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Post by +Donald $. Carlos+ on Dec 29, 2006 17:28:56 GMT
 Griffin Young
vs.
Lancelot "Lance" LeonardStreet Fight . . . No Mercy . . . Only 1 Winner . . . 2 Promos Each
(Now Let's DO The Damn Thing!) |
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Post by OfLegend on Dec 30, 2006 0:47:33 GMT
Slow violin music begins as we fade in on a playing field of an American high school. A generic movie trailer voice over narrates as we cut to what appears to be Cowards on stilts, with huge nerdy glasses and a Griffin Young wig on to cover his hair. He holds his school bag nervously as the other kids push him around.
Narrator: He was a boy trapped in a man’s world.
Bully #1: Ha ha, look at his stupid bag.
Bully #2: Look at his stupid hair!
Bully #3: Look at his stupid… uh, height!
Close up on “Griffin Young” as he falls in the mud
Narrator: A place where even the most mundane tasks seemed difficult.
Cut to classroom with Max Macbeth as a teacher, handing out essays. Close up on “Griffin’s” paper as he receives it: it’s entitled “How to wresel gud” and is blemished with a huge red F, and beneath it, a “See me, you fucking pleb”.
Narrator: Few understood him, and even fewer liked him.
Cut to the door of a janitor’s closet. It is opened by someone off-camera, and inside we see an oblivious “Griffin” again, from the waistline up. He is wearing an Our Lady Peace t-shirt and headphones. He is holding a photograph of an obese lunch lady in one hand, and appears to be furiously masturbating with the other with a look of pained effort on his face. He opens one eye and, astonished, turns fully towards the camera to the sound of children laughing.
Narrator: Griffin Young felt as if he was heading… for a total Breakdown.
Cut the steps at the front of the school, and a close up on “Young’s” face. He is wearing black eyeliner, which is being carried down his cheeks by the streams of tears. The sobbing is extremely OTT.
Narrator: But one man gave him hope.
The music becomes more upbeat as a man sits beside “Griffin” and puts his arm around him. It is Lance Leonard, wearing a pair of scholarly spectacles and a tweed coat with leather patches on the elbows. “Griffin” dries his eyes and looks at Leonard.
Narrator: One man who would stop at nothing to drag some potential out of him.
Cut to a study room. A close up on Leonard, deep in thought. We can see Cowards, now dressed as a school coach, over his shoulder.
“Coach:” That kid will never amount to anything, Professor Leonard, and you know it!
Narrator: A man who would allow Griffin to bask in his reflected glory…
Cut to Leonard with his arm around “Griffin” again, this time grinning and wearing sunglasses as flash photography goes off in their faces.
Narrator: Until it was time to stand him on his own two feet…
Cut to a rugby field. “Young” is shoved easily off the ball and falls to the sidelines, almost at the feet of Leonard, who is a spectator. Leonard puts his clay pipe back in his own mouth, helps “Griffin” to his feet and sends him off running again.
Narrator: And teach him a much-needed lesson.
Cut to a classroom, empty except for “Griffin”, who is seated behind a desk, and Lance, who is writing in chalk on the blackboard: WRESTLING: WHY I’M BETTER THAN YOU.
Narrator: This winter, don’t miss this heart-warming tale of misses…
Cut to a training ring in a gym, inhabited by Leonard and “Griffin”. The latter runs towards Leonard with a nervous attempt at a clothesline, but Leonard steps sideways, causing “Griffin” to miss, spin with the momentum, and fall on his arse.
Narrator: Hits…
“Young”, now on his feet, is dropkicked right between the ring ropes and off camera by Leonard, who gets to his feet and rushes to the ropes to check if he’s okay.
Narrator: And good ol’ Hollywood angst, with a cast that sees an award winning wuss line up opposite a living legend.
Cut to “Griffin”, again in the training ring, tapping out furiously to the Lancelock, which is being applied by a barely interested Lance Leonard, who is shaking his head in disappointment.
Then, fade to a black title screen.
Narrator: Griffin Young is: The Snot-Nosed Punk
Cut to Leonard sitting in a leather chair with his feet up by the fire in what appears to be very posh old English staff room, smoking his pipe and reading “Pure Dynamite”. “Griffin” enters through the door behind him carrying a tea tray, but trips on the carpet and crashes head over heels to the ground. Leonard looks up from his book, sees “Griffin” sprawled in a sobbing heap, and tuts to himself, before returning to the pages of his literature.
Narrator: Rated “T”, for “Total Hardcore Twatting”.
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Post by †SamuraiFoochs† on Dec 30, 2006 3:56:46 GMT
OOC:
Hilarious, Of. I shall try my best to promo on time; I won't have forgotten but I leave on a trip tomorrow and my internet status is dubious till Wednesday or Thursday. Something tells me I'll manage it; just know, if there are difficulties, that I'm not neglecting my duties.
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Post by †SamuraiFoochs† on Jan 2, 2007 22:03:41 GMT
As the camera fades in, a punching bag is being absolutely brutalized by an unidentified attacker. As the camera pans out, it is clearly “The Overlooked Soldier” Griffin Young. The crowd gives a massive pop as Griffin gives one last forearm strike and turns to face the camera slowly. When he speaks, his voice is amused.
Griffin: Lance, Lance, Lance; what the hell am I going to do with you, man? That movie trailer…HILARIOUS! Really cute, man. Points for effort, definitely. But see, there’s a major problem. I’m amused, not scared. Your little trailer did nothing but make me laugh. At you and your little friends, the Monsters of Pro Wrestling. Of course, I do know what the underlying message was. That you, Lance Leonard, are inherently better than Griffin Young. That I’m simply out of my league. But sadly, Lance, that sort of logic doesn’t fly with me; it never has and never will. You see, to imply that someone is out of your league, you need to be able to say that there are no unanswered questions. You need to be able to say that when the time comes, you have no doubts, no concerns…no fears.
Griffin kicks the bag several times before speaking again.
Griffin: But Lance, you can’t say that. If you do, you’re lying to yourself. Any way you slice it, I won our first two encounters. The records don’t lie. I pinned Marnie 1, 2, 3. Cowards nearly lost his title by my hand. Max got the 1, 2, 3 after the 3, 2, 1. And every week that passes, every moment I train, every match I win OR lose, the differences between us diminish. I learn your tricks bit by bit, move by move…beating by beating. You and your boys have messed with me for the past two months, Lance…and at Resurrection, that all comes to a head. All the trash talk, all the beatings, all the blood, all the bruises. At Resurrection, a new era begins…the era of Griffin Young.
Crowd pops loudly.
Griffin: Now you may ask me, Lance, how is it that I know you have doubts and fears? Pretty simple champ…you’re pulling out all the stops to get into my head. If you didn’t doubt yourself, you wouldn’t be trying so hard to get me to do that myself. But see Lance, I won’t doubt myself. Because the first bit of doubt that gets into my head is going to be far too easy for you to exploit. Of course, I do have a little bit of fear. I know you’re a competitor, and I know you have your three little toadies as backup. I know this is a street fight, no holds barred. So I’d be insane to not be a bit afraid. But the key here Lance, is I’ll convert that fear into something else…
Griffin strikes the bag viciously three more times, the apparatus
creaking under the strain.
Griffin: I will convert that fear into brutality. Tonight, I go out there not to win, but to destroy. Not to gain respect, but to be feared. Tonight, Lancelot Leonard, you will know pain. You will know suffering, You will know fear. No, no…allow me to correct myself. You won’t know any of those things because tonight, you won’t know the meaning of anything. You will forget all words, all concepts, all rules, and simply be swallowed by a vortex of suffering.
Crowd pops loudly.
Griffin: Tonight, this ends. We will settle this once and for all. Bring Cowards, Marnie, and Macbeth for all I care. I’ll take you all out. Because tonight, the era of Griffin Young begins, and you won’t, no, can’t stop it. But I don’t blame you for trying. No man wants to admit his day is done, Lance. But yours is. It’s as simple as that. I also know you won’t go without a fight. It’s painfully obvious to me that this is going to be the roughest night in my whole career. But I’m ready.
Griffin punches the bag again, the chain snapping an the bag flying away and hitting the floor with a thump as the crowd pops for Griffin’s display of power.
Griffin: Tonight, CCW Resurrection. A new beginning. But sadly Lance, there cannot be Resurrection without death. Maybe fate will look favorably upon you and end up resurrecting you some day. But that’s up to questioning. What isn’t, Lance, is one simple fact. Tonight…Lance Leonard dies Young.
Crowd gives their biggest pop yet as Griffin gives a few more
experimental attacks and begins jumping in place. The camera zooms in on the still slightly swinging upper section of chain on the punching bag apparatus, then pans down to the destroyed punching bag as the camera slowly fades to black.
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