Hell on a Cell: Walker vs Hawk

[TPK/Acid]

The PPV opens up with a shot of a imposing steel structure surrounding the ring, and part of the ringside area. Part of the audience is still crowding into the small gymnasium when Midnight Rider by The Alman Brothers Band hits. the fans hear this and jeer knowing that music usually means Mo Hawk is coming. Much as the crowd had predicted Mo Hawk and Mulligan both push past the ratty curtain draped over the top of the entrance ramp.

LM: The following is a Hell on a Cell match, and is for the EVPW Television Title. The first man to throw his opponent off of the Cell will be declared the victor. Introducing first, from Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Being accompanied to the ring by Mulligan, he is Mo...HAWK!

Mo and Mulligan slowly ascend the entrance ramp, each man trash talking the fans to their sides. The two rough and tumble bikers reach the bottom of the ramp and Mulligan heads right for the announce table, whilst Mo Hawk walks up to the cage and begins to grab at it to test it's durability. Mo starts to scale the side of the structure but gets an evil grin, opting to instead wait right where he is, using the cell as a backrest. Meanwhile Mulligan reaches the announce table and raises an eyebrow at Ray and Jimmy.

JP: Welcome ladies and gentlemen to EVPW's Equinox. We have one hell of a show lined up, and we kick the night off with a doozey, it's somewhat of a rematch from last week as we see Mo Hawk going one on one with Thomas Walker. This time though...it's for the EVPW Television Title. And it'd appear we are going to be joined tonight by Mulligan.

Ray: I love it! At least for this match we'll have some...

Mulligan slowly shakes his head at the flamboyant Ray White, he then grabs him by his trademark purple suit jacket and pulls him to his feet, Mulligan roughly rips his headset off, puts it on his own head, and points to the top of the intro ramp.

Mulligan: Oy, make like a tree ahn get the fuck out of here...ya poof! *Ray leaves, and Mulligan quickly takes his place. He then looks over at JP* Ya got a problem John Wayne?

JP: Well, n...

Mulligan: Aye, good. Now clam up and watch Thomas Walker get handed another loss by Mo Hawk.

TBC

[Roadkill]

Like clockwork, ritualistically, Thomas lets the opening riff of his ominous call to the ring resonate in the fans ears before he, his brother and the Roadkill manager Eric Steele strut side by side through the weathered tarpolin to the stage. Standing in a row approximately a foot apart they each raise one arm, ammassing a mixed response from the fans sickened by Mulligan and Hawk yet strongly opposed to the Alabama bred team.

~~Jimmy Pate~~
"As you pointed out Mulligan, Thomas and James suffered a loss to you and your fellow street rats member Mo Hawk last week, how do you think that'll be playing on their mind?"

~~Mulligan~~
"If they're smert they thoughts'll be as far gone as my first shite. Though I'm no sure if I'd gie them that much credit."

Bottle necking down the ramp James leads the group into the waiting arms of the baying Mo Hawk, stopping only a foot or so from the spike haired brawler who shows a surprising amount of restraint even as Eric tries to fake him out. He does little more than snarl at the comparatively small manager as the real target of his aggression is yet to reach him.

~~Lizzie Morna~~
"Making his way to the ring, accompanied by James Walker & Eric Steele and weighing in tonight at 227 pounds...Hailing from Huntsville Alabama...THOMAS WALKER!"

Thomas stops eye to eye with the man who handed him his first professional loss since stepping up to the mainstream plate. EVPW may have lost its funding but the furiously active fanbase that elevate it above most companies regardless of production quality remains and it cannot be happy at seeing one of their titles becoming a symbol of hate regardless of which of these two pick up the win. Meanwhile at the announce table, Eric is squeezing himself awkwardly into a third seat between Jimmy and Mulligan, smilining at the two before leaning over and commenting into Pates microphone.

~~Eric Steele~~
"Run along timmy, the grown ups need to talk."

Not offering a response JP takes one look at the hulking Walker lurching over him and decides its in his best interest to also leave the announcing for this one to the team mascots. Seemingly wanting to run the entire show for themselves, Eric and Mulligan throw light insults each others way just low enough for the microphones to miss it while James takes residence in the timekeepers seat.

*Ding! Ding! Ding!*

~~Eric Steele~~
"Here we go, time for Thomas to set the record straight and prove definitively that the biker mice win last week was a fluke."

~~Mulligan~~
"What did you caw us!? Look son, that was nae fluke. You were right there, you saw it wi' yer ain two eyes, we beat that pair a' dobbers til they couldnae stand to fight anymore than we pinned them. Simple as that!"

~~Eric Steele~~
"Whatever you say, maybe you'll see the light when Thomas throws Mo from the cell."

~~Mulligan~~
"Never going to happen!"

To Be Continued

[TPK/Acid]

Mo pushes away from the cell and he and Thomas Walker but heads gently. The two rivals begin hurling insults at one another and pushing against one another. Tommy and Mocephus push away from one another, both now sporting small red spots on their foreheads from the contact. The crowd is at a small lull at this point, as nothing of great interest is seemingly happening. Thomas is quick to get back into action, he lowers his shoulder and drives Mo Hawk back first into the cell shaking it slightly.

Eric:Oh, stiff shot from Thomas. That's got to hurt, work the body my son, work the body...This remind you of anything Mully"


Mulligan:*pulls out a Stanley Knife sellotaped to another Stanley Knife*Aye ye mouthy wee gobshite, reminds me of what Ah like to do with mah double Stanley.

Eric: Yeah, well. I CALL DIBS ON TURKEY CARVINGS!

Mulligan: Ah'll carve you if you don't zip it pronto, ya baw gobbling dick jockey!

The younger Walker Brother backs away from the cage, he goes for another shoulder barge but Mo quickly pops to the side and throws Thomas face first into the cell. The pick up in action brings the fans to life, the reactions get louder as they are now getting into the contest. Thomas recoils from the shot and spins away from the cage and staggers towards the top of the entrance ramp. Mo sees this as his chance to scale the cell, he doesn't get very far before Thomas starts up right next to him, the two men exchange a couple of weak side kicks. Thomas lands a shot that makes Mo lose his balance just long enough for Thomas to leg sweep him off of the cage. The crowd sees them falling for the railing and they shoot back, not wanting to be landed on. Four hundred and sixty seven pounds land on the guard rail and easily knock it over getting a huge pop from the crowd. While not a drop from the top of the cell, the fall was still enough to keep both men down for the time.

Eric: I'll tell you Mully, Thomas' boots are made for walkin and I'm told thats just what they intend to do...ALL OVER MO HAWK!

Mulligan: Aye, speaking of walking. Ah saw yer maw walking the street last night.

Eric: That's funny Mulligan, you spend alot of nights trawling the streets looking for a cheap tussle? I was FAR too busy tucked up in bed with YOUR mother to be concerned about my own.

Mulligan: Aye, ah'm always lookin' for a good shag...actually ah'm quite glad this is the first match. Ah'm wanting to get mah ass after this, and as far as MAH maw goes. Go on, fuck the bitch...she done fucked me over at birth good riddance!

Walker and Hawkster begin to roll and wriggle around, Thomas having not taken as much damage from the fall, is the first to his feet. Thomas bends down and hurls a few stinging insults at Mo before slapping him insultingly in the side of the head. Mo stirs and tries to get up, he is helped by Thomas and the two men instantly begin to exchange blows once more. Thomas Walker, of the Alabama Walkers, drags Mo away from the fallen railing. The guards quickly put the rail back in place, although from the way it bent it isn't exactly standing very firmly. Mo comes back to his senses and jabs a stiff elbow into Tommy Boy's ribcage loosening his grip long enough for The Biker Messiah to get away. Mo then reverts back to his street experience and throws a balled up fist into the cheek of Walker. Thomas' head snaps back, however when he recovers he throws a kick into The Black Hills Bad Boy's gut. Mo, now in a bent state, gets his head pulled into Walkers' arm, Thomas spins and backs into the cage smashing the face of Mo Hawk into the cell. Thomas keeps the move locked in and slowly slides sideways along the cell dragging Mo Hawk's face across the cell as he advances. The KotDM runs out of cell and releases his grip of Mohawk's neck dropping him to a kneel. Mo, feeling like he just got grated like some cheese, pulls himself up and uses his peripheral vision to locate Tommy. Walker, being cocky as ever, thinks he has the match won before it's even begun and goes after Hawk once again. Mo sees the incoming threat and snaps back with a stinging elbow to Thomas' money maker. Hawk follows the elbow to the kisser up by cinching The Alabama Man up into suplex position. Mo takes a step back, falls backwards, and slams the back of Thomas Walker into the cell. The reinforced steel mesh shakes like hell but doesn't buckle, the fans are now fully into the match, though still unsure who they would rather see come out on top.

Mulligan: Oy, would ya look at that nae? Slammed, just like yer maw in a dark alley. That must bring back some memories eh Eric?

Eric: Yeah, yeah. Mo hits one good move and you act like he's got the match won. Just remember, he's still got to get Thomas UP the cell and then throw him OFF of it. Oh and...your mom and all that junk.

Mulligan: Aye, ah know how the match works ye cunt. And if ye try to say anything differently, ah'll stick my foot that far up yer ass you'll be burpin boot leather for a year.

Eric: Yeah, well speaking of work. Be sure to catch The Walker Bros. on Wrestle Radio.

Mulligan: Aye, at's right be sure to catch Desert Island Dicks.

The Sioux Falls born Mo Hawk sits up and looks down at his side at Thomas Walker, Walker is crumbled up in an awkward position against the fence and groaning lightly. Hawk gets to his feet and shoves Walker away from the cage, he then goes to pull Thomas up but Thomas drops to his knees and tucks his head under Mo Hawk's chin as soon as he is up knocking him for a loop and dropping him at the foot of the entrance ramp. Thomas then puts some distance between himself and Mo, and starts towards the announce area. Mulligan perks up "Ah think ah need mah pen...yeah found it" Mulligan pulls out a *Stanley Pen* and hurls it at Thomas narrowly missing him and causing him to hastily head back in Mo Hawks direction. The Younger Walker Brother, a bit upset at Mulligan's attempted chibing, rushes at Mo Hawk and slams a foot into his thigh rolling him a little further up the ramp.

TBC By Roadkill

[Roadkill]

From his vulnerable position Mo can do little but watch on as Thomas delivers a further two short legged stamps directed around his waist, forcing him close to the central point of the ramp. A quick series of right hands has Hawk sufficiently sedated in this position for Tommy to quickly scale the guard railing to his left and taunt the crowd, passing some infflammatory remark in regards to the competition offered infront of him before dropping from his elevated base into a seat position--the alabama kings thigh crushing his adversaries throat under all 225 pounds of championship material. Perhaps aggravated by the steel grate under his body Mo's first instinct the moments Tommys leg is lifted from his neck is to roll onto a knelt levvy and clamber in reverse to the foot of the ramp. Despite the black hills bad boys best wishes to keep the fight outside Walker takes him by the well styled hair furnishing his head and leads him to the cell door. Finding it a little more stiff than he had anticipated TW is unbalanced momentarily by the jut caused as the panel snaps open. Not detered in the slightest the roadkiller continues on his current path and rolls the other potential tv champion inside the bounds of the ring, collecting a chair before entering the confined himself.

~~Mulligan~~
"Luk et rambo, I wonder how he'd fair on the street when chairs n' pins arnae jus' layin around. Give me ten seconds in a bare fist fight with that whalloper and we'd see jus' how hard he is."

~~Eric Steele~~
"Yes, quite, I'm sure we'd all be more than willing to believe you were 'hard' if you didn't have things like th--"

Erics restless hands are slapped from range of Mulligans Double Stanley combination.

~~Mulligan~~
"Don't even think aboot it bawbag!"

Foregoing his usual smashmouth style Thomas doesn't immediately fly at Mo with the chair, instead he's more coy, more devious. Jamming it between the middle and top buckle pads in the far left corner of the ring causes a satisfied smile to briefly cross Walkers face before he sets in motion the wheels of destruction. Elevating Hawk to a vertical stance the KotDM doubles the Street Rats member forward and guides him at a jog across the ring, the apex of his dome on a collision course with the steel seat of the ring were it not for the grip on his bike treds giving him a base to dig his heels in under himself pop his hips to shift his body weight to one side and out from the grips of his aggressor. As quickly as he freed himself Mo hooked Tommy in a fashion reminiscant of the roadkillers with one hand gripping the alabama natives waist band while the other keeps his head pressed downward for maximum impact with the steel panel as his skull breaks through the weapon he put in place. Collapsing back from the remnants of what was once a fit for purpose chair Tommy's eyes seem to cross before the lids seal out the horrorous turn of events from his vision, not allowing him the pleasure of Hawks gleaming face as it revels in the anguish caused by his hand.

Lurching over the KotDM Mo's relaxed pace in no way reflects the flash of 1000 thoughts running through his mind at once, most importantly how he's going to humph the two hundred plus pound wrestler to the cells top. As quickly as the question is posed the answer is clear to his minds eye: Mulligan. Summoning his Street Rats partner from the broadcasting position he meets the scotsman by the cells entrance with Tommy in tow, oblivious to the arrangements being made concerning his fate he is in no position to help his cause even as ol' Mully takes control of his physical shell while Hawk scales the exterior of the cage and rests on its roof panelling. Finally coming into play Mulligan positions himself behind the younger Walker brother presses his head forth between the technicians legs, pressing upwards to raise the potential champion from the floor on his shoulders. The precarious mount in which he finds himself rouses the champion though again, before he can mount anything more than a reconnaissance effort the black hills bad boy hooks his hair and lugs him from the scotsmans shoulders to the cell roof. Knowing as much as the slightest involuntary muscular spasm could cause him to suffer a nasty fifteen foot fall Thomas stays as still as possible while Mo drags him to the center of the cage roof. Mulligan rejoins Eric at ringside to a tirade of abuse from both Roadkill members, as little as he cares about the message its volume does serve to aggravate him.

~~Eric Steele~~
"What the hell do you think you're playing at!?"

~~Mulligan~~
"Just giving a bit of assistance to my fellow Street Rat, perfectly legal you know. Besides, I didn't see you or creepy breaks o'er there so much as trying to stop me."

~~Eric Steele~~
"Just watch yourself BOY."

~~Mulligan~~
"Don't ever call me boy again needledick, I'll do whatever the hell I please. Anyone has a problem with that they can see me after the show."

Climbing to a vertical base in unison Tommys illusive possum-like veil drops as quick as he can push the index finger of his right hand into Mo's left eye, immediately stressing the sclera to blur the street rats vision. Staggered by the underhanded move Hawk fails to see Walker advance on his position at pace and slam his bicep into the smaller mans throat, the shredding of his flesh as impactful as the shot to his windpipe. Luckily for both competitors a string of enforcery metallic beams were added to what would normally constitute the cell so that, whilst the mesh may dent under heavy impact, the floor won't give way under either stars weight. Holding his lower back in agony Mo rolls to his side and starts to climb to his feet only to have his jaw introduced to Walkers size 11 wrestling boot, dropping him to the ground again and forcing him back ever closer to the cages edge. Another stiff face shot from the KotDM has Hawk teetering precariously over the steel edge of the cage, only a stones throw away from having the debt felt owed to him for the loss he handed the Walkers last week repayed in full. Stamping his feet Thomas tries to psyche the ever unenthused crowd for the end he sees in sight. Backing up a little and getting his adversaries dome in focus Tommy barely gets out of the stocks before Hawk hatches a cunning plan of self preservation.

Draping his legs off the cage Hawkhangs from the main support beam of the cells side by one hand while scrapping with the other a few feet below to find a good secondary finger hole. Securing that hand he lets the rest of his body drape from it for a second before dropping the remaining seven or so feet to the concrete floor below. Finding himself a decent distance from the threat at hand Mo heads to the foot of the entrance ramp to fight off the effects of the match so far whilst waiting on Tommy to join him down there. Obliging Hawks wish Walker starts to climb down the cell wall towards the baying Street Rat circling below him, waiting for him to hit solid land so he can immediately immerse himself back in the action. Getting a quarter or so of the way down Tommy turns to face Mohawk, his heels balancing on the edges of two seperate cell squares while his arms hyper extend behind himself and finger lock another two. Figuring there is no way for TW to go but down Mo Hawk lets himself fall pray to the demon of over confidence and offers no defensive guard to the KotDM allowing Mrs.Walkers baby boy to leap from the chain link wall, land seated on the challengers shoulders and allow his weight to do the rest as his body carries onwards turning 135 degrees before heading downward to the ramp while his legs remain firmly around the neck of his opponent to ragdoll the young man head over heels in a picture perfect hurricanrana. The crowd explode from their seats in an eruption of unbridled emotion, appreciating the wrestling on display if nothing else.

~~Eric Steele~~
"That my friend is why he'll make a great television champion!"

To Be Continued/End Of Thread
Notes: Thanks for understanding about the delay man.