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Post by [ManiC] on Jun 9, 2012 6:43:10 GMT -4
It’s All Crazy! It’s All False![/u][/size]
Chapter II--The Lion Isn't Sacred When Not Sleeping Near The Lamb
RP# II VS Jair Hopkins & Stefan Raab w/ TJ
Upon pacing around his apartment, Gabriel catches a glimpse of himself in his shattered mirror that somehow still hangs above his sink. He becomes fixated, all signs of euphoria now gone. Nothing else matters, only his broken reflection and his own being currently exist. With caution, he takes a step forward, then another one and another one, Gabriel leans over the sink, staring deep into his very own fractured eyes.
--»What the fuck, are you going to do, kid?
The very question he asked himself not even 24 hours ago just before his début match in APW once again rears its ugly head in the mind of the man staring in the mirror. However, this time it causes a faint smile to break across the lips of Anselm.
--»What the fuck am I going to do? I'm going to knock people out cold and I'm going to win. I'll take on the Gods themselves and I will come out on top. And do you know why? Because I've worked too damn hard for this. Growing up in north east England isn't exactly the easiest thing in the world, and when those guys saw potential in me, when they brought me into their group...
Our protagonist (or antagonist, depending on your position) pauses, his thoughts have gotten ahead of him and are now taking him far back to just before he began his wrestling training. His stare is blank as it stares far past his broken mirror into his deep seeded memories. Suddenly his surroundings and his wherewithal come rushing back to him, culminating in a quick shaking of the head and rubbing of the eyes. Anselm continues on as if nothing had broken his trail of thought.
--»They took me to Japan, which I always found strange since neither of them looked in the least bit Asian. They both spoke with a northern accent and there skin was as white as freshly lain snow. The old guy used to use a cane and had a terrible limp but still somehow always managed to thrash my ass if I ever fucked up in my training, and the younger guy; dear God were his sparring sessions brutal...
Once again Anselm derails his thoughts, this time he peers down towards the floor from above his sink. A smirk appears as he gives a brief laugh under his breath. Pushing himself up and away from the sink he begins to walk towards his bed, his body limp, his arms swaying by his sides. Now was not the time to be dwelling on the past, now was a time for ecstasy and celebration; after all your first professional victory is something to be cherished. Unfortunately though, all of the energy that filled Gabriel previously has dispersed into nothingness and only fatigue and tiredness remains. He lies down on his bed, not even bothering to cover himself or remove his street clothes. He closes his eyes and awaits a new day and his next match.[/right]
The member of staff rolls her eyes and makes a noise in vain of "Ukch" before she hastily exits the room and slams the door behind her. A smirk re-emerges on Gabriel's face upon witnessing this, it amuses him how petty some people can be (something that he himself is guilty of being).[/right]
Gabriel points to the back as he finishes his last sentence and the tune to "Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" starts up in the P.A. System, which surprisingly is met with a chorus of screams and cheers as nostalgia takes over many of the attendees in the arena, once again Anselm puts the microphone to his mouth.
--»Now this is a story all about how
I came to be the best wrestler around
And I'd like to take a minute just sit right there
I'll tell you how my opponents all need health care.
In north-east England is where I was raised
Beaten up others is how I spent most of my days
Punchin’ and kickin’ beatin’ up fools
And blastin’ rolling elbows before it got cool
When a couple of guys saw that I was good
Brought me into their little brotherhood
I needed some training, I was out of there
I was off to Japan, courtesy of Ryan Air.
I was the best, no one came near
The impact of my elbow is all they could hear
I was bored, my talent was rare
So I flew to America, wrestlers despair.
I came to the fed called A.P.W
And I knocked a jobber out, his time was through
So now I wrestle on Meltdown, my tactics are vile
How else will I settle on top of the pile?
As the song ends the arena is overwhelmed with boos from the crowd, with only the occasional cheers breaking through the wall of hate - it is in this metaphorical wall that Gabriel truly revels, as if it is the light of the heavens shining down upon him. The egotistical smirk is ever apparent on his face as he once again addresses the crowd.
--»That little rap brings me from my oaf of a tag team partner to our first opposition. Mister Jair, or "J-Hop" as all of the homeboiz call him. He hails from the Bronx in New York, so we just know he's an upstanding young citizen. Let me take a guess, you come out of the hard streets where you learnt to stick up for yourself, you're representing the 'hood as you try to make a name for yourself and prove all of your doubters wrong? Man up. The world's a scary place and unless you open your eyes to it you're not going to get very far, hell; you're not going to even get out of the ghetto street where you received your first ass whooping.
But seriously 'Hoppy', does anyone outside of your little ghetto actually understand what on Earth you're actually saying? Maybe it's because I actually managed to pass at least mandatory education, but I can barely comprehend a word that passes your lips. "What up, doe?", "Daaamn girl, those threads are aight, you gotta roll up to the crib and tell me how many Benjamins you spent on that bling. You're straight up trippin' man, you look straight gangsta with your grill." We're not in the damn hood anymore boyo. We're in a wrestling business, and correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't there some kind of stigmata about young black men from the 'hood being poor for businesses? I'm not one to stereotype, but I think in this case, the stereotype might actually be accurate, now isn't that 'Foshizzle?[/i][/color]
Anselm's ignorance to black and youth culture shines through his words as he is met with a resounding verse of negativity and boos for his borderline racist comments.
--»You see 'Jay-Jay', you're soon going to be hanging with the big boys - namely me. All the street smarts and ghetto training in the world isn't going to save you from talent such as myself, and to a lesser extent Teej. But I've just had an interesting thought, my team may be a little dysfunctional, but aren't you a young black gentleman who's teaming with a German? Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't they once upon a time try to wipe your ethnic group out?[/i][/color]
The blatantly offensive statement referring to the Second World War brings about the loudest and largest waves of boos and hisses that Gabriel has thus far received tonight, this somewhat staggers Anselm, but he soon finds his footing and goes back on the verbal offensive, but not before wiping the sweat from his brow that has formed due to a mixture of nerves, the arena lighting and getting himself too wound up.
--»Hey, I'm part Dutch - I can say shit like that.
Don't get too offended though Hoppy, I haven't even started to address our Raab. You're the little jack of all trades aren't you my son? You're a wrestler, well sort-of, a musician, a sporting star, a TV personality, likely a Nazi and, from what I've heard about your darling, beloved fiancée, a pimp. There's a reason she's nicknamed "The Fizz" isn't there? I'm guessing because she'll let any poor, lonely fool froth up inside her given they're willing to pay, say, ten Euros.[/i][/color]
The crowd remain silent, perhaps due to shock at the rather controversial statements made my Gabriel, he himself is unsure as to why they remain quite, but then again; he doesn't really care. He breaks his own speech and places both of his hands on his hips. He takes a deep breath in as he looks around the arena, just imagining all of the sins the crowd has committed, and wondering how half of them live with themselves. Suddenly, his past comes rushing back to him, knocking him back slightly. Having been taken down from his pedestal, he gingerly lifts the microphone up so it is almost touching his lips. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but no sound passes his now dry lips. He runs his tongue over them as to attempt to re moisten them but it is to no avail, his tongue too is desert-like in it's lack of moisture. Raising his left fist to his mouth he gives a little cough, hoping that some moisture from his body will carry up into his mouth, granting him the ability of speech once more.
--»I must admit, Raab seems to be the least of my worries in this match-up. How many matches is it that you haven't won now? How many of them have been consecutive losses? You see, that's the problem with being the jack of all trades; you never master one. That'd be why your music sucks, you're not a very successful sports star, and Germany isn't exactly famous for entertaining television. And judging from your record, wrestling isn't your forté either is it? I don't think you even deserve the same air that I breath, nevermind the privilege of stepping into the ring with me. When you do tonight, I seriously hope you're prepared for the fight of your life and I seriously hope you've got a strong jaw, otherwise I'm going to break it when I nail you with the A Priori, bitch.
With a rather cocky aura about him, Anselm brings the microphone away from his mouth, outstretches his arm and drops the mic to the mat below him as the air vibrates with the crowd's reaction to his promo. When Gabriel's theme music starts up he raises his clenched right fist in the air as he walks over to the ropes closest to the entrance ramp. As he lowers his arm he drops between the top and middle rope to the floor below. Slapping the top of the apron as his feet hit the ringside floor he strolls up the ramp to the back, an ever-present swagger obvious in every step.[/right]
Chapter II--The Lion Isn't Sacred When Not Sleeping Near The Lamb
RP# II VS Jair Hopkins & Stefan Raab w/ TJ
Pumped full of adrenaline and life, fresh off of his very first victory in a mainstay wrestling promotion, Gabriel Anselm is abuzz, manifesting itself in his anxiousness and inability to remain still inside of his run-down department. The damp patch still remains in the ceiling, even though the rain has stopped - it's lucky that Gabriel lives on the very top floor, as he would be worried about what substance actually is running through from the flat above him if he were not, given the types of characters that occupy the complex with him.
--»That's one opponent down, even though he wasn't much of a challenge. However, I shouldn't be getting ahead of myself; that was just a test. They had to see if I could beat the very bottom of the pile before I may start my ascent to the very top...
[/i][/color]--»That's one opponent down, even though he wasn't much of a challenge. However, I shouldn't be getting ahead of myself; that was just a test. They had to see if I could beat the very bottom of the pile before I may start my ascent to the very top...
Upon pacing around his apartment, Gabriel catches a glimpse of himself in his shattered mirror that somehow still hangs above his sink. He becomes fixated, all signs of euphoria now gone. Nothing else matters, only his broken reflection and his own being currently exist. With caution, he takes a step forward, then another one and another one, Gabriel leans over the sink, staring deep into his very own fractured eyes.
--»What the fuck, are you going to do, kid?
The very question he asked himself not even 24 hours ago just before his début match in APW once again rears its ugly head in the mind of the man staring in the mirror. However, this time it causes a faint smile to break across the lips of Anselm.
--»What the fuck am I going to do? I'm going to knock people out cold and I'm going to win. I'll take on the Gods themselves and I will come out on top. And do you know why? Because I've worked too damn hard for this. Growing up in north east England isn't exactly the easiest thing in the world, and when those guys saw potential in me, when they brought me into their group...
Our protagonist (or antagonist, depending on your position) pauses, his thoughts have gotten ahead of him and are now taking him far back to just before he began his wrestling training. His stare is blank as it stares far past his broken mirror into his deep seeded memories. Suddenly his surroundings and his wherewithal come rushing back to him, culminating in a quick shaking of the head and rubbing of the eyes. Anselm continues on as if nothing had broken his trail of thought.
--»They took me to Japan, which I always found strange since neither of them looked in the least bit Asian. They both spoke with a northern accent and there skin was as white as freshly lain snow. The old guy used to use a cane and had a terrible limp but still somehow always managed to thrash my ass if I ever fucked up in my training, and the younger guy; dear God were his sparring sessions brutal...
Once again Anselm derails his thoughts, this time he peers down towards the floor from above his sink. A smirk appears as he gives a brief laugh under his breath. Pushing himself up and away from the sink he begins to walk towards his bed, his body limp, his arms swaying by his sides. Now was not the time to be dwelling on the past, now was a time for ecstasy and celebration; after all your first professional victory is something to be cherished. Unfortunately though, all of the energy that filled Gabriel previously has dispersed into nothingness and only fatigue and tiredness remains. He lies down on his bed, not even bothering to cover himself or remove his street clothes. He closes his eyes and awaits a new day and his next match.[/right]
For the second time Anselm finds himself awaiting a match in APW in the backstage area. Though considerably warmer than the previous week's backstage area, the familiar chill runs down his spinal cord, culminating at the base of his tail bone. Is it nerves? One would think that after a display such as that of last week, the nerves and anxiety would have subsided, or at the very least diminished. Then again, this week it was a tag match, and Gabriel wasn't used to not very good at working with others, often preferring the lone wolf role rather than a member of the pack. More over, there was far more riding on this match than there was last week, namely a possible spot in the Test for the Best tournament. What better way to make an impact than proving yourself to be better than your apparent "peers" - the fellow APW Megastars? But then again, it's an awful lot of pressure, and pressure can often make an individual collapse and fold. Not everyone is suited to dealing with pressure, Gabriel wonders if he is capable of handling such pressure, or whether he will simply buckle.
There's a knock at the door of Gabriel's locker room which breaks Gabriel's concentration. As no answer is given, a second knock is made. Gabriel shakes his head to clear his mind and shake the cobwebs out.
--»Sorry, you can come in!
The door opens ever so slightly and a fairly small female dressed in black with a headset steps through the doorway, evidently she is a member of staff at the arena.
--»Ten minutes and your entrance music'll be starting up, we want you behind the curtain in five so this is your last call.
Anslem looks up at the unknown member of staff before replying to her, a minor look of hostility in his eyes.
--»Thanks, I'll just change into my ring gear, I shan't be long, but for now could I have a little privacy?
[/b][/i]There's a knock at the door of Gabriel's locker room which breaks Gabriel's concentration. As no answer is given, a second knock is made. Gabriel shakes his head to clear his mind and shake the cobwebs out.
--»Sorry, you can come in!
The door opens ever so slightly and a fairly small female dressed in black with a headset steps through the doorway, evidently she is a member of staff at the arena.
--»Ten minutes and your entrance music'll be starting up, we want you behind the curtain in five so this is your last call.
Anslem looks up at the unknown member of staff before replying to her, a minor look of hostility in his eyes.
--»Thanks, I'll just change into my ring gear, I shan't be long, but for now could I have a little privacy?
The member of staff rolls her eyes and makes a noise in vain of "Ukch" before she hastily exits the room and slams the door behind her. A smirk re-emerges on Gabriel's face upon witnessing this, it amuses him how petty some people can be (something that he himself is guilty of being).[/right]
"SO WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUCK ARE YOU GOING TO DO, KID?!"
The lights of the arena dim ever so slightly as the opening yells of "Outsiders" hit the public announce system and Gabriel Anselm emerges from behind the curtain atop the stage to a flurry of purple to red to green lighting. As the song plays out, accompanied by a minor chorus of boos from the crows, Anselm begins his decent from the stage down to the ring - his face alight with the features of a megalomaniac and that of one deep in thought. He pauses at the foot of the stage and lowers his head a minor degree. Flipping his hair up Gabriel charges the ring, sliding underneath the bottom rope into the middle of the arena's ring. With great haste he rolls forwards landing on one knee, fully extending his arms and hands out to the sides only to be met by a cascade of boos from the crowd. He rises from this kneeling position and signals for a member of staff to get him a microphone, they oblige as a member of the ringside staff slide a microphone into the ring which stops at Anselm's feet. He gives a visible sigh before bending down to pick it up. He breath is audible in the P.A. system as he breaths down into the microphone.
--»Good people of Georgia, and the millions that are watching at home, last week you saw me make my début here in Action Packed Wrestling, a début that ultimately was a success. And now tonight, you all get the privilege of seeing me in action in a tag team match in order to qualify for the test for the best tournament, this is why I am out here tonight, to address this upcoming match.
A small percentage of the crowd begin to boo Gabriel along with a "YOU SUCK" chant starting up amongst them. Gabriel smiles, when out in front of these people he's a different person. Out of the ring he's paranoid, bordering on mental instability - but in the ring he's a perfect megalomaniac. Nothing can affect him, and nothing can come closing to touching him.
--»Firstly, I'm partnered with 'The Soul Man'. Now this guy may be freakin' huge, but that doesn't mean to say he can actually hold his own in a match, he's from Philadelphia for fuck's sake. I mean, that man really loves Philly, and that's one thing that I never understood. Being from England, I've never been a patriotic sort nor proud of my town or city, but this guy - dear God, this guy - he just loves repping his hometown. Even though his hometown's full of wannabe gangsters and halfwits. It looks like I'll be carrying this team through the match, though I suppose I should at least try to connect with him, and as such I prepared a song in his native style. So without further ado, hit the god damn music!
[/i][/color]The lights of the arena dim ever so slightly as the opening yells of "Outsiders" hit the public announce system and Gabriel Anselm emerges from behind the curtain atop the stage to a flurry of purple to red to green lighting. As the song plays out, accompanied by a minor chorus of boos from the crows, Anselm begins his decent from the stage down to the ring - his face alight with the features of a megalomaniac and that of one deep in thought. He pauses at the foot of the stage and lowers his head a minor degree. Flipping his hair up Gabriel charges the ring, sliding underneath the bottom rope into the middle of the arena's ring. With great haste he rolls forwards landing on one knee, fully extending his arms and hands out to the sides only to be met by a cascade of boos from the crowd. He rises from this kneeling position and signals for a member of staff to get him a microphone, they oblige as a member of the ringside staff slide a microphone into the ring which stops at Anselm's feet. He gives a visible sigh before bending down to pick it up. He breath is audible in the P.A. system as he breaths down into the microphone.
--»Good people of Georgia, and the millions that are watching at home, last week you saw me make my début here in Action Packed Wrestling, a début that ultimately was a success. And now tonight, you all get the privilege of seeing me in action in a tag team match in order to qualify for the test for the best tournament, this is why I am out here tonight, to address this upcoming match.
A small percentage of the crowd begin to boo Gabriel along with a "YOU SUCK" chant starting up amongst them. Gabriel smiles, when out in front of these people he's a different person. Out of the ring he's paranoid, bordering on mental instability - but in the ring he's a perfect megalomaniac. Nothing can affect him, and nothing can come closing to touching him.
--»Firstly, I'm partnered with 'The Soul Man'. Now this guy may be freakin' huge, but that doesn't mean to say he can actually hold his own in a match, he's from Philadelphia for fuck's sake. I mean, that man really loves Philly, and that's one thing that I never understood. Being from England, I've never been a patriotic sort nor proud of my town or city, but this guy - dear God, this guy - he just loves repping his hometown. Even though his hometown's full of wannabe gangsters and halfwits. It looks like I'll be carrying this team through the match, though I suppose I should at least try to connect with him, and as such I prepared a song in his native style. So without further ado, hit the god damn music!
Gabriel points to the back as he finishes his last sentence and the tune to "Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" starts up in the P.A. System, which surprisingly is met with a chorus of screams and cheers as nostalgia takes over many of the attendees in the arena, once again Anselm puts the microphone to his mouth.
--»Now this is a story all about how
I came to be the best wrestler around
And I'd like to take a minute just sit right there
I'll tell you how my opponents all need health care.
In north-east England is where I was raised
Beaten up others is how I spent most of my days
Punchin’ and kickin’ beatin’ up fools
And blastin’ rolling elbows before it got cool
When a couple of guys saw that I was good
Brought me into their little brotherhood
I needed some training, I was out of there
I was off to Japan, courtesy of Ryan Air.
I was the best, no one came near
The impact of my elbow is all they could hear
I was bored, my talent was rare
So I flew to America, wrestlers despair.
I came to the fed called A.P.W
And I knocked a jobber out, his time was through
So now I wrestle on Meltdown, my tactics are vile
How else will I settle on top of the pile?
As the song ends the arena is overwhelmed with boos from the crowd, with only the occasional cheers breaking through the wall of hate - it is in this metaphorical wall that Gabriel truly revels, as if it is the light of the heavens shining down upon him. The egotistical smirk is ever apparent on his face as he once again addresses the crowd.
--»That little rap brings me from my oaf of a tag team partner to our first opposition. Mister Jair, or "J-Hop" as all of the homeboiz call him. He hails from the Bronx in New York, so we just know he's an upstanding young citizen. Let me take a guess, you come out of the hard streets where you learnt to stick up for yourself, you're representing the 'hood as you try to make a name for yourself and prove all of your doubters wrong? Man up. The world's a scary place and unless you open your eyes to it you're not going to get very far, hell; you're not going to even get out of the ghetto street where you received your first ass whooping.
But seriously 'Hoppy', does anyone outside of your little ghetto actually understand what on Earth you're actually saying? Maybe it's because I actually managed to pass at least mandatory education, but I can barely comprehend a word that passes your lips. "What up, doe?", "Daaamn girl, those threads are aight, you gotta roll up to the crib and tell me how many Benjamins you spent on that bling. You're straight up trippin' man, you look straight gangsta with your grill." We're not in the damn hood anymore boyo. We're in a wrestling business, and correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't there some kind of stigmata about young black men from the 'hood being poor for businesses? I'm not one to stereotype, but I think in this case, the stereotype might actually be accurate, now isn't that 'Foshizzle?[/i][/color]
Anselm's ignorance to black and youth culture shines through his words as he is met with a resounding verse of negativity and boos for his borderline racist comments.
--»You see 'Jay-Jay', you're soon going to be hanging with the big boys - namely me. All the street smarts and ghetto training in the world isn't going to save you from talent such as myself, and to a lesser extent Teej. But I've just had an interesting thought, my team may be a little dysfunctional, but aren't you a young black gentleman who's teaming with a German? Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't they once upon a time try to wipe your ethnic group out?[/i][/color]
The blatantly offensive statement referring to the Second World War brings about the loudest and largest waves of boos and hisses that Gabriel has thus far received tonight, this somewhat staggers Anselm, but he soon finds his footing and goes back on the verbal offensive, but not before wiping the sweat from his brow that has formed due to a mixture of nerves, the arena lighting and getting himself too wound up.
--»Hey, I'm part Dutch - I can say shit like that.
Don't get too offended though Hoppy, I haven't even started to address our Raab. You're the little jack of all trades aren't you my son? You're a wrestler, well sort-of, a musician, a sporting star, a TV personality, likely a Nazi and, from what I've heard about your darling, beloved fiancée, a pimp. There's a reason she's nicknamed "The Fizz" isn't there? I'm guessing because she'll let any poor, lonely fool froth up inside her given they're willing to pay, say, ten Euros.[/i][/color]
The crowd remain silent, perhaps due to shock at the rather controversial statements made my Gabriel, he himself is unsure as to why they remain quite, but then again; he doesn't really care. He breaks his own speech and places both of his hands on his hips. He takes a deep breath in as he looks around the arena, just imagining all of the sins the crowd has committed, and wondering how half of them live with themselves. Suddenly, his past comes rushing back to him, knocking him back slightly. Having been taken down from his pedestal, he gingerly lifts the microphone up so it is almost touching his lips. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but no sound passes his now dry lips. He runs his tongue over them as to attempt to re moisten them but it is to no avail, his tongue too is desert-like in it's lack of moisture. Raising his left fist to his mouth he gives a little cough, hoping that some moisture from his body will carry up into his mouth, granting him the ability of speech once more.
--»I must admit, Raab seems to be the least of my worries in this match-up. How many matches is it that you haven't won now? How many of them have been consecutive losses? You see, that's the problem with being the jack of all trades; you never master one. That'd be why your music sucks, you're not a very successful sports star, and Germany isn't exactly famous for entertaining television. And judging from your record, wrestling isn't your forté either is it? I don't think you even deserve the same air that I breath, nevermind the privilege of stepping into the ring with me. When you do tonight, I seriously hope you're prepared for the fight of your life and I seriously hope you've got a strong jaw, otherwise I'm going to break it when I nail you with the A Priori, bitch.
With a rather cocky aura about him, Anselm brings the microphone away from his mouth, outstretches his arm and drops the mic to the mat below him as the air vibrates with the crowd's reaction to his promo. When Gabriel's theme music starts up he raises his clenched right fist in the air as he walks over to the ropes closest to the entrance ramp. As he lowers his arm he drops between the top and middle rope to the floor below. Slapping the top of the apron as his feet hit the ringside floor he strolls up the ramp to the back, an ever-present swagger obvious in every step.[/right]
His heart is pounding, each breath short. If one were to witness Anselm, they might think that he were having a heart attack, but he's not - it's merely adrenaline. He's not used to speaking to people, nevermind an audience as big as the one that he just addressed. A sigh of relief exits the young man's body as he approaches his locker room door. For the time being it is his sanctuary. It is where he can just forget the world and focus in on whatever it is his mind decides to think about. But as he reaches out to grab the handle of the door he notices that something isn't right, the lock would appear to be broken. He twists the handle and the door opens, confirming his suspicions as he knows for a fact that he did not leave the door unlocked. No, he's far too cynical, he's far too paranoid for that. Slowly and yet with the faintest hint of emergency the pushes the door open and peers inside the room. Sitting on the far side of the room on the bench, his legs crossed, hits an average sized man, covered in a tattered and torn grey shroud, the hood of which completely blacks out the features of his face, save for his heavily bearded chin and his crooked smile. Then, in an all too familiar sounding voice the man begins to speak.
--»Alright there lad?
[/font]--»Alright there lad?
