Post by Finn Kühn on Jan 14, 2023 21:58:10 GMT -5
OOC: I'll code this in the morning, if I can remember.
9 January 2023
Las Vegas, Nevada
The moonlit sky felt almost enchanting at this time of night. Looking at the polluted sky felt almost like a clouded muse you could lose yourself in. Most people would be asleep at this hour, looking to keep themselves in the best shape possible for whatever may be coming.
But in the City of Sin, falling asleep at a socially acceptable hour wasn’t truly considered the norm there. That was what brought Finn Kühn to still be awake within the wee hours of the morning, walking through the neon-colored lights of Las Vegas. He carried with him the slight buzz of alcohol, though not enough to the point of being truly drunk.
Las Vegas feels like a gilded cage to him. Though the bright lights were appealing, they carried with them the dark, lingering shadows. The homelessness epidemic was something that was only worsening in Las Vegas, and with it brought whispers. Prying eyes and ears that bore right at you. Footsteps of theirs that shuffled through the trash.
It was something Finn held absolutely no regard for, and as he heard it for the umpteenth time tonight, it only caused him to curl his lip at it all. Empathy was something Finn had for most people, but for most homeless people, it was at an exceeding level of low. He knew what many of them were capable of, what they would do, the underhanded tactics they would pull off if it would mean they would be able to sleep with money for the night. He’s seen them in New York more times than he could count.
Just as he had no regard for people performing underhanded tactics within the squared circle, he had no regard for people performing much of the same manner of tactics within life itself. Finn continued on his way though, knowing better than to press the point of looking at them. At that point, you would be simply inviting trouble along.
Finn continued on his way, taking the notebook out of his jacket and staring at the dark, black cover. In his hands, that notebook felt like it held the weight of the world behind it. He hadn’t opened it yet since Skyla bequeathed it to him - though Finn cherished the gift, he wasn’t sure how to go about this when it came to writing down his strategies. It wasn’t like he needed it to face Zara Ivory at the West Coast Rumble, of course. But that wouldn’t be the case forever…
“At this rate, I’d rather just drink myself into a stupor…” Finn grumbled, shaking his head. Paul Montuori was someone who was trying to get himself back on track. Someone Finn needed to beat if he himself wanted gold around his waist. It was staggering, looking from afar, at the similarities they held. Two men who were searching their entire careers for the chance to have gold, yet struggled to make good on it. Two men who struggled with their upbringing. Two men who wanted to turn their lives around in the year 2023.
As Finn continued walking, his lips pursed as he opened it up to the first, blank page. The blank canvas almost called out to him, begging to be written down. A small sigh escaped Finn’s lips - what was he even waiting for, at this rate? Was there even any genuine harm in at least trying?
Just as he was about to close the book and think on what he was going to write to begin with-
“HEEEEELP!”
A desperate plea for help rang out through the night, from an older lady - a tourist, no doubt - who had fallen into one of the urban city’s many traps. As Finn looked over his shoulder, he could see the situation unfold - none other than a trio of homeless people snatching said woman’s purse and making off into the night.
“Why am I not surprised…” he muttered. The situation had nothing to do with him, really. It would be easy to just continue on his way, ruminate on the situation he found himself in to begin with, and figure out a way to combat Montuori come time for Brawl. He could maybe even try to get a decent night’s rest if he just headed right back to his home.
And yet, his legs were already pumping and moving through the night after the would-be thieves. He wasn’t sure why this was, why he was helping this woman out as he went to go pursue the homeless people. Was it his disdain for those who used those underhanded methods? Was it the fact that he wanted to be an honorable sort on this night? Was it perhaps that he simply wanted to keep his skills sharpened?
He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure.
But at the end of the day, did it matter to the buzzed Finn?
“Get back here!” His ragged voice cut through the night. He could see one of the thieves turning to look back at him, their eyes widening in surprise. The crowd began to part for them, trying not to get tangled in the mayhem, but it would only be a matter of time before authorities would try and get on their case.
The thieves tried their best to make as clean of a getaway as possible, turning into the nearby alleyway and putting their foots on the gas. Finn was catching up though, long legs striding further and further distances. If he didn’t have any alcohol in his system, he likely would have caught up to them already by now. But that wasn’t going to stop him. He had his arm out, ready to try and grab the thief lagging behind, the one who held the purse-
BONK!
The sight and sound of a red spear bonking the thief on the head felt like it could be heard for a mile on end. It caused both Finn and the others to stop in their tracks, as the unfortunate target of Skyla Hawkins’ spear immediately felt his eyes rolling into the back of his head, slumping unconscious.
“What the fuck-”
BONK!
BONK!
BONK!
BOOONK!
It went without saying, of course, that an armed woman would be having a field day with malnourished men. There was no chance that Skyla would let them escape as her spear mercilessly toyed with them, causing them to fall unconscious.
And finally, she turned back to face her student.
“Seems we both have a knack for attracting trouble,” she shrugged as she looked at Finn.
“What are you even doing up at this hour?” Finn asked warily, furrowing his eyebrows. Before Skyla could answer, a pair of footsteps quickly rushed up to them, followed by huffing and puffing. The same blonde woman, caked in makeup that was now rushing down her face thanks to the sweat all over her body, had managed to catch up.
“Th-Thank you so much…” she nodded to Finn who had picked up her purse once again to deliver it to her.
“Try and be more careful with it next time,” Finn nodded. The woman agreed exuberantly, before walking off.
As the woman left, that only left Finn and Skyla left standing. Preferring not to be detained by authorities for the night, the two quickly walked off together.
“I could ask the same of you,” Skyla said with a cheeky smile as the two’s strides were in sync. “I’m merely on my own little walk - same as you. Hard to sleep in this city, after all.”
“Mmm…” Finn mumbled, deciding to head in the direction back to the Velvet Rabbit for the night. If he could help it, he’d rather not get in any more trouble for the night. But of course, as Skyla said… they tended to be magnets for trouble, didn’t they?
“You still haven’t written in the notebook yet, haven’t you, boy?” Skyla’s expression became far more serious, boring into Finn’s expression and noticing his lack of a response. It told the entire story as she shook her head. “Silly. I gave you that to try and better yourself. You know full good and well that hesitance isn’t the way to move forward. If you’d like, I can always simply take the notebook back…”
“It’s not that I’m ungrateful,” Finn said. “It’s just… I’ve never had to write my thoughts down like this. It feels almost… alien, I suppose?”
“Think of it like cutting a promo then,” Skyla suggested as the Velvet Rabbit came into view. “In fact, it would probably be for the best if you did think of it in that matter. Look at your opponents, and dismantle them before you even step into the ring with them. Breaking them down in such a manner will make facing them all the more easier. Understood?”
“Yes, mom,” I said in a sarcastic manner as I rolled my eyes. As Skyla and I bickered and remarked further on the state of things though, I knew she had a point. If I’ve come all this way so far since my return and still hitting a wall, I knew one thing was for sure -
It was time to start changing my approach.
Paul Montuori
Threat Level - 5/10
Paul Montuori is a perfectly average talent with perfectly average capabilities and a perfectly average mindset within the world of professional wrestling. But of course, like many other people within the world of professional wrestling, Paul is incapable of seeing himself as anything but average. Not like I can fault him for having confidence in his abilities, of course, but it’s to the point where I believe it’s rather laughable.
For all of Paul Montouri’s big talk and big attitude, he is willing to do nothing to try and back it up. He believes he’s entitled to success, but he doesn’t work for it. He believes he’s God’s gift to wrestling, but in a true showcase of the Dunning-Kruger effect, all he is is God’s gift to mediocrity. This wasn’t the type of opponent I wanted to face from the start ever since I came here. Muscle-headed clowns with no drive and no intelligence can be found as easy as turning around and pointing in a sea of faces when it comes to wrestling. But since this is the hand I’ve been dealt, I’ll detail why exactly Paul Montuori has a zero percent chance of getting the upper hand on me in the ring.
I say detail, but really, all you need to do is listen to his mindless drivel, and you’ll get the idea. He’s a pompous pretty boy who likes looking good for any woman watching him. His own brother lives rent-free in his head, and half the time, he’s all he ever talks about. He makes him look like a damn genius, and if you’ve seen Joe Montuori speak, you know damn well how much of an achievement that is. It’s ‘brother this,’ ‘brother that’ - one thing you’ll notice about Paul is that he’s quick to point the finger at anyone but himself. Failing to take responsibility is a clear-cut sign of a failure to improve. I’m sure if he gets the chance, he’ll likely try and say if he loses, it’ll be down to his involvement.
So allow me to put that to rest. If Joe Montuori, Chris Page, or whoever makes the fatal mistake of trying to get involved in my business, I’ll personally lead the charge to get rid of them from the equation. If Paul can do even a hint of homework on me - a foreign concept for him, I know - then he knows I despise achieving victory by any means other than wholly clean. There’ll be no excuses for Paul, but considering I’m sure he’ll still be prattling on about him… Why should Paul ever expect to win if he’s not worried about the man in front of him? Why should Paul ever expect to win if he wants to show off for the girls instead of trying to focus on how to win?
I’ll tell you why. For all of Paul Montuori’s boasting and praise about himself about how he will be a champion, he lacks any sort of killer instinct. He’s wholly incapable of sealing the deal out there. It’s been shown while he was iMaGiNe, within OPW, within Fight: NYC, within Level Up, within Pro Wrestling Excellence, within the West Coast Rumble…
That’s a lot of failure on Montuori’s plate, isn’t it? And he will be wholly incapable of getting the win come our match like every other time while still failing to realize at the end of the day, the only person’s fault who it is at that point is just himself. If he wants to become the champion he wishes to be, then he’s going to first need to be absolutely humbled and learn how to be an actual professional wrestler first.
As for the in-ring strategy, it’s simple. Montuori prides himself on fast-paced offense, mixing between high-flying lucha-libre and jaw-shattering strong style-esque strikes. It’s a type of offense that’s wholly reliant in the limbs, and Montuori is too proud to try and change that approach. Take out the legs and make him limp the entire time. Rip his damn arms out of his socket. Every time he tries to impact you with a strike, it should be hurting him way more than you. Every time he tries to run at you for a flip, you should be more than capable of countering and reversing - and the same goes for his finishers.
Remove his limbs from the equation, and goad him like the mindless bull he is into continuing to charge forward, and he’ll be forced to realize as he stares up at the lights -
He is not worthy as your opponent.
9 January 2023
Las Vegas, Nevada
The moonlit sky felt almost enchanting at this time of night. Looking at the polluted sky felt almost like a clouded muse you could lose yourself in. Most people would be asleep at this hour, looking to keep themselves in the best shape possible for whatever may be coming.
But in the City of Sin, falling asleep at a socially acceptable hour wasn’t truly considered the norm there. That was what brought Finn Kühn to still be awake within the wee hours of the morning, walking through the neon-colored lights of Las Vegas. He carried with him the slight buzz of alcohol, though not enough to the point of being truly drunk.
Las Vegas feels like a gilded cage to him. Though the bright lights were appealing, they carried with them the dark, lingering shadows. The homelessness epidemic was something that was only worsening in Las Vegas, and with it brought whispers. Prying eyes and ears that bore right at you. Footsteps of theirs that shuffled through the trash.
It was something Finn held absolutely no regard for, and as he heard it for the umpteenth time tonight, it only caused him to curl his lip at it all. Empathy was something Finn had for most people, but for most homeless people, it was at an exceeding level of low. He knew what many of them were capable of, what they would do, the underhanded tactics they would pull off if it would mean they would be able to sleep with money for the night. He’s seen them in New York more times than he could count.
Just as he had no regard for people performing underhanded tactics within the squared circle, he had no regard for people performing much of the same manner of tactics within life itself. Finn continued on his way though, knowing better than to press the point of looking at them. At that point, you would be simply inviting trouble along.
Finn continued on his way, taking the notebook out of his jacket and staring at the dark, black cover. In his hands, that notebook felt like it held the weight of the world behind it. He hadn’t opened it yet since Skyla bequeathed it to him - though Finn cherished the gift, he wasn’t sure how to go about this when it came to writing down his strategies. It wasn’t like he needed it to face Zara Ivory at the West Coast Rumble, of course. But that wouldn’t be the case forever…
“At this rate, I’d rather just drink myself into a stupor…” Finn grumbled, shaking his head. Paul Montuori was someone who was trying to get himself back on track. Someone Finn needed to beat if he himself wanted gold around his waist. It was staggering, looking from afar, at the similarities they held. Two men who were searching their entire careers for the chance to have gold, yet struggled to make good on it. Two men who struggled with their upbringing. Two men who wanted to turn their lives around in the year 2023.
As Finn continued walking, his lips pursed as he opened it up to the first, blank page. The blank canvas almost called out to him, begging to be written down. A small sigh escaped Finn’s lips - what was he even waiting for, at this rate? Was there even any genuine harm in at least trying?
Just as he was about to close the book and think on what he was going to write to begin with-
“HEEEEELP!”
A desperate plea for help rang out through the night, from an older lady - a tourist, no doubt - who had fallen into one of the urban city’s many traps. As Finn looked over his shoulder, he could see the situation unfold - none other than a trio of homeless people snatching said woman’s purse and making off into the night.
“Why am I not surprised…” he muttered. The situation had nothing to do with him, really. It would be easy to just continue on his way, ruminate on the situation he found himself in to begin with, and figure out a way to combat Montuori come time for Brawl. He could maybe even try to get a decent night’s rest if he just headed right back to his home.
And yet, his legs were already pumping and moving through the night after the would-be thieves. He wasn’t sure why this was, why he was helping this woman out as he went to go pursue the homeless people. Was it his disdain for those who used those underhanded methods? Was it the fact that he wanted to be an honorable sort on this night? Was it perhaps that he simply wanted to keep his skills sharpened?
He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure.
But at the end of the day, did it matter to the buzzed Finn?
“Get back here!” His ragged voice cut through the night. He could see one of the thieves turning to look back at him, their eyes widening in surprise. The crowd began to part for them, trying not to get tangled in the mayhem, but it would only be a matter of time before authorities would try and get on their case.
The thieves tried their best to make as clean of a getaway as possible, turning into the nearby alleyway and putting their foots on the gas. Finn was catching up though, long legs striding further and further distances. If he didn’t have any alcohol in his system, he likely would have caught up to them already by now. But that wasn’t going to stop him. He had his arm out, ready to try and grab the thief lagging behind, the one who held the purse-
BONK!
The sight and sound of a red spear bonking the thief on the head felt like it could be heard for a mile on end. It caused both Finn and the others to stop in their tracks, as the unfortunate target of Skyla Hawkins’ spear immediately felt his eyes rolling into the back of his head, slumping unconscious.
“What the fuck-”
BONK!
BONK!
BONK!
BOOONK!
It went without saying, of course, that an armed woman would be having a field day with malnourished men. There was no chance that Skyla would let them escape as her spear mercilessly toyed with them, causing them to fall unconscious.
And finally, she turned back to face her student.
“Seems we both have a knack for attracting trouble,” she shrugged as she looked at Finn.
“What are you even doing up at this hour?” Finn asked warily, furrowing his eyebrows. Before Skyla could answer, a pair of footsteps quickly rushed up to them, followed by huffing and puffing. The same blonde woman, caked in makeup that was now rushing down her face thanks to the sweat all over her body, had managed to catch up.
“Th-Thank you so much…” she nodded to Finn who had picked up her purse once again to deliver it to her.
“Try and be more careful with it next time,” Finn nodded. The woman agreed exuberantly, before walking off.
As the woman left, that only left Finn and Skyla left standing. Preferring not to be detained by authorities for the night, the two quickly walked off together.
“I could ask the same of you,” Skyla said with a cheeky smile as the two’s strides were in sync. “I’m merely on my own little walk - same as you. Hard to sleep in this city, after all.”
“Mmm…” Finn mumbled, deciding to head in the direction back to the Velvet Rabbit for the night. If he could help it, he’d rather not get in any more trouble for the night. But of course, as Skyla said… they tended to be magnets for trouble, didn’t they?
“You still haven’t written in the notebook yet, haven’t you, boy?” Skyla’s expression became far more serious, boring into Finn’s expression and noticing his lack of a response. It told the entire story as she shook her head. “Silly. I gave you that to try and better yourself. You know full good and well that hesitance isn’t the way to move forward. If you’d like, I can always simply take the notebook back…”
“It’s not that I’m ungrateful,” Finn said. “It’s just… I’ve never had to write my thoughts down like this. It feels almost… alien, I suppose?”
“Think of it like cutting a promo then,” Skyla suggested as the Velvet Rabbit came into view. “In fact, it would probably be for the best if you did think of it in that matter. Look at your opponents, and dismantle them before you even step into the ring with them. Breaking them down in such a manner will make facing them all the more easier. Understood?”
“Yes, mom,” I said in a sarcastic manner as I rolled my eyes. As Skyla and I bickered and remarked further on the state of things though, I knew she had a point. If I’ve come all this way so far since my return and still hitting a wall, I knew one thing was for sure -
It was time to start changing my approach.
Paul Montuori
Threat Level - 5/10
Paul Montuori is a perfectly average talent with perfectly average capabilities and a perfectly average mindset within the world of professional wrestling. But of course, like many other people within the world of professional wrestling, Paul is incapable of seeing himself as anything but average. Not like I can fault him for having confidence in his abilities, of course, but it’s to the point where I believe it’s rather laughable.
For all of Paul Montouri’s big talk and big attitude, he is willing to do nothing to try and back it up. He believes he’s entitled to success, but he doesn’t work for it. He believes he’s God’s gift to wrestling, but in a true showcase of the Dunning-Kruger effect, all he is is God’s gift to mediocrity. This wasn’t the type of opponent I wanted to face from the start ever since I came here. Muscle-headed clowns with no drive and no intelligence can be found as easy as turning around and pointing in a sea of faces when it comes to wrestling. But since this is the hand I’ve been dealt, I’ll detail why exactly Paul Montuori has a zero percent chance of getting the upper hand on me in the ring.
I say detail, but really, all you need to do is listen to his mindless drivel, and you’ll get the idea. He’s a pompous pretty boy who likes looking good for any woman watching him. His own brother lives rent-free in his head, and half the time, he’s all he ever talks about. He makes him look like a damn genius, and if you’ve seen Joe Montuori speak, you know damn well how much of an achievement that is. It’s ‘brother this,’ ‘brother that’ - one thing you’ll notice about Paul is that he’s quick to point the finger at anyone but himself. Failing to take responsibility is a clear-cut sign of a failure to improve. I’m sure if he gets the chance, he’ll likely try and say if he loses, it’ll be down to his involvement.
So allow me to put that to rest. If Joe Montuori, Chris Page, or whoever makes the fatal mistake of trying to get involved in my business, I’ll personally lead the charge to get rid of them from the equation. If Paul can do even a hint of homework on me - a foreign concept for him, I know - then he knows I despise achieving victory by any means other than wholly clean. There’ll be no excuses for Paul, but considering I’m sure he’ll still be prattling on about him… Why should Paul ever expect to win if he’s not worried about the man in front of him? Why should Paul ever expect to win if he wants to show off for the girls instead of trying to focus on how to win?
I’ll tell you why. For all of Paul Montuori’s boasting and praise about himself about how he will be a champion, he lacks any sort of killer instinct. He’s wholly incapable of sealing the deal out there. It’s been shown while he was iMaGiNe, within OPW, within Fight: NYC, within Level Up, within Pro Wrestling Excellence, within the West Coast Rumble…
That’s a lot of failure on Montuori’s plate, isn’t it? And he will be wholly incapable of getting the win come our match like every other time while still failing to realize at the end of the day, the only person’s fault who it is at that point is just himself. If he wants to become the champion he wishes to be, then he’s going to first need to be absolutely humbled and learn how to be an actual professional wrestler first.
As for the in-ring strategy, it’s simple. Montuori prides himself on fast-paced offense, mixing between high-flying lucha-libre and jaw-shattering strong style-esque strikes. It’s a type of offense that’s wholly reliant in the limbs, and Montuori is too proud to try and change that approach. Take out the legs and make him limp the entire time. Rip his damn arms out of his socket. Every time he tries to impact you with a strike, it should be hurting him way more than you. Every time he tries to run at you for a flip, you should be more than capable of countering and reversing - and the same goes for his finishers.
Remove his limbs from the equation, and goad him like the mindless bull he is into continuing to charge forward, and he’ll be forced to realize as he stares up at the lights -
He is not worthy as your opponent.