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Post by Apollo King on Feb 1, 2014 8:34:30 GMT -5
- Real Name: James Atwater
- Date of Birth: April 21st, 1981
- Hometown: College Park, Maryland
- Age: 31
- Years in Roleplaying: 4yrs
- How active do you intend to be here? Be honest!: Honest answer would be, the better the fed the more involved I'll be.
TELL US ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER [TALENT INFORMATION HERE]
- Superstar Name: Apollo King
- Wrestling Debut: 2011
- Billed Height: 6'2"
- Billed Weight: 247lbs
-Billed From: College Park, Maryland
- Face/Heel: Heel
-Wrestling Style: Brawler/Mat Technician
- Entrance Music: M.O.P. - "Ante Up"
- List Common Moves:
Forearm Smash
Foot Stomp
Elbow Drop
Knee to face
Clotheline
Body Slam
Knee to back
Elbow from middle rope
Suplex
Sidewalk Slam
Dropkick
- List Trademark Moves
Spinning brainbuster
DDT
- List of Finishing Moves
King Me (Leg drop from top rope)
INFORMATION BEFORE YOU FINISH THIS APPLICATION
Before you finish this application, please let it be known that you are expected to follow the rules and guidelines we hope that you read prior to filling out and signing this application. Please know that by signing up and failing to fulfill your obligations on our federation by showing up to every card that you are booked in. Your first no show will result in an automatic release from the federation. If you no show on more than one occasion, it will too result in an automatic deletion from the federation unless you can provide an excuse for not showing. Please take all these into consideration. We appreciate it.
LAST BUT NOT LEAST [SAMPLE ROLEPLAY]
The camera picks up an a solitary figure jogging through light fog, adding to the mist with the deep exhalations of his breath. He runs a block or two, then stops at a loading dock, sidedoor locked with padlock and chain. The man has a key. He enters, and divests himself of his jogging suit. The Predator gleams with sweat, and almost has to peel the fabric off of himself to get free. When finished, he takes a deep breath, and flips a master light switch beside the door which he entered. The space lights up, to reveal the warehouse gym which the former champion has made his headquarters for the time being.
The workout begins in earnest, and reminds of Rocky in its intensity. More pull-ups are performed than thirty people can manage together. The Predator dispenses with ordinary pushups; He performs a handstand, and begins to lower himself down and up with perfect control. Soon, the droplets of sweat dribbling off of his nose form a small puddle beneath him.
The room next fills with sounds of tremendous impact, a rubbery, wet thudding. We see the Predator pounding a heavy tire with a sledgehammer, repeatedly, and viciously. His muscles are coated with a fine sheen, now, and the tire, durable as it is, appears to be being reshaped by the impact. The Predator ditches the hammer, and lifts the truck tire above his head, in a military press. He throws it up, and catches it. He repeats this exercise many times, before moving over to the weights. He ignores the dumbbells, instead wracking a bar with as many 45 pound weights as either side can hold. He begins to curl the bar; It is a ludicrous sight, and if one were to watch the veteran wrestler from the neck down, it would appear he was a superhuman entertaining himself with metal toys of men. His face speaks to his mortality, however; Every vein in his features is inflated, and his face is comically puffed with exertion.
He drops the bar after some 50 curls, grabs a towel out of his waistband, and wipes his hands and his face. He speaks out, casual and friendly, but with the same commanding tone that cowed his manager in the hotel room.
"Don't think you're hiding from me back there. If you're going to watch me work like a hawk, at least have the courtesy to introduce yourself."
A surprised gasp echoes from the shadows behind the ring that dominates the other side of the room. A lithe, curvaceous figure emerges from the shadows, and glides into the light.
She is clearly dress to impress; The deep cleavage and the generous cut of the hem is testament to that. She puts her right hand on her hip, and smirks.
"So I want to watch a Greek God throw around heavy things. Can you blame a girl for that?"
The Predator's face doesn't even flicker.
"Ma'am, with all due respect, I've been in this business for over a decade. I'm been around the block one too many times to fall for stupid sexy marketing like that. Just come out with what you want."
The woman falters noticeably. And her fake smile is replaced by a smaller, more believable one. "You wrestler types are usually pretty easy to manipulate. Boobs, legs, and sweet talk seem to be the magic ingredients. What, are you gay?"
The Predator chuckles, and begins to squat with the bar on his back. "To the heartbreak of many, no, I'm not. You've got nothing I haven't seen before, honey. Spill. You've come here with an offer of some sort; Make it."
The woman nods, and nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I've been watching your media, and I saw your match...I think you might need a bit of help, you know, recapturing your edge. I've managed wrestlers before, but my I got my masters in sports psychology. I want to give you a shot."
The Predator finishes his exercise, and stands back up. "So a pretty girl leaves school, wants to work with muscular men on a stage so big she can be on TV, feeds them some bullshit about how to actualize their inner power, claims credit for their success, and tries to repeat? Again, lady, I've been down this road. I doubt you know my name."
With that, he turns his back to her.
Her response is bullet quick, but whispered and submissive. "Your real name is Dylan Schmeyer. You grew up in East Philadelphia. Your brother was Erik Schmeyer. You played high school football, and later Division I college football, where you earned your name 'The Predator', for sacking the quarterback so much."
The Predator stiffens, but he doesn't look backwards. The woman continues.
"Erik Schmeyer was killed in the ring after a botched shooting star press in 2004. You debuted as a wrestler 6 months later. You set records at the WWM Combine; The best weightlifter with a 4.4 forty yard dash in the history of the test. You competed in Fans Championship Wrestling, where you contended for two titles, and won the King of the Cage Championship and the World Heavyweight Championship. You retired as champion, moved on to Extreme Champions Wrestling, where you went 19-0, were crowned King of Champions, and retired without saying a word."
She takes several steps forward, growing in confidence. "You were one of the most brutal, powerful, and sound technicians of all time. You did incalculable damage with every single move. You dismantled legends with ease. And you came back from a 6 year layoff on Sunday, and you looked like a shell of yourself. Frankly, you sucked. I was just about ready to declare on my blog that the Predator has lost what made him successful in his retirement, and then..." She grins wryly, "And then, you put Westboro through a ladder. With one move. The spot of the match. And its clear to me, hey, he can still do everything that made him a great champion. So then I start thinking, why couldn't he do it in there? What was missing? And then you jump Matt Hawk like a child, and I understood."
The former champion turns around, and stares the woman down. She takes a few more steps forward, and has to look up over a foot to meet his eyes.
"You're rich, you're content, you're legendary, and you're a good man. You don't want to hurt people anymore, you don't need more money, and you don't NEED more titles. And if you stay that way, you'll never be better than a mid-carder at best in UTW; Without that berserker power that made the Predator, Dylan Schmeyer will never manage to get gold again."
He examines her closely, and grins. "Okay, you have my attention. What do you recommend?"
She smiles coyly. "My name is Lana Honey, and I just want to be on Team Predator. You can keep your manager, your trainers, all of them. Just let me talk to you, guide your thoughts, and let ME warm you up before your matches. I'm skilled in many techniques...I can promise with me on board, I can guarantee that, in bursts, we can recapture your youth. And when we succeed, you win the heavyweight title, and you keep it as long as you care too."
The Predator laughs, genuinely amused. He walks over to his bag, and pulls out a card. "Here, call my manager in about 3 hours, when he wakes up. Tell him I said to put you on the payroll. He'll believe you; You couldn't get his number without this card, and only I have them. This is my first daily workout. I'll be back in the gym at noon, and again at 7PM. Be there, starting today. Bring your magic; I'm curious to see what you can do."
Lana giggles, snatches the card, and with much more grace and poise than anyone in heels that high should manage, glides to the door, waves, and exits.
Predator shakes head, and picks up the bar again.
"Call me curious."
Blackout
SIGN AND DATE THE APPLICATION
- Your Name: James Atwater
- Today's Date: Feb 1st, 2014
- Date of Birth: April 21st, 1981
- Hometown: College Park, Maryland
- Age: 31
- Years in Roleplaying: 4yrs
- How active do you intend to be here? Be honest!: Honest answer would be, the better the fed the more involved I'll be.
TELL US ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER [TALENT INFORMATION HERE]
- Superstar Name: Apollo King
- Wrestling Debut: 2011
- Billed Height: 6'2"
- Billed Weight: 247lbs
-Billed From: College Park, Maryland
- Face/Heel: Heel
-Wrestling Style: Brawler/Mat Technician
- Entrance Music: M.O.P. - "Ante Up"
- List Common Moves:
Forearm Smash
Foot Stomp
Elbow Drop
Knee to face
Clotheline
Body Slam
Knee to back
Elbow from middle rope
Suplex
Sidewalk Slam
Dropkick
- List Trademark Moves
Spinning brainbuster
DDT
- List of Finishing Moves
King Me (Leg drop from top rope)
INFORMATION BEFORE YOU FINISH THIS APPLICATION
Before you finish this application, please let it be known that you are expected to follow the rules and guidelines we hope that you read prior to filling out and signing this application. Please know that by signing up and failing to fulfill your obligations on our federation by showing up to every card that you are booked in. Your first no show will result in an automatic release from the federation. If you no show on more than one occasion, it will too result in an automatic deletion from the federation unless you can provide an excuse for not showing. Please take all these into consideration. We appreciate it.
LAST BUT NOT LEAST [SAMPLE ROLEPLAY]
The camera picks up an a solitary figure jogging through light fog, adding to the mist with the deep exhalations of his breath. He runs a block or two, then stops at a loading dock, sidedoor locked with padlock and chain. The man has a key. He enters, and divests himself of his jogging suit. The Predator gleams with sweat, and almost has to peel the fabric off of himself to get free. When finished, he takes a deep breath, and flips a master light switch beside the door which he entered. The space lights up, to reveal the warehouse gym which the former champion has made his headquarters for the time being.
The workout begins in earnest, and reminds of Rocky in its intensity. More pull-ups are performed than thirty people can manage together. The Predator dispenses with ordinary pushups; He performs a handstand, and begins to lower himself down and up with perfect control. Soon, the droplets of sweat dribbling off of his nose form a small puddle beneath him.
The room next fills with sounds of tremendous impact, a rubbery, wet thudding. We see the Predator pounding a heavy tire with a sledgehammer, repeatedly, and viciously. His muscles are coated with a fine sheen, now, and the tire, durable as it is, appears to be being reshaped by the impact. The Predator ditches the hammer, and lifts the truck tire above his head, in a military press. He throws it up, and catches it. He repeats this exercise many times, before moving over to the weights. He ignores the dumbbells, instead wracking a bar with as many 45 pound weights as either side can hold. He begins to curl the bar; It is a ludicrous sight, and if one were to watch the veteran wrestler from the neck down, it would appear he was a superhuman entertaining himself with metal toys of men. His face speaks to his mortality, however; Every vein in his features is inflated, and his face is comically puffed with exertion.
He drops the bar after some 50 curls, grabs a towel out of his waistband, and wipes his hands and his face. He speaks out, casual and friendly, but with the same commanding tone that cowed his manager in the hotel room.
"Don't think you're hiding from me back there. If you're going to watch me work like a hawk, at least have the courtesy to introduce yourself."
A surprised gasp echoes from the shadows behind the ring that dominates the other side of the room. A lithe, curvaceous figure emerges from the shadows, and glides into the light.
She is clearly dress to impress; The deep cleavage and the generous cut of the hem is testament to that. She puts her right hand on her hip, and smirks.
"So I want to watch a Greek God throw around heavy things. Can you blame a girl for that?"
The Predator's face doesn't even flicker.
"Ma'am, with all due respect, I've been in this business for over a decade. I'm been around the block one too many times to fall for stupid sexy marketing like that. Just come out with what you want."
The woman falters noticeably. And her fake smile is replaced by a smaller, more believable one. "You wrestler types are usually pretty easy to manipulate. Boobs, legs, and sweet talk seem to be the magic ingredients. What, are you gay?"
The Predator chuckles, and begins to squat with the bar on his back. "To the heartbreak of many, no, I'm not. You've got nothing I haven't seen before, honey. Spill. You've come here with an offer of some sort; Make it."
The woman nods, and nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I've been watching your media, and I saw your match...I think you might need a bit of help, you know, recapturing your edge. I've managed wrestlers before, but my I got my masters in sports psychology. I want to give you a shot."
The Predator finishes his exercise, and stands back up. "So a pretty girl leaves school, wants to work with muscular men on a stage so big she can be on TV, feeds them some bullshit about how to actualize their inner power, claims credit for their success, and tries to repeat? Again, lady, I've been down this road. I doubt you know my name."
With that, he turns his back to her.
Her response is bullet quick, but whispered and submissive. "Your real name is Dylan Schmeyer. You grew up in East Philadelphia. Your brother was Erik Schmeyer. You played high school football, and later Division I college football, where you earned your name 'The Predator', for sacking the quarterback so much."
The Predator stiffens, but he doesn't look backwards. The woman continues.
"Erik Schmeyer was killed in the ring after a botched shooting star press in 2004. You debuted as a wrestler 6 months later. You set records at the WWM Combine; The best weightlifter with a 4.4 forty yard dash in the history of the test. You competed in Fans Championship Wrestling, where you contended for two titles, and won the King of the Cage Championship and the World Heavyweight Championship. You retired as champion, moved on to Extreme Champions Wrestling, where you went 19-0, were crowned King of Champions, and retired without saying a word."
She takes several steps forward, growing in confidence. "You were one of the most brutal, powerful, and sound technicians of all time. You did incalculable damage with every single move. You dismantled legends with ease. And you came back from a 6 year layoff on Sunday, and you looked like a shell of yourself. Frankly, you sucked. I was just about ready to declare on my blog that the Predator has lost what made him successful in his retirement, and then..." She grins wryly, "And then, you put Westboro through a ladder. With one move. The spot of the match. And its clear to me, hey, he can still do everything that made him a great champion. So then I start thinking, why couldn't he do it in there? What was missing? And then you jump Matt Hawk like a child, and I understood."
The former champion turns around, and stares the woman down. She takes a few more steps forward, and has to look up over a foot to meet his eyes.
"You're rich, you're content, you're legendary, and you're a good man. You don't want to hurt people anymore, you don't need more money, and you don't NEED more titles. And if you stay that way, you'll never be better than a mid-carder at best in UTW; Without that berserker power that made the Predator, Dylan Schmeyer will never manage to get gold again."
He examines her closely, and grins. "Okay, you have my attention. What do you recommend?"
She smiles coyly. "My name is Lana Honey, and I just want to be on Team Predator. You can keep your manager, your trainers, all of them. Just let me talk to you, guide your thoughts, and let ME warm you up before your matches. I'm skilled in many techniques...I can promise with me on board, I can guarantee that, in bursts, we can recapture your youth. And when we succeed, you win the heavyweight title, and you keep it as long as you care too."
The Predator laughs, genuinely amused. He walks over to his bag, and pulls out a card. "Here, call my manager in about 3 hours, when he wakes up. Tell him I said to put you on the payroll. He'll believe you; You couldn't get his number without this card, and only I have them. This is my first daily workout. I'll be back in the gym at noon, and again at 7PM. Be there, starting today. Bring your magic; I'm curious to see what you can do."
Lana giggles, snatches the card, and with much more grace and poise than anyone in heels that high should manage, glides to the door, waves, and exits.
Predator shakes head, and picks up the bar again.
"Call me curious."
Blackout
SIGN AND DATE THE APPLICATION
- Your Name: James Atwater
- Today's Date: Feb 1st, 2014
