Whats Your Alias
League Member
- Joined
- Aug 30, 2004
- Messages
- 102
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 39
"No, I'm not dead... yet. Though Eli Flair can just go die... hah, what I had to say it. Okay, let's put it this way... even if all that kept me from falling fifty feet where four steel legs set on a concrete perch… I‘d probably still be living alright, fighting like a son of a gun on top of that too, if not a little broken."
*SMACK*
The black screen snapped into techno-color, with a swap to the side of the camera courtesy of the Original Pulp Hero's big black boot. He's sitting in a old golden-tinged art deco chair, something you might remember from a high school cafeteria. It's a nice enough, simple enough chair, though the gold color of the chair can't really be discerned between it being purposefully that way or just getting that way through cigarette smoke stains.
Speaking of which, the Pulp Hero procured a box of Camel's from the pocket of his canvas jacket, slapped out of single cancer stick, and then slipped it back into his jacket. As he put the pack back, he took a zippo lighter out and flicked it to life, catching the cig in his mouth with the flame, sparking it up. Sheffield took the cig out of his mouth and looked at it.
"Camels... I here they have a history in NFW more infamous then mine." He put it in his mouth and took a drag of it.
"Don't doubt that, since I've admittedly been a little quiet... haven't I?" Scratching his chin through his beard, Alias finally blew the smoke in his throat out the side of his mouth and into the blew sky around him. He was outside, that much was clear, but just where exactly was he sitting? That was to be found out eventually, I'm sure.
"Hell, though, not to say I haven't gotten things done. Admittedly this current number found seed of mine would have been number five if it weren’t for Lindsey getting herself suspended, through a number of ways, though I still find myself with the chance to be the number one seed, through a twist of things...
That I've just gotta attribute to Craigers." Alias looks away from the camera and puffs his cigarette. "Yeah, I adore the pecker head, but we'll get to the macing at Summerstock in a moment..."
"I'm a division winner. I've got a first round bye. I tied for fifty points with two men, one I've known for a while... and another that I actually know quite a little about, not to say that we're strangers by any means. I got the edge over Scott Riktor, though there could have been much better ways to do things. There could have been... but there weren’t, on the New Frontier it's a vicious cycle of revenge, opportunities, and bad bastards, all of us. I sought out Craig to get to the NFW, and then I ringed Riktor in after I got in, thinking it was a good idea. I've got the opportunity for the number one seed because of him. I came here for the wrong sort of revenge, wanting to Miles something, after what happened in the fWo between us. I've gotten over that, honestly the pepper spray was more of a truly fecked up wake up call, more then anything else. Scott came here for opportunity,. Opportunity against the best and the brightest away from the disconcerting eyes of LoC. The vicious cycle?
I can't help out another old friend, another face from my crowded past.
So maybe it was a good idea?" Alias waved this line of thought off though, wafting smoke from side to side from the end of his cigarette. "Yeah, this is me coming to terms that I'm a bad bastard."
"The kind of bastard who needed a kick start in the first place... or more a kick to keep going. A kick because, what, I won two matches before that... had two wins, was quite as a field mouse, and had nowhere really to go but continuing along that baseline. Who that other guy I've tied myself for fifty points a piece with, again?" Alias arched an eyebrow, through his blinded milky and scared eye, and gave a devil-ish grin. "Oh that's right...
Tom Adler. Yeah, I lost to you ages ago, but more over, we fought ages ago... and I mean ages, whether I was more of a fight or less of a fight then, I don't entirely remember. I don't entirely care. Not to say that **** isn't taped... I'm getting ready for another go... but it's the past, the regular season. An entirely different set of circumstances. Hell, a one-on-one match would be those entirely different circumstances.
Now I don't only get to watch out for yourself in that ring, but also Eli Flair. Eli Flair... it's been a while, a long while. fWo-era while. Hell, long enough that I don't even have that tape to go over, anymore. Still I look forward to stepping into the ring with the man in black and the main in black and white on one side, and me and Seymour on the other side." Alias took the last drag of his cig, hitting it almost to the filter, before flicking the butt into the wind.
"And I could say a lot about Seymour, I could talk about our past, I'm all about the past of things... and Seymour was there, staring me face to fac-- face to chest, when I went to some of my darkest places. I could banter back and fourth with him, bicker about days gone by... about ACW history, and some of the greatest moments of our respective careers. He's in MY corner though. Strategy has already been talked about, things have already been spun out. So have fun talking each other up, itching to give each other a go. Be my guest, actually, I'd love to see how that goes." Alias looks around, before resting his elbows on his knees. He motions for the camera to move back. As the camera man steps back, the Original Pulp Hero can be seen sitting on the chair…
Which is set precariously on the corner of an Astoria, Queens rooftop. The Manhattan skyline is behind him, hardly seen through the summer haze.
“I’m not a betting man, though. I kind of quit gambling on much of anything a long time ago. I’m a cold hard facts kind of man, who knows the sh*t he’s dealing with, and what exactly he needs to do get it done. What I need to do to get my hand raised. I’m ready for anything either of you can throw at me, and I can’t speak for Seymour, but that crazy son a ***** is probably ready for you to. I’ll sweat, I’ll bleed and I’ll bruise… you better be ready to rip my arm from my arm, to make sure I don’t punch you in the face with every chance I can get. Trust me, I’m a bad bastard like that. Ask Marcus Cameron, if you can find the deadliest guy you can think of, what he thought about me… before he went underground.
I don’t need to know what either of you, or any of those in the west might think about me. You’ll find out all you need to know Eli, and Adler I’m sure you’ll be looking to even more information then you probably wanted…
When I step into the ring with the both of you, with a man of infamy at my back, and a couple of taped fists backing up every word I didn’t even necessarily have to say to you both.”
*SMACK*
The black screen snapped into techno-color, with a swap to the side of the camera courtesy of the Original Pulp Hero's big black boot. He's sitting in a old golden-tinged art deco chair, something you might remember from a high school cafeteria. It's a nice enough, simple enough chair, though the gold color of the chair can't really be discerned between it being purposefully that way or just getting that way through cigarette smoke stains.
Speaking of which, the Pulp Hero procured a box of Camel's from the pocket of his canvas jacket, slapped out of single cancer stick, and then slipped it back into his jacket. As he put the pack back, he took a zippo lighter out and flicked it to life, catching the cig in his mouth with the flame, sparking it up. Sheffield took the cig out of his mouth and looked at it.
"Camels... I here they have a history in NFW more infamous then mine." He put it in his mouth and took a drag of it.
"Don't doubt that, since I've admittedly been a little quiet... haven't I?" Scratching his chin through his beard, Alias finally blew the smoke in his throat out the side of his mouth and into the blew sky around him. He was outside, that much was clear, but just where exactly was he sitting? That was to be found out eventually, I'm sure.
"Hell, though, not to say I haven't gotten things done. Admittedly this current number found seed of mine would have been number five if it weren’t for Lindsey getting herself suspended, through a number of ways, though I still find myself with the chance to be the number one seed, through a twist of things...
That I've just gotta attribute to Craigers." Alias looks away from the camera and puffs his cigarette. "Yeah, I adore the pecker head, but we'll get to the macing at Summerstock in a moment..."
"I'm a division winner. I've got a first round bye. I tied for fifty points with two men, one I've known for a while... and another that I actually know quite a little about, not to say that we're strangers by any means. I got the edge over Scott Riktor, though there could have been much better ways to do things. There could have been... but there weren’t, on the New Frontier it's a vicious cycle of revenge, opportunities, and bad bastards, all of us. I sought out Craig to get to the NFW, and then I ringed Riktor in after I got in, thinking it was a good idea. I've got the opportunity for the number one seed because of him. I came here for the wrong sort of revenge, wanting to Miles something, after what happened in the fWo between us. I've gotten over that, honestly the pepper spray was more of a truly fecked up wake up call, more then anything else. Scott came here for opportunity,. Opportunity against the best and the brightest away from the disconcerting eyes of LoC. The vicious cycle?
I can't help out another old friend, another face from my crowded past.
So maybe it was a good idea?" Alias waved this line of thought off though, wafting smoke from side to side from the end of his cigarette. "Yeah, this is me coming to terms that I'm a bad bastard."
"The kind of bastard who needed a kick start in the first place... or more a kick to keep going. A kick because, what, I won two matches before that... had two wins, was quite as a field mouse, and had nowhere really to go but continuing along that baseline. Who that other guy I've tied myself for fifty points a piece with, again?" Alias arched an eyebrow, through his blinded milky and scared eye, and gave a devil-ish grin. "Oh that's right...
Tom Adler. Yeah, I lost to you ages ago, but more over, we fought ages ago... and I mean ages, whether I was more of a fight or less of a fight then, I don't entirely remember. I don't entirely care. Not to say that **** isn't taped... I'm getting ready for another go... but it's the past, the regular season. An entirely different set of circumstances. Hell, a one-on-one match would be those entirely different circumstances.
Now I don't only get to watch out for yourself in that ring, but also Eli Flair. Eli Flair... it's been a while, a long while. fWo-era while. Hell, long enough that I don't even have that tape to go over, anymore. Still I look forward to stepping into the ring with the man in black and the main in black and white on one side, and me and Seymour on the other side." Alias took the last drag of his cig, hitting it almost to the filter, before flicking the butt into the wind.
"And I could say a lot about Seymour, I could talk about our past, I'm all about the past of things... and Seymour was there, staring me face to fac-- face to chest, when I went to some of my darkest places. I could banter back and fourth with him, bicker about days gone by... about ACW history, and some of the greatest moments of our respective careers. He's in MY corner though. Strategy has already been talked about, things have already been spun out. So have fun talking each other up, itching to give each other a go. Be my guest, actually, I'd love to see how that goes." Alias looks around, before resting his elbows on his knees. He motions for the camera to move back. As the camera man steps back, the Original Pulp Hero can be seen sitting on the chair…
Which is set precariously on the corner of an Astoria, Queens rooftop. The Manhattan skyline is behind him, hardly seen through the summer haze.
“I’m not a betting man, though. I kind of quit gambling on much of anything a long time ago. I’m a cold hard facts kind of man, who knows the sh*t he’s dealing with, and what exactly he needs to do get it done. What I need to do to get my hand raised. I’m ready for anything either of you can throw at me, and I can’t speak for Seymour, but that crazy son a ***** is probably ready for you to. I’ll sweat, I’ll bleed and I’ll bruise… you better be ready to rip my arm from my arm, to make sure I don’t punch you in the face with every chance I can get. Trust me, I’m a bad bastard like that. Ask Marcus Cameron, if you can find the deadliest guy you can think of, what he thought about me… before he went underground.
I don’t need to know what either of you, or any of those in the west might think about me. You’ll find out all you need to know Eli, and Adler I’m sure you’ll be looking to even more information then you probably wanted…
When I step into the ring with the both of you, with a man of infamy at my back, and a couple of taped fists backing up every word I didn’t even necessarily have to say to you both.”