Wild Nights And Fist Fights, a vin gerard roleplay Options

[Prosthetic Head]

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WILD NIGHTS AND FIST FIGHTS
a vin gerard roleplay written by kyle

The anticipation in the Primetime Championship Wrestling arena would cut out with the threatening scream over the P.A. System. The fans knew the song could only belong to one man, and much to their chagrin, they were correct.

"LET'S GIVE THEM HELL!"

The profound melody of Blessthefall's "To Hell and Back" sirens throughout the arena as the thunderous chorus of the song attacks the fans. The massive screen above the stage ignites with the entrance video for the Weapon They Fear, Vin Gerard. The lights flicker simultaneously, and the stage is simply devoured by a fog, one that covers camera men and the curtain. Under the veil of the fog, Vin Gerard steps through, simply gushing ferocity and resent. Finally, he would have enough, and he would push through the fog, his expression lucid with vehemence. However, this all shifts into an expression of arrogance, as his face shifts into an imperious smirk. The cameras take a moment to examine his swagger, before they pull back to take a look at his entire attire. He wore jet-black, ripped tights over bright red tights. He, too, wore jet-black boots, with crimson laces. He wore not much else - only black wrist tape, black elbow pads, and a jet-black bandanna, which adorned his VG sigil. The camera phases out of examining his attire to catch his eyes panning the arena, searching high and low for a sign of intellect. Like usual, he would find none, and widen his stance at the top of the ramp. His eyes dart ahead, straight at the ring. The Human Abstract bows his head, his arms hanging clenched at his sides. The cameras would zoom, out, to envelop the entire stage in their sights. Out of nowhere, almost in sync with the chorus of heckling from the fanbase, Gerard straightens his head and sends his clenched fists up above his head, setting off a massive amount of pyrotechnics, varying in color (from red to blue and purple). Smirking cockily, he ambles down the ramp, a swagger in his very essence. He takes his sweet time making his way to the ring, even pausing every few seconds to speak his mind to fans. He peered out upon the crowd - before he reached the ringside - and spotted a couple of signs. One read "I'M HERE FOR ASHLEY MASSARO," whereas another read "JOE'S GONNA' KILL YA'," and another said "JERICHOHOLIC" Gerard's lip twitched in abhorrent disgust, before he would shake it off, and step into the ringside area. He would shoot a death glare to the ringside crew, before stepping up the unforgiving steel stairs on the left side, onto the apron. At the apron, he'd walk to the middle, where he'd look out upon the crowd, all the way to the cheap seats. He'd stand there for a moment. Gerard smirks menacingly as the fans throw their worst words at him. He would seem to be fueled by it, as he leans back against the ropes, his left hand scoping out the cheap seats again. If he had ANY fans, that's where they'd be. He snickers, and shakes his head in utter disgust. Next, he'd turn around, and slingshot over the top rope, landing with a soft thud, alerting Tony Chimel that he'd better either announce Gerard, or get the hell out of Dodge. Gerard steps quickly to the furthest turnbuckle, and scaled to the middle rope, one foot on either side of the turnbuckle. There, he'd raise both fists in an imperious taunt. He would fall back, turning one hundred and eighty degrees, landing already walking towards Tony. Chimel would seem to quake in stark and utter horror, as the Human Abstract took his final step towards him. Gerard would extend his hand in a "What do you think you're doing?" manner. He let him have it, but not before Vin managed to get in a "GIVE ME MY GOD DAMNED MICROPHONE!" As Chimel would hand it to him, he fled the ring, to a chair besides the announcing table. Gerard snickered again, before raising the microphone to his lips with intent.

VIN GERARD ♦ THE HUMAN ABSTRACT
"It seems that management has woken up, finally. They have booked the Underrated against the Overrated... AJ Lee and the Underrated take on the tag champions, literally the WORST pairing I've seen since WAR. You know why? CM Punk and Matt Hardy... Both may hate Matt's brother Jeff... Both may have held world gold elsewhere, but the fact of the matter is... They both have NOTHING when it comes to wrestling skills and risk-taking abilities, at least, compared to us." The fans let Gerard know that they disagree, of course, with a chorus of heckling that could tear your ear drums out. "Oh? You don't agree? Look at the facts! CM Punk has FAILED and FAILED again. His record since returning is even putting his record before he left to shame! That's hard to accomplish, as the CM Punk that I unfortunately teamed with? He's no different than this one. All he is is a FAKE. He's worthless, and unless he can admit it? He'll be stuck in his own web of lies. And I'll be that spider that DEVOURS him. Matt Hardy, too, has failed, TIME and time again. How many times has Jimmy Jacobs ANNIHILATED him in that ring? More times than I can even care to remember. And you wanna' know something? Jimmy Jacobs? He's nothing in the big picture. He's a rodent. He's that fleck of dead skin. And tonight? Tonight, I, alongside my Underrated partner André? Were going to TEAR ANY and ALL dead skin from our bodies. YES, that means Punk, Hardy, and Maryse. Honestly, Maryse doesn't fit there, does she? Maryse, who I wouldn't mind getting in the ring with, is WAY too good looking to be a part of that team, don't you agree?" The male half of the crowd erupted with approval, whereas most of the women let their disgust rain down. "Okay, okay, I get it. So, why are two men whose faces look like someone took hundreds upon hundreds of glass panes to, on the team with a good looking woman? Simple. They want to get their grimy hands on her, just like most of you pigs out there. But the fact of the matter is? Matt and Punk will only have their hands on one thing. THEIR BROKEN, BLEEDING SKULLS! Do ANY of you understand me?"

Gerard frowns, trying to figure a few things out, while spitting at the mats on the outside of the ring. He paces for a moment, occasionally pausing to open his mouth, but only to close it again, soon after. Upper lip twitching, eyebrows pushed together and down, an evil smirk on his face, The Human Abstract lifts the microphone to his lips again, with a vehement swagger to his movement.

"You know what? I'm not going to stand here and lead all of you on, much like Mat and Punk have done for years. In fact, I'm going to stand here and do something they've never done... Tell the truth. They BOTH have gone on tirades, diatribes, rants about how 'amazing' they are and how they 'won't die'. Whether it be in WWE or ROH... It doesn't matter. They're NOTHING they say they are. NEVER have they been able to truly vanquish any of their demons. Look at them. They're a wreck, a mess. Relying on pathetic attempts at mind games with their opponents. Guys, you want to play mind games? You want to play mind games with the MASTER? You must really have no interest in living." The crowd emits a thunderous chorus of resent, and Gerard smirks, knowing he's getting to them. "I don't know why I bother directing my words to you. If memory serves me correctly, all this does is make me even more disgusted with you, which is nearly impossible to accomplish. So, you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to act as if your diseased, FILTHY presence does NOT cloud MY arena. Matt and Punk? This is DIRECTLY for you... Okay, so you've won yourselves the tag team titles. Okay, whatever. You had some troubles with one another, but you managed to get past them, so that you could both attack Jeff Hardy? I approve. But that's not the point. You think you're all that? You want to think your hot shit? Okay, you won a title, who cares? I certainly don't. It's not about the face, the mask, or the belt that you wear. It's about HOW you wear it. And right about now? You two are DISGRACING this company. André, Kevin, and I are here to correct this mistake. If you want to try and stop us? You'll fall. You'll fall, and you will NEVER again rise. You want to say that you will not die? TRY ME! What have you EVER done to think that? You've NEVER risked yourself the way André and I have. Have you ever fought so hard that you've been broken and bleeding, and you're so hurt that you can't speak, let alone breathe? THOUGHT NOT! Me? I've been broken. I've been bloodied. I've been humiliated past that point. But I keep coming. You know why? Because all I can do is show the world that NO MATTER how broken you break me, or how bloody to make me, or how you humiliate me? I WILL NOT DIE. You, on the other hand, Matthew?How dare you say that you won't die. I'm going to PROVE YOU WRONG in the ring. If that means getting broken and humiliated? So. Be. It. I don't care. As long as I expose you and your pathetic partner as the COWARDS and FAKES that you are, then my mission is accomplished."

Nobody's Hero smirks imperiously, and walks to the corner, climbing swiftly to the middle rope, one foot on each side. He stands tall, peering out upon that UGLY crowd. His cheeks twitch in disgust, and he launches a missile of mucus, which lands inches from the barricade. Beaming, Gerard raises the microphone once more, this time, though, his movements were full of an ominous swagger.

"You heard me. Gaining the respect we deserve requires sacrifice. And since sacrifice means there will be blood spilled and bones and dreams and hearts broken? So be it. I couldn't care ANY less. That's something you'll all have to learn about me for the future... I CAN'T GIVE UP! It may seem a design flaw, but I guarantee it to you. Whether it be Jeff Hardy or Davey Richards or Matt Hardy or CM Punk or Samoa Joe? It doesn't matter. Break me all you like. Humiliate me, if that makes you happy. Cut me open, spill my guts to the fans, I don't give a damn. Because no matter what you do to me. no matter how you make me look, or how you portray me to these insects? I'll still be a weapon. And a weapon ready to be fired. Go ahead, guys. Try to break me. All that will accomplish is that YOU. WILL. BE. JUST. ANOTHER. VICTIM!" Gerard's intensity seemed to be on overdrive, and the crowd didn't know what to make of it. Vin climbed down again, and walked to the middle of the ring, where he would deliver his final part of his diatribe. "Punk? You wanna' preach? Join a church. You want to spread your belief in straight edge? Go ahead, but don't do it in my ring. You want to try to bring straight edge to me, I'll just bring straight edge to you, and I'll use it to cut your skin WIDE open. You and your partner think you'll walk out of this match alive, you're already confused. Matt? Punk? Tonight, you will leave the ring adorned by a color. And this color is NOT gold. IT'S CRIMSON! And this means just one thing. It means..."



"TONIGHT... WILL JUST NOT BE YOUR NIGHT!"

Gerard breathes heavily, before dropping the microphone to the mat, where it'd make the familiar static sound. A ringside attendant would snatch it from the floor, clearing the ring. "Nobody's Hero" would crack his neck, and push his left left through the middle and top ropes. He'd rest his left boot on the apron, and swing his right leg through at the same time as he wound his torso and head through. He dropped to the mat, and ambled up the ramp, though his amble seemed to be more of a strut. The camera would follow him all the way to the stage, where he stepped closer to the curtain. Just before he exited the arena, he turned to face the camera, an imperious, dark, vehement smirk mounted across his face. He lets out a maniacal cackle, and glares into the camera, before uttering a harsh guarantee. "WE WILL NOT BE OVERLOOKED"


end rp