Post by Technical Perfection on Mar 15, 2018 14:28:29 GMT -5
{Big Chris and Taane are chilling out after Taane’s title win in Taane’s cozy appartment.}
Big Chris: Champion. Brah, that fuckin’ rocks.
Taane: I didn’t get in the business not to win titles, Chrissy boy. And now I got my first.
Big Chris: Seriously. We are going to rock houses and get all ‘bout it tonight, boyeeeee!
Taane: Yeah, provided I gets to bring a guest along.
Big Chris: Your sister still in the area?
Taane: Chill. Nah she isn’t. She’s still cool with coming over, I think she got shawties in the area she hangs with.
Big Chris: Get yourself a woman. Tell her to hook you up. We can go party hard tonight, T! Who is the guest in question?
Taane: Ah, just another family member.
{There is a sharp rap on the door. Chris turns to open it and tenses up immediately as a 6’5, somewhere well north of 300lb man with a heavily tatooed face fills the frame. The man with the tattooed face speaks in an accent that is reasonably difficult to place. Mid-Pacific, stranded somewhere between New Zealand and Cali. Chris visibly gulps. It's quite an awesome sight.}
Va’aiga: Christopher Fa’amasino. One question, boy.
{Va’aiga grins}
Va’aiga: Where’s my son, ow?
{Taane stands and goes to fetch his title belt. He presents it for his father to examine}
Va’aiga: See that title you're holding there, my boy. This is why we do this shit, son. This is why we put up with all the backbiting and cheaters and koenga tainga.
Big Chris: The what now?
Taane: Trust me, it don’t translate well from the Maori.
Va’aiga: “People who, if it was still a time where we ate the brains of our fallen enemies to claim their power would be the leftovers at the banquet.” Rough translation.
Big Chris: Cool. Taane’s been teaching me the odd word of Te Reo.
Va’aiga: Smart kid. Swear words first?
Big Chris: Nononononono, of course not, sir.
Va'aiga: Don't fucking Sir me, Chris. I'm not your grandpa. And if you haven't taught him all the swears, I'm going to be dissapointed.
{Taane beams}
Va’aiga: Now son, I’ve been listening to a lot of your promo work recently. How you talk about your pride. Your pride in who you are. Where you’re from. So I just gotta say one thing. You’re rocking a title belt now, you just painted a huge bullseye on your back. Be ready to fight for that pride.
Taane: Always ready.
Va’aiga: Didn’t raise you, didn’t TRAIN you to be anything else. And son?
Taane: Yeah?
Va’aiga: First title of many. You can be proud of that. WE can be proud of that. And I can be proud, damn proud of you. Now do me the honour, because I know you’ll have CW cameras in here.
Big Chris: Me too?
Va’aiga: You too Chrissy boy.
Big Chris: Fuckin' sweet. I've always wanted to do this since I watched you when I was little.
{All the Polynesians extend out their pinky and thumb into the familiar Shaka Sign}
Everybody: BOO-YAH!
~~~
CHOOO-HOOO! What up, Combat Wrestling fans? It’s your boy. It’s that young Polynesian Prodigy, that classic match in a bottle, that sugar sweet, light on his feet and oh so hard to defeat man that they call Taane. And look what I got. What boy got two thumbs and a title belt?
This boy.
See I ain’t going to do down my opponents. Same three guys, different day and you could see that result being different. I ain’t gonna lie. But the big thing is that on that precise day, the day of the first Combat Wrestling Network Special, I was the better man. And that’s why I got a nice shiny piece of hardware to strap round my waist… and don’t it look gooooooooood there? Imma do my best to bring a little honor, a little respect and a little flash to this strap. I ain’t saying that success is in my blood… but success is in my blood.
See now I heard the gears ticking in Spike’s mind from miles away. I heard him come up with this little idea for this week’s Fury. Called it the “Champions’ Showcase.” Six person, mixed tag, all the belt holders on one side. Puts some odd teams together, both on the opposition side and, let’s just say the champions ain’t on the same page by any stroke of the imagination. I don’t like the idea. I don’t like the idea at all.
I fucking love it.
This is a proving ground. This is a chance to not only see how I stack up against some hot competition, this is a chance to see how I stack up against the other champions in the match. Well I might be a little valea in the ulu, I might be a little crazy, a little willing to take some risks that a saner ‘Nesian wouldn’t touch, I am gonna have to hold down the sanity on my side of the ring this week. And that’s cool. Never underrate your boy’s brainpan. I’m the thinking fafine’s choice. But why do I gotta be the voice of reason? Look at my tag team partners.
You got Halliwell. I have seen her spit in the face of monsters more than once. I have seen that woman stare beasts in the face and laugh. I have seen her flip the bird to woman much bigger, much scarier, much more dangerous than she is. The Hal’ is hardcore to the damn core, eats terror for breakfast and shit out hatred after dinner that night. Halliwell strikes like the Great Woman of the Night herself, dragged up from Rarohenga and ready to drag you down to that realm of eternal rest with her. Halliwell will break you apart with her submission game, piece by piece and she will love doing it. You don’t beat The Hal’. You escape her.
Dawn Halliwell is crazy.
Ask yourself what you’re in for Caitlyn. Ask yourself if you want to be part of this. Because really, you’re a good fafine. I dig your style. You throw a few good power moves. You showboat with your stylish athleticism. People are going to call you out for being a cosplayer because, well, we’ve all seen a few of them floating round the industry but if that’s your shit, you ain’t being true to yourself by dropping it. You got decent skills, a decent base. S’all good stuff.
And you don’t know a guard pass from a bus pass.
Seriously, Dawn is gonna eat you alive. Figuratively of course. She may be your friend. That’s all cool. But Dawn can’t hold her shit back if she ever even tried to. It’s who she is. I mean you don’t got the skills to counter all the cool shit Dawn can bring to a match. I like you Cait’. It’ll hurt to watch you get ripped apart. But walking into a ring with The Hal’ in it is like walking into a UFC octagon. Someone is gonna tap or snap if she has any say about it. And unless you pull a whole heap of counters out of your cosplayer ass, it’s gonna be you. I’m sorry ‘bout that. She’ll apologise afterwards. The Kold One definitely fuckin’ won’t.
I’m a little crazy. The Hal’ is crazy. Killian Kold is certifiable. Insane. Deranged. Pōrangi. I might have a screw loose, Kold’s table just collapsed. The Hal’ might be two sandwiches short of a picnic. Kold is chewing on the empty basket he brought with him. Somebody call the leoleo and get them to serve a 5150 on that boy. And you know what? He makes that shit work in the ring. Killian Kold has worked out how to take crazy and weaponize it. Shit, keep him away from the feds. You study him, you learn how to weaponize crazy and that’s a megaton bomb sitting in the White House.
But ask people about Kold, they only see the madman. They hear the hate, they listen to the rants at our boss, they try to piece together the broken jigsaw puzzle that is Kold’s mind. What they don’t see is the wrestler. I watched that main event. I had it on the monitors backstage. And I watched the path of carnage he beat. “Shit, he’s being violent to prove a point.” That’s what I first thought. And then it clicked. Watch the damn psychology behind it. Watch how he destroys his opponent’s back. Watch how he makes a target. Paints that massive bullseye on his victim’s back and then goes psycho on it like he just blew his brain up on the goooooooood Buddha Bless. Kold, you’re a bad man. And you’re good at it.
So what do the other team bring to counter the Kold One? Hungry Jack. Well, damn. If you think, Jack-o, that I am for one motherfuckin’ second worried about you and your superheavyweight stylin’ you are badly, badly mistaken. You met my daddy, right? I know back in the past you’ve crossed paths. So you know he ain’t exactly the skinny type. Call it Maori genetics taking hold. My daddy was a 275lb slab of meat at my age. And 350lb when he retired. So I got trained sparring with a man I gave up a hell of a lot of weight too. And I just get to use those principles against you. If I get a chance.
See, you’re a mighty big target. I don’t think Kold can throw you around like he did to his opponent in the Heavyweight Title match. But Kold is out to prove points. Always looking to show that he’s the biggest dog in the yard. And this time, you’re just a big old ham bone for him to chew on. I know you’re going to do all you can to make it not go down like that. I just don’t see it working, dig? I know you got guts, Jack, no pun intended, but The Stone Kold Killer is coming for you and your oversized puku and it ain’t gonna be pretty.
And now we get to save the best for last. Destinies intertwined right, Reynolds? Sons of the Southern Cross ready to do battle once again. Last time out, I was the winner. This time? Might be you. Might be me. Might be someone else. But I’m bringing the fight again. I know you love to show off, to launch those pretty dives, to land those big moves, to wow the damn crowd. Cool. Bring it. Bring your athleticism and your technique and I’ll bring mine and we will bang heads once more.
My head is harder.
Seriously, though. Take a good look at me, at my belt. Take a look at what I did to earn it. Who I beat. No coincidence that my only loss so far in this federation would have been overturned by the TMO if this sport had one. I’m confident I know how to handle you, Aiden. I know how you work because you wrestle kinda a similar style to me. If Spike draws in enough people to make a tag division here, I’ll happily accept an offer to pair up. You know how to hit an axe kick, yeah? But to psyche myself up for our match, I got something special at hand. I ain’t polishing my belt up. I ain’t listening to music. I ain’t watching matches.
I am watching one video. I am watching the haka at Jonah Lomu’s funeral.
And I don’t need to spell out to a guy from the Q-L-D what that brings out in a ‘Nesian from my side of the Tasman.
The professional wrestling ring is my marae, Aiden Reynolds. The crowd are my iwi. Tradition commands that I issue a challenge to anyone who wants to step on my turf. You gotta know I’m ready, willing and capable of putting a hurt on you.
That is my challenge. To you Aiden, to Hungry Jack, to anyone out there.
Step up and accept.
BTDT.
[/b]
Big Chris: Champion. Brah, that fuckin’ rocks.
Taane: I didn’t get in the business not to win titles, Chrissy boy. And now I got my first.
Big Chris: Seriously. We are going to rock houses and get all ‘bout it tonight, boyeeeee!
Taane: Yeah, provided I gets to bring a guest along.
Big Chris: Your sister still in the area?
Taane: Chill. Nah she isn’t. She’s still cool with coming over, I think she got shawties in the area she hangs with.
Big Chris: Get yourself a woman. Tell her to hook you up. We can go party hard tonight, T! Who is the guest in question?
Taane: Ah, just another family member.
{There is a sharp rap on the door. Chris turns to open it and tenses up immediately as a 6’5, somewhere well north of 300lb man with a heavily tatooed face fills the frame. The man with the tattooed face speaks in an accent that is reasonably difficult to place. Mid-Pacific, stranded somewhere between New Zealand and Cali. Chris visibly gulps. It's quite an awesome sight.}
Va’aiga: Christopher Fa’amasino. One question, boy.
{Va’aiga grins}
Va’aiga: Where’s my son, ow?
{Taane stands and goes to fetch his title belt. He presents it for his father to examine}
Va’aiga: See that title you're holding there, my boy. This is why we do this shit, son. This is why we put up with all the backbiting and cheaters and koenga tainga.
Big Chris: The what now?
Taane: Trust me, it don’t translate well from the Maori.
Va’aiga: “People who, if it was still a time where we ate the brains of our fallen enemies to claim their power would be the leftovers at the banquet.” Rough translation.
Big Chris: Cool. Taane’s been teaching me the odd word of Te Reo.
Va’aiga: Smart kid. Swear words first?
Big Chris: Nononononono, of course not, sir.
Va'aiga: Don't fucking Sir me, Chris. I'm not your grandpa. And if you haven't taught him all the swears, I'm going to be dissapointed.
{Taane beams}
Va’aiga: Now son, I’ve been listening to a lot of your promo work recently. How you talk about your pride. Your pride in who you are. Where you’re from. So I just gotta say one thing. You’re rocking a title belt now, you just painted a huge bullseye on your back. Be ready to fight for that pride.
Taane: Always ready.
Va’aiga: Didn’t raise you, didn’t TRAIN you to be anything else. And son?
Taane: Yeah?
Va’aiga: First title of many. You can be proud of that. WE can be proud of that. And I can be proud, damn proud of you. Now do me the honour, because I know you’ll have CW cameras in here.
Big Chris: Me too?
Va’aiga: You too Chrissy boy.
Big Chris: Fuckin' sweet. I've always wanted to do this since I watched you when I was little.
{All the Polynesians extend out their pinky and thumb into the familiar Shaka Sign}
Everybody: BOO-YAH!
~~~
CHOOO-HOOO! What up, Combat Wrestling fans? It’s your boy. It’s that young Polynesian Prodigy, that classic match in a bottle, that sugar sweet, light on his feet and oh so hard to defeat man that they call Taane. And look what I got. What boy got two thumbs and a title belt?
This boy.
See I ain’t going to do down my opponents. Same three guys, different day and you could see that result being different. I ain’t gonna lie. But the big thing is that on that precise day, the day of the first Combat Wrestling Network Special, I was the better man. And that’s why I got a nice shiny piece of hardware to strap round my waist… and don’t it look gooooooooood there? Imma do my best to bring a little honor, a little respect and a little flash to this strap. I ain’t saying that success is in my blood… but success is in my blood.
See now I heard the gears ticking in Spike’s mind from miles away. I heard him come up with this little idea for this week’s Fury. Called it the “Champions’ Showcase.” Six person, mixed tag, all the belt holders on one side. Puts some odd teams together, both on the opposition side and, let’s just say the champions ain’t on the same page by any stroke of the imagination. I don’t like the idea. I don’t like the idea at all.
I fucking love it.
This is a proving ground. This is a chance to not only see how I stack up against some hot competition, this is a chance to see how I stack up against the other champions in the match. Well I might be a little valea in the ulu, I might be a little crazy, a little willing to take some risks that a saner ‘Nesian wouldn’t touch, I am gonna have to hold down the sanity on my side of the ring this week. And that’s cool. Never underrate your boy’s brainpan. I’m the thinking fafine’s choice. But why do I gotta be the voice of reason? Look at my tag team partners.
You got Halliwell. I have seen her spit in the face of monsters more than once. I have seen that woman stare beasts in the face and laugh. I have seen her flip the bird to woman much bigger, much scarier, much more dangerous than she is. The Hal’ is hardcore to the damn core, eats terror for breakfast and shit out hatred after dinner that night. Halliwell strikes like the Great Woman of the Night herself, dragged up from Rarohenga and ready to drag you down to that realm of eternal rest with her. Halliwell will break you apart with her submission game, piece by piece and she will love doing it. You don’t beat The Hal’. You escape her.
Dawn Halliwell is crazy.
Ask yourself what you’re in for Caitlyn. Ask yourself if you want to be part of this. Because really, you’re a good fafine. I dig your style. You throw a few good power moves. You showboat with your stylish athleticism. People are going to call you out for being a cosplayer because, well, we’ve all seen a few of them floating round the industry but if that’s your shit, you ain’t being true to yourself by dropping it. You got decent skills, a decent base. S’all good stuff.
And you don’t know a guard pass from a bus pass.
Seriously, Dawn is gonna eat you alive. Figuratively of course. She may be your friend. That’s all cool. But Dawn can’t hold her shit back if she ever even tried to. It’s who she is. I mean you don’t got the skills to counter all the cool shit Dawn can bring to a match. I like you Cait’. It’ll hurt to watch you get ripped apart. But walking into a ring with The Hal’ in it is like walking into a UFC octagon. Someone is gonna tap or snap if she has any say about it. And unless you pull a whole heap of counters out of your cosplayer ass, it’s gonna be you. I’m sorry ‘bout that. She’ll apologise afterwards. The Kold One definitely fuckin’ won’t.
I’m a little crazy. The Hal’ is crazy. Killian Kold is certifiable. Insane. Deranged. Pōrangi. I might have a screw loose, Kold’s table just collapsed. The Hal’ might be two sandwiches short of a picnic. Kold is chewing on the empty basket he brought with him. Somebody call the leoleo and get them to serve a 5150 on that boy. And you know what? He makes that shit work in the ring. Killian Kold has worked out how to take crazy and weaponize it. Shit, keep him away from the feds. You study him, you learn how to weaponize crazy and that’s a megaton bomb sitting in the White House.
But ask people about Kold, they only see the madman. They hear the hate, they listen to the rants at our boss, they try to piece together the broken jigsaw puzzle that is Kold’s mind. What they don’t see is the wrestler. I watched that main event. I had it on the monitors backstage. And I watched the path of carnage he beat. “Shit, he’s being violent to prove a point.” That’s what I first thought. And then it clicked. Watch the damn psychology behind it. Watch how he destroys his opponent’s back. Watch how he makes a target. Paints that massive bullseye on his victim’s back and then goes psycho on it like he just blew his brain up on the goooooooood Buddha Bless. Kold, you’re a bad man. And you’re good at it.
So what do the other team bring to counter the Kold One? Hungry Jack. Well, damn. If you think, Jack-o, that I am for one motherfuckin’ second worried about you and your superheavyweight stylin’ you are badly, badly mistaken. You met my daddy, right? I know back in the past you’ve crossed paths. So you know he ain’t exactly the skinny type. Call it Maori genetics taking hold. My daddy was a 275lb slab of meat at my age. And 350lb when he retired. So I got trained sparring with a man I gave up a hell of a lot of weight too. And I just get to use those principles against you. If I get a chance.
See, you’re a mighty big target. I don’t think Kold can throw you around like he did to his opponent in the Heavyweight Title match. But Kold is out to prove points. Always looking to show that he’s the biggest dog in the yard. And this time, you’re just a big old ham bone for him to chew on. I know you’re going to do all you can to make it not go down like that. I just don’t see it working, dig? I know you got guts, Jack, no pun intended, but The Stone Kold Killer is coming for you and your oversized puku and it ain’t gonna be pretty.
And now we get to save the best for last. Destinies intertwined right, Reynolds? Sons of the Southern Cross ready to do battle once again. Last time out, I was the winner. This time? Might be you. Might be me. Might be someone else. But I’m bringing the fight again. I know you love to show off, to launch those pretty dives, to land those big moves, to wow the damn crowd. Cool. Bring it. Bring your athleticism and your technique and I’ll bring mine and we will bang heads once more.
My head is harder.
Seriously, though. Take a good look at me, at my belt. Take a look at what I did to earn it. Who I beat. No coincidence that my only loss so far in this federation would have been overturned by the TMO if this sport had one. I’m confident I know how to handle you, Aiden. I know how you work because you wrestle kinda a similar style to me. If Spike draws in enough people to make a tag division here, I’ll happily accept an offer to pair up. You know how to hit an axe kick, yeah? But to psyche myself up for our match, I got something special at hand. I ain’t polishing my belt up. I ain’t listening to music. I ain’t watching matches.
I am watching one video. I am watching the haka at Jonah Lomu’s funeral.
And I don’t need to spell out to a guy from the Q-L-D what that brings out in a ‘Nesian from my side of the Tasman.
The professional wrestling ring is my marae, Aiden Reynolds. The crowd are my iwi. Tradition commands that I issue a challenge to anyone who wants to step on my turf. You gotta know I’m ready, willing and capable of putting a hurt on you.
That is my challenge. To you Aiden, to Hungry Jack, to anyone out there.
Step up and accept.
BTDT.
[/b]
