Post by Gensai on Mar 7, 2019 11:03:26 GMT -5
The quiet murmur of the assembled wrestling press is broken suddenly by the sound of the handle of the rooms only door burying itself quite deeply in the plaster wall. Through the now semi-permanently open door swaggers one half of the World tag team champions The Pale General himself, Go Gensai. Clearly feeling victorious the Last Free Man tosses the black leather strap of his title belt back over his sweaty shoulder. As he reaches the head of the throng of cell phone cameras and digital recorders in stomps Gensai’s World tag team title partner, the massive Appalachian Mastodon Frank Dylan James.
Gone are FDJ’s trademark overalls, replaced with white trunks and tall black wrestling boots… boots now spattered with the blood of whatever unfortunate souls found themselves on the receiving end of the GHOST ARMY and their particular brand of shock and awe tonight.
Frank’s face is a smeared mess of black and white paint. His intense, beady little eyes peering eerily out from the black hole surrounded by messy, tangled beard. His title belt drags behind him, the leather strap clenched awkwardly in the big Virginia's enormous meaty lunchbox sized hand. The two men stand silent for a few moments, mugging for the camera before Gensai finally opens his mouth. Licking the sweat from his lips Gensai’s voice is a low, guttural whisper that seems to escape through the gaps in his slightly crooked teeth.
“Do ANY of you so called wrestling experts think David Troy and Alexander Irvine have a chance against the Ghost Army?” he seems to pose the question to the assembled Japanese wrestling press. After a few moments without an answer Frank leans over his partners shoulder and just bellows “ANSWER THE MAN” to which the gaggle of twenty something’s all muttered some semblance of “no sir.”
Gensai looks back toward the door of the little press room, back out towards what’s LEFT of their opponents from that night still presumably being scrapped off the canvas. “MAX Japan can toss any number of their favorites at Frank and I. They can make the FOOLISH mistake of putting me back into a ring with Mushigahara after what I did to the pendulous fool over in America. Twice over this company has decided to offer up that fat, disgusting disgrace to me and Frank for… tenderizing.”
The Pale General smiles wickedly at that. “Throughout this tour Frank and myself are going to establish one CLEAR fact. One I hope the inept management of MAX Japan take directly to their hearts. GHOST ARMY is number one. GHOST AAARMY will dominate… every single time. No hesitation. No honor. No letting up until the poor souls presented to us are BEGGING for the abuse to end.”
The Ghost turns and looks back over his shoulder towards Frank Dylan James. The raw boned Virginian monster having not moved a muscle since barking at the reporters a few moment ago. Gensai raises his open palm and gives his monster tag team partner a solid crack across the chest. Big Frank takes a few steps forward… the small movement from the absolutely massive, frightening individual enough to cause every single little Japanese reporter to lean back, away from the bearded American nightmares approach.
Frank stands tall, slowly raising the World tag team title in his right hand… after giving that a solid moment long eyeballing he raises his empty left hand. The beady whites of his eyes jumping forward after another few beats. The Mastadon opens his mouth again. “Come London town? Ghost Army’s gunna’ hold themselves the got’damn WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP… because ‘aint got’damn NOBODY safe. Not from Go. An’ you bet’cher ass not from ME. You hear me you big fat sack of SHIT?! Go and I ‘er gunna’ spend this tour takin’ ever’ GOT’DAMN opportunity we get handed us to STOMP YER’ ASS into a pool of shit and blood! YOU UNDERSTAND?! THAT TITLES AS GOOD AS MINE!”
His bush matted beard now flecked with spittle, the whites of his beady little eyes now noticeably bloodshot. A vein that runs right down between his eyes, even with all the smeared face paint we can see visibly throbbing with blood. He stomps off a few paced into the reporters sending them scattering before heading back towards the door and exiting the room.
Gensai just smiles his sinister, gap toothed smile. “Nobody. Nooobody is safe.”
With all the quiet, collected confidence in the world the Last Free Man swaggers back through the door from whence he came. Following off after his obviously very motivated tag team partner.
Gone are FDJ’s trademark overalls, replaced with white trunks and tall black wrestling boots… boots now spattered with the blood of whatever unfortunate souls found themselves on the receiving end of the GHOST ARMY and their particular brand of shock and awe tonight.
Frank’s face is a smeared mess of black and white paint. His intense, beady little eyes peering eerily out from the black hole surrounded by messy, tangled beard. His title belt drags behind him, the leather strap clenched awkwardly in the big Virginia's enormous meaty lunchbox sized hand. The two men stand silent for a few moments, mugging for the camera before Gensai finally opens his mouth. Licking the sweat from his lips Gensai’s voice is a low, guttural whisper that seems to escape through the gaps in his slightly crooked teeth.
“Do ANY of you so called wrestling experts think David Troy and Alexander Irvine have a chance against the Ghost Army?” he seems to pose the question to the assembled Japanese wrestling press. After a few moments without an answer Frank leans over his partners shoulder and just bellows “ANSWER THE MAN” to which the gaggle of twenty something’s all muttered some semblance of “no sir.”
Gensai looks back toward the door of the little press room, back out towards what’s LEFT of their opponents from that night still presumably being scrapped off the canvas. “MAX Japan can toss any number of their favorites at Frank and I. They can make the FOOLISH mistake of putting me back into a ring with Mushigahara after what I did to the pendulous fool over in America. Twice over this company has decided to offer up that fat, disgusting disgrace to me and Frank for… tenderizing.”
The Pale General smiles wickedly at that. “Throughout this tour Frank and myself are going to establish one CLEAR fact. One I hope the inept management of MAX Japan take directly to their hearts. GHOST ARMY is number one. GHOST AAARMY will dominate… every single time. No hesitation. No honor. No letting up until the poor souls presented to us are BEGGING for the abuse to end.”
The Ghost turns and looks back over his shoulder towards Frank Dylan James. The raw boned Virginian monster having not moved a muscle since barking at the reporters a few moment ago. Gensai raises his open palm and gives his monster tag team partner a solid crack across the chest. Big Frank takes a few steps forward… the small movement from the absolutely massive, frightening individual enough to cause every single little Japanese reporter to lean back, away from the bearded American nightmares approach.
Frank stands tall, slowly raising the World tag team title in his right hand… after giving that a solid moment long eyeballing he raises his empty left hand. The beady whites of his eyes jumping forward after another few beats. The Mastadon opens his mouth again. “Come London town? Ghost Army’s gunna’ hold themselves the got’damn WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP… because ‘aint got’damn NOBODY safe. Not from Go. An’ you bet’cher ass not from ME. You hear me you big fat sack of SHIT?! Go and I ‘er gunna’ spend this tour takin’ ever’ GOT’DAMN opportunity we get handed us to STOMP YER’ ASS into a pool of shit and blood! YOU UNDERSTAND?! THAT TITLES AS GOOD AS MINE!”
His bush matted beard now flecked with spittle, the whites of his beady little eyes now noticeably bloodshot. A vein that runs right down between his eyes, even with all the smeared face paint we can see visibly throbbing with blood. He stomps off a few paced into the reporters sending them scattering before heading back towards the door and exiting the room.
Gensai just smiles his sinister, gap toothed smile. “Nobody. Nooobody is safe.”
With all the quiet, collected confidence in the world the Last Free Man swaggers back through the door from whence he came. Following off after his obviously very motivated tag team partner.