Post by Taylor Geisler on Apr 9, 2023 22:57:41 GMT -5
Character Name: Taylor Geisler.
Nickname: None, as of yet.
Hometown: Oil City, Pennsylvania.
Height: 5’7”.
Weight: 181 lbs.
Alignment: Heel.
In-Ring Style: Bowling-shoe ugly smash mouth - Think Cujo going after Donna Trenton after he goes rabid, but with less biting and more beating the poor woman to a pulp.
Bio: There was a time that Oil City, Pennsylvania meant something.
It was thriving and alive, with business clamoring to get a piece of the action--and it was all because of Pennzoil. Having a million-dollar company in a small city is a surefire way to ensure that no one goes without, of having a good school and a good hospital and, above all else, stability. That stability served Taylor pretty well for the first five years or so of her life with her mom not having to work and her dad only being home on the weekends, but being able to provide for his family so that they wanted for nothing. Yes, having a big company pumping money into the local economy is a great way to ensure that grand American Dream.
It also means that when that cash cow is led to the slaughter of bankruptcy, it’s not the only thing that dies.
The domino effect of Pennzoil closing up shop hit some families first and, unfortunately for Taylor? Hers was one of the first to get crushed beneath the weight of it. Her father found work pretty quickly, but subpar workplace safety standards led to an injury that, in turn, led to painkillers, which in turn led to that middle class lifestyle peeling away like lead paint. Somewhere in there, her mother flaked off with some guy, going off to Lord only knew where when Taylor was thirteen. By the time Taylor was fifteen, her dad had lost the house and painkillers had given way to the hard shit… though he wasn’t alone in that.
By then, the domino chain had rolled its way through Oil City completely, rendering it a near ghost town.
Downtown was dead beyond some bars and a couple telemarketing joints, and the story of Taylor’s misfortune had played out in dozens and dozens of other homes, leaving plenty of room for urban blight to spread like the disease of addiction. Taylor herself gave up on school around the time her dad rode the white pony for the last time during her junior year, falling through the cracks of an overworked and underpaid CYS to survive as best as she knew how.
It wasn’t easy, living out of her dad’s old beat-up F-250 while working two fast food jobs, but eventually the hard-scramble life grew a little bit easier--easier enough for her to get a shitty studio apartment above Billy’s Bar and Wings. The wrestling bug bit her square in the ass one of the nights she snuck in, the violence on the screen awakening a desire to get into the ring and have that release, that means to vent everything ugly and black and dark within herself so that she could finally breathe again. The world loved a sad sack story, she knew, and she wasn’t afraid of hard work by any stretch of the imagination. And pain? Pain had nothing new to teach her.
Disillusionment, however… that was a different story.
When she started training at the age of twenty-one, Taylor knew getting taught to wrestle would cost money--that wasn’t a surprise, and she didn’t hold anything against the trainers for needing to keep the lights on. Maybe it was bad timing on her part, or maybe her experiences as a teenager had put blinders on her that obscured the others going through her plight from her vision. Seeing other trainees roll in with sneakers that cost more than her rent back in Oil City, looking all perfect and pretty and acting like they’d never known a day’s hard work in their life…
It stuck in her craw, and it stuck in deep.
How dare they have that head start, that path down Easy Street that made them think they were entitled to preferential treatment. How dare they flash their daddy’s credit cards to pick up extra lessons, pay their way ahead of the pack in what was supposed to be a merit-based system. It made her sick in a way that words couldn’t come remotely close to articulating, burrowing its way into the very marrow of her bones and taking root. So what if she couldn’t afford the fancy gym membership? She made do with what she could get her hands on… and the first time she got into the ring with one of those cheaters who cut in line?
Well, that unfortunate Daddy’s Little Princess had to find herself a new dream to buy her way into.
Every indignance, every unfair advantage only served to feed the slavering beast within Taylor’s soul… and as things further went to Hell back home, it only got stronger. By the time she was ready to be unleashed on professional wrestling at large, there was no question of her ability to succeed in the ring. Signing the dotted line with AW was the obvious move. Only one question remained at this point.
Would professional wrestling know what to do with an underdog that’s gone rabid?
Attire: Iit’s simple--black spandex sports bra, black spandex shorts, and black combat boots from the Army Surplus store.
Theme song: ‘...And Their Eulogies Sang Me To Sleep’ by The Agonist.
Pic Base: Jessicka Havok with dark hair.
Entrance: The low, growled-out vocalization of Alissa White-Gluz is the only warning that the audience gets before ‘...And Their Eulogies Sang Me To Sleep’ rips into the sound system with a vengeance. There is no pomp nor circumstance as Taylor Geisler stalks her way out from behind the curtain, lips pulled into a sneer and hands reflexively opening and closing as her gaze locks on the ring. Sensing Jordan’s hostility, the crowd is quick to rain boos down upon her as she makes her way to the ring, their hatred ignored. Geisler slides beneath the bottom rope and ascends to her feet, stalking her way over to her corner before turning around, hands taking hold of the ropes as she leans forward. A subconscious lick of her lips is hungrily done as her music fades.
Favorite moves (at least 15 moves):
- Jabs.
- Hook punches.
- ...punches in general.
- Toe kicks to the abdomen - she’ll fire them off repeatedly, doggedly continuing to kick until the referee intervenes most of the time.
- Headbutts
- Elbow strikes
- Basically, if she can lash out and smash her opponent in any imaginable way… she’ll do it. If she gets’em in the throat sometimes, then that’s gravy.
- Abdominal Stretch with kidney punches
- Front facelock with knees to the ribs
- Inverted face lock with repeated knees to the back
- Ankle lock with punches to the side of the knee
- Suplexes - not that Taylor will know if they’re Germans or Exploders, but it’s the closest name to how she’ll just snag someone and throw them around like a rag doll.
- Slams - see above.
- She’ll throw people out of the ring however she can with the intent of trying to lawn dart them into the audience. Or maybe the announce booth. Or, y’know… anywhere that the ending will absolutely suck.
Signature move(s):
- Oil City Initiation (Violence Party)
- Equalizer (Stiff headbutt to the chest of opponents taller than Taylor--used specifically to get them down to where she can lock in her finisher.)
- Mudshovel (Stomping down on her opponent’s foot, she keeps her foot there to trap her opponent while she smashes her elbow into their temple over and over again. In particularly heated moments, she’ll cap it off with a headbutt to knock them to the mat.)
Finisher(s):
- Venan-Gone (Trapping her opponent’s arms/shoulders if they’re particularly tall, Taylor headbutts them in the face over and over and over again until they either submit and the ref forces her to let go… or they’re knocked out cold, and the ref forces her to let go.)
Manager (optional): Not applicable.
Nickname: None, as of yet.
Hometown: Oil City, Pennsylvania.
Height: 5’7”.
Weight: 181 lbs.
Alignment: Heel.
In-Ring Style: Bowling-shoe ugly smash mouth - Think Cujo going after Donna Trenton after he goes rabid, but with less biting and more beating the poor woman to a pulp.
Bio: There was a time that Oil City, Pennsylvania meant something.
It was thriving and alive, with business clamoring to get a piece of the action--and it was all because of Pennzoil. Having a million-dollar company in a small city is a surefire way to ensure that no one goes without, of having a good school and a good hospital and, above all else, stability. That stability served Taylor pretty well for the first five years or so of her life with her mom not having to work and her dad only being home on the weekends, but being able to provide for his family so that they wanted for nothing. Yes, having a big company pumping money into the local economy is a great way to ensure that grand American Dream.
It also means that when that cash cow is led to the slaughter of bankruptcy, it’s not the only thing that dies.
The domino effect of Pennzoil closing up shop hit some families first and, unfortunately for Taylor? Hers was one of the first to get crushed beneath the weight of it. Her father found work pretty quickly, but subpar workplace safety standards led to an injury that, in turn, led to painkillers, which in turn led to that middle class lifestyle peeling away like lead paint. Somewhere in there, her mother flaked off with some guy, going off to Lord only knew where when Taylor was thirteen. By the time Taylor was fifteen, her dad had lost the house and painkillers had given way to the hard shit… though he wasn’t alone in that.
By then, the domino chain had rolled its way through Oil City completely, rendering it a near ghost town.
Downtown was dead beyond some bars and a couple telemarketing joints, and the story of Taylor’s misfortune had played out in dozens and dozens of other homes, leaving plenty of room for urban blight to spread like the disease of addiction. Taylor herself gave up on school around the time her dad rode the white pony for the last time during her junior year, falling through the cracks of an overworked and underpaid CYS to survive as best as she knew how.
It wasn’t easy, living out of her dad’s old beat-up F-250 while working two fast food jobs, but eventually the hard-scramble life grew a little bit easier--easier enough for her to get a shitty studio apartment above Billy’s Bar and Wings. The wrestling bug bit her square in the ass one of the nights she snuck in, the violence on the screen awakening a desire to get into the ring and have that release, that means to vent everything ugly and black and dark within herself so that she could finally breathe again. The world loved a sad sack story, she knew, and she wasn’t afraid of hard work by any stretch of the imagination. And pain? Pain had nothing new to teach her.
Disillusionment, however… that was a different story.
When she started training at the age of twenty-one, Taylor knew getting taught to wrestle would cost money--that wasn’t a surprise, and she didn’t hold anything against the trainers for needing to keep the lights on. Maybe it was bad timing on her part, or maybe her experiences as a teenager had put blinders on her that obscured the others going through her plight from her vision. Seeing other trainees roll in with sneakers that cost more than her rent back in Oil City, looking all perfect and pretty and acting like they’d never known a day’s hard work in their life…
It stuck in her craw, and it stuck in deep.
How dare they have that head start, that path down Easy Street that made them think they were entitled to preferential treatment. How dare they flash their daddy’s credit cards to pick up extra lessons, pay their way ahead of the pack in what was supposed to be a merit-based system. It made her sick in a way that words couldn’t come remotely close to articulating, burrowing its way into the very marrow of her bones and taking root. So what if she couldn’t afford the fancy gym membership? She made do with what she could get her hands on… and the first time she got into the ring with one of those cheaters who cut in line?
Well, that unfortunate Daddy’s Little Princess had to find herself a new dream to buy her way into.
Every indignance, every unfair advantage only served to feed the slavering beast within Taylor’s soul… and as things further went to Hell back home, it only got stronger. By the time she was ready to be unleashed on professional wrestling at large, there was no question of her ability to succeed in the ring. Signing the dotted line with AW was the obvious move. Only one question remained at this point.
Would professional wrestling know what to do with an underdog that’s gone rabid?
Attire: Iit’s simple--black spandex sports bra, black spandex shorts, and black combat boots from the Army Surplus store.
Theme song: ‘...And Their Eulogies Sang Me To Sleep’ by The Agonist.
Pic Base: Jessicka Havok with dark hair.
Entrance: The low, growled-out vocalization of Alissa White-Gluz is the only warning that the audience gets before ‘...And Their Eulogies Sang Me To Sleep’ rips into the sound system with a vengeance. There is no pomp nor circumstance as Taylor Geisler stalks her way out from behind the curtain, lips pulled into a sneer and hands reflexively opening and closing as her gaze locks on the ring. Sensing Jordan’s hostility, the crowd is quick to rain boos down upon her as she makes her way to the ring, their hatred ignored. Geisler slides beneath the bottom rope and ascends to her feet, stalking her way over to her corner before turning around, hands taking hold of the ropes as she leans forward. A subconscious lick of her lips is hungrily done as her music fades.
Favorite moves (at least 15 moves):
- Jabs.
- Hook punches.
- ...punches in general.
- Toe kicks to the abdomen - she’ll fire them off repeatedly, doggedly continuing to kick until the referee intervenes most of the time.
- Headbutts
- Elbow strikes
- Basically, if she can lash out and smash her opponent in any imaginable way… she’ll do it. If she gets’em in the throat sometimes, then that’s gravy.
- Abdominal Stretch with kidney punches
- Front facelock with knees to the ribs
- Inverted face lock with repeated knees to the back
- Ankle lock with punches to the side of the knee
- Suplexes - not that Taylor will know if they’re Germans or Exploders, but it’s the closest name to how she’ll just snag someone and throw them around like a rag doll.
- Slams - see above.
- She’ll throw people out of the ring however she can with the intent of trying to lawn dart them into the audience. Or maybe the announce booth. Or, y’know… anywhere that the ending will absolutely suck.
Signature move(s):
- Oil City Initiation (Violence Party)
- Equalizer (Stiff headbutt to the chest of opponents taller than Taylor--used specifically to get them down to where she can lock in her finisher.)
- Mudshovel (Stomping down on her opponent’s foot, she keeps her foot there to trap her opponent while she smashes her elbow into their temple over and over again. In particularly heated moments, she’ll cap it off with a headbutt to knock them to the mat.)
Finisher(s):
- Venan-Gone (Trapping her opponent’s arms/shoulders if they’re particularly tall, Taylor headbutts them in the face over and over and over again until they either submit and the ref forces her to let go… or they’re knocked out cold, and the ref forces her to let go.)
Manager (optional): Not applicable.