Post by Hannibal Cain on May 15, 2013 10:13:16 GMT -5
(OOC: I posted this yesterday, and deleted it because I was having second thoughts about competing, but I got booked so I figured I'd go ahead and throw it back up. This features a member of the WGWF roster without their permission, but they're never named, and they never speak, so if there's an issue feel free to imagine it as someone else.)
"Who the hell are you?"
He spits a mouthful of blood onto the canvas, wiping his lips with the 12 ounce sparring glove on his right hand. I say nothing and turn back towards my corner, spitting my mouthpiece out and taking a calm breath. I place my forearms gently on the top rope and look at Gabriel, who winks in approval.
"Seriously, dude, who the hell are you?"
He climbs to his feet, knees wobbly as he grabs the turnbuckle for support. I twist my neck from side to side, the vertebrae cracking with satisfying pops that ripple all the way down my spine. He doesn't like being ignored; not one bit.
"I'm talking to you, asshole!"
"So keep talking."
I keep my voice low, a growl that often sends lesser men running for cover. To his credit he doesn't back down. I hear the dull thud of footsteps as he stumbles towards me, and feel the weight of his hand on my shoulder as he tries to get my attention. Without hesitation I spin around, my eyes blazing with intensity and my teeth bared in a snarl that would make a rabid animal proud. His eyes widen as he retreats a few feet, hands up defensively and shaking like leaves in the wind.
"Don't you fucking touch me."
"I'm sorry... I just..."
"Do us both a favor, and shut the hell up."
His jaw hangs open for a moment, but promptly snaps shut again as he turns and retreats to his own corner. He mumbles something to his trainer but I don't bother trying to listen in. I don't give a shit. With one last sneer I make my way back to Gabriel, who's waiting on the apron for me.
"You don't even look like you're breathing hard," he mutters as he checks the lacing on my gloves.
"I'm not," I retort with muted frustration, "Where the hell do you find these cans?"
"Can?" he snorts in amusement, "This guy is a Golden Gloves boxer, Han. He's the best in Tampa. You're lucky we even got him in here to spar."
"Spin it however you want to. He's a fucking can."
Gabriel smiles and shakes his head. He knows better than to argue. He'll never win, even if he's right. He grabs one of my gloves in each hand and smashes them together before dropping to the floor and heading back to his chair.
"Two more rounds. Make 'em count."
"Make it another five, it won't make a difference."
I turn around slowly, rolling my shoulders to keep the blood flowing and hopping from one foot to the other. Suddenly a white towel flutters through the air to the center of the canvas, and I watch the "state champion" step unsteadily out of the ring.
"HEY!" I shout angrily, "Where the fuck are you going?"
"He's done," shouts his manager, ducking his head underneath the fighters arm to provide stability to a man that no longer has any.
"Like hell he is! We paid you for three rounds! That was only one!"
"Relax, we'll give you the money back."
"I COULD GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT THE GOD DAMNED MONEY! I'm here for a fight, and I'm damned sure going to get one!"
"You got one, and you won. I'm not letting you put my boy in a hospital bed because you don't know how to control yourself in a ring."
"If your boy ends up in a hospital bed it's not because I have no control, it's because he has no heart... the fucking pussy."
I turn away and silently count to three, a grin finding the corners of my mouth as I suddenly hear a steel chair crashing across the floor. There's a clamor of chatter as several men try and hold the "fighter" back, but I hit the right button. We're back in business.
"I'M A PUSSY?! FUCK YOU! Let's do this!"
Meat-heads are so easy to manipulate. He storms back through the ropes and into his corner, smacking himself in the chin with his own gloved hand as if daring me to try and find it myself.
Meat-heads are also very, very stupid.
Against his better judgement the opposing manager rings the bell with a sigh, looking away as his client stomps across the mat. I stand calmly, my hands dropped low to waist level. He swings a wild haymaker at my head which I sway clear of with ease, and follows up with a right hook to the body which I block with my forearm. Does he think I'm that stupid? Does he think a simple combination like that is going to catch me?
Thud Thud! Thud-thud-thud!
I rock him with two solid shots to the ribs, followed by three snapping jabs that catch him clean on the nose, busting him open and sending a torrent of blood pouring into his open mouth. He goes into survival mode, an uppercut and left cross sailing through the air where I used to be standing as I sidestep and catch him with another clean shot to the body. He tightens up, his body locking as his arms pull in close to his chest leaving his head exposed.
THUUUUD!
My right hand rips through his jaw, sending him crumpling to the ground in a heap. I step over the twisted mess and into my own corner, listening to the shouts of horror from his corner and the cheers of amazement from the spectators in the gym. Gabriel jumps up from his chair and makes his way over to me, shaking his head from side to side.
"You shouldn't have done that."
"Fuck 'em."
Gabriel slips the gloves off my hand and drops them into my tattered U.S.M.C. duffel bag. He looks into the ring where the on-site medic is attending to my most recent victim. I begin undoing my own hand wraps, but am interrupted almost immediately.
"Where you from, kid?" asks the opposing manager calmly.
"I haven't been 'from' somewhere in a long time."
"Well, where do you train out of?"
"Today? This shit-hole."
"This shit-hole happens to be my entire life."
"Yeah? I'm sorry to hear that. Where's my money?"
He looks at me in confusion, then to Gabriel who simply shrugs and motions that he's staying out of this.
"Excuse me? Your money?"
"I paid for three rounds of sparring. Your boy was out cold at the beginning of two. Pro-rate that shit."
"But you said-"
"I said give me my fucking money, or find me someone to finish what I started."
He looks furious, and I can't say I blame him. I also can't say that it bothers me. I hold my hand out, palm up, for payment.
"Look, whoever you are, he's the best boxer we got. You'll crush any of these other kids."
"Get me someone else, then. Muay thai, jiu jitsu, sambo, I don't care. I'm here to fight. Don't send me home disappointed."
The manager looks around the gym, his eyes suddenly lighting up as they fall upon a man in the corner, lifting weights with surprising ease.
"You ever wrestled?"
"Bring him over."
"Look, this guys good. He's a former World Champion in some of the biggest companies in the world, and him and his brother used to be a pretty big tag team. He's no pushover."
"I said bring him over."
"Don't brush this off, kid. You're obviously dangerous, but he's one of the best. He's main eventing a world wide pay per view here in a couple of-"
"I don't like to repeat myself."
The manager stares at me coldly. He wants to see me get hurt, and he wants someone to shut me up. This cat might be the only one with the Initiative to do so.
"You know what? Why don't I bring him over?"
I nod my head and watch him make his way across the gym. Gabriel looks at me with amusement.
"You just love making friends, don't you?"
"I don't need friends. I need a workout."
"Think this guy can give you one? Look at him; gynocomastia, acne scars on the shoulders, receding hairline, slight jaundice... he was a juicer at one point, and if what the manager says is true he's got a skill set to go with it."
"Your point? I wrestled in the Marine Corps."
"Not this type of wrestling. How do you get out of a hammerlock? How do you counter a german suplex? How do you-"
"Gabriel, shut the fuck up. A fight is a fight, and I don't lose fights."
The man makes his way across the gym, slapping his chest a few times to get loosened up. He eyes me and smiles, making his way into the ring while whispering with the manager. They motion for me to join him, and without so much as another word to Gabriel I slide through the ropes as well. There's no greeting, no sign of sportsmanship. Instead there's three chimes of a ring bell that send us into battle. He sprints at me, arm outstretched for a clothesline which I have scouted from across the ring, but at the last minute he changes levels and drops low, spearing me in the midsection and taking me down to the mat with force. I hear a loud cheer from those watching, but tune it out quickly and rotate my hips up to his ribcage, locking him in a tight body triangle.
The man grabs behind my neck and stands up, carrying me with him and looking for a massive power bomb. His strength catches me off guard, but I release my legs and drop to my feet before he can slam me. He works his way around to my back, grabbing around my waist and trying to suplex me. I drop to the canvas, dead weight, before he can send me flying. I roll for his ankle, looking for a submission but he sidesteps it and drops a heavy elbow to my solar plexus. I feel the wind explode from my lungs, stars dancing before my eyes. He grabs me by my skull and drags me back to my feet. I swing a tight right hand, but he jumps backwards to avoid it.
"HEY!" shouts the manager, furiously.
"Wrestling, Hannibal!" shouts Gabriel, "No closed fists."
Right, I knew that. He's got me flustered, and I'm not used to feeling flustered. I need to regain my composure and gain control. He rushes me, but stops, pulling back and laughing as I try to defend the attack that never came. The back of my neck grows hot, the embarrassment fueling my rage as I lunge at him with a big flying knee. He gets his hands in front of his face and pushes me backwards. I land on my feet, but he leaps through the air with a dropkick that puts me right back on my ass. He pounces on top of me, but I'm ready, I throw my legs into a tight triangle choke that sinks in perfectly. He presses all of his weight down on me, forcing my shoulders flat and folding my spine. Moron, he doesn't know that only tightens the submission.
His face turns red.
Saliva drips from his lips, falling to my bare chest.
DING! DING!
"That's it!" shouts the manager, "It's over!"
I squeeze the triangle one last time and then release my opponent, who stands up with a smile as the normal color returns to his face. He makes his way back to his corner, still smiling as he high fives the manager. Gabriel jumps into the ring with me, helping me to my feet.
"What the fuck is he so happy about?"
"He won, Han."
"Fuck you, I choked the shit out of him. He landed a couple shots, but like I said, a fight is a fight and I don't lose."
"He pinned you. You locked in the choke, but he used it to keep you down for the three count."
"I lost?"
"I warned you, you're not a wrestler, and he's apparently one of the best. It happens."
"I lost?"
"It's fine, don't beat yourself up about it."
"I lost?"
Gabriel has nothing else to say to me. He pats me on the shoulder, but has no more words to offer me. I stare across the ring at the manager who stares back with deep satisfaction. I clench my jaw and grit my teeth.
"Find out who that guy is, Gabriel," I whisper softly, "Find out the company he fights for."
"Why?"
"So that you can get me a contract. I'm not done with him, yet."
"That's a fucking joke, right? You're going to go be a professional wrestler, now? Shut the fuck up."
He laughs, but the look of steely determination on my face assures him that I'm deathly serious.
"Hannibal, that's just-"
"He beat me, Gabriel. I've spent the past 10 years bouncing from city to city, fighting everyone in every discipline, looking for someone that could put up a fight. I NEVER lose, you know better than anyone. He beat me. I found what I'm looking for."
Gabriel stares at me, speechless. It's like I said earlier, he knows better than to argue. Slowly he makes his way across the mat.
My name is Hannibal Cage. I'm coming for all of you.
It's going to be a bloodbath.
End
"Who the hell are you?"
He spits a mouthful of blood onto the canvas, wiping his lips with the 12 ounce sparring glove on his right hand. I say nothing and turn back towards my corner, spitting my mouthpiece out and taking a calm breath. I place my forearms gently on the top rope and look at Gabriel, who winks in approval.
"Seriously, dude, who the hell are you?"
He climbs to his feet, knees wobbly as he grabs the turnbuckle for support. I twist my neck from side to side, the vertebrae cracking with satisfying pops that ripple all the way down my spine. He doesn't like being ignored; not one bit.
"I'm talking to you, asshole!"
"So keep talking."
I keep my voice low, a growl that often sends lesser men running for cover. To his credit he doesn't back down. I hear the dull thud of footsteps as he stumbles towards me, and feel the weight of his hand on my shoulder as he tries to get my attention. Without hesitation I spin around, my eyes blazing with intensity and my teeth bared in a snarl that would make a rabid animal proud. His eyes widen as he retreats a few feet, hands up defensively and shaking like leaves in the wind.
"Don't you fucking touch me."
"I'm sorry... I just..."
"Do us both a favor, and shut the hell up."
His jaw hangs open for a moment, but promptly snaps shut again as he turns and retreats to his own corner. He mumbles something to his trainer but I don't bother trying to listen in. I don't give a shit. With one last sneer I make my way back to Gabriel, who's waiting on the apron for me.
"You don't even look like you're breathing hard," he mutters as he checks the lacing on my gloves.
"I'm not," I retort with muted frustration, "Where the hell do you find these cans?"
"Can?" he snorts in amusement, "This guy is a Golden Gloves boxer, Han. He's the best in Tampa. You're lucky we even got him in here to spar."
"Spin it however you want to. He's a fucking can."
Gabriel smiles and shakes his head. He knows better than to argue. He'll never win, even if he's right. He grabs one of my gloves in each hand and smashes them together before dropping to the floor and heading back to his chair.
"Two more rounds. Make 'em count."
"Make it another five, it won't make a difference."
I turn around slowly, rolling my shoulders to keep the blood flowing and hopping from one foot to the other. Suddenly a white towel flutters through the air to the center of the canvas, and I watch the "state champion" step unsteadily out of the ring.
"HEY!" I shout angrily, "Where the fuck are you going?"
"He's done," shouts his manager, ducking his head underneath the fighters arm to provide stability to a man that no longer has any.
"Like hell he is! We paid you for three rounds! That was only one!"
"Relax, we'll give you the money back."
"I COULD GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT THE GOD DAMNED MONEY! I'm here for a fight, and I'm damned sure going to get one!"
"You got one, and you won. I'm not letting you put my boy in a hospital bed because you don't know how to control yourself in a ring."
"If your boy ends up in a hospital bed it's not because I have no control, it's because he has no heart... the fucking pussy."
I turn away and silently count to three, a grin finding the corners of my mouth as I suddenly hear a steel chair crashing across the floor. There's a clamor of chatter as several men try and hold the "fighter" back, but I hit the right button. We're back in business.
"I'M A PUSSY?! FUCK YOU! Let's do this!"
Meat-heads are so easy to manipulate. He storms back through the ropes and into his corner, smacking himself in the chin with his own gloved hand as if daring me to try and find it myself.
Meat-heads are also very, very stupid.
Against his better judgement the opposing manager rings the bell with a sigh, looking away as his client stomps across the mat. I stand calmly, my hands dropped low to waist level. He swings a wild haymaker at my head which I sway clear of with ease, and follows up with a right hook to the body which I block with my forearm. Does he think I'm that stupid? Does he think a simple combination like that is going to catch me?
Thud Thud! Thud-thud-thud!
I rock him with two solid shots to the ribs, followed by three snapping jabs that catch him clean on the nose, busting him open and sending a torrent of blood pouring into his open mouth. He goes into survival mode, an uppercut and left cross sailing through the air where I used to be standing as I sidestep and catch him with another clean shot to the body. He tightens up, his body locking as his arms pull in close to his chest leaving his head exposed.
THUUUUD!
My right hand rips through his jaw, sending him crumpling to the ground in a heap. I step over the twisted mess and into my own corner, listening to the shouts of horror from his corner and the cheers of amazement from the spectators in the gym. Gabriel jumps up from his chair and makes his way over to me, shaking his head from side to side.
"You shouldn't have done that."
"Fuck 'em."
Gabriel slips the gloves off my hand and drops them into my tattered U.S.M.C. duffel bag. He looks into the ring where the on-site medic is attending to my most recent victim. I begin undoing my own hand wraps, but am interrupted almost immediately.
"Where you from, kid?" asks the opposing manager calmly.
"I haven't been 'from' somewhere in a long time."
"Well, where do you train out of?"
"Today? This shit-hole."
"This shit-hole happens to be my entire life."
"Yeah? I'm sorry to hear that. Where's my money?"
He looks at me in confusion, then to Gabriel who simply shrugs and motions that he's staying out of this.
"Excuse me? Your money?"
"I paid for three rounds of sparring. Your boy was out cold at the beginning of two. Pro-rate that shit."
"But you said-"
"I said give me my fucking money, or find me someone to finish what I started."
He looks furious, and I can't say I blame him. I also can't say that it bothers me. I hold my hand out, palm up, for payment.
"Look, whoever you are, he's the best boxer we got. You'll crush any of these other kids."
"Get me someone else, then. Muay thai, jiu jitsu, sambo, I don't care. I'm here to fight. Don't send me home disappointed."
The manager looks around the gym, his eyes suddenly lighting up as they fall upon a man in the corner, lifting weights with surprising ease.
"You ever wrestled?"
"Bring him over."
"Look, this guys good. He's a former World Champion in some of the biggest companies in the world, and him and his brother used to be a pretty big tag team. He's no pushover."
"I said bring him over."
"Don't brush this off, kid. You're obviously dangerous, but he's one of the best. He's main eventing a world wide pay per view here in a couple of-"
"I don't like to repeat myself."
The manager stares at me coldly. He wants to see me get hurt, and he wants someone to shut me up. This cat might be the only one with the Initiative to do so.
"You know what? Why don't I bring him over?"
I nod my head and watch him make his way across the gym. Gabriel looks at me with amusement.
"You just love making friends, don't you?"
"I don't need friends. I need a workout."
"Think this guy can give you one? Look at him; gynocomastia, acne scars on the shoulders, receding hairline, slight jaundice... he was a juicer at one point, and if what the manager says is true he's got a skill set to go with it."
"Your point? I wrestled in the Marine Corps."
"Not this type of wrestling. How do you get out of a hammerlock? How do you counter a german suplex? How do you-"
"Gabriel, shut the fuck up. A fight is a fight, and I don't lose fights."
The man makes his way across the gym, slapping his chest a few times to get loosened up. He eyes me and smiles, making his way into the ring while whispering with the manager. They motion for me to join him, and without so much as another word to Gabriel I slide through the ropes as well. There's no greeting, no sign of sportsmanship. Instead there's three chimes of a ring bell that send us into battle. He sprints at me, arm outstretched for a clothesline which I have scouted from across the ring, but at the last minute he changes levels and drops low, spearing me in the midsection and taking me down to the mat with force. I hear a loud cheer from those watching, but tune it out quickly and rotate my hips up to his ribcage, locking him in a tight body triangle.
The man grabs behind my neck and stands up, carrying me with him and looking for a massive power bomb. His strength catches me off guard, but I release my legs and drop to my feet before he can slam me. He works his way around to my back, grabbing around my waist and trying to suplex me. I drop to the canvas, dead weight, before he can send me flying. I roll for his ankle, looking for a submission but he sidesteps it and drops a heavy elbow to my solar plexus. I feel the wind explode from my lungs, stars dancing before my eyes. He grabs me by my skull and drags me back to my feet. I swing a tight right hand, but he jumps backwards to avoid it.
"HEY!" shouts the manager, furiously.
"Wrestling, Hannibal!" shouts Gabriel, "No closed fists."
Right, I knew that. He's got me flustered, and I'm not used to feeling flustered. I need to regain my composure and gain control. He rushes me, but stops, pulling back and laughing as I try to defend the attack that never came. The back of my neck grows hot, the embarrassment fueling my rage as I lunge at him with a big flying knee. He gets his hands in front of his face and pushes me backwards. I land on my feet, but he leaps through the air with a dropkick that puts me right back on my ass. He pounces on top of me, but I'm ready, I throw my legs into a tight triangle choke that sinks in perfectly. He presses all of his weight down on me, forcing my shoulders flat and folding my spine. Moron, he doesn't know that only tightens the submission.
His face turns red.
Saliva drips from his lips, falling to my bare chest.
DING! DING!
"That's it!" shouts the manager, "It's over!"
I squeeze the triangle one last time and then release my opponent, who stands up with a smile as the normal color returns to his face. He makes his way back to his corner, still smiling as he high fives the manager. Gabriel jumps into the ring with me, helping me to my feet.
"What the fuck is he so happy about?"
"He won, Han."
"Fuck you, I choked the shit out of him. He landed a couple shots, but like I said, a fight is a fight and I don't lose."
"He pinned you. You locked in the choke, but he used it to keep you down for the three count."
"I lost?"
"I warned you, you're not a wrestler, and he's apparently one of the best. It happens."
"I lost?"
"It's fine, don't beat yourself up about it."
"I lost?"
Gabriel has nothing else to say to me. He pats me on the shoulder, but has no more words to offer me. I stare across the ring at the manager who stares back with deep satisfaction. I clench my jaw and grit my teeth.
"Find out who that guy is, Gabriel," I whisper softly, "Find out the company he fights for."
"Why?"
"So that you can get me a contract. I'm not done with him, yet."
"That's a fucking joke, right? You're going to go be a professional wrestler, now? Shut the fuck up."
He laughs, but the look of steely determination on my face assures him that I'm deathly serious.
"Hannibal, that's just-"
"He beat me, Gabriel. I've spent the past 10 years bouncing from city to city, fighting everyone in every discipline, looking for someone that could put up a fight. I NEVER lose, you know better than anyone. He beat me. I found what I'm looking for."
Gabriel stares at me, speechless. It's like I said earlier, he knows better than to argue. Slowly he makes his way across the mat.
My name is Hannibal Cage. I'm coming for all of you.
It's going to be a bloodbath.
End