Call Out! A Notice for the Champ!

An outlet for IC media-oriented posts; IC radio announcements, tv shows, newspapers, etc. Stay up-to-date on all major events in Toro.
Post Reply
User avatar
bigpapa671
Posts: 108
Joined: Sat Oct 05, 2013 1:02 pm
MC name: FloopTroop

Call Out! A Notice for the Champ!

Post: # 14168Post bigpapa671 »


Image
An all too familiar song begins to play as helicopter shots of the Aurelia park begin to play in live and living color on televisions across the region. As he was wont to do, Toro’s richest and most eccentric pixelmon battler had decided to buy a chunk of television time to make an announcement, usually a challenge to battle. The trumpets blared Henry Holiday's triumphant entrance music, and a gold pyro went off as he methodically took to the stage, posing and playing to an audience of pro-battling fans who had gathered to see what the long time Veteran had to say. At 46 years old it was long expected that he would retire sometime soon, leaving room for the next generation who’d already begun to overtake the upper echelons of the sport.

Something seemed different about the so called “excellence of execution” as he descended the steps and out to the makeshift platform to make an announcement, his once feathered hair had begun to grey, and his tan skin looked a washed pale, begin to wrinkle and show its age. More than anything else, Henry looked strung out, as if life had begun to take its toll. Still with all his trademarked pomp and circumstance he struck a pose as he grabbed the microphone and began to speak, showing off the intricate diamond pattern that laced his heavy silk robes.

“FINALLY THE MAN HAS RETURNED TO TORO!” he’d take in a deep breath, rearing back and letting out a deafening “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” before continuing on with his promo. “See people always look at me, and they go ‘Well there goes the Henry Holiday the luckiest man in the world.’” he’d begin to motion with his hands as he spoke, making sure to perfectly punctuate each pompous point “What with his TWENTY MILLION dollar home, and his THIRTY THOUSAND dollar genuine Milanese feraligatr leather shoes. You see me board my private jet, each arm around a different dime’s waist, and you stand there in your sensible shoes, and your clip on ties and you think to yourself ‘yep there goes the luckiest man in the world.’” He takes another deep breath, summoning an intensity most fans had thought were long lost, an item of the past, left behind with the veteran’s misspent youth.

“Let me tell you something brother. Luck has nothing to do with it. I don’t have all this because I’m lucky, I have it because I’m the best there is, the best there was, and the best there ever will be. See while you were sitting on your asses eating potato chips and getting fat while watching me on your color television screens, I was up there scrapping, fighting, earning everything I had. See, what you don’t see is all of the hours it takes to be THIS great. While you’re in bed in dreamland, snoring at 4 AM, hours away from your dead end desk job there I was, training, sweating, fighting for what I wanted. At 5 o’clock when you walked through the door of your same old boring house, kissed your same old boring wife, and tossed your same old boring lunchbox in the same old boring spot on the goddamned floor I was STILL training, and I STILL would be for hours more.”


“See you don’t see all of the family dinners I’ve missed, all of the holidays, and birthdays, and disappointed faces because I was out there pushing myself and my team to the limit entertaining you all. You don’t see your partners, the team you’ve raised since you were six years old beaten and bruised in front of you.” he’d take a long sigh, removing the robe to expose his bare chest and arms, running a finger along a large scar on his right bicep he continues on “You don’t see all the scars from accidentally get burned, and electrocuted, and I don’t know what else. You don’t see the six surgeries on my left knee because of the grueling travel schedule, a different plane every night, a different region every morning. You don’t see the shattered vertebrates from falling off the scaffolding in a Kalson sky battle to impress you all. You don’t see the pills it takes to handle all of that. No you just sit there slack jawed and call me lucky. You see the women, the money, and the prestige, but you don’t see ME at all. You just want us for all we have, and as soon as we slow down, as soon as we aren’t the best anymore you don’t want to see us at all, it becomes all about the new hot star.”

Henry paused for a moment, as if to let his words sink in, before continuing on “But you’re all lucky, because I’ll never slow down. Because of you this damn sport is all I have, but I’ll be damned if I ain’t the best there is at what I do, and what I do just isn’t pretty.” He’d point intensely at the camera, staring it down as if to call someone out. “Alliah Ross, I hear you’re the new big thing around here. Well Miss Champion take a good hard look, cause I’m the Ghost of What’s Yet to Come, and I’m gunning for you girl. I gave my life for that Goddamn title, and I’ll be damned if I don’t die with that belt in my hands. When I beat you Alliah and reclaim my title I’m never dropping it either, I’m gonna have to be buried right there, smack dab in the middle of that damned arena and you can sure as hell bet they’re gonna write “Champion” right there on my gravestone.”


With that Henry would toss the mic to the floor, posing one last time before throwing his robe back on and disappearing into a sea of black-clad security.
Post Reply

Return to “Toro Media”