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Post by [ManiC] on Jun 2, 2012 18:12:49 GMT -4
It’s All Crazy! It’s All False![/u][/size]
Chapter I--Something Wicked This Way Comes
RP# I VS Bulk Rogaine
Chapter I--Something Wicked This Way Comes
RP# I VS Bulk Rogaine
Dark and dingy is this room on a solemn night. A dark, wet patch forms on the ceiling from where the harsh rain leaks in to the apartment. Aside his bed, head in hands and elbows upon thighs sits Gabriel Anselm, who is mere days away from his first competitive, major wrestling match within the western hemisphere of the world. Of course, thoughts are spiralling wildly out of control in the young man’s head when such momentous changes such as those mentioned are coming so quickly upon them. The chaos of his thoughts is hardly helped by being a former student of philosophy, where chaotic outlooks and thoughts oftentimes aided in the understanding of many of the theories and topics. The man begins to stir, attempting to make sense of all that he thinks.
--»“All truly great thoughts are conceived by walking.”
Muttering these words to himself in quote of Nietzsche (a philosopher that Anselm duly admired), Gabriel takes it upon himself to heed the wisdom instilled from these words and go for a walk in order to clear his mind. Rising up from the now creased sheets lining his bed, the tired young man wanders over to his run down apartment’s door, upon which his long, grey coat hangs. Taking it from the hook on the back of the door, Anselm promptly exits the apartment and heads over to the elevator. He walks as one does walk when one is deeply troubled and yet overwhelmingly excited by their own future. As the elevator doors open in front of him, it occurs to him that the box in front has likely seen the worst of humanity that the city has to offer. Anselm also notes from the smell and the stains on the back wall that it is likely the public toilet for the apartment building he has the displeasure of residing in. His finger sticks ever so slightly to the ground floor button as it is pressed. He does not know nor does he want to know what substance(s) cover the buttons of the elevator. A sharp drop occurs initially but then the elevator proceeds to descend steadily to the ground below. Stepping out of the elevator doors and to the building’s exit, Gabriel places his right hand to the surface of the door, takes a deep breath in and pushes the door open wide whilst stepping out into the pouring rain and going for his walk to try and make sense of all the thoughts happening inside his head.
--»“All truly great thoughts are conceived by walking.”
Muttering these words to himself in quote of Nietzsche (a philosopher that Anselm duly admired), Gabriel takes it upon himself to heed the wisdom instilled from these words and go for a walk in order to clear his mind. Rising up from the now creased sheets lining his bed, the tired young man wanders over to his run down apartment’s door, upon which his long, grey coat hangs. Taking it from the hook on the back of the door, Anselm promptly exits the apartment and heads over to the elevator. He walks as one does walk when one is deeply troubled and yet overwhelmingly excited by their own future. As the elevator doors open in front of him, it occurs to him that the box in front has likely seen the worst of humanity that the city has to offer. Anselm also notes from the smell and the stains on the back wall that it is likely the public toilet for the apartment building he has the displeasure of residing in. His finger sticks ever so slightly to the ground floor button as it is pressed. He does not know nor does he want to know what substance(s) cover the buttons of the elevator. A sharp drop occurs initially but then the elevator proceeds to descend steadily to the ground below. Stepping out of the elevator doors and to the building’s exit, Gabriel places his right hand to the surface of the door, takes a deep breath in and pushes the door open wide whilst stepping out into the pouring rain and going for his walk to try and make sense of all the thoughts happening inside his head.
Against the neutral, grey walls of the backstage area of the Coliseum in Greensboro stands Gabriel Anselm, his shadow cast apparent on the walls as the film crews' light shines down upon him. His face is still, almost as if he were a statue. His darkened brown eyes stare directly at the camera as he awaits the signal to let him know that he is being recorded. Anselm knows that this is the first exposure to Action Packed Wrestling fans he is getting; this is his first time addressing those that would soon be looking down upon him wrestling his first match upon American soil. Gabriel knows that he mustn't screw this up - everything must be premeditated, everything must be correct. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could go wrong for him now. First impressions are the most important it is often said, and Gabriel fully intended to make a lasting first impression. One of the film crew raises their hand in the air with all five digits stuck up which catches the eye of Anselm. The countdown begins. As the final finger drops, a red light glows atop the camera - the footage rolls as surely do the clouds surrounding the arena.
--»It is I; Gabriel Anslem. To most of you, if not all of you, I am no more than a stranger. An unknown entity who has neither impacted nor even affected your life in any way whatsoever. But soon this shall all change. I am the newest member of the Action Packed Wrestling roster. I am the newest Megastar to come to the shown that you all are in attendance for - the show which millions view right now. Tonight I am here to make a statement. I shall lay all my cards on the table, and I will succeed, for tonight, in my match against Bulk Rogaine I will bring a new level of ability to this company. For five years I trained in Japan - not to wrestle, but to win. And it is this training in victory that brings me above the rest of the roster here in Meltdown. Where some are more concerned with putting on a show for all the fans, and making a match good, the smarter competitor - such as myself - is more concerned with the final outcome swinging in their favour.
Gabriel looks down to his feet as he readjusts his position. Placing his hands on his hips he looks back up to the camera, his unflinching face now breaking into the smirk of a megalomaniac, yet his eyes remain as focused as ever. A faint sweat form upon his brow - due to the warmth of the arena and the heat of the lights bearing down upon him to give him somewhat of a god-like glow. Upon readjusting himself, Gabriel once again addresses the camera and indirectly the APW universe.
--»You see; victory is my forté. Victory is what I excel at. It is all I have known in my training, and it shall become an apparent comfort for myself in my career here in the western world of wrestling. But now is not the time for self-promotion, the match that will take place mere moments from now is the time to show you just how good I am - and subsequently how pathetic my opponent truly is. This brings me onto my main point - Bulk. "The Bulkster" as the brainwashed masses begrudgingly refer to the babbling idiot as, is nothing more than a washed up, money-grabbing has-been and yet he would appear to be the opium of the disenfranchised masses. Why are such specimens elevated to near God-like statuses by the bubbling commoner, when individuals such as myself would be better suited upon the throne of the higher plateau? This in itself should be evidence enough for all of you simpletons to open up your eyes and see this business for what it really is - a sham led by the most self-important and idiotic of creatures to ever walk this Earth. For this very reason, the less threatening and lower forms succeed in this business. It is for this reason that "competitors" - a term I so very loosely use - such as Evan Envi do hold championships such as the North American title!
Once more, Anslem stops. This time he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose, raising his whole body up along with the intake of air. After holding the air in for a few seconds, as one would with a draw of a joint or cigar, he breathes out. Opening his eyes, his face returns to the statuesque appearance it had earlier, all signs of emotion or cockiness completely removed from his expression.
--»You see, ladies and gentlemen, I am Gabriel Anselm. I am that than which no greater may be perceived and that, my friends, is the definition of a God.
With that, Gabriel turns away from the camera and proceeds to walk towards his locker. He quickly pushes his door open and enters the room, being careful not to socialise with any of the backstage staff or draw any attention to himself. With sweat pouring from his face, he walks into his washroom, placing both hands onto the sink and stares deep into the mirror.
--»So what the fuck are you going to do, kid?
[/font]--»It is I; Gabriel Anslem. To most of you, if not all of you, I am no more than a stranger. An unknown entity who has neither impacted nor even affected your life in any way whatsoever. But soon this shall all change. I am the newest member of the Action Packed Wrestling roster. I am the newest Megastar to come to the shown that you all are in attendance for - the show which millions view right now. Tonight I am here to make a statement. I shall lay all my cards on the table, and I will succeed, for tonight, in my match against Bulk Rogaine I will bring a new level of ability to this company. For five years I trained in Japan - not to wrestle, but to win. And it is this training in victory that brings me above the rest of the roster here in Meltdown. Where some are more concerned with putting on a show for all the fans, and making a match good, the smarter competitor - such as myself - is more concerned with the final outcome swinging in their favour.
Gabriel looks down to his feet as he readjusts his position. Placing his hands on his hips he looks back up to the camera, his unflinching face now breaking into the smirk of a megalomaniac, yet his eyes remain as focused as ever. A faint sweat form upon his brow - due to the warmth of the arena and the heat of the lights bearing down upon him to give him somewhat of a god-like glow. Upon readjusting himself, Gabriel once again addresses the camera and indirectly the APW universe.
--»You see; victory is my forté. Victory is what I excel at. It is all I have known in my training, and it shall become an apparent comfort for myself in my career here in the western world of wrestling. But now is not the time for self-promotion, the match that will take place mere moments from now is the time to show you just how good I am - and subsequently how pathetic my opponent truly is. This brings me onto my main point - Bulk. "The Bulkster" as the brainwashed masses begrudgingly refer to the babbling idiot as, is nothing more than a washed up, money-grabbing has-been and yet he would appear to be the opium of the disenfranchised masses. Why are such specimens elevated to near God-like statuses by the bubbling commoner, when individuals such as myself would be better suited upon the throne of the higher plateau? This in itself should be evidence enough for all of you simpletons to open up your eyes and see this business for what it really is - a sham led by the most self-important and idiotic of creatures to ever walk this Earth. For this very reason, the less threatening and lower forms succeed in this business. It is for this reason that "competitors" - a term I so very loosely use - such as Evan Envi do hold championships such as the North American title!
Once more, Anslem stops. This time he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose, raising his whole body up along with the intake of air. After holding the air in for a few seconds, as one would with a draw of a joint or cigar, he breathes out. Opening his eyes, his face returns to the statuesque appearance it had earlier, all signs of emotion or cockiness completely removed from his expression.
--»You see, ladies and gentlemen, I am Gabriel Anselm. I am that than which no greater may be perceived and that, my friends, is the definition of a God.
With that, Gabriel turns away from the camera and proceeds to walk towards his locker. He quickly pushes his door open and enters the room, being careful not to socialise with any of the backstage staff or draw any attention to himself. With sweat pouring from his face, he walks into his washroom, placing both hands onto the sink and stares deep into the mirror.
--»So what the fuck are you going to do, kid?
