Post by Amok on May 16, 2016 23:37:38 GMT
May 17 TNT Promo
May 10, 2016
The Butterscotch Giraffe Gentleman’s Club
Sometime after Tuesday Night Tenacity
It felt good to Amok to get his first win in Valentine Wrestling Syndicate. The 6’ 8” hoss would have been much happier if it had happened the week before, in New York, since a victory there would have meant a shot at the fledgling company’s world title. But Battle Royals were tricky things, and Amok had to admit to himself something he had before been reluctant to: the level of competition he was facing now was far greater than anything he had ever encountered working the indy circuit. The wrestlers in VKS were fast, strong, and experienced. It was going to take more than Amok’s raw power to be a success in the company. Even Jimmy Wicked, the man he had beaten earlier this evening, had put up more of a fight than expected. Amok was still feeling the effects of that match, despite it happening hours ago. Those bruises weren’t going to keep him from celebrating. He had plans for his winner’s share of the purse, and they started here at his second job.
The Butterscotch Giraffe was an upscale gentleman’s club located right on the Las Vegas Strip. It was 70,000 feet of mirrored walls, chrome fixtures, and fluorescent neon lighting. With three separate stages, six private VIP suites (including two special skyboxes that allowed the occupants to view the entire club behind the anonymity of one way glass), and a special “cattle call” catwalk that ran the length of the club’s winding bar, The Butterscotch Giraffe was a go-to spot for those tourists interested in taking advantage of the city’s more adult amenities.
Amok worked here three days a week as security. Mostly it was on the floor, standing sentry near one of the corner stages to make sure no one gave the dancers trouble. He had worked as a bouncer before, at clubs far seedier than this, so the work was routine. Most of the girls had the smarts and savvy to deal with a grabby or especially vulgar patron themselves; leaving Amok with the simple task of escorting the chastened customer out of the club while delivering some terse advice not to return. Other times he would be guarding the suites, more concerned with keeping people from intruding on those private bacchanals than monitoring the happenings himself. The Giraffe attracted quite a few high rollers, even some celebrities, and as such there was always the threat of paparazzi or even civilian lookie-loos trying to get a peek or a picture of something they weren’t supposed to.
But Amok wasn’t working tonight. He was dressed casually, a light blue short-sleeved dress shirt with dark brown slacks. Since he didn’t own a car he had taken a cab straight from the arena. He walked up to the doorman and nodded in greeting.
Amok: Busy tonight?
The bouncer, a well-muscled ex-Marine named Tony, shrugged before reaching out to shake the bigger man’s hand.
Tony: Been alright. You’re early. I thought Tenacity runs until eleven?
The club staff mostly knew of Amok’s other profession. Management actually paid him to wear the Butterscotch Giraffe’s tee shirt during interviews and other Valentine Wrestling events for the advertising. There was even talk of filming a commercial for the club featuring him. Amok hoped circumstances would allow him to turn down the offer, or at least get paid much, much more than the figure previously mentioned.
Amok: No need for me to stick around once my match was over.
At least, not yet, he thought to himself.
Tony: Yeah, so how did it go? You win your match?
Amok: Yeah. Beat one of the bastards that cost me a chance to be World Champion.
The former jarhead smirked.
Tony: And you feel like celebrating?
Amok nodded and walked into the Giraffe. The air was frigid cold, especially compared to the warm and humid May evening he had just walked in from. “Pour Some Sugar on Me”, a strip club staple, blasted throughout the half-filled establishment. Making his way to one of the side stages he eased his frame into one of the plush, semi-circular chairs that ringed it. A waitress he didn’t recognize approached him.
Waitress: Hi, honey. What can I get you?
She was cute: a pixie-ish peroxide blonde wearing a tied off Butterscotch Giraffe tee shirt that held her natural breasts snugly in place, and a pair of lycra boy shorts; certainly attractive enough to dance here.
Amok: A Coors. Also, you know if Selene is around?
He handed her a twenty dollar bill. The girl smiled broadly.
Waitress: I’ll see if I can find her for you.
Amok quickly got his beer, which earned the waitress another ten. He then eased back in the chair and watched the show. Given it was still relatively early and a weeknight, the dancer on stage was pacing herself, listlessly walking the edge of the stage, offering a simpering grin to the customers in the front row, and occasionally going back to swing herself around the pole before repeating the circuit, accepting what gratuities she was offered. Amok hoped “Moxie” planned to step up her game, or she’d find herself scheduled to work the club’s Sunday brunch, which was notorious for bringing in the cheapskates.
Without warning, someone slowly ran their nails across Amok’s scalp. The act sent a pleasant jolt through the big man’s body. Canting his head to get a view of the culprit, he saw a pale face framed in long neon red locks smirking down at him.
Selene: Congratulations.
The woman moved from the back of the chair and slid into it, draping her long toned legs over one of his own. She had on a black velvet gown slit up both sides, and an open neckline that plummeted down almost to her navel. Pursing her lips, she made a face of exaggerated sympathy, and prods the big man in the chest.
Selene: Still sore?
Both comments were in regards to his match earlier, Amok knew. He shook his head.
Amok: No.
Smiling slyly, she leaned back against the cushioned chair, purposefully jutting her impressive cleavage outward.
Selene: So you’re here, after your first big win on national TV, asking for me. What is it you want, Amok?
The big man’s gaze locked onto hers, matching her predatory stare. He traced a callused finger up and down her milky white calf.
Amok: I want everything. But right now I’m going to start with you.
May 16, 2016
Wherever VKS films their promos (Athos Studios?)
The Day Before Tuesday Night Tenacity
Amok is standing alone on a set with the Valentine Wrestling Syndicate logo blue screened behind him. He is in his ring gear, long black tights with red markings down the sides, and black wrist tape that is wound almost up to his elbows. He’s wearing a sleeveless black leather biker jacket over his thick, bare torso. He begins to talk.
Amok: Last week I got to give a receipt to one of the three scrubs who cost me a chance for the World Title shot at Uprising. I made quick work of Jimmy Wicked, proving one on one he had no chance against me. Tomorrow night, at Tenacity, I get to face another name on my list, only it’s not in singles competition. It’s a tag match. Now, normally I’d be less than happy about this turn of events. The truth is I’m not what you’d call a team player. Never tagged much in my career before now; didn’t need having a partner; didn’t like having a partner. Maybe you can chalk it up to me being an only child. Or maybe it’s because in this sport, I eat first, which means I eat alone.
The giant stresses that last sentence to drive his point home.
Amok: But sometimes you got to compromise. ‘Needs must, when the Devil drives’, they say. And this match is important enough for me to swallow my pride and accept some help. See, I’m facing the two men who have the next two shots at the prize every man in this company is vying for: the VKS World Championship. Johnny Gillmen managed to finagle his chance by coming out on top in the Battle Royal at Uprising. And Avery Miles III became the next challenger by, well I don’t know why. He pitched a fit at the Championship ceremony for Alex Jones, and got what he thinks he wanted. But Miles is wrong. Because before he has the chance to win that belt he’s going to step in the ring with me and my partner – more on him in a minute- and nobody should want that.
He sneers to the camera.
Amok: See, boys, what’s happened is that your aspirations, your dreams for VKS Gold, have turned into a nightmare scenario for you; because now you’ve been booked to face two men bigger, meaner, and hungrier than you. Men who want the same thing you do, and can’t wait to prove to the boss that they are more deserving. For Night Rider and me, this tag match is a chance to impress those in power, as well as maybe do them a little favor. You think Ana Valentine would shed a tear if either of you two mopes got taken out at Tenacity? You think Alex Jones would feel cheated if something happened to his next two opponents? Hell, they’re probably hoping for it. And I don’t plan on being the one who disappoints them.
Folding his arms across his broad chest, the big man continues.
Amok: On some level, deep down, in that nasty, reptilian part of your brain, I bet the two of you are thinking the same thing about the other. What does this match mean to either of you anyway? Your tickets to the VKS Championship Dance are pre-punched. You got every reason to take it easy Tuesday night. To half-ass it, and pray you come out healthy for the match that really matters, and also maybe hope something happens to the other guy so he’s no longer a threat. Meanwhile, me and Night Rider have everything to prove.
Amok pauses and rubs his chin, pantomiming contemplation.
Amok: I suppose I should be talking about my partner now. This is Night Rider’s first match in Valentine Wrestling, but he’s no rookie. The Angel of Death has competed all over the world. He’s won championships, including in the tag division, so that’s a definite advantage for us going in to this match. Like me, he’s a big, strong, no-nonsense bruiser who will bust you up for cheap thrills. Night Rider is my kind of people. We’ll be on the same page Tuesday night; can you two say the same?
He answers for them.
Amok: Nope. You each have your own agendas, your own reasons to dog it at Tenacity. To play it safe. And that’s one of the reasons you’re going to lose. But there’s more to it than that. Gillmen, Miles; you two just aren’t on our level. You’re not real fighters; just a couple of glorified acrobats with some amateur wrestling thrown in. I’m not impressed with your high-flying act, and I don’t care if you’re ‘submission specialists’. Because power and size trumps that. A good big man can always beat a good little man in a fight. That’s been proven again and again. And me and Night Rider are going to teach you that; we’ll teach everyone watching that; when we beat you. The Wolf is at the Door, and he’s not alone. This Tuesday Night at Tenacity Night Rider and I are going to expose Johnny Gillmen and Avery Miles as the paper challengers they are. And to everyone who is looking forward to seeing it; you’re welcome.
The camera zooms in to get a close up of a smirking Amok laying a finger on the side of his nose, which you know if you’ve ever seen “The Sting” is a gesture that carries certain connotations.
Amok has seen “The Sting”. He’s hoping certain others have as well.
