Actual Wrestling [Bryce Albright vs. The World II]
Aug 24, 2016 2:31:21 GMT
RSW Wrestling and Lord Blake like this
Post by Bryce Albright on Aug 24, 2016 2:31:21 GMT
"Bryce." An elderly gentlemen calls into a gym unoccupied by anyone except for our main protagonist. The old man uses a cane and dresses in a pair of slacks with a cardigan. It was a chilly day in the center of the universe, Toronto, Ontario. The man walks past the empty boxing ring toward the sounds of a man's grunts mixed between fast strikes to a punching bag. "Bryce." The man round a corner to find Bryce Albright concentrating on laying shots into a punching bag. Each strike lands soft, but is quickly followed up by another hook, or uppercut, or jab. "Bryce that's enough!" The elderly man raises his voice only slightly, but it is enough to stop Bryce Albright.
"You know Mr. Bekowski," Bryce says without tearing his eyes away from the punching bag. "Genocide doesn't like me much. He believes that I am a corporate kiss-ass and-"
"Bryce!"
"My apologies, Mr. Bekowski. He thinks that everything I do out there is fake. Every time a camera is turned on, he thinks I wear a facade. Do you know what I get from Hailey Banks and Aiden Van't Hoff? After everything I have to say, all I get from them is complete and utter dismissal. Aiden doesn't even want the belt; he thinks it's below him. He wants it to say he's held it, but then will throw it out like yesterday's trash. They think that the only competition they have is each other. Alright fine, I'll let them believe that. What annoys me is that they two of them could have put their brains together to shut me down, instead I get mindless chatter. Are they even trying, Mr. Bekowski?”
“No kid, they are not. That doesn't mean that you shouldn't try. From the looks of things you, Banks, Hoff and that Genocide character are the only ones who have bothered to make an effort. So assuming RSW doesn't allow them to compete, the match will become a four-person over-the-top battle royale. That means your skill will shine brighter than the rest in that match. That title is yours for the taking, Bryce; however, you will not win it by getting frustrated. You will win it through training and concentration."
"What really Monday's my Garfield is that they flood the market with mindless chatter." Bryce locks his hands under his chin. "This match we're in," he says in a high pitched voice. "I am totally going to win it. Pass the balls, it's my time to shoot." Bryce holds his arms akimbo and puffs out his chest. "No way," he says in a low-pitched tone. "I am going to win this match. By the way, Hails, did you know I hate my fiancee but for some reason will not call off the wedding? Really strange how that works, huh." He places his hands under his chin again. "Yeah, she sucks; but back to the match I am going to win." Bryce uses his two index fingers to put dimples into his cheeks. "Like, Hails, everyone except Aiden sucks. Like, even though Bryce LITERALLY BEAT ME SO BAD MY HUBBY HAD TO THROW IN THE TOWEL!" He begins to yell then shakes his head and resets. "But Aiden is your biggest threat because, like, I have a short memory." He places his hands on his hips and lowers his voice. "Did one of you say, 'wow, I want to have sex with Aiden?' By the way, Raven, did you know I hate my fiancee but for some reason will not call off the wedding?" Bryce snaps his body toward William 'Big Bad' Bekowski for the first time. "You don't understand. You never had to deal with this mindless chatter, because when you wrestled in the NWA you were fighting legitimate wrestlers. You were fighting men that, on the drop of a dime, could leave any standard fan laying in a pool of their own blood. You wrestled men of steel, men of courage. I am facing psychopaths, sociopaths and criminals."
"That I don't know," Mr. Bekowski shrugged his shoulders. "However, what I do know is that while Aiden Van Hoff and Hailey Banks are playing beer pong and eating tacos you have been doing your job. You've been promoting your match, kiddo. You've been attempting to get the fans hyped up for one of the best opening matches they have ever seen. You've been a one man show out there. Better yet, your opponents are underestimating you. So you know what you do? You shrug your shoulders, roll under the bottom rope and allow them to underestimate you. If they believe they are they're own toughest competition, then they should have no problem eliminating you afterward. So let them see who is better between Aiden Van Hoff and Hailey Banks, then take the winner."
"Alternatively, what I could do is, eliminate en0ch, Cartwright, Aaros and Arthur Thomas. I'll allow Genocide to," Bryce pauses and shrugs. "I guess, eliminate himself. He's not the most... stable person in this match. That's when it comes down to Aiden, Hailey and I. I will grab the both of them, stack them up one in front of the other, grab their waists and let the two of them experience Actual Literal Death together before I throw them over the top rope, and out of my line of sight for good. Mr. Bekowski," Bryce takes a few steps toward William Bekowski. "I have this way of exterminating rats, where not only do I beat them, but I make sure they can never recover. I make sure that they can never look me in the eyes again without feeling akin to fear. Fear for their own neck, because in the back of their mind they know that they can only take so many german suplexes before they become the next victim of a Misawa style death. I have this way of making them fear, not me, but what I can do in the ring. I make them feel terror the next time someone wraps their arms around the waist of those rats."
From around the corner comes our mustachioed friend, Wilfred Albright. He has a smug looks on his face and a hop in his step. "Son, I think it's time we talked a new game plan." He walks up right beside William Bekowski and places a hand on his shoulder. "Our friend here, he used to use a specific move in the ring to finish off opponents. I think it's time he showed you his ultimate trump card."
The two lead Bryce Albright toward the ring, where we fade to black.
EDN
"You know Mr. Bekowski," Bryce says without tearing his eyes away from the punching bag. "Genocide doesn't like me much. He believes that I am a corporate kiss-ass and-"
"Bryce!"
"My apologies, Mr. Bekowski. He thinks that everything I do out there is fake. Every time a camera is turned on, he thinks I wear a facade. Do you know what I get from Hailey Banks and Aiden Van't Hoff? After everything I have to say, all I get from them is complete and utter dismissal. Aiden doesn't even want the belt; he thinks it's below him. He wants it to say he's held it, but then will throw it out like yesterday's trash. They think that the only competition they have is each other. Alright fine, I'll let them believe that. What annoys me is that they two of them could have put their brains together to shut me down, instead I get mindless chatter. Are they even trying, Mr. Bekowski?”
“No kid, they are not. That doesn't mean that you shouldn't try. From the looks of things you, Banks, Hoff and that Genocide character are the only ones who have bothered to make an effort. So assuming RSW doesn't allow them to compete, the match will become a four-person over-the-top battle royale. That means your skill will shine brighter than the rest in that match. That title is yours for the taking, Bryce; however, you will not win it by getting frustrated. You will win it through training and concentration."
"What really Monday's my Garfield is that they flood the market with mindless chatter." Bryce locks his hands under his chin. "This match we're in," he says in a high pitched voice. "I am totally going to win it. Pass the balls, it's my time to shoot." Bryce holds his arms akimbo and puffs out his chest. "No way," he says in a low-pitched tone. "I am going to win this match. By the way, Hails, did you know I hate my fiancee but for some reason will not call off the wedding? Really strange how that works, huh." He places his hands under his chin again. "Yeah, she sucks; but back to the match I am going to win." Bryce uses his two index fingers to put dimples into his cheeks. "Like, Hails, everyone except Aiden sucks. Like, even though Bryce LITERALLY BEAT ME SO BAD MY HUBBY HAD TO THROW IN THE TOWEL!" He begins to yell then shakes his head and resets. "But Aiden is your biggest threat because, like, I have a short memory." He places his hands on his hips and lowers his voice. "Did one of you say, 'wow, I want to have sex with Aiden?' By the way, Raven, did you know I hate my fiancee but for some reason will not call off the wedding?" Bryce snaps his body toward William 'Big Bad' Bekowski for the first time. "You don't understand. You never had to deal with this mindless chatter, because when you wrestled in the NWA you were fighting legitimate wrestlers. You were fighting men that, on the drop of a dime, could leave any standard fan laying in a pool of their own blood. You wrestled men of steel, men of courage. I am facing psychopaths, sociopaths and criminals."
"That I don't know," Mr. Bekowski shrugged his shoulders. "However, what I do know is that while Aiden Van Hoff and Hailey Banks are playing beer pong and eating tacos you have been doing your job. You've been promoting your match, kiddo. You've been attempting to get the fans hyped up for one of the best opening matches they have ever seen. You've been a one man show out there. Better yet, your opponents are underestimating you. So you know what you do? You shrug your shoulders, roll under the bottom rope and allow them to underestimate you. If they believe they are they're own toughest competition, then they should have no problem eliminating you afterward. So let them see who is better between Aiden Van Hoff and Hailey Banks, then take the winner."
"Alternatively, what I could do is, eliminate en0ch, Cartwright, Aaros and Arthur Thomas. I'll allow Genocide to," Bryce pauses and shrugs. "I guess, eliminate himself. He's not the most... stable person in this match. That's when it comes down to Aiden, Hailey and I. I will grab the both of them, stack them up one in front of the other, grab their waists and let the two of them experience Actual Literal Death together before I throw them over the top rope, and out of my line of sight for good. Mr. Bekowski," Bryce takes a few steps toward William Bekowski. "I have this way of exterminating rats, where not only do I beat them, but I make sure they can never recover. I make sure that they can never look me in the eyes again without feeling akin to fear. Fear for their own neck, because in the back of their mind they know that they can only take so many german suplexes before they become the next victim of a Misawa style death. I have this way of making them fear, not me, but what I can do in the ring. I make them feel terror the next time someone wraps their arms around the waist of those rats."
From around the corner comes our mustachioed friend, Wilfred Albright. He has a smug looks on his face and a hop in his step. "Son, I think it's time we talked a new game plan." He walks up right beside William Bekowski and places a hand on his shoulder. "Our friend here, he used to use a specific move in the ring to finish off opponents. I think it's time he showed you his ultimate trump card."
The two lead Bryce Albright toward the ring, where we fade to black.
EDN
