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Fair Warning
Topic Started: Feb 1 2011, 09:24 PM (38 Views)
Hell's Overseer
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Mid Carder
Our scene opens up in the Demolition locker room. The camera slowly makes its way though the labyrinth of lockers, at once focusing on Pedro Sanchez. He is busy at work with a hairpin and needle, trying to unlock someone's locker. Closer inspection reveals the nameplate to read 'D. Kalash.' Sanchez, unperturbed, smiles as he hears a click. Suddenly, a giant fist drives itself into the locker door nearest Sanchez's head. It makes a huge dent and a loud crash, making Pedro flee in fear. The camera pans up to a mid-angle shot of Dmitri, fist still embedded in the locker. Behind him is Kedrov, sporting his beret, shades, and scowl.

"These are the people who accused me, sent me to hell. Thieves, liars, cheats. The whole lot of them. And yet they have the audacity to claim pure superiority."

Dmitri pulls his fist away from the dented in locker. The dent stays. He then turns to Kedrov, pointing a finger at him.

"These are the people you've got to look out for, Kedrov. In BWC, I'm sure you never really had to worry or look out for any particular person. Why, I'm sure with your past, Ja....Jacks would've gladly slapped a belt on you. But here in the RCWF, there's about 10 other people standing in your way to the top. It takes real skill and determination, not looks and speaking ability. There are viable threats here, and believe it or not, Pedro and his friend Void are two of them. That hunk of possibly stolen gold on his shoulder can prove that much."

Dmitri turns to his locker. Without even trying, he pulls the lock straight down, not even turning the dial.

"But just like this lock, and Jacks' knowledge of the business, almost half of these champions are fakes. They can prance around like they own the place, sure, but one well placed uppercut or jab can mean the end of them. They are consumed by their vanity, and it's within our interest to make them wake up to their own mortality."

Kedrov points past Dmitri's head, making him turn around slowly to face the camera. When Dmitri comes eye-to-lens with it, he smirks a bit.

"However, we are not here to talk about falsehoods and follies. No, we're here to issue a warning. Tonight, Kedrov and I will be parting ways for our own respective matches. Kedrov has one of the 'Average Crew' flunks, and I have Soviet Sex Monkey's wank-buddy Dr. Love. While I have no qualms with how Mr. Roberts and or Mr. Eastwood have put us, I must say that these are rather...odd choices. But nonetheless, I will be happy to knock some sense into Dr. Love's head."

Dmitri pulls a glove from his locker, slipping it on slowly and still talking.

"Dr. Love is one of the prime examples of man consumed by himself. He teases his hair, struts to the ring, wear elaborate costumes. This is a wrestling business. No one gives a damn what streamers are trailing behind your bollocks, or how many cans of gel and hairspray you can cram into your obviously thinning hair. What matters is how you handle your opponent. And to be frank, I've got no hope in you at all. Your Double Underhook Suplexes look more like 'Double Underhook What-The-Fuck-Are-Those?'. You couldn't tell a facelock from a waistlock, and vice versa. I will squash you like the vain little bug you are, good looks or not."

Dmitri, now with both gloves on, wriggles his fingers a bit. With a satisfied look, he slams both fists together. Content, he turns to Kedrov, who is still looking straight ahead.

"Kedrov, good luck tonight. Score one for the Gulag. Зробити мати країна пишалася."

With that, Dmitri leaves, shaking his palms in preparation. The camera follows him leaving the door, before turning back to Kedrov. We prepare to fade to black...

Open to Kedrov or Dr. Love
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Kedrov Zakhaev
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Kedrov reaches up and slowly takes off his shades, drops his hands to his sides, and stares will an intense look into the camera with his icy stare. He moves forward towards said camera as he begins his speech.

> Let me just stay one thing. I was never a BWC superstar. I had only one match with them, in which I was ganged on and thrown out in a over-the-top-rope match that was I was lied to about being a 6 man elimination. That group should not have even been a part of my career. In my 39, almost 40 years of fighting, I've seen many things, even been on a battlefield. I am 45 fucking years old for god sakes. I've won more matches than anyone has in this whole company, most likely. What does that mean? It means shit nothing. At most, it shows I'm a veteran. Now I'm not going to say that I'm going to win tonight, because in my years I've learned not to be an egotist, no, that's not me. One thing I will say though, this John Doe? I will give you a fight for your life and maybe bring another victory to the Gulag.

Kedrov slings his shades back on and moves back to lean arms crossed on a wall, revealing his common smirk with the golden tooth.

> But... in my personal opinion... I believe I'll win tonight. I feel it. What to I have to show of this...?

Kedrov stands up straight, and begons walking backwards towards the open door, still smirking as he coins his infamous line.

> History proves... that I'm one of the greatest...

Kedrov disappears into the shadows as the camera fades to black.

Open to... well... anyone really. If not, then closed.
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