|
Post by Laura Phoenix - HBIC on Apr 12, 2021 21:24:02 GMT -5
PWS: APEX Presents Riot Tuesday, April 20, 2021 PWS Arena New York, NY
Main Event Malachi vs. Mike Hawk
RPs Due Sunday 4/18/21 by 11:59pm EST 300 Minimum, 5000 maximum
|
|
|
Post by Mike Hawk on Apr 18, 2021 17:16:58 GMT -5
*The camera cuts to a shot of a building in Ireland. Specifically, a small little tavern with a sign out front that sayas "O'Malley's pub". As the camera cute inside, we can see a group of rowdy Irishmen are having a pleasant, rowdy time drinking. The bartender is pouring drinks left and right, the quaint little place has a wooden floor, and a wooden bar to match. Tables and chairs made of a different kind of wood, and there are decorations around the place that truly make it look like an old fashioned Irish pub, complete with a keg of Guinness as the bartender's centerpiece. As the party rises to a crescendo, it's suddenly upended by the arrival of Mike Hawk, who literally kicks the door in. Hawk is dressed in a green sequin jacket, with pants to match, and a black shirt underneath with green text reading "Fuck Me, I'm Irish". He's got on green-rimmed clover-shaped sunglasses, and in one hand has a green beer and in the other a shamrock shake from McDonald's. He gets some looks from the rowdy crowd, who immediately stop what they're doing and stare over at him.*
Mike: WOOO! Hell yeah! Are you guys ready for Saint Paddy's Day!?
*There's a noticeable awkward pause as Hawk just stands there.*
Bar Patron: You do realize St. Patrick's Day was a month ago, yeah?
Mike: ...FUCK!
*He quickly sits down, grumbling about how he "couldn't get plane tickets until now" and "stupid judge" and "green sequin jackets aren't cheap".*
Bar Patron: Aye, ya daft cunt, what the fuck are ya on about? Ya fuckin' idiot, what the hell kind of moronic asshole would just walk in here and...
*As he's speaking, Hawk slowly stands up from his chair, picking up said chair and walking slowly over to him.*
Bar Patron: ...And if you came in here, with that fuckin' green beer, and those gawdy glasses, and you-
*Mike breaks the chair over the man's head, causing him to stop, then delayed-reaction fall face-first through the table in front of him. Hawk throws the rest of the chair away behind him.*
Another Patron: Ow! Me eye! I ain't s'posed to get chairs in it!
Mike: Anyone else?
*He waits, everyone just staring at him.*
Mike: Great! So, let's talk about my opponent, Malarky. Listen, Melanin. You're known for your "bad temper". Well, so are cats, that doesn't make you special. Ooh, you share a personality with the asshole of the animal kingdom. How quaint.
*Someone else runs at Mike. Mike kicks him in the face. He gets back up and runs at him, Mike bending down and 'alley-oop'ing him over his head and onto the wooden floor below.*
Mike: And why are you like this? Oh, because your father died. Congratulations, you're one half of Batman. Actually, that's not fair. Even half of Batman would have a more diverse moveset than you. Oh, you can hit a vertical suplex? Hmm, you sound like EVERY WRESTLER.
*Mike smirks, looking down at the two bodies of the people he's attacked. Another guy comes at him, but Mike quickly grabs a mug from the bar counter and smashes it over the guy's head. It shatters, and the man falls to the ground, bleeding from the face.*
Mike: And, really? You've got this "tragic backstory" that it sounds like a 15-year-old wrote when they upset because their parents took away their X-Box privileges? Like, what, your father died when you were 10 and you suddenly became dark and edgy, known for lashing out at other kids. And your brother left for Japan, and you felt he "abandoned you". Well guess what, Mel Gibson?
*Mike pulls out a megaphone, pointing it towards the camera and speaking loudly through it, causing everyone else in the bar to cover their ears.*
Mike: NOBODY CARES.
*Someone runs up to Mike, but he's too quick on the draw, smacking him with the megaphone, Jimmy Hart style. The man falls to the ground, and Mike hits him one extra time for good measure. He tosses it away, sending it clattering to the floor.*
Mike: But you know what, Melanoma? I feel bad for you. I really do. It must be hard, going through life with that face. You're a trooper, walking around in day-to-day life looking like that. Yuck. But, let's not focus on that. Last time the cameras tried to, they shattered.
*He chuckles at his own comment.*
Mike: Let's instead focus on your Irish heritage. See, coming from Ireland, you've got a huge advantage over the rest of us, Malory. Because you see, no other wrestlers would be able to get black-out drunk quite as quickly or completely as you. And no other person in this or any profession could wear as many gaudy green clothes as you, especially with that fucking face of yours, and still make it in their business!
*Another patron looks at him, confused and probably a little offended. He comes charging at Mike, who uses his momentum to hurl him through a window with an amusing shriek.*
Mike: So, listen. I know, Mullberry Bush Jr., son of Mullberry Bush Sr., is one of the most influential Irish wrestlers of all time, but that's like saying "one of the most deadly breeds of Arctic Rhinocerous". There are like... 3 of you, and that puts you in the top 4. You get what I'm saying, Maltesers?
*2 more bar patrons come at Hawk, who grabs both of them in headlocks, double suplexing them through 2 more tables. The first guy Hawk attacked twitches and Hawk picks up another chair, breaking it over his unconscious body.*
Mike: Stay down!
*He smirks towards the camera before walking over to one of the only remaining table/chair combos in the bar, which has on it the things he came in with, as he takes a seat. Looking back at the camera, he picks up the beer.*
Mike: Anyhow... if this green beer I made myself...
*He takes a sip.*
Mike: ...And this Shamrock Shake I bought off a homeless guy...
*He takes a sip of that too, visibly cringing.*
Mike: That's... not a milkshake.
*He slowly puts it down, taking the straw out and placing it on the table beside it.*
Mike: Anyhow... if those are any indication, I love the Irish traditions! But I don't think anybody loves you, Moleman. Your brother DID abandon the family, but it was only because he was sick and tired of you whining about how tragic and edgy you were, like an 11-year-old writing a Shadow the Hedgehog fanfiction. And your father died out of spite because you were an annoying little shit at 10 and he didn't want to have to deal with your nonsensical bullshit anymore.
*He shrugs.*
Mike: Or at least, that's what I assume happened.
*He gets up, walking towards the bar. The bartender ducks down, hoping Mike doesn't do anything to him.*
Mike: But who can say for sure, really? Maybe you drove your family away intentionally. Maybe you were always intended to be a lone wolf. Like Wolverine. Or Elmo. You know he's been carrying the Muppets for years!
*The bartender pokes his head out.*
Mike: But whatever the case. Just know...
*He grabs the bartender by the head.*
Bartender: No no no no no no no!
*Hawk delivers a FYIA through the bar, which breaks cleanly in 2. He steps over the bartender's body, through the chaos and destruction he's caused, and looks down the camera once again.*
Mike: ...You'll never, EVER, be as good as me.
*He picks up a glass and the rag the bartender was using the clean them out, starting to clean the glass. He looks down at the fallen bartender and shrugs.*
Mike: My bar now.
*He whistles 'Tura Lura Lura' as he calmly cleans out the mug, the camera zooming out on the multiple patrons on the ground, several of them bleeding, a couple of them occasionally giving off a twitch, with a glass, most of the wooden furniture of the bar, and an entire window, smashed into bits, as the camera slowly but surely fades to black.*
|
|