Johnny Phoenix vs

Johnny Phoenix vs. The Man	No RPS :(
Psycho Sandra vs. Matt Rollins	Psycho Sandra #1 The scene opens inside of Sandra's living room. She's lying down on the couch, looking straight up at the cieling. She's wearing a pair of bike shorts and a tank top over a sports bra, her hair done in two braids. She looks shiny and sweat soaked. She is expressionless as she stares at the cieling, her eyes looking glassy. Finally, she says something. "What. The. Hell." She sits up, looking confused, and slowly turns her head towards the camera. "...okay. So... what the hell was up with Nightmare? Here I am, schooling 'The Man'," she makes quotation marks with her fingers, "when all of a sudden some drop-out from seminary drops in, and sicks Nightmare on me?? The hell, dude? Is this how you're going to get to Cham? Through me? That's just pathetic. Of course he'd help me, I'm his wife. That's like... the lowest common denominator. That's like kicking a puppy into open traffic. How in the hell do you expect us to respect you? To treat you fairly?" She shakes her head and closes her eyes, then opens them again. "Oh wait, right right... you guys don't do that kind of thing. We're supposed to fear you and let you do whatever you want. Well, besides the fact that you want Cham and the PWA, what the hell would you do with them? You guys are idiots, you know that? You screw over my match, you try and intimidate Cham, which by the way, is a no-go... and now you kill someone on live TV?? "That is, assuming Synthasia is dead and whatever... "But seriously, what the hell are you guys trying to pull? We're not afraid of you, and we're not going to let you get away with your crap. You should have been arrested on Friday, but you got away by the skin of your teeth. Lemme tell ya, the next time, you won't be so lucky." She reaches for a bottle on the coffee table, and drinks from it. The label reads "Grizzly Beer Energy Drink", but the contents are clear and it looks like water. "Now... as for Matt Rollins. Um... well, this is kinda outta left field. I don't know much about you, but I'm pretty sure you know about me, being Grizzly Beer champ, former World Title holder, yadda yadda yadda. Now I read up on you and studied your moves, and it said you're some kinda hybrid? That's pretty cool, I'm gonna give you props for that. "However... "You've got a few things stacked against you. First of all, I'm good. Really damn good. Second of all, I am really really pissed off; and while I don't like to take out my crap on other people, I gotta say, you're not exactly going to be getting me in my best mood. I could use a chance to give an example to Nightmare, for whats in store for him if he ever... "Ever... "EVER tries that crap with me again. You're just kinda the mid-field guy, so I'd suggest training really hard for when I have to plow you over to make room for the main course." She finishes drinking her water, and leans back on the couch. "Yeah, get outta here... I'm done. I need some steak and some quality time with a punching bag." Fade.
Cody Galle & Gregory Littlebear vs.Red Army Warriors	Gregory Littlebear #1 Fade in. Gregory is outside of a very suburban-looking house, wearing his wrestling gear; his face is also painted, and he has on his headdress. He's sitting on a log, facing a large controlled camp-fire. Beside him is Brian, who looks beside himself with frustration. "Sir, I don't see how this is going to help..." Brian says, exhaspirated. Gregory stands up, and waves his arms. He begins to do a traditional-looking stomp dance, bells jingling in tune. "I don't hear any drumming!" Brian sighs, and pulls out a drum. He drums in beat with Gregory's dancing, and the two go on for quite some time until it abruptly stops. "Oh great spirit," Gregory says, his arms extended to both sides as he looks up at the sky. "Guide me in my match with Galle. Bring us together. Help us to defeat the Red Army Warriors. Also, God, I could use some help from you too. If you and the great spirit at in cahoots, please help us out. Amen." Gregory sits back down. Brian shakes his head. "Sir, this is offensive on so many levels..." "Well, how do you pray?" "I go to Temple, mister Littlebear. With my family. You know that. In fact," he looks a little uneasy. "My wife wants you to come with us. She thinks it will be a good experience for you. Of course, I said you wouldn't be interested--" "Nonsense! Any chance I get to wear a funny hat I'm totally there! Besides, you guys can't be all that bad. Jesus was a Jew, and from what I've heard, he was a pretty good guy." Brian smacks his palm into his face, and lets out a low groan. "Well, we'll use all the help we can. I'm not su sure that Galle feels up to talking with me. Can't imagine why, but the guy doesn't seem to like me much. Personally? I think he's a very nice and hansome man. If not a bit on the tan side. Boy could use some sun screen or he's gonna be on a one way ticket to skin cancer city." "I don't think you should be concearned about his tan, sir. You two need to come up with a plan to beat the Red Army Warriors." "A plan, huh?" Gregory thinks for a moment. "Man... imagine us. Littlebear and Galle; tag team champs." "What??" "That's my plan." "But you and Galle can't stand eachother!" "That's why it's so brilliant!" Gregory stands, and begins pacing back and fourth. "If Galle and I can fuse our awesome into one, then we'll be unstoppable! All we need to do is get past that one little hurdle of him wanting to strangle me." "Easier said than done..." Brian says, rolling his eyes. "Hey," Gregory says with a smirk. "It's me!" Fade. Cody Galle #1 Cody Galle was confused. That’s not a very accurate statement. Cody Galle was confused because he had been paired in a match with the man who had beaten him in a screwjob, and who he had beaten after the match. It was very clear Galle had a strong resentment towards one Gregory Littlebear, yet PWA management felt the need to play fickle dictator and had decided to put the two together. Why? Galle didn’t know why. What Galle did know was that he had found room for an answering machine in his small room in the gym, and that already he had seven messages on it. One was from one of his students, one was from a Blockbuster that wanted an overdue video and five were from…Littlebear. I never even gave him my phone number… Apparently, and this is as far as Galle could tell through the barely coherent happy ramblings that were poor excuses for messages but could have easily been children’s sing alongs, Littlebear wanted to meet him somewhere to discuss their match. Something about future tag team champs. Yeah right. Galle and Littlebear working as a functional tag team would be hard enough, but hell, becoming tag team champions? That would require Galle not wanting to strangle Littlebear each time he spoke. Or moved. Or breathed. Galle didn’t really like Littlebear. However, he couldn’t exactly ignore the message. Galle wanted to continue his winning ways after finally coming out with a win in his match with King Agony the week before, and to do that, he’d have to actually tolerate Littlebear. Maybe this little outing isn’t so bad after all…worse comes to worse I’ll get him drunk and ship him off to some place really, really far away…maybe even as far away and as technologically inferior as Canada. Galle sat on his mattress and stared up at the ceiling. He began discussing the possibilities of the match with...well, the only person there…himself. Well, I suppose if I really want to make a good impression on PWA management…not that I really give a damn, that is, but…I guess I’m going to have to work with…Littlebear… If that doesn’t send chills down your spine, I don’t know what would. Oh, hello second voice in my head. Yo. You see second voice, what I’m really trying to get at here is that Littlebear isn’t such a bad wrestler. I think him and I, as wrestlers, could work fantastically well together, if given a chance together. What, you’re gay for Littlebear now? Now I know why I don’t speak to you often. … The problem is that, although our styles mesh, our personalities don’t. Let’s face it: Littlebear’s creepy. This coming from the man talking to himself. Go die. Anyways, I think the only way this can work is if I actually go to that damn bar or wherever the hell it is he wants me to go…and talk with him. Talk with Littlebear. Best-case scenario is that we actually get along. Fat chance. Worst-case scenario…I lose half my brain cells. I suppose to win big, you’ve gotta gamble big… You’ve been telling yourself that for years now. I have, I have, and they’ve never been truer, though. And as much as I hate to admit it…and believe me, I do…I respect Littlebear as a wrestler. And I’m afraid…afraid that if I talk to him, we might actually become…friends…and if that happens, hell will freeze over and the world will end. I personally enjoy living and- You’re rambling. Galle’s second voice gave him the mental equivalent of a bitch slap. Thanks for that. Well…I suppose it’s time for me to get this over with. It’s getting close to the meeting time and well…gotta gamble big to win big. You already said that. Just leave already. Later. Galle snapped out of his slight meditation. “That was weird…” Galle quickly jotted down the address and the phone number that was left on one of Littlebear’s messages and tucked the paper into his jean pocket. He’d need to find a cab, and some money, but hell, there were plenty of ways he could do that. The most important thing was that he was going to a place with Littlebear, and they were going to learn how to work as a team. At least, he hoped so. If the strangling feeling kicked in again, he also hoped there weren’t any police stations nearby…
Nightmare vs. Scotty Snow, King Agony, Skorch	Nina Daemon Macabra #1 The scene opens inside of a flower shop. Daemon is looking over a large bouquet of white lillies, in a crystal vase tied with white ribbons. She smiles at the woman at the register, an older lady with gray streaks in her auburn hair. "This one will do nicely, I think," Daemon says while picking it up, and placing it on the counter. The woman nods and begins ringing her up. "You can write a message on one of these cards here, and write the address where you would like it to be delivered." Daemon nods, and takes one of the cards. She pulls out a long black fountain pen from her purse, and writes in large cursif letters. When she's finished, she signs it with a flourish, and sticks it in the plastic card holder at the top of the bouquet. "That'll be thirty-five fifty, ma'am," the lady says, checking her register. Daemon reaches into her purse, and pulls out an alligator skin wallet, complete with the small head of an alligator still attatched to the top. She grabs one of her credit cards, and places it on the counter. The woman looks at her wallet, curiously. "Is that real?" "I wouldn't have it if it wasn't," Daemon says with a grin. The lady slides Daemon's card, and gives it back to her. After Daemon signs the reciept, she thanks her, and walks outside. Standing by the limousine is Gonji, wearing his suit. He opens the door for her, and asks, "Why did you decide to come yourself?" "I suppose it means a bit more, if I actually look at the flowers I'm sending her." Getting into the limousine, Daemon leans back and relaxes, taking out a wine glass and pouring herself some of the crimson liquid provided in a sealed decanter. She swirls it under her nose for a moment, before taking a sip, and turns to the camera. "Funny how things work out, isn't it? Synthasia's in the hospital, and I still don't have my brother back. Nightmare has returned, and my husband is going to be facing the Brothers Grimm in a handicap match. Not that I'm worried," she adds with a smile. "He could tear those two in half without breaking a sweat. What worries me, if only just slightly, is the fact that my brother remains silent. That fool who dresses like a priest is attempting to bait me; but it's not going to work." She sets down her glass, and turns back to us. "There isn't a man alive that can keep Eric contained. You would be wise to think more on your position, priest, because it's going to become very unstable, very soon. And as for the Brothers Grimm, I would advise you to choose your allies thoughtfully. Sommers thinks that he has you under his thumb, and he's using you to try and teach my husband a lesson. Do you really think that you should follow him to the grave? "Well, that's your decision, anyway... "As for Synthasia, I send her my sympathy. She was like a filthy lamb being lead to the slaughter, and while I am appreciative for the circumstances, many believe that I owe her my thanks. My thanks... had it not been for her and her idiot plans, I never would have been there. I'm very glad that she decided to right her wrongs, but thanking her would be contradictory. You see, I'm not a fan of getting my hands dirty, and they've become tainted indeed." She shakes her head and picks her her glass, draining it's contents. "Priest, do yourself a favor and end this right now. I have the means to destroy you, and Nightmare beside you, but it would take more time than it would for you to simply step aside, and I preffer to have Eric back sooner than later. "Don't let your own actions break you, because you know they will." The phone on the side of the door rings. Daemon picks it up. "Hello? "...you had to what? Fighting in school? "...and you're still working with them, even now? "...good. I'll be home, soon." Fade to black.
Brymstone vs. The Brothers Grimm	Brymstone #1 Dissapointment. Failure to do what you had said you were going to do. The loss of face that ensues. The anger that follows.. We all know them. We have all felt them at one point in time or another, and more than likely we shall feel them again. That is where we find Ashram Stone, better known to the PWA fans as Brymstone. It has been roughly 2 days or so since Rampage and since then he has not spoken hardly a word. Nor has be been out of the gym that he had constructed inside of the large house he owns. He has been refocusing himself in that room non-stop for the past near two days, and finally, exhaustion was starting to set in. He had paused a moment when the cameras found him, his hair wet and hanging in soaked spears that dive down his face. He brings up a white towel to wipe his brow and that is when his cell phone goes off, playing the polyphonic rendition of "Night on Bald Mountain". He reaches out for it and of course answers. Ashram Stone. We can hear the seething anger in his voice. It seems to coil about him tighter than a lover's embrace, and so the person on the other end seems to be a bit shocked. I.. I'm sorry to bother you at work Mr. Stone, but I'm calling from your sons' school, and they need to be picked up. They're suspended for a week. For what? Those words echo off of the walls in the gym like a baritone roar. We can hear the sound of a phone being dropped and then quickly picked back up. They put two larger boys through a table in the lunchroom. It seems that the bigger boys were picking on Joseph when Ashram got involved. We had to send the larger boys to the hospital. Brymstone sighs heavilly and nods ever so slightly. Very well. I will pick them up myself shortly. The scene fades out on him leaving the gym. For several breaths we see nothing but blackness, and soon fade in on Brymstone stalking through the halls of a large, impressive private school. All the kids are wearing matching uniforms of dark pants and jackets with either white, off white or blue shirts. The boys all wear ties and the girls if they are not wearing pants are wearing mid-shin length skirts. It's all very ordered and structured. Brymstone steps inside of the office and cuts his eyes at his two sons. Ashram Jr. kind of looks away while Joseph stares back at his father defiantly. The boys look a little mishandled, but other than a few scrapes and some cuts along their clothing, look like nothing happened. A short, heavyset black man approaches Brymstone wearing a faded blue suit. Mr. Stone? We met once before your sons started to attend this institution. I'm the Dean of Students, James Madsen. The man offers his hand towards Brymstone, and he takes it. The look on the man's face tells us that Brymstone is gripping his hand tight enough that it hurts. Brymstone releases the grip and the man tries to look like nothing happened. Security had to pull your sons off of two of the older kids because they were, according to Joseph, mocking your performance on that show you're on. Joseph stood up to them and had told them that you were teaching them what you know and that he could take them both. One of the older kids threw the first blow, and that is when your other son, Ashram got involved. They broke 3 chairs and one of our tables, as well as put the older boys in the hospital with some of those....wrestling...moves... We can tell by the black man's tone when he says "wrestling moves" that he doesnt think much of professional wrestling. Brymstone again looks at his sons, and Ashram, who had been grinning about what they had done to the older children, drops the grin and looks down at the floor at the cold stare of his father. Brymstone then turns that void-like expression on the Dean before speaking. We will of course recompensate you for the damages to the furniture, and my sons will make a formal apology to the boys and their families.. am I right, boys? Brymstone looks over at his sons, Joseph only nods once while Ashram Jr speaks. But..but... Brymstone narrows his eyes and Ashram hangs his head in defeat. ..Yes sir... That will suffice then, so long as it doesn't happen again. I'm afraid next time, an offence of this magnitude in violence will result in them being expelled from the campus. Very well. Boys..get your things. The twins both shoulder their bookbags and Brymstone leads them out to the waiting vehicle, a large, jet black HummVee. He opens the door for them and they climb in and strap themselves in like they are supposed to before he climbs into the driver's seat and starts off for the house. His anger seeming to still hang over him like a cold chill one cannot shake Dad...? What Ashram? You're not mad at us for fighting with those older boys right? Didn't you always tell us that we had to stick by each other? I couldnt let them beat up on Joseph.. ...I didn't need your help, Ashram. I'm not weak.. It is not weakness to accept help from your brother Joseph. Your uncle and I used to get into fights like you did all the time. I thought you didn't like Uncle Erik for the longest time Dad... That's what Mom always told us.. Wrong uncle, Ashram. My brother, Joseph. Your namesake Joseph. Oh. So we're not in trouble then? Kids. So optomistic. So cute. Oh no. You are still going to be punished once we get back to the house. Both of you. When I agreed to start showing you what I do, it was under the implicit instructions that you do not what...? Both boys speak up That we do not use it outside of the gym for any reason other than a life or death situation. And what did you do? Used it outside of the gym.. Good. Now you boys know the punishment for not keeping your word. But Dad.. you didnt keep your word to Mr. Phoenix at Rampage.. We can see Joseph just slam his forehead into the palm of his head and shake his head. Knowing that they're in for it now...thanks to his delightfully tactless brother I was distracted by Mark Sommers. That is not an excuse, it is just something that happened. That is another lesson you boys must learn. Do not allow anything or anyone distract you from what you are after. But do not be so single-minded that you ignore your surroudings either. So it is like Gonji-san told us then, Father? We must find a balance? More or less. Dad...aren't you worried about that Priest guy? He interfered in Mom's match, and he might do it again next week when you fight those two guys.. Why did Mr. Sommers put you against two people anyway? That's not fair.. Life never is. Brymstone glances back in the rear-view mirror to eye Joseph as he spoke those words, and the faintest hint of a smirk appears on his face before fading quickly. Because for all of his posturing...all of his attempts at mind games.. All of his schemes to appear like he is not, he is afraid. He will deny, it Ashram.. but Mark Sommers is frightened. He is one of the few people in the PWA who can say they know me well. He knows if I truly wished it, I am capable of destroying him, regardless of his brother's interference. He is trying to whittle me down, bit by bit.. to see if I will exhaust myself in coming after him, or give up and find another..more accessable target. So you have a plan? Yes, Joseph, I do. Do not worry about that. As for the Grimms... They will be dealt with in the ring. They managed to beat your uncle and I as a tag team...but even a cur dog can kill a wolf in its own yard. Then what are you going to do Dad? You will see, Ashram. They pull into the house finally, and now Brymstone is the first to unfold himself from the HumVee, followed by his sons who shut the doors behind themselves. Once inside, the boys throw down their packs and begin to start off at a run for whatever they were planning to do, but Brymstone clears his throat and they freeze in their tracks. Where do you boys think you're going? Take your bags upstairs, put them away and get in your training clothes. Since you two love to wrestle so much that you have to do it in school... you will do it now in the gym. Ashram and Joseph look at one another and then at their father before skulking back over to their backpacks and in unison begin to drag them up the large staircase towards their room as the scene goes black.