Chris Parsons - All you really need is one chance
Oct 23, 2019 21:24:28 GMT -5
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Union Jack and robriot like this
Post by Deleted on Oct 23, 2019 21:24:28 GMT -5
The ring bell tolls three times, each knell ringing out through ’The View’ searching for a war to listen to it’s tale or perhaps a surface to die against.. Instead, the sound is forced to resonate throughout every unfilled seat, throughout each and every inch of the deserted space.
Only once the hum of the bell’s vibrations dies, does a voice speak, ”Three seconds…” Low and hushed, the voice is familiar, but sullen, sombre. ”…when to stop and think about it all, that’s all they want to see. No matter what they tell you, everyone fills these seats to see three seconds of our lives. Win or lose, the crowd wants it’s three fucking seconds.” Row upon row of blue and gold seats are the only audience, still the sermon would continue.
This, this was no Sunday but we are in church nevertheless. The ring, specifically the GCW ring was once again and always had been the church of the one and only Christopher James Parsons…and the ’good reverend’ was about to testify.
The ambient lighting of the arena cast everything in blue, shadows ran long and dark. They said somewhere among them laid a wraith. The entrance ramp sat dark and cold, the lights normally provided a warm reception even if the crowd did not. Yet, Parsons remains out of sight, ”They all come for three seconds, never once thinking of all the hard work that goes into everything before the match, before the show.”
No fans clamour along the entrance ramp, even the announce table sits empty, three chairs at the ready.
The anticipation for the final Onslaught before the Deadly Games Pay Per View was palpable from the ringside mats, to the very air itself. Even now, sitting empty and idle, this place was special once and if Parsons had any say, it would be again.
The Gate City View Arena had been in a perpetual state of upgrade and repair since the magical GCW Financier known only as C.W. came out of nowhere with the money to revive the company as though he were David Sinclair’s own personal Richard Gere in a version of Pretty Woman no one wants to see.
The blue and gold of the ring apron lead up into the ring encased in the golden yellow ropes of the former Gate City Wrestling. Everything was just as it should be. In appearance, at least.
There had been a plan. A gentleman’s agreement if you believe in such things. C.W. would pay the bills, David Sinclair would run the place and Parsons would be a featured star as the first champion. It was a plan, if seen through to the end would have seen himself as the hated champion. It was a plan that moved on seemingly without him.
The revival of GCW was only step one, then came the Festival of Fights, which led to a new episodic show; Onslaught. Then, they would complete their return as the newly christened Global Championship Wrestling debuted on Pay Per View. Everything was lining up.
It was all going to be so easy. The wrestlers wanted their return, the people wanted their return. Everything was set, then C.W. went in a different direction, crowning Kintaru champion and not Parsons. Thus setting in motion everything that had happened since.
The suit wearing, ‘corporatude’ Parsons would be taking some time off it seemed. For stood in the center of the ring, scowl in place, Snake Plisken’s favorite wrestler has left the suit at home in favour of beat up jean and his black Inglorious Bastards T-Shirt (available at GCWShop.com***not a real site…).
”Here it is, take a good long look around. That’s right, it’sstill a few days before the show and I’m here. More often than anywhere else, I’m here. I’m not neutered and chained up like a alley cat with feline leukemia by some pencil dicked fuck like Tarrasque…and I’m certainly not trying to convince myself that I am little more than one of Riot’s back up dancers like the Kevin Federline of wrestling, Frank fucking Windsor. I live GCW daily. This place is a part of me, even when I became the first person to sign with RSW. I carried GCW with me for the better part of five years. I kept this place alive! I could be anywhere else doing anything else with my precious time…”
C.W.’s betrayal had given him cause to reevaluate what would come next, his tenuous partnership with Rob Riot resulting. But he needed something more, as always with Parsons, he needed a bigger play.
The fire had been reignited within him, looking around, his arms reach out to the rafters of ’The View’. ”Nope, I’m here at the arena. Making sure that when that autistic Frankenstein and the rejected sixth back street boy get here, they don’t run away. I’m here Making sure Sinclair and that fuck C.W. don’t run this bitch into the ground...again. That’s right! I’m here for you, the GCW fans AND the GCW wrestlers, working hard grinding at being smart enough to weasel my way into an ownership stake. Because this happy horse shit needs to stop.” Stepping forward, Parsons leans on the ropes, leveling with the fans, his opponents and maybe even himself. “I’m just going to state a fact, good ol’ Kinty boy was handed was handed what should have been my championship, my fucking championship…and I watched…full well knowing how it would end. Not with a bang, but with a whimper…a sad cry just before being put out of his misery. If we never see him again, that be his legacy. Limping away after being crushed by Rob Riot’s cockney stand in and walking urinal cake, Frank Windsor. That will be how he is remembered. Which brings me to what can only be described as the single greatest Hybrid Division showcase available. For the second Onslaught in a row, Riot and me are gonna have to carry two jackasses through the main event slot.”
Looking around the arena once more, he reminded himself that in just a few days the seats would be full, the silence would be replaced with the deafening roar of the GCW faithful, and he would, in earnest, begin his own designs. There would be a war like many other before it. Lines would be drawn and sides would be taken…everything was about to get messy.
”Tarrasque, from the first time I heard your stupid ass name…Inknew I heard it before. I just didn’t know where. Turns out you’re just something pulled out of a dork’s Dungeons and Dragons book. A big scary monster that the wisest virgins I could find said was capable of destroying anything in its path…not gonna lie, that’s a pretty impressive comeback after your role as the {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore} in The Goonies. Long story short, I took their stupid book as a guide, you know, to help me prepare…so let’s see.” Stretching off camera, Parsons’ hands return clutching what appears to be textbook. Thumbing through the pages until his eye focuses on what he needs, he chuckles. “Yup, it’s all right here. Tough, resilient, practically unstoppable…Three intelligence.” Thumbing through, Parsons nods affirmingly tossing the book aside. “So that means as far as brains are concerned, it puts you between stupid dogs and Frank Windsor on the geek scale of how fucking dumb are you two fucks?”
A thin smirk slithers it’s way across the face of ‘The Nightmare’, it was clear where Parsons felt their advantage was. “Let me some this up for the new kids, you’re not new, you were there when I pulled RSW out from under Allen Anderson.” Stopping, Parsons left hand instinctively goes to his missing eye, even as he continues. ”I’ve seen your shit before Smelly T, you are always a follower. Doesn’t matter if Ally Andy had your doggy dish or this new idiot. You can’t think for yourself…sorry I’ll try to dumb it down ‘you no brain good’. ’Me stick foot in you ass’”
Shaking his head, things were dire. C.W. seemed willing to stop at nothing to keep him out of the title picture. The was GCW, this was his home! More than anywhere else, this was it, this was Parsons country. The war would begin at Onslaught!
Dropping the mocking tone he might just live to regret, Parsons nods his head slowly. ”Which brings me to you…you slightly more effeminate Russel Brand wannabe ripoff fuck. You think this is about you? You could literally be anyone, you have been anyone. Shit, last event your part was played by Kintaru. But let’s get a little something out of the way, congratulations are in order, because you’re yet another, in a long line of undeserving fucks to get that world championship before me, so in honour of your ‘win’ at the last Onslaught, I have added to the Parsonsverse…behold my latest creation!”
The telltale click and clap of hooves echoes throughout the vast space heralding what can only be described as a sight to behold.
Black hooves led to the stark white legs and body of a horse. It’s mane was braided and spanned the colours of the rainbow and much like Takashi 69, the T.I.B. Love branded in it’s rainbow ass was all too telling. Parsons had somehow created a unicorn.
The ’unicorn’ trotted toward the ring with a majestic grace that Frank Windsor’s hair stylist had for laboured hours to produce from the bleached dead cat that sat atop his head. Fairy dust wafted from this impossible possibility gained its full glory.
Tall and wide at the shoulder, the ’unicorn’ reared, stomping it’s hooves upon the ramp when it most unique feature becomes apparent. Centered upon the fairytale creature’s forehead were two plain brown horns. A double horned unicorn, if such ridiculousness existed, only Parsons would deem a ’regular unicorn’ unacceptable.
Stepping down, Parsons reaches into his pocket and retrieves his wallet instantly producing a wad of cash as he approaches his newest pet.
Crumpling up the cash, Parsons holds his hands out gaining the animal’s trust slowly, patiently. Slowly, but surely the mythical creature begins eating the cash.(It turns out quality CGI is expensive).
Petting the ’unicorn’, Parsons can’t help but smile, ”This breathtaking creature right here? I figured since Riot had Windsor and Fowler as mascots, i’d get one of my own. This is Rammy, the two horned unicorn. Why are his horns brown you ask? Simple, one for each of your asses. See you in a few days you fucks, tune in nice and early. You won’t want to miss this.”
The theatrical nature of his message aside, it was clear Parsons had something big planned for Onslaught. On a night where the new GCW World Champion would truly debut, a night where the new GCW truly begins…he would attempt to steal the show.
Because he’s Chris Parsons, ’The Nightmare’, Wrestling’s Viagra(Patent Pending) and you only get one chance to use a unicorn.
Only once the hum of the bell’s vibrations dies, does a voice speak, ”Three seconds…” Low and hushed, the voice is familiar, but sullen, sombre. ”…when to stop and think about it all, that’s all they want to see. No matter what they tell you, everyone fills these seats to see three seconds of our lives. Win or lose, the crowd wants it’s three fucking seconds.” Row upon row of blue and gold seats are the only audience, still the sermon would continue.
This, this was no Sunday but we are in church nevertheless. The ring, specifically the GCW ring was once again and always had been the church of the one and only Christopher James Parsons…and the ’good reverend’ was about to testify.
The ambient lighting of the arena cast everything in blue, shadows ran long and dark. They said somewhere among them laid a wraith. The entrance ramp sat dark and cold, the lights normally provided a warm reception even if the crowd did not. Yet, Parsons remains out of sight, ”They all come for three seconds, never once thinking of all the hard work that goes into everything before the match, before the show.”
No fans clamour along the entrance ramp, even the announce table sits empty, three chairs at the ready.
The anticipation for the final Onslaught before the Deadly Games Pay Per View was palpable from the ringside mats, to the very air itself. Even now, sitting empty and idle, this place was special once and if Parsons had any say, it would be again.
The Gate City View Arena had been in a perpetual state of upgrade and repair since the magical GCW Financier known only as C.W. came out of nowhere with the money to revive the company as though he were David Sinclair’s own personal Richard Gere in a version of Pretty Woman no one wants to see.
The blue and gold of the ring apron lead up into the ring encased in the golden yellow ropes of the former Gate City Wrestling. Everything was just as it should be. In appearance, at least.
There had been a plan. A gentleman’s agreement if you believe in such things. C.W. would pay the bills, David Sinclair would run the place and Parsons would be a featured star as the first champion. It was a plan, if seen through to the end would have seen himself as the hated champion. It was a plan that moved on seemingly without him.
The revival of GCW was only step one, then came the Festival of Fights, which led to a new episodic show; Onslaught. Then, they would complete their return as the newly christened Global Championship Wrestling debuted on Pay Per View. Everything was lining up.
It was all going to be so easy. The wrestlers wanted their return, the people wanted their return. Everything was set, then C.W. went in a different direction, crowning Kintaru champion and not Parsons. Thus setting in motion everything that had happened since.
The suit wearing, ‘corporatude’ Parsons would be taking some time off it seemed. For stood in the center of the ring, scowl in place, Snake Plisken’s favorite wrestler has left the suit at home in favour of beat up jean and his black Inglorious Bastards T-Shirt (available at GCWShop.com***not a real site…).
”Here it is, take a good long look around. That’s right, it’sstill a few days before the show and I’m here. More often than anywhere else, I’m here. I’m not neutered and chained up like a alley cat with feline leukemia by some pencil dicked fuck like Tarrasque…and I’m certainly not trying to convince myself that I am little more than one of Riot’s back up dancers like the Kevin Federline of wrestling, Frank fucking Windsor. I live GCW daily. This place is a part of me, even when I became the first person to sign with RSW. I carried GCW with me for the better part of five years. I kept this place alive! I could be anywhere else doing anything else with my precious time…”
C.W.’s betrayal had given him cause to reevaluate what would come next, his tenuous partnership with Rob Riot resulting. But he needed something more, as always with Parsons, he needed a bigger play.
The fire had been reignited within him, looking around, his arms reach out to the rafters of ’The View’. ”Nope, I’m here at the arena. Making sure that when that autistic Frankenstein and the rejected sixth back street boy get here, they don’t run away. I’m here Making sure Sinclair and that fuck C.W. don’t run this bitch into the ground...again. That’s right! I’m here for you, the GCW fans AND the GCW wrestlers, working hard grinding at being smart enough to weasel my way into an ownership stake. Because this happy horse shit needs to stop.” Stepping forward, Parsons leans on the ropes, leveling with the fans, his opponents and maybe even himself. “I’m just going to state a fact, good ol’ Kinty boy was handed was handed what should have been my championship, my fucking championship…and I watched…full well knowing how it would end. Not with a bang, but with a whimper…a sad cry just before being put out of his misery. If we never see him again, that be his legacy. Limping away after being crushed by Rob Riot’s cockney stand in and walking urinal cake, Frank Windsor. That will be how he is remembered. Which brings me to what can only be described as the single greatest Hybrid Division showcase available. For the second Onslaught in a row, Riot and me are gonna have to carry two jackasses through the main event slot.”
Looking around the arena once more, he reminded himself that in just a few days the seats would be full, the silence would be replaced with the deafening roar of the GCW faithful, and he would, in earnest, begin his own designs. There would be a war like many other before it. Lines would be drawn and sides would be taken…everything was about to get messy.
”Tarrasque, from the first time I heard your stupid ass name…Inknew I heard it before. I just didn’t know where. Turns out you’re just something pulled out of a dork’s Dungeons and Dragons book. A big scary monster that the wisest virgins I could find said was capable of destroying anything in its path…not gonna lie, that’s a pretty impressive comeback after your role as the {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore} in The Goonies. Long story short, I took their stupid book as a guide, you know, to help me prepare…so let’s see.” Stretching off camera, Parsons’ hands return clutching what appears to be textbook. Thumbing through the pages until his eye focuses on what he needs, he chuckles. “Yup, it’s all right here. Tough, resilient, practically unstoppable…Three intelligence.” Thumbing through, Parsons nods affirmingly tossing the book aside. “So that means as far as brains are concerned, it puts you between stupid dogs and Frank Windsor on the geek scale of how fucking dumb are you two fucks?”
A thin smirk slithers it’s way across the face of ‘The Nightmare’, it was clear where Parsons felt their advantage was. “Let me some this up for the new kids, you’re not new, you were there when I pulled RSW out from under Allen Anderson.” Stopping, Parsons left hand instinctively goes to his missing eye, even as he continues. ”I’ve seen your shit before Smelly T, you are always a follower. Doesn’t matter if Ally Andy had your doggy dish or this new idiot. You can’t think for yourself…sorry I’ll try to dumb it down ‘you no brain good’. ’Me stick foot in you ass’”
Shaking his head, things were dire. C.W. seemed willing to stop at nothing to keep him out of the title picture. The was GCW, this was his home! More than anywhere else, this was it, this was Parsons country. The war would begin at Onslaught!
Dropping the mocking tone he might just live to regret, Parsons nods his head slowly. ”Which brings me to you…you slightly more effeminate Russel Brand wannabe ripoff fuck. You think this is about you? You could literally be anyone, you have been anyone. Shit, last event your part was played by Kintaru. But let’s get a little something out of the way, congratulations are in order, because you’re yet another, in a long line of undeserving fucks to get that world championship before me, so in honour of your ‘win’ at the last Onslaught, I have added to the Parsonsverse…behold my latest creation!”
The telltale click and clap of hooves echoes throughout the vast space heralding what can only be described as a sight to behold.
Black hooves led to the stark white legs and body of a horse. It’s mane was braided and spanned the colours of the rainbow and much like Takashi 69, the T.I.B. Love branded in it’s rainbow ass was all too telling. Parsons had somehow created a unicorn.
The ’unicorn’ trotted toward the ring with a majestic grace that Frank Windsor’s hair stylist had for laboured hours to produce from the bleached dead cat that sat atop his head. Fairy dust wafted from this impossible possibility gained its full glory.
Tall and wide at the shoulder, the ’unicorn’ reared, stomping it’s hooves upon the ramp when it most unique feature becomes apparent. Centered upon the fairytale creature’s forehead were two plain brown horns. A double horned unicorn, if such ridiculousness existed, only Parsons would deem a ’regular unicorn’ unacceptable.
Stepping down, Parsons reaches into his pocket and retrieves his wallet instantly producing a wad of cash as he approaches his newest pet.
Crumpling up the cash, Parsons holds his hands out gaining the animal’s trust slowly, patiently. Slowly, but surely the mythical creature begins eating the cash.(It turns out quality CGI is expensive).
Petting the ’unicorn’, Parsons can’t help but smile, ”This breathtaking creature right here? I figured since Riot had Windsor and Fowler as mascots, i’d get one of my own. This is Rammy, the two horned unicorn. Why are his horns brown you ask? Simple, one for each of your asses. See you in a few days you fucks, tune in nice and early. You won’t want to miss this.”
The theatrical nature of his message aside, it was clear Parsons had something big planned for Onslaught. On a night where the new GCW World Champion would truly debut, a night where the new GCW truly begins…he would attempt to steal the show.
Because he’s Chris Parsons, ’The Nightmare’, Wrestling’s Viagra(Patent Pending) and you only get one chance to use a unicorn.