Post by Cormack MacNeill on May 1, 2020 19:38:57 GMT -5
Somewhere in the Pacific
The tropical sun leaned with great force on each and every thing it touched. The sandy beaches, the green palms, even the bright blue-green ocean. The The limp body being dragged in and out with the tide was no different. Reddish tinges had begun to appear across the broad back of the figure, denoting the time spent in this glaring midday heat.
What clothing he had been wearing was shorn away by the inorexable force of waves and the tides. Small bite marks covered his body, as if this was a meal that no small shoreline creature could resist. The pale body stood out against the cornucopia of colours that dotted the landscape.
With a groan, the body began to stir. Coughing followed, gout after gout of seawater bolting out of his mouth. He struggled to his hands and knees and retched up more of the salty brine, drops of it clinging to the seaweed in his thick beard. With an agonized groan, his eyes darted across the beach.
The white sand and green palm trees told him he was still in the Pacific, but there was not much more to see. Nothing but endless sand and a thick treeline . With a grunt the big man found his feet and began to stagger into the trees.
Where in the fuck am I?
Halifax, Nova Scotia
A key slid into what appeared to be a rusty lock, some force being needed to turn the mechanism. With a tortured groan the door swung open slowly.
What appeared before our eyes was a dusty space, cavernous and bleak. Clearly no one had set foot on this floor in quite some time. With a slow, measured step Cormack MacNeill entered the open expanse. He surveyed the remains of what was once his home with some measure of reverence mixed with nostalgia.
His life had begun here again, his hopes and dreams renewed. His wrestling career also had started here, started with the insistance of his trainer, father, and friend. Jimmy McBarran had been a hell of a boxing trainer and a hell of a role model for young Cormack.
With a deep sigh, he placed his battered gymbag on the floor and headed towards the office.
He paused at the doorway and fumbled to his left along the wall. With a flick of his wrist, he caused there to be light where there had been none before.
A modern day magician of sorts.
MacNeill took a seat at the battered of desk and fired up the equally battered old computer squatting there. For a moment two hulking behemoths squared off in a battle of wills. A open hand to the side of the tower ended that battle quickly.
Not only had they keep the place for him, they apparently had kept paying the bills he tought as the computer hooked up to the interwebs.
MacNeill's sausage like fingers battered away at the keyboard as he googled AW. Time to get a look at his competition.
Lissie Hope - By all accounts a dynamo in the mold of Bonnie Blue and the other great women who came before her. Cormack had met a few such women in his brief time in the business. Never underestimate a woman like that. Last time he did, he got hung.
Crow McMorris - In another lifetime for both men, MacNeill had squared off against him. He was nothing short of stubborn, talented and headstrong. A chip off the old block. But that may be his weakness too. A man with everythig to prove has everything to lose. His reputation and his accomplishments feed his ever burgeoning ego. Not easy to defeat, but easy to catch by surprise.
Jay Omega - Another man he had known a lifetime ago. Even called a friend. But Omega couldn't be counted on to be the same man he used to be. After all, MacNeill wasn't. And wasn't that the point? Be a better person. Be better than you were. One to warch out for.
Bad Ass Bob - You have to admire the dedication to a character that he posses. A certain mytique. An enigma. Cormack wanted to see what he was made of. What made him tick. What made him "Bad Ass". Havoc will show all.
The rest of the roster fades from sight as he closes the browser.
Enough about them, MacNeill thinks. It's time to dust off this equipment and get some last minute reps in.
With that he leaves the office and strides into the cavernous room. With another feat of modern magic, the dusty area is now lit.
Still dusty, just bright and dusty.
if it was any more Dusty it would likely book itself a belt.
The lights reveal a worn boxing ring, and seveal pieces of weight room equiopment strewn about. MacNeill makes a mental note.
Next time ask them to clean once in a while.
With a practiced movement, he rolls under the bottom rope and into the ring.
The scene fades with the big man running the ropes. warming up.
The tropical sun leaned with great force on each and every thing it touched. The sandy beaches, the green palms, even the bright blue-green ocean. The The limp body being dragged in and out with the tide was no different. Reddish tinges had begun to appear across the broad back of the figure, denoting the time spent in this glaring midday heat.
What clothing he had been wearing was shorn away by the inorexable force of waves and the tides. Small bite marks covered his body, as if this was a meal that no small shoreline creature could resist. The pale body stood out against the cornucopia of colours that dotted the landscape.
With a groan, the body began to stir. Coughing followed, gout after gout of seawater bolting out of his mouth. He struggled to his hands and knees and retched up more of the salty brine, drops of it clinging to the seaweed in his thick beard. With an agonized groan, his eyes darted across the beach.
The white sand and green palm trees told him he was still in the Pacific, but there was not much more to see. Nothing but endless sand and a thick treeline . With a grunt the big man found his feet and began to stagger into the trees.
Where in the fuck am I?
Halifax, Nova Scotia
A key slid into what appeared to be a rusty lock, some force being needed to turn the mechanism. With a tortured groan the door swung open slowly.
What appeared before our eyes was a dusty space, cavernous and bleak. Clearly no one had set foot on this floor in quite some time. With a slow, measured step Cormack MacNeill entered the open expanse. He surveyed the remains of what was once his home with some measure of reverence mixed with nostalgia.
His life had begun here again, his hopes and dreams renewed. His wrestling career also had started here, started with the insistance of his trainer, father, and friend. Jimmy McBarran had been a hell of a boxing trainer and a hell of a role model for young Cormack.
With a deep sigh, he placed his battered gymbag on the floor and headed towards the office.
He paused at the doorway and fumbled to his left along the wall. With a flick of his wrist, he caused there to be light where there had been none before.
A modern day magician of sorts.
MacNeill took a seat at the battered of desk and fired up the equally battered old computer squatting there. For a moment two hulking behemoths squared off in a battle of wills. A open hand to the side of the tower ended that battle quickly.
Not only had they keep the place for him, they apparently had kept paying the bills he tought as the computer hooked up to the interwebs.
MacNeill's sausage like fingers battered away at the keyboard as he googled AW. Time to get a look at his competition.
Lissie Hope - By all accounts a dynamo in the mold of Bonnie Blue and the other great women who came before her. Cormack had met a few such women in his brief time in the business. Never underestimate a woman like that. Last time he did, he got hung.
Crow McMorris - In another lifetime for both men, MacNeill had squared off against him. He was nothing short of stubborn, talented and headstrong. A chip off the old block. But that may be his weakness too. A man with everythig to prove has everything to lose. His reputation and his accomplishments feed his ever burgeoning ego. Not easy to defeat, but easy to catch by surprise.
Jay Omega - Another man he had known a lifetime ago. Even called a friend. But Omega couldn't be counted on to be the same man he used to be. After all, MacNeill wasn't. And wasn't that the point? Be a better person. Be better than you were. One to warch out for.
Bad Ass Bob - You have to admire the dedication to a character that he posses. A certain mytique. An enigma. Cormack wanted to see what he was made of. What made him tick. What made him "Bad Ass". Havoc will show all.
The rest of the roster fades from sight as he closes the browser.
Enough about them, MacNeill thinks. It's time to dust off this equipment and get some last minute reps in.
With that he leaves the office and strides into the cavernous room. With another feat of modern magic, the dusty area is now lit.
Still dusty, just bright and dusty.
if it was any more Dusty it would likely book itself a belt.
The lights reveal a worn boxing ring, and seveal pieces of weight room equiopment strewn about. MacNeill makes a mental note.
Next time ask them to clean once in a while.
With a practiced movement, he rolls under the bottom rope and into the ring.
The scene fades with the big man running the ropes. warming up.