, maybe then the kid in seat five will respect ya after your career takes a dive when you get sold short by the best damn thing to happen to this sport." [C-loc stands and walks off. It's time for his match, and he's ready to make his big debut.] ------------------------------
Campeonato De La Raza Tournament - Round I [All four men came out to their own theme music. Frank was ready to go in his grease stained overalls and soiled bare feet, Anthony Phoenix was ready to go in his ultra fancy attire, Psivage was in his goth rock worship get-up and C-Loc, we was where some out-dated Fubu Wear.] [C-Loc and James started out the match, C-Loc went for the tie up but FDJ did not cooperate in the slightest. C-Loc bulldogged the hill billy but the move only seemed to make him just a bit angrier and caused James to unleash hell with pounding fist shots. C-Loc rolled out of the ring escaping the carnage before it even started and FDJ clocked Psivage with a hard right and a good rebel yell of "GAWDAMMIT" and a few other choice swear words tagged along.] [C-Loc rolled back into the match and so did Frank Dylan James. The barefoot redneck charged at the perpetual stoner and Anthony Phoenix tagged himself in taking C-Loc out from behind with an elementary clothesline. Anthony rolled him up and tossed him over with a suplex followed by another. However going to the well one too many times C-Loc caught on blocked the attempt and spun the move into a make shift stunner. He tagged Psivage in and took a breather and maybe a little something else.] [Psivage and Anthony Phoenix wrestled back and forth, blending the lines between tradition and extreme wrestling as both men tossed each one another around with various slams, suplexes, elbow drops and all sorts of other crazy wrestling moves that no one could properly analyze or critique. Match of the year or drivel of the drone? You decide.] [Well, Frank didn't think highly of all this hoity toity, chain wrestling, despite it's heritage and ground break qualities and tagged himself into the match delivering a very sloppy belly to back double under hook pile driver while yelling "VERTIGRABBER." Expecting the end of the match C-Loc entered the match and got another "VERTIGRABBER." But Frank wasn't done and gave his own team mate a "VERTIGRABBER"] [Don't ask me why.] [Either way, Frank kicked all the people out of the ring except for Psivage and whipped him into the ropes for a huge clothesline and a healthy dosage of brutality, with closed fists and open slams right to the face. James was having some fun and he continued it all with a few more knee drops and then a good ol' fashioned mud hole stomping right to the chest of Psivage. He bounced into the ropes and Phoenix made the blind tag in. Just as C-Loc re-entered the match.] [Frank didn't notice the tag, C-Loc plain didn't give a fuck. So both men took an opponent and began to brawl the best they knew. C-Loc managed to spike The Xtreme Wrestling Machine with a nice implant DDT from the top rope and FDJ forced Psivage to the canvas with a drop, it's the only nice way to call lifting someone up and just dropping them.] [They both went for the pin at the same time. The referee shrugged and counted the double pin.] Winner: C-Loc and Frank Dylan James? [The referee raised C-Loc's arm in victory but Frank high tailed it out of the parking garage. He had some drinking to catch up on.] ------------------------------ [The crowd are still pumped from the end of the last match, and all the competitors have finally made their way behind the thick back curtain, seeking their own "locker rooms".] [Sadly, the crowd’s wild mood isn’t going to last long. Oh, no siree.] [From the beat-up speakers comes “Creep” by Radiohead. Most of the fans slowly become subdued, not recognising the music. Some of them have wider breadths of wrestling knowledge. These people sigh. Loudly.] [As the music pumps, the curtains part again, revealing the ugliest guy you’ve ever seen in your life; weak jaw line, piggy eyes, big ears, the works. He strides down the rampway, unbuttoning his suit as he goes, with a short fat man scurrying to keep up in his wake. The uglier man climbs into the ring, pushing a pair of thick rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his flared nose before grabbing one of the microphones.] [This man surveys the crowd, chin jutted out and eyes burning with contempt as the spattering of jeers washes over him, before slowly drawing the mic to his lips.] Maybon: “Like I expected anything else from you people.” [He snorts in disgust.] Maybon: “For those of you who are completely void of all wrestling knowledge, allow me to introduce myself. I am the Anti-Bully, De’Anton Maybon. Now, for those of you keeping score, that’s May-bon. Not Mayborn, Morbon, Mayben or anything else you idiots want to try and mangle it into. And I am the single greatest competitor to ever lace up a pair of boots.” [The majority of fans boo this clichéd display of cockiness.] Maybon: “And that’s not hype. That’s not innuendo or hyperbole. That’s the cold, hard, truth. Ask anyone, anyone I’ve ever competed against, and they’ll tell you they never faced a tougher opponent than me.” [He lets the mic drop slightly, face curling into an anger that will all too swiftly become recognisable, before raising it again.] Maybon: “Well, they would, if they weren’t all a bunch of shallow, self-centred, hypocritical pieces of crap. You ask them, and they’ll probably say how I complain, how I see conspiracies where there are none. They’ll probably say that I take the shortcuts, take the easy way. That the only place I could get a job is some fifth rate federation that stages their shows in a parking lot because they don’t have the name recognition to secure an actual arena. [Pause for boos.] Maybon: “Hell, they may even go as far as to say I’m nothing more than an ugly bastard.” [A few fans pick up on the hint, starting an UGLY BASTARD chant that seems to enrage Maybon even more. He practically spits his words, trying to drown out the masses.] Maybon: “Those people are too short sighted to see the truth. Too firmly entrenched in the fallacies of this world, this society, that says that people should be judged solely on the way they look on the outside. How people who don’t look a certain way should be shunned, should be pushed aside, should be buried.” “Well, I have to tell you this. I refuse to be buried. I refuse to be shunned. And I flat out refuse to be ignored! This is a disease in our society, a corruption that stunts us all. And as the Anti-Bully, it is the thing I stand most against!” [His voice rises to a crescendo, reverberating through the parking area. As it fades slowly, he scowls at the assembled fans again.] Maybon: “At the next Between Hell and High Water, I make my official in-ring debut. I don’t know who my opponent that night will be, and frankly I don’t much care. As long as I’m given a fair shake there is nobody - and I stress nobody - on the Silver State Battleground roster who can match me in the ring. And for anyone who thinks they’re going to try and screw me over I have just this to say;” “Don’t.” “Because if you try to mess with me - if the boss tries to screw me over in favour of some pretty-boy, or if my opponent thinks that the way I look means I’m stupid - they’ll soon have a very hard lesson coming their way.” “My name is De’Anton Maybon. You people had best learn that, and learn it well. Because there is one thing that you can not deny. I may be an ugly bastard…” [He pauses, ignoring the jibes coming his way.] Maybon: “…but I’m still better than all of you!” [With a twisted smile on his ugly features, Maybon drops the microphone as “Creep” blares again. He climbs out of the ring, before stalking his way towards the back, his chubby companion following hot on his heels.] ------------------------------ [Frank Dylan James has been banned from the Canyon Club.] [As such, he finds himself standing around outside of the Four Queens, polishing off a cold beer wrapped in a brown paper bag. Tourist walks the streets around him, and he keeps a wary eye cocked for trouble.] [What can I say, the man gets in trouble. He may be simple, but he’s not stupid, and he knows how things can go when he settles in somewhere new. Las Vegas will likely be no different than Seattle, Los Angeles, or anywhere else.] [Out of the corner of his eye, the West Virginia Whack Job notices a familiar bleach-blond head. C-Loc walks into view.] FDJ: Hey! Clock! C’mere! [C-Loc rolls his eyes, but makes his way over to the Hulking Hillbilly.] C-Loc: What’choo want, homes? FDJ: Lissen here hippy, it looks lahk we’re gon’ be pardners now. [C-Loc cocks an eyebrow.] C-Loc: So? FDJ: So don’ go fuckin’ it up, kid. Ah wants me that thar title belt. C-Loc: Yeah, well, after we run through the rest of these pretenders, you an’ me are gonna get it on, an you’re gonna have to kill me to win. FDJ: Soun’s lahk we got ourselfs a deal then, Clock. [He extends a hand.] FDJ: Put ‘er there, pardner. C-Loc: Man my fuckin’ name’s C-Loc dog! FDJ: Clock Dog? C-Loc: SEE! LOKE! FDJ: SEE! ROACH? C-Loc: Ah for fuck’s sake… [Loc produces a re-rolled cigar from behind his ear. He lights it, takes a deep drag, and passes it to Frank.] FDJ: Is this that wacky tabacky? C-Loc: Just hit it, so you can think better. [Frank takes the blunt and takes a deeper drag than C-Loc, then another. He hits it like a champ, complete with blowing smoke rings.] C-Loc: That’s what I’m talkin’ bout! Now, I’m gonna say this slow for you homie. [He takes the blunt back from Frank and takes another hit himself.] C-Loc: My. Name. Is. Pronounced. Sea. Loke. [Franks eyes have gone red. Also crossed.] FDJ: C-Loc, yeah, that’s what Ah been sayin, fuckin’ hippie. [Loc finally shakes his hand.] C-Loc: Whatever you say kid. You just better not suck like them two Phoenix faggots… [And a partnership is born.] [Sort of.] ------------------------------
Campeonato De La Raza Tournament - Round I ["The Rookie Sensation" Jeffery Watts and Larry "The Giant Killer" Gowan stood in the ring with Ian Garner waiting for "Shaza" B. Marquis. The waited for a little too long and the referee almost called for the bell when B. Marquis emerged from the crowd and began taking it to Gowan.] [The crowd instantly started cheering as Marquis lead the offensive with stiff chops and stopping at the climax to yell "SHAZA~!" and then a huge slap that was heard all around Vegas. He whipped Larry out of the ring and followed him in with a huge knee to chest followed by a bulldog, but Gowan kicked out followed by Watts breaking up the count. The referee sent Watts back into his corner. Marquis, hyped and ready to go followed Watts to the corner in his usual antics, which lead Gowan to get the cheap shot in followed by a hard powerslam. Larry accidentally bumped into Garner as he bounced into the ropes, causing the referee to become distracted as Ian wanted into the match.] [Gowan scooped B. Marquis up and into his corner and unloaded with kicks and tagged in his partner who took Marquis to the mat and locked in an STF. The referee asked Marquis if he wanted to quit but B yelled back "No" and made it to the ropes.] [Watts and Marquis traded holds until Marquis got the upper hand and hit a spinning neckbreaker on the rookie, following into a quick tag to Garner.] [Garner locked in a dragon sleeper on Jeffery and as he began to wiggle his way out Ian dropped him with a back cracker out of the move. Watts instantly got to his feet but instantly flopped on his face. Ian smirked as he scooped Jeffery up and back down with a spinning fireman carry slam. But the move only got a two count for the former Southern Pride Champion.] [Ian lifted Jeffery up for another suplex but at the height of the move, Watts slipped out and rolled Garner into a victory pin, only receiving a two count for himself. Jeffery quick dived to Gowan who made the hot tag and entered the ring taking Ian Garner down with a shining wizard like move. B. Marquis quickly came into the ring but "The Shaza" was cut short with a jaw breaker followed by a clothesline over the top rope with so much momentum by Watts, the two tumbled to the padding.] [Garner quickly stumbled up and was locked into "The Big Job", Inverted side headlock swinging bulldog. Larry hooked the leg for the pin.] Winner: Larry Gowan and Jeffery Watts ------------------------------ [Boston Bancroft and Justin Brooks stepped out from the backstage area, both in their ring gear. Brooks was in that Under Armor he preferred, and a pair of black mesh shorts, Boston was stylin' in his spandex ringpants and a shiny new SSB t-shirt.] [The two stopped before the entryway ramp, standing on the "stage", the ten-foot wide expanse in front of the curtain that was all that separated the fans from the wrestlers, and Boston pulled a mike out from the waistband of his trunks.] Boston: "Before the two of us team later tonight to take on Jane and Blue Collar PA..." [A mixed reaction. Jane had turned into a bitch, but that Blue Collar guy was pretty coo'... Boston was a cock, but the fans loved them some Brooks.] Boston: "I just had a few things to say." [A moment's pause, as Boston turned to Brooks. He extended a hand, and Brooks gave a smile. The two would shake hands, showing their respect for one another, before Boston let go and began to speak once more.] Boston: "Justin... Tonight, you and I fight two skilled competitors..." [Boston snorted, looking away, trying to hide his laugh. He wiped his mouth, trying not to laugh. He apparently didn't think much of his competitors. Brooks just shook his head, smiling some. He might not agree with Boston, but the man was amusing, that much was clear.] Boston: "Sorry. Tonight, you and I are gonna tangle with two big names in this upstart promotion. Whether Jane fires her attack womb at us, or Blue Collar PA, that redneck, mask-wearing weirdo burns a cross at ringside, I've got your back. In fact, I'm going to work to try and keep you safer than I will be working to keep mySELF safe." Boston: "But come Crown of War... All bets are off. You and I are gonna fight, and we're gonna fight like men. I'm not gonna use my baseball bat on you, I'm not gonna go for any chairs, any barbed wire... Nothing like that." [Brooks nodded, arms crossed as he listened to what Boston had to say. Boston took a step back, hand held before him, slowly moving, indicating a ring.] Boston: "In that ring, you and I are gonna throw down. In fact, when we do, there's not gonna be a bored person in the entire damn town." [A pause. Boston turned his hand over, hand clenching into a fist. He pointed skyward, a shiny grin on his lips.] Boston: "You bring your best, I'll bring the rest. You make sure that foot by foot, you lace up your boot. Don't worry about me, in that ring, it's your title I'll salute." [Boston snickered. Justin rolled his eyes.] Boston: "Because, at the end of the day, someone's got to win and someone's got to lose. After this match, they're gonna throw one of us in the clink for abuse." [Boston wasn't a good rapper. Brooks just crossed his arms, waiting for Boston to say his piece.] Boston: "But just like always... When everything's said and done, I'm gonna stand in that ring, alone. Maybe I'll have the title... Maybe it'll still be yours to own." [A finger gently pressed into Brooks' sternum.] Boston: "But you're gonna KNOW that you fought me. And that's gonna be something you're gonna be able to say proudly." [Boston grinned, and flipped the microphone around in his hand, before handing the stick to Justin. Justin slowly took it, and cleared his throat, not wanting to look directly at Boston, or he'd laugh at the other for the terrible battle rap.] Brooks: "Come one, come all, everyone gather 'round... Cuz Brooks and Boston's gonna tear this motherfucker down." [Boston stepped back, miming an injury to the chest. Brooks was gonna serve him!] Brooks: "You got Jane on one side... and Pa on the other... Watch them get their asses kick... by two talented young brothas." [Boston lifted an eyebrow, tilting his head. He wouldn't say that he was YOUNG, per se..] Brooks: "It would be a shame, for them to lose the game...But with Brooks and Boston put together, shit aint nevah the same." [Boston grinned, turning and looking to the fans before clapping for Brooks. Brooks wasn't done, though, and held up a finger, pausing Boston.] Brooks: "We change game, put other niggas to shame, so go crying to ya Momma, 'cause there ain't no one to blame! But let's be for real and lets be easy... [Brooks pointed a finger square at Boston's heart.] Brooks: "Come Crown of War, shit's far from greasy... You may have the mettle, but nigga, I gots the metal. So let the big boys play, and put the pot up on the kettle. I'm gonna put you on your back and shit will be far from breezy... Nigga you gonna beat me? Shit, that's far from easy, believe me." [Boston's eyes widened, and he clutched a heart to his chest, staggering backwards. Brooks took a few steps forward, jabbing a finger downwards, then over at Boston, thumb extended upward, index pointed... Pulling the trigger, he mimed shooting Boston.] Brooks: "This ain't Path to Glory, so get it outta ya head... Nigga, I'm for real, and I, nigga, I break bread. I got a kid on the way, so he gonna get fed... And if I go through to you to make my point clear, then nigga, I'll make ya bleed to make sure I'm that bastard that EEEEEEEEEEEVERYONE has to fear." [Boston grinned, arms crossed, as Brooks slowly walked down the aisle. Halfway down, surrounded by the Las Vegas fans, Brooks leaned into the crowd and pointed a finger directly at Mister Bancroft.] Brooks: "So when you ready, I'm ready, because big shits ah' popping... But nigga, stay outta me way, 'cause this motha' fucka aint stopping!" [A moment's pause, and Brooks leaned forward.] Brooks: "BITCH." [Boston cackled, and fell to his knees, arms extending, mock-worshipping Brooks. The Double Crown champ turned, throwing his arms into the air, fists clenched, as the crowd absolutely lit up for Justin Brooks.] [That horn-heavy opening to "We Gon' Make It" hit, "FUCK. THA. FRAIL. SHIT." declared over the house speakers. Boston might have led the two men out, but after that rap battle, Brooks was leading them backstage. As a chant of "JUS-TIN! JUS-TIN!" went up, Brooks smirked, sticking that mike into a pocket, Jadakiss blaring over the house speakers.] [Brooks came to Boston's side, patting the bigger man on the shoulder, the two men going backstage together, to prep for their match.] ------------------------------ [“Chorus of Angles” by Haste The Day starts to play as Phoenix walks out behind the curtains of 4 Queens/Cayon Club parking garage "arena". He walks right down to the ring and up the steel steps, not even acknowledging the audience. He is handed a microphone as his entrance music dies down. He takes a moment to look down at the microphone, as if he was trying to find the right words to speak. Then, after rubbing his chin, he takes a breath.] Phoenix: "Though the challenge was only made two weeks ago, it runs much deeper than that. The thorn in my side, which I thought has been yanked out has been shoved back! The tumor which I thought was removed, was grown back. This thorn, this tumor I am speaking about is none other than Anthony Phoenix!" [He looks back towards the entrance while leaning on the ropes and points.] Phoenix: "This all began, just because we share a name. That’s it people, that’s all! I didn’t attack him, I didn’t say a damn thing about him. Until one day, he started just to appear in a little wrestling company known as the All Star Wrestling Association. He started to appear at every show. Ladies and gentlemen, that is known as stalking. I could press charges, but I won’t do that. I don’t wish to take the easy way out. I only wish to tell him something, and that is this. You extended a challenge to me? Then you go on to insult me? Now, why would I want to give you the time of day after you insult me? Tell me, why should I reward such stupidity? If it wasn’t for the history of you following me around, I wouldn’t even mention your name. You understand me? You mean that little to me Tony!" [He walks across the ring, now in a pacing manner.] Phoenix: "All you do to me Tony is annoy me. That’s it! Your lame attempts to enrage me to the point of eagerly accepting your challenge has failed. In fact, it’s back fired. I’m about to wrestle a match which will bring me one step closer to winning the Campeonato De La Raza. So to be honest, you’re at the bottom of the list of “Important things to deal with”! Wait, I take that back…you’re not even on the list. So Tony, until you do something to deserve my attention, to earn your shot at me…well…you’re going to have to work for it. Oh, and the more you follow me around, the chances of an actual match between you and me go down. So, think about it. Now if you excuse me, I have a tag team match I have to win." [Phoenix then tosses the microphone back to the ring attendant and prepares for the match.] ------------------------------
Campeonato De La Raza Tournament - Round I [Reznor and Joe Smith came down to the ring separately their respective theme music, and it was clear while they waited for their opponents they were not on the same page, maybe not even the same book.] [When the Phoenix and International Influence's Nick Journey came down to the ring, it was together, and by looks of it, both men were working out some last second strategy, including playing rock paper scissors to decide who was in the ring first, having done that, they rolled in to the ring together and moved to their corner together, having clearly rehearsed the first part.] [With the ref calling for the Bell, Smith and Reznor were still working on who would be starting this match, and the referee, the same from a Blue Collar Pa main event several weeks ago, was letting it go, however, Phoenix moved in to complain and the referee administered a five count.] [Reznor and Smith decided to physically work it out, with a shoving match, the referee moved in to break up the would be tag team partners from actually fighting, and decided Smith would start the match, Reznor unhappy with that tagged himself in a charged at Phoenix, a house of fire, Smith being an Average Joe took his lumps and waited outside of the ring. Reznor, still burning down the house continued his assault of fists and moved in to sizing up his boot against the stomach of The Phoenix.] [Needless to say, Nick Journey wasn't about to stand by and let this happen. So he sprang in to the ring with a flying elbow to Reznor, and both men set to work on him, laying in tandem slams across the back, the referee quick on his feet quickly got journey back out of the ring, while the larger The Phoenix proceeded to ground reznor down to the mat with his power wrestling, utilizing a body slam followed by a side headlock to look out over the crowd and las vegas, wrenching the hold in, Average Joe Smith was doing his best to blend in to the crowd as Reznor reached out for him to tag in, he was too far away but Smith was too far away from the match to see the obvious.] [Reznor using his extra hidden riserva of strength, made like a barolo and overpowered the large man, gaining first his feet and then breaking the headlock after hitting the ropes. Taking the big man down with a flying elbow of his own, both men down, Reznor started the long crawl to his corner, Phoenix made sure to languish properly, stunned by the big move. Reznor managed to tag in the most average wrestler in the world, who proceeded to climb through the middle ropes and shake out his shoulders before moving in to what could be described as an adequately applied chinlock, realizing his adequacy he pulled the big man to his feet, once again Nick Journey felt it was time to interject himself in to the match and this time it was a legal tag, Average Joe quickly found something he was above average at.] [Taking a tilt-a-whirl slam from Journey, followed up by repeated suplexes, Journey going from world wide on his german suplex, to some down home with a double chickenwing suplex, Journey re-tagged Phoenix, who felt it necessary to throw Smith around, once again showing an aptitude for taking a pounding.] [Smith using reflexes and skills he wasn't aware he had somehow got free of the re-re-retagged Journey, Went to tag Reznor, who had already decided the food cart was his best option, leading to being struck down by Journey who then tagged in the gigantic Phoenix who felt the Eye of Horus would put this match away for his team.] [And he was correct.] Winner: Phoenix and Nick Journey ------------------------------ [Synthesizers, and the lights drop out.] [Cue Stage Lights slowly searching the crowd, in blue and pink.] [Here it comes, that famous keyboard intro for Europe's "The Final Countdown". The search lights slowly come back around and all the lights focus on the entrance itself as the guitars Kick in and the greatest wrestler in the history of Reno, Nevada stand's at the top of the ramp.] [From behind his dark aviator sunglasses, he is scanning the crowd, Dressed in his best 70's style leisure suit, three peice mind you, and a fantastic shade of pastel yellow, His strut down to the ring is only matched by the valet's accompanying him. They're whores and not very expensive. the less said about them the better.] [Despite having several women on his arm, Chance Fantana is still taking his time to appraise all the ladies at ringside. He finds none of them up to his standards of quality, leaning back against the ring frame, locking his hands behind his head, with one of his valets bending over in front of him, and making a less than subtle thrusting motion at his backside, he slides in to the ring, followed by two very Francince styled upskirt shots of his women climbing under the bottom rope, needless to say.] [This excites the adolescent male population.] [Instant Boner.] [The Chorus kicks in, and since this song is much better known, some people try to start singing along, Fantana cuts the music off, and takes a mic, also pastel yellow out of his interior jacket pocket.] FANTANA: "WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" "DADDDDDDDYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!" "Chance Fantana didn't come out to Las Vegas, Silver State Battleground, Between Hell and High Water III." "To hear some Karaoke!" [That garners some mixed boos.] FANTANA: "No Daddy, Chance Fantana, Reno's Finest, Is here for one reason, and one reason only. That's the laaaaaaaaaay-dees, OH! That's how Chance Fantana rolls Daddy, all Women, All the time. Now if Any of you ladies in the house had any questions about the quality Chance Fantana is looking for, look no further than the two fine specimens trailing me." "RIGHT NOW!" [He opens his hands and smirks sauvely at the two whores with him in the ring.] FANTANA: "YEAAAAH DADDDYIO, When Chance Fantana dips those sun glasses and looks, DEEP! within the your eyes, whether you got a boyfriend, a brother, a husband or a girl lover, you KNOW! that Chance Fantana will have stolen your heart." [Heel Heat from the boys.] FANTANA: "NOW!" "Down, to the business at hand, Chance Fantana, as The Reno Wrestling Machine, also known as Klondike Dick Ultracock in certain circles, sees a boy, a boy who would like to become, a man. and Daddyio, I know what he don't know is that he ain't got more game than his solo mission hand stain." [Sunglasses drop, a wink of the eye.] FANTANA: "Chance Fantana is of course talking about the Xtreme Sleep Aid Machine, Chance Fantana is all about keeping up with the news, he bought a new computer, and he is in the KNOW! about what's going on." "So Chance Fantana is out here this week, to lay it down straight, even steven. Chance Fantana wants to challenge Anthony " My Momma Dresses me like a thrift store loser" Phoenix, and Christopher Roscoe, whatever! That's not the point, Chance Fantana is laying down the challenge! This young up and coming Tandem against Chance Fantana, and a myster Partner to be revealed!" "WHOOOOOOAAAA You better believe it. Fantana has got friends in spades, and Daddyio, he ain't no jive turkey, so you don't even KNOW who Big Daddy Fantana's goot under his sleeves!" ------------------------------
Main Event
Campeonato De La Raza Tournament - Round I [Main Event Action.] [The sirens of associated with "War Pigs" began to scream with the associated build up of the Faith No More cover, only for it to be lead in to "We Gon' Make It" by Judakiss rather than the ominous awesomeness of all things Sabbath. And for the second time of the night Bancroft and Brooks stepped out from behind the curtains of the stage as a united team. In a few weeks, they would be pitted against each other, but the brothers from another motha' were united and they were going to take on the world.] [Starting with Blue Collar PA and Jane Katze.] [And of course, the other team came out to different entrances. Jane to her own neglecting the fans and Blue Collar PA, just the other dancing with the fans, commanding them to clap with the rhythm inside and all that jazz.] [The bell sounded, Brooks and Jane started up the bout. Brooks went high and caught her in the side headlock, but the Double Crown Champion was shoved into the ropes and hit with a spinning elbow and into German suplex attempt. But the champ flowed around the side and shoved Jane into the ropes, having her bounce back, back first and into a full nelson suplex into bridge attempt.] [Jane kicks out and after the initial tangle, forces Blue Collar PA into the match with a harsh tag. Not missing a beat, PA comes into the match and locks up with Brooks who snap suplexs PA over and follows up with a front face lock and a tag in by Boston, who by heel nature takes a cheap shot to the kidneys of PA and then rams Blue Collar PA into the free corner, laying in shoulder after shoulder into the ribs of the dancing machine. Bancroft took a moment to taunt the crowd with a small little dance but Blue Collar was up in an instant, laid in three open hand slaps, danced for a second and dropped the contender for the Double Crowd with a hard knife edge chop.] [PA loaded Boston in for a fisherman's suplex but Jane tagged herself in, distracting PA and Boston broke the hold but delivered a suplex of his own. He popped up and Jane nailed him with a double leg drop kick from the top rope. She went for the cover....1....2....] [But Boston kicked out.] [Jane rolled him on his side and went for the old stand by of the Golden Gate Guillotine but Bancroft was well aware of her moves and fought to a vertical base. The two heels stared off, the crowd no knowing who to hate more, until Boston made the move on Jane with a belly to belly move and Jane, the cunning strategist forced her tongue down Boston's throat with a knee to make the whole deal bittersweet.] [She quickly elbowed Brooks off the apron and hit a spring board splash onto Boston, the referee counted the pin, as Blue Collar PA made the sportsman like save for his fellow face. The pin only got a two count. ] [Jane looked to the corner and saw PA was missing. She looked to the outside where the Big Blue Man and Justin Brooks were dancing with the crowd. Jane stepped outside the apron and confronted PA over the whole ordeal.] [After double axe handling Brooks.] [PA was naturally confused as he just was doing the right thing according to the American Way and all that jazz. But Jane wasn't buying it. If PA could have sold her on it, she may have believed him but it was cut short when Boston Bancroft grabbed Jane by the ponytail and jerked her up into the ring and drilled her into the canvas with the "Cradle of Liberty", his reverse fisherman buster.] [He went for the pin....1.....2..... Blue Collar PA pulled him out of the ring and the two began to brawl on the outside. Brooks takes the opportunity to come back into the ring and pin Jane, this time for the three count.] Winner: Justin Brooks and Boston Bancroft [The bell sounded and Boston looked into the ring at Justin Brooks with his arm raised in victory.] [The two stared at each other.] [Was this an omen to come?] [SSB Distressed Logo] [Crown of War Advertisement] [ORDER NOW]
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