| Welcome to Majesticwrestling. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Lenne Perez vs. Malicia Savage; Premier Championship Tournament: Round 1 | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 4 2011, 11:23 PM (210 Views) | |
| Allocco | Aug 4 2011, 11:23 PM Post #1 |
|
Majestic Owner
|
/Deadline: 08.26.11 @ 11:59:59 PM EST RP Limit: 3 Venue: Royale Majestic Casino, Las Vegas, Nevada Please post your RPS within the match thread. |
![]() |
|
| Deleted User | Aug 7 2011, 04:55 PM Post #2 |
|
Deleted User
|
“Return.. from whence you came and seek payment not only for thine own anguish, but to vindicate...” (Manowar, “Dark Avenger) Man, has this city changed since the last time I was here. Last time I set foot on the Strip, that eyesore calling itself CityCenter was still a jumble of steel and glass (and judging by the looks of things, not a whole lot is different, with the exception being that everything's all built now- still looks fugly, if ya ask me), I could actually get a quickie adrenaline rush on the Speed coaster at the Sahara... now it's gone, just like the iconic hotel. Even in this crap economy, they still find enough money to tear down the treasures and build these new bigger, better resorts. But you take a look at Boyd's failed (or as they're officially calling it, “suspended”) Echelon Project, and it's a stark reminder that dreams of greatness can be kicked square in the nuts at any given time. And then there's the Royale Majestic. A place down at the southern end of the Strip that everyone kinda forgot. Not really surprising- once you pass Mandalay Bay, nobody really gives a rat's ass about anything until you hit Henderson. But yet they decided to open this place back up for business, and as an attraction, someone in their allegedly infinite wisdom had the brilliant brainfart idea to use it to host a wrestling promotion. Dumbasses. I know a little something about the wrestling business here in Sin City. It's freakin' cutthroat. Everyone these days wants to use this place to hang their shingle with dreams of being the next McMahon, and nobody even comes close. Why? Because it's all the same. Everyone's making offers to practically anyone with even the slightest modicum of experience- actual talent optional- to come to Vegas in the hopes of being the next WWE or TNA. And people actually buy into it and come out here, only to find themselves (if they're lucky) on a plane out of here within a month or two, broke and pissed off because the promoter couldn't draw enough money to actually live up to a fraction of what he promised. Majestic's little concession? They'll put you up in one of their hotel rooms. Big fucking deal. That's not exactly enticing, believe me. The Bellagio it ain't. I set foot in one of those rooms for two minutes and said thanks, but no thanks. I'll find my own pad out here. The meeting with the ownership went about as well as could be expected. A quick little sales spiel, the obligatory shake of the hand and “welcome to the family”, and I put my Jane Hancock on the contract. I can't think of the last time I've wanted to take a wrestling contract, drop trou and wipe my ass with it. Only reason I'm not is because I really don't have a choice in the matter. At least not yet. No, I've got to play that bitch's little game for now. Fuck it, it could be a lot worse. I could be waiting tables or some shit like that. At least wrestling I know I'm good at. And I know the way I do things, I can definitely find a way to cost Xandria and her “partners” a shitload of money. Break some bones, put some of their high-priced talent on the injured list, and next thing you know I'm the one calling the shots. Okay, maybe there is a little bit of a silver lining to this. One of those “when life hands you a lemon, grab the tequila and the salt” moments. Doesn't mean I have to like it, though. The money they're offering is pretty pathetic, especially considering the cost of living in this damn city- but considering they know damn well I'm signing here under some serious fucking duress, they know they can lowball my ass and get away with it. They got a bona fide championship-caliber superstar for the rate of a two-bit jobber monkey. Good thing I'm not doing this for the money, otherwise I'd be busting someone's skull in for dragging me all the way back out to this blast furnace in the middle of the desert and then making an offer that anyone else of my pedigree and resume would find nothing short of insulting. Xandria, I am going to snap your fucking neck when I finally get my hands on you... A phone call snaps me out of my bloodrage rant. One look at the caller ID tells me it's the one person who can take this whole situation and find something positive in the whole deal. “Hey there, kiddo.” Big Jim. The closest thing to a father figure I've had since Kru Somchai passed. And the only real friend I've got in this whole city. “Heya, Jim.” “I heard you were back in town. How long ya been here?” “I just got in yesterday afternoon.” “So almost twenty-four hours now and you still haven't stopped by to say hello? If it were anyone else, I'd be insulted.” “I was planning to. Just wanted to get settled in somewhere first. Finding a halfway decent apartment out here's a real pain in the ass- just like always.” “Always got a spot at the Center for ya, Mal.” “Always nice to know the Center's still running. Sounds like an offer I'll have to take. I know if I don't, you'll probably hunt my ass down and drag it over there.” “You know me well.” “Give me twenty.” “At twenty-one I send out the hunting party.” Sixteen minutes later.... Nope, it's not a desert mirage. Just like it was the last time I was here, about five miles down Blue Diamond Road, far from the seductive grip of the Las Vegas Strip, right out pretty much in the middle of nowhere, at least a good solid mile from the closest residential subdivision, it sits. The Douglas Athletic Center and Fitness Research Complex. Hell of a mouthful, isn't it? Now you know why anyone who's spent any significant amount of time there just calls it “The Center”. Used to be a private airport for some corporation that wound up going bust when the market went south. Big Jim jumped at the opportunity, financed his ass to the hilt and bought the place on the cheap, then retrofitted it to become a state-of-the-art training facility. I've spent a lot of time here over the years. That big building over there? We called that the Thunderdome. Held wrestling shows in there every week. I competed in the first ever match inside that ring. These days, the Center's become so damn exclusive you practically need a second mortgage to take advantage of the technology and the training they offer here. Or you could just be a really close friend of Big J, which is always good for a virtual lifetime membership... I pull my Corolla up to the front gate (yeah, I know. Not my preferred ride, but if you laugh, I swear by all that is holy you'll be inhaling your meals through a straw for the next six months). The security guard comes out and right away breaks into a smile. Nice to see some things never change. “Hey there, stranger. Long time no see.” “Heya, Mitch. He still got you working the gate after all this time?” “What can I say? He pays well and you of all people should know how BJ looks after his own. Speaking of, he's expecting you in The Hangar.” He hits the button and opens the gate. Not a whole lot of people here today. That makes it easy to find a parking spot. I haven't even turned the car off before BJ's son Randy is making his way through the glass doors. Man, he's still keeping himself pretty damn well. I watched this kid become a bona fide wrestling machine right before my eyes. But that was before he called it quits to work at the family business. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Nice wheels.” “Bite me.” “Is that an invitation?” Only two people in the world could get away with a remark like that about my current vehicle. Randy's one of them. All of a sudden, my bitchy mood seems to go on the backburner, because I'll be the first to admit it- even though I can't wait to wring some necks and break some bodies, right now I can't complain. It feels damn good to be home- or at least the closest thing to it. “Come on. Let's get out of this damn furnace and inside where it's actually cool.” One step through the glass doors and it feels like I never left. For those of you who have never been inside this place (and I'm willing to bet that's every damn one of you, because none of you could probably never have the clout to get a personal invite to train here) it's something else. An old airplane hangar that was cleaned out, renovated and is now the ultimate training center for both wrestling and MMA. And not just the up-and-comers, either. I've actually mixed it up in the cage right in the middle of the floor with some of the best. And I've seen some of the big names in the game- guys like Ortiz, Rampage, Franklin... One look around this place and it looks like Gold's Gym on steroids. Weight training, cardio, wrestling and boxing rings, you name it, you'll find it here. No wonder I love this place so much. And then I hear it. “Took ya long enough.” That's Big Jim for ya. The hardest man in the world to miss. He's still got that vicegrip of a handshake and a hug that could probably break a couple of ribs if applied to a weaker person. He waves me over to the juice bar and I don't even need to tell the brunette behind the counter what I want. She knows me well enough to already be working on my regular. Big Jim doesn't waste any time. “So you're back in the game, huh? Here I thought you were calling it quits after what happened in Memphis.” “I did, too. I was enjoying my retirement, too. But unfortunately an old pain in the ass decided that she'd barge back into my nice little existence. So yep, here I am again.” “Xandria?” “The one and only. Now I'm really wishing I'd killed that bitch back in Canada. Now she's got me lowballing for some outfit out here calling themselves Majestic.” “Majestic.. the ones who are running out of the Royale down by Fry's? They're getting into the wrestling game? That's ambitious. I guess they have to try something, though. The competition for the entertainment dollar's gotten extremely nasty. Especially with the CityCenter finally going up and the new casinos in there and every other place stepping up their game to try and get themselves out of that slump. This city got hit pretty hard when the market went belly up. So what kind of offer did they make you? Decent?” “Let me put it this way- if I had any sort of option, I would have taken the contract and torn it up right on the spot. It's complete crap. Mitch is probably making more money than I will be with this outfit. It's disgusting.” “Well, fortunately you don't have to worry about rent. You know there's always a standing offer for you to stay in one of the apartments. I've got five empty units right now, and you're more than welcome to any one of them. I even have your old one open. Although I'd have to ask you to hold off a couple of days- they're re-painting the place right now.” “You know I can't say no to that. Thanks, Jim. It's nice to know I actually still have one or two friends in this city.” “You'll always have a home here, Mal. A home, a place to train that'll give you a leg up on the competition, not to mention carte blanche around here. You need something, it's yours.” “A new set of wheels might be a good start.” Dammit, Randy would have to bring that up. That shit-eating grin on his face is a dead giveaway that he couldn't resist taking that little potshot. He's lucky I like him- hell, in this city, he's the closest thing to a brother I've got. And it gets Big Jim to raise an eyebrow. “Didn't bring your Hummer?” “Didn't have a choice. I literally had a matter of a few hours to catch a flight out of Albuquerque. My Hummer's still there, along with everything else.” “Tell you what. Give me your keys and your address in New Mex. I'll get a couple of guys to go out there, pack your stuff, pick up the Hummer and bring it out here. Randy, you feeling up to a road trip?” “Depends on whether Mal is actually willing to trust me behind the wheel of her baby.” I toss him the keys and write down an address. “Here. I know you've been wanting to drive it for ages. Knock yourself out. But I'm warning you- one scratch and...” “Nuff said. I'll grab Doug and Kev and make the arrangements.” “Call Karen. She'll get you on the next flight.” Randy nods and takes off. All of a sudden, this is starting to feel less like a prison sentence and more like a return home. At least the Douglas clan is trying to make things a little better. I gotta give 'em props for that. Outside of Los Angeles, this is the only place I could just walk into and it would be like I never left. “Now you're caught inside my cage, the object of my rage....” (Helloween, “I Live For Your Pain”) The arena (if you can call it that) is nice and quiet. Not so much as a single soul in here. Guess this backstage pass is good for something after all. I can get a feel for the joint before I actually set foot in here when there's a crowd. So this is where we're going to be fighting. Place looks like it'll hold maybe a couple thousand tops. Clean, looks like they've actually spent a few bucks on getting some sort of production in place.. and then I see it. A steel cage. Oh, man, did they ever see me coming. This changes everything. If there's one thing that could change my sunny (love the sarcasm there?) disposition, this would be it. Maybe this might not turn out so badly after all. I've had a lot of fun inside the steel over the years. I've spilled a lot of blood- and some of it even my own. I've broken bones, I've shattered spirits along with countless dreams and bodies. I've made giants scream in pain and beg for mercy. And this is where they choose to put me. Now all of a sudden, the lowball contract doesn't seem so bad. Hell, it seems almost palatable now. Almost. Not a sweetheart deal by any means, but they've gone and made this a whole lot more fun. There's a beep on the phone. Big Jim's shooting me off a quick text. Mal- Big news. Match is part of tourney for Maj big belt. First opp Lenne Perez- heavy fave according to predix Definite size advantage on your end Got MT guys building scout pack back at TC L8R BJD Nice. I'm already coming in behind the eight ball, being put against someone who's apparently a heavy favorite. Well, Lenne, apparently you've gone and made yourself some friends amongst those who seem to have an opinion here in this town. They're already picking you to get a W over yours truly. Considering the rep I managed to build here in Sin City, to be picked as the underdog's quite the feat. Hell, most people in my position would wind up with a major league inferiority complex. But not me. Not by a long shot. In fact, I'm glad everyone's picking you to win. Bet you never thought you'd hear that, did ya? But you heard correctly. You see, things like that motivate me. They drive me to do what I do even better. To take the game to a whole new level, so to speak. Now I'll be the first to admit- I don't know a damn thing about you right now, just like I'm willing to bet you probably don't know much more about me. But that'll change pretty damn quick. So if you're seeing this, let me clue you in on a little something. You see this cage? You probably look at this and call it hell. Me? I call it home. Maybe in a wrestling ring you might be all that. Maybe you like to take your little shortcuts outside the ring and get yourself a nice little advantage, or maybe when the going gets tough little Lenne hauls ass and doesn't want to play anymore, figuring it's always best to scamper away and live to fight another day. But inside the cage, there are no shortcuts. There's no place to run, no place to hide. Nobody can help you, nobody can save you, nobody's going to watch your back. When the bell rings it's just going to be you and me. One on one. In MY element. You see, I've made a living and carved out a reputation in structures like this. The unforgiving cage never fails to show a person what they're truly made of. The ultimate separation of the serious and the curious. The cream of the crop from the wannabes. Now I don't know if you've spent a lot of time inside the steel- maybe you have, maybe you haven't. But I have. This is what I know. Doesn't matter if it's in the wrestling ring or the eight-sided beast where the only rule is survival of the fittest. I've proven myself many times over. I've spilled blood inside this ring- my own included. I've been drenched in the proverbial crimson mask and still emerged with my hand raised in the air. Do yourself a favor, Lenne. Enjoy the adoration. Bask in the fact that right now you're the one everyone's putting their money on. Right now you're the show pony. But when the time comes and you walk down that aisle and the cage door slams shut behind you, all those peoples' predictions won't amount to jack shit. There can be only one survivor. Only one winner moves on. Right now you're probably sitting in your little room at the Majestic reading the reports and getting a nice little ego stroke on. By all means, go ahead. But if you take anything away from my words, take this to heart and don't you ever forget it for one split second. You are not fighting another “diva”. You are going to be fighting a machine. An engine of destruction. Someone who's been doing this for years and has gotten damn good at it. A certified, bona fide Human Weapon. Someone who knows that the only way to rise to the top is to take out the ones who are perceived as being already there. Take a look into these eyes, Lenne Perez. Because these are the eyes that will never for one second take their focus away from you. And while you're at it, be sure to thank everyone who anointed you as the odds-on favorite... because they made you the most inviting target. |
|
|
| Deleted User | Aug 26 2011, 11:34 PM Post #3 |
|
Deleted User
|
Lenne Perez: Mesmerizing I'm so sorry that it took me so long to get this up! This has just been a hard month for me, good luck! |
|
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Salvation[1] · Next Topic » |



/




3:27 PM Jul 11