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Bek Teutem Arrives; Bek Teutem addresses the crowd
Topic Started: Jul 18 2015, 05:26 PM (118 Views)
Canary Kid
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Bek Teutem Arrives

Coming straight off an advert, the camera cuts to a bright suited Bek Teutem looking like he was plucked straight out of the crowd of the NBA Draft Night. Beneath the toothy graduation-esque smile, anybody who fancies themselves as a body language expert can sense his nerves. It must be given that is hardly a surprise; before tonight, Teutem had never set foot in front of such a vast crowd. Big night jitters...

... only for the weak.

BRUNSWICK: Ladies and gentlemen, if you are just tuning in, we're all about to be introduced to the latest arrival on the PRW roster, Bek Teutem. Now this boy came in with a lot of hype, he's an star over in his native Holland and has come in wanting to test himself at the highest level.

SMITH: I'm a bit unsure what to think about him just yet. He has no real experience with the big boys... which is fine... but to come in with such high expectations... I don't know Josh.

BRUNSWICK: As cynical as that may be Doug, I do suppose you have a point there. Sort of. I guess we'll let him do the talking for us?


Teutem hovers the microphone close to his lips for a moment, before lowering it with a smile to himself. He rubs the underside of his eye and coughs deeply, before motioning again to speak.

BEK TEUTEM: Hello Birmingham!

Cheap pop.

BEK TEUTEM: I can't hear you, I said... HELLO BIRMINGHAM!

Cheaper pop.

BEK TEUTEM: That's better! Wow... I'm sorry if I seem a little too excited, but I have just never been in front of such a big crowd before! You know... before today, I had only ever signed one autograph. That was for my own mother, because she told me she wants to sell it when I'm PRW Champion and go on vacation.

SMITH: Adorable. Look at my eyes Josh, real tears.

BEK TEUTEM: When I landed in Birmingham though I had dozens of little kids asking me to sign photos for them, take pictures, selfies... I felt like David Beckham, I really did!

Teutem chuckles to himself before proceeding.

BEK TEUTEM: It's still not really hit me yet that I'm here in PRW. Like, wow! I can now tell my friends back home that I'm a wrestling superstar without them telling me to get off their Playstation before they call the police.

He stifles his laugh this time, but looks on proudly towards the crowd. These little gags may very well be the most memorable moments of his PRW career.

BEK TEUTEM: Anyway, it does sadden me to say I won't be wrestling for you tonight. I know, I know... I really wanted to as well. I brought my tights and everything! But the powers that be did tell me that I can come out tonight and introduce myself to you anyway!

He stands tall in his sparkling suit, ready to make himself known to the Birmingham massive. Before speaking, he adjusts his bespoke tie nice and tight. Not quite strangling himself. That's somebody else's job.

BEK TEUTEM: My name's Bek Teutem, and as you could probably tell from my funny accent, I'm not quite American. I'm not English. I'm actually from Holland, you know... the land of the...

He raises an invisble blunt to his lips and audibly inhales, inciting a hearty laugh out of Doug Smith... and pretty much nobody else.

BEK TEUTEM: Look, I just want to say I'm very happy to be a part of PRW. There's a lot of talent in that locker room, and walking in there today I felt so proud to be part of the family. Honestly, I can't wait for when I finally get to fi-

I SHOOT THE LIGHTS OUT
HIDE 'TIL IT'S BRIGHT OUT


The opening bars of Kanye West's "Monster" slither out of the speakers, interrupting Teutem's long-awaited introduction. The Dutchman looks toward the stage baffled; who is this shitting on his parade?

SMITH: I think Kanye's at the wrong show guys.

The lights are dimmed with a solo shine over the entrance, from which a subtle streak of smoke begins to arise. Bon Iver's growls continue to crackle through the PA system before a loud shriek hits the eardrums of the thousands in attendance. Yet still nobody emerges from behind the curtains, which leaves Teutem even more perplexed. What was supposed to be a simple meet-and-greet with the Brummie crowd has turned into a game of hide-and-seek. The rookie looks around nervously, mouthing numerous asides such as "What is this?" and "Is this a joke?"

Rick Ross comes and goes on the beat with not even a clue as to who dares to interrupt the Dutchman. Why bother anyway? It's not a Taylor Swift concert.

GOSSIP GOSSIP, N---- JUST STOP IT
EVERYBODY KNOWS I'M A MOTHERFUCKIN' MONSTER
I'MMA NEED TO SEE YOUR FUCKING HANDS AT THE CONCERT
I'MMA NEED TO SEE YOUR FUCKING HANDS AT THE CONCERT


Finally, a silhouette appears from the curtains. Nary a detail to be seen, just the outline of what is obviously a rather in-shape woman. The shadow hollers to Teutem, beckoning him to come over... to which the impressionable Dutchman complies. He curiously slips out of the ring and begins to pace up the ramp towards the stage.

PROFIT PROFIT, N---- I GOT IT
EVERYBODY KNOWS I'M A MOTHERFUCKING MONSTER


The silhouette disappears from sight, leaving the perplexed Teutem alone on a smoky ramp. He scratched his head, ready to turn back toward the ring... except, the monster pounces.

BRUNSWICK: Ohhh! Bek's down! Who is that?

Teutem hits the ground hard, stricken by an unknown figure behind him. He checks for blood out of his aching face (you're safe this time, Bek!) then shuffles onto his back, wishing to see who had the nerve to cheap shot him like that.

Glaring back at him is a pair of menacing eyes, piercing straight through him; the rest of the face obscured by a menacing white mask, bar a sizeable gap serving as a mouth-hole. The specimen isn't particularly tall, possibly even a little shorter than Teutem himself. Yet the physique of the man is impressive, almost fearsome. His hulking hands clutch Teutem by the collar, stripping him away from the cold floor. Following that, the masked mystery dishes out an almighty smack to the jaw that sends Teutem stumbling back.

The poor kid had every right to be nervous, clearly.

The menace stands mightily still, watching the Dutchman hurtle back. He awaits, knowing he could savagely rip apart Teutem if he so pleases... but he does not. That's not as fun.

Instead, he allows Teutem to come about after that startling punch. The rookie exposes his (lack of) Dutch courage with his hesitancy, actually stepping away nervously with a timid look towards the stage. This is met with a smirk from the mysterious attacker, who slowly raises his own arms out towards the side, as if to challenge him. Teutem stops himself from fleeing, and after another moment of hesitating he charges at the masked miscreant.

And is duly met with a stunning boot to the liver.

SMITH: Eurgh, that one made me shudder. God damn.

BRUNSWICK: Whoever this man is, whoever he is... I hope he gets what's coming for him.


Teutem drops, greatly winded, and his hands quickly shield his side. For those quick enough to notice, the Dutchman's face was crumpled in excruciating pain; everyone else is met to the back of the attacker, leaping onto his felled opposer. The fists begin to rain down one-by-one onto the defeated Dutchman, and when the attacker finds himself bored of using his hands, he jumps to his feet and uses those instead.

SMITH: He's kicking him while he's down... quite literally.

The masked mystery dishes out more licks, a countless array of kicks, forcing Teutem straight back onto his belly and effectively into submission. He stomps on the body of the felled, exhilarated by the pained groans. And then, in an ultimate show of disrespect, he props one boot onto the skull of Teutem and roars.

BRUNSWICK: Whoever this guy is, he's clearly trying to send a message to the PRW locker room.

SMITH: I don't think PRW will be the same again, Josh.


fin.
Edited by Canary Kid, Jul 18 2015, 07:03 PM.
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