Post by MattOliveira on Feb 17, 2009 19:46:52 GMT -4
Wednesday Night Genesis returns from commercial break, Lizzie standing graciously in the squared circle.
Slam!
Then, "Matter of Time" by HellYeah bursts from the stage, the rolling drums and guitars charging the once-settled atmosphere with a more gritty and aggressive tone. Matt walks out onto the stage pushing a full shopping cart as the bell rings, Morna stands in-ring, drawing the fans' attention to introduce the match.
Run! Hide! Your time is coming
Hunt! Find! Walking a fine line
Run! Hide! My time is coming
Hunt! Find! It’s just a matter of time!
Lizzie: "The following contest is a First Blood match! The contest will be fought under No Disqualifications, No Countouts, and No Falls. The only way to win is to make your opponent bleed!"
Matt spreads his arms in a crucifix once his stops at the top of the ramp, his leather jacket casting a shadow over his shirt-covered upper body. His plaid shirt hang loosely around his waist, hair dangling in waves of brown-black.
Run! Hide! Your time is coming
Hunt! Find! Walking a fine line
Run! Hide! My time is coming
Hunt! Find! It’s just a matter of time!
Oliveira scans over the audience, lowering his arms to the handle of the cart and continuing down the ramp with a steady march. The pupils of the Genius tempt to look out to his sides as he marches, but have become trained to look forward. He stares in-front of him as he reaches the ringside area, HellYeah still thundering through the venue. Oliveira stops, the cart reaching the apron and leading him to walk to its side and grab hold of a trash can that rides in it's carriage. The cylinder is lifted out and vaulted over the top rope, it's contents clattering and spilling onto the canvas. Oliveira reaches back again to retrieve the odd crutch or street sign, and finally a decent-sized burlap bag. It lands on the apron with a clinking sound, a giveaway that it's contents are indeed metallic.
WARHEAD! PAYBACK! SETTLE THE SCORE
Run! Hide! Your time is coming
Hunt! Find! Walking a fine line
Run! Hide! My time is coming
Hunt! Find! It’s just a matter of time!!
As the cart is emptied, to a majority, the Genius pulls himself up onto the apron, kicking the bag into the ring and stepping between the top and middle ropes. Once he enters, he gives the action of "cutting it out" as a wave across his throat, queuing his entrance music to fade out. Oliveira strips of his jacket and plaid shirt, keeping his leather on for the time being. Matt stretches out his hand toward Lizzie, calling for the microphone. She obliges, Oliveira preparing to declare his genre of defense. A fan or two is heard giving a vulgar and slightly-emotional remark, stemming from his desperate actions last Saturday as he not only injured, but debilitated Count Nebula.
Matt: "You know...you people are interesting. You'll cheer for a First Blood match. You'll cheer for a Lighttubes, Trash Cans, and Concrete Slabs match. You'll cheer for barbedwire and the whole sha-bang, but it's kinda odd how the shifty looks and squirming starts when you find out somebody got hurt. And got hurt bad. Count Nebula is this subject. A guy set out on the wrestling world with high hopes and far off dreams to one day make it. One time that he could shine, more than the glaze in his eyes as he would lay face-up in bed next to a Gibson with a needle hanging out of his arm. My point is...all it took was a simple little move with simple little objects and a simple little DDT onto simple little concrete to turn his world...upside down."
*Matt pauses, gazing to the side of him, to the first row of fans.*
"That's why I'm still here. That's why I sit in this ring. That's why I've gone through arenas -big and small- UMPTEEN Pay-per-views, a handful of archaic structures, cut people open from Seattle, to Japan, to Toronto, to a little gym in South California. And that's why my name...my legacy...sticks with you all. It's because not only can I say it, I can do it. YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME? You FIND Nebula now...you go get him...try to talk to him with a tube down his throat and pad upon electrical monitoring pad stuck on his skull...and see if he can give any of you a damned autograph. What I say...EVPW...is truth. That separates me from everyone else, and like it or not, either I've done it before or I can do it better...and trust me, CONFIDE IN ME...that that will never change. And you all know I'm right."
Oliveira tosses the microphone back to Lizzie and remains seated in the corner, the official giving one of the trash can lids a slight kick. Matt raises his arm and brings it to quickly wipe the bottom of his nose, fingers stroking around his goatee until his arm comes to lay in his lap.
(Did it to make it official.)
Slam!
Then, "Matter of Time" by HellYeah bursts from the stage, the rolling drums and guitars charging the once-settled atmosphere with a more gritty and aggressive tone. Matt walks out onto the stage pushing a full shopping cart as the bell rings, Morna stands in-ring, drawing the fans' attention to introduce the match.
Run! Hide! Your time is coming
Hunt! Find! Walking a fine line
Run! Hide! My time is coming
Hunt! Find! It’s just a matter of time!
Lizzie: "The following contest is a First Blood match! The contest will be fought under No Disqualifications, No Countouts, and No Falls. The only way to win is to make your opponent bleed!"
Matt spreads his arms in a crucifix once his stops at the top of the ramp, his leather jacket casting a shadow over his shirt-covered upper body. His plaid shirt hang loosely around his waist, hair dangling in waves of brown-black.
Run! Hide! Your time is coming
Hunt! Find! Walking a fine line
Run! Hide! My time is coming
Hunt! Find! It’s just a matter of time!
Oliveira scans over the audience, lowering his arms to the handle of the cart and continuing down the ramp with a steady march. The pupils of the Genius tempt to look out to his sides as he marches, but have become trained to look forward. He stares in-front of him as he reaches the ringside area, HellYeah still thundering through the venue. Oliveira stops, the cart reaching the apron and leading him to walk to its side and grab hold of a trash can that rides in it's carriage. The cylinder is lifted out and vaulted over the top rope, it's contents clattering and spilling onto the canvas. Oliveira reaches back again to retrieve the odd crutch or street sign, and finally a decent-sized burlap bag. It lands on the apron with a clinking sound, a giveaway that it's contents are indeed metallic.
WARHEAD! PAYBACK! SETTLE THE SCORE
Run! Hide! Your time is coming
Hunt! Find! Walking a fine line
Run! Hide! My time is coming
Hunt! Find! It’s just a matter of time!!
As the cart is emptied, to a majority, the Genius pulls himself up onto the apron, kicking the bag into the ring and stepping between the top and middle ropes. Once he enters, he gives the action of "cutting it out" as a wave across his throat, queuing his entrance music to fade out. Oliveira strips of his jacket and plaid shirt, keeping his leather on for the time being. Matt stretches out his hand toward Lizzie, calling for the microphone. She obliges, Oliveira preparing to declare his genre of defense. A fan or two is heard giving a vulgar and slightly-emotional remark, stemming from his desperate actions last Saturday as he not only injured, but debilitated Count Nebula.
Matt: "You know...you people are interesting. You'll cheer for a First Blood match. You'll cheer for a Lighttubes, Trash Cans, and Concrete Slabs match. You'll cheer for barbedwire and the whole sha-bang, but it's kinda odd how the shifty looks and squirming starts when you find out somebody got hurt. And got hurt bad. Count Nebula is this subject. A guy set out on the wrestling world with high hopes and far off dreams to one day make it. One time that he could shine, more than the glaze in his eyes as he would lay face-up in bed next to a Gibson with a needle hanging out of his arm. My point is...all it took was a simple little move with simple little objects and a simple little DDT onto simple little concrete to turn his world...upside down."
*Matt pauses, gazing to the side of him, to the first row of fans.*
"That's why I'm still here. That's why I sit in this ring. That's why I've gone through arenas -big and small- UMPTEEN Pay-per-views, a handful of archaic structures, cut people open from Seattle, to Japan, to Toronto, to a little gym in South California. And that's why my name...my legacy...sticks with you all. It's because not only can I say it, I can do it. YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME? You FIND Nebula now...you go get him...try to talk to him with a tube down his throat and pad upon electrical monitoring pad stuck on his skull...and see if he can give any of you a damned autograph. What I say...EVPW...is truth. That separates me from everyone else, and like it or not, either I've done it before or I can do it better...and trust me, CONFIDE IN ME...that that will never change. And you all know I'm right."
Oliveira tosses the microphone back to Lizzie and remains seated in the corner, the official giving one of the trash can lids a slight kick. Matt raises his arm and brings it to quickly wipe the bottom of his nose, fingers stroking around his goatee until his arm comes to lay in his lap.
(Did it to make it official.)
