Fresh meat.
OOC: I haven't had regular internet access since signing up for this, due to moving, which is why I haven't gone on the boards. So if you wouldn't mind accepting this one, I'd appreciate it. Up to you though.
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Cobblestone roads aren't the best thing for tires to tread over. Yet here, in Calgary, the cars manage and the tires pay their debt to the roads in the name of tradition. That word holds a wealth of meaning here, and it is where Larry Tact has found himself this day, in lieu of his entrance to the TEAM Invitational Tournament. He sits outside of a cafe, at a small, round table reading an American newspaper, occasionally peering over it to look at a passerby. The storefronts are decorated festively, although it's just the daily fare for these shops, giving a local community feel to the area.
People walk alone and in packs; families and singles, alike. Children point in awe at the candy or pastries in shop windows, while others merely salivate knowing they shouldn't... but will anyway, and then enter the store. The slight chill of the brisk air currents streams through the road, but nobody seems bothered by it-- they're either accustomed to the weather, or bundled up enough to reject it. Tact, himself, wears a ribbed, navy blue sweater and jeans, black boots and gloves. A black New York Mets winter hat, logo in blue with orange lining, covers his colored blonde hair. He sets down the paper and clasps his hands together, resting them on the table.
TACT: Oh Canada... how I've spent far too long with you, the past few months. It seems, wherever I go, whatever I sign up for... it takes place here, in Canada. In this sagging land of 'wrestling tradition'... it's more like some fruity playland for all the Jean Rabesque's of the world. First I come here as a CWF wrestler, now I signed on to enter this TEAM Invitational tournament... and I'm still here! I might as well apply for duel citizenship...
Except I'm not the type to lower myself like that. I have a successful image to uphold... and Canada has anything but. After all, how long has it been taking it up the ass from everyone else in the world who means anything?
But I'm not here to be political. I'm here to wrestle, and win. That's the general idea when you join the tournament, after all, to win. Not to 'do your best' and 'prove yourself.' That's just a load of crap. Bull(BLEEP).
I can't stand people who resort to feeding me bull(BLEEP). There are plenty out there... just going out and spewing this stream of fallacies and piss poor one-liners about what you expect, what's to come for yourself. You all think it's making you look better, more 'competitive' or threatening.
The truth is, you just look like someone who doesn't know what they're getting into. This tournament is not much different; many of you have your aspirations and goals for this... not all of which result in winning.
My first round opponent has something of this very mentality. The only thing I really need say about what I heard from you, Frankie Scott, is that it's pathetic. But I can say more, if that isn't enough. You come into this match talking to me as if I'm a case study, despite the fact you admit you know very little about me. Tell me this... why are you even bringing up things you saw on the internet? Who are you, Hacker? Don't you know that what you see on the internet is more times than not outdated? That's certainly the case with me, because all that idealistic bull(BLEEP) I used to commit myself to has most certainly expired.
He straightens up in his seat, his expression taking a more interested look.
Proving myself... yeah, I remember those days. They're long past. I don't need to prove myself to anyone anymore. Not you, not any name or supposed favorite in this tournament. There are no favorites, you moron. There are only people who can make what they will of this opportunity. I don't need to have the odds in my favor to kick your teeth in, and advance. I don't bother looking at any of that, ever, and I still succeed. So don't give me any crap about odds and favorites. Let that get in your head if you want, but don't waste airtime on it.
Do you want to know what I think of you, Mr. 'Phenomenal?' Where did you pick up that tag from, hm? Does it even mean anything? Of course not. Tags are nothing but a mask, more bull(BLEEP) to hide behind. You entered this tournament with the intention of making something of yourself in this day and age, yet you still lack the knowledge of who you even are. You need a label on yourself to try making you look impressive. You probably need someone to tell you your 'great' and 'a real challenge' before you'll actually believe it. Verbal masturbation is what you really want. But I'm not here to give it to you.
I'm here to bring reality into your perception. I'm here to give you a humbling!
He leans forward, olive green eyes like poison filled darts.
I don't care whether or not you feel like you've got a chance in hell of beating me, Frankie. I don't care whether anyone thinks you're the underdog. All I need to know is that you're my first round opponent. You are the person who is stepping into my ring in Calgary... and you will not be looked past. I don't bother thinking any further than the opponent I face next. I prepare to be at my best for whoever it is, whether it be Dan Ryan, Cross, Jean Rabesque, Anarky... or Mass Ray Per, Tribal Warrior, Moe Lester... or Frankie Scott. It doesn't matter to me whether I outmatch my opponent or not... whether I'll beat the opponent into submission if I'm at my best, or have a challenge on my hands. I come ready to wrestle, and you will not be the exception to that rule.
In Calgary, you will enter a realm that doesn't afford you the luxury of tags, fronts, and masks. When you step into the ring with me, Frankie... you'll be stripped down to what you can do in the ring, and whether it will be able to get past me and my ability. And maybe everyone will see just what's so 'phenomenal' about you, then.
Because you certainly haven't shown it yet.
Fade out.