TCP1
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This is a Cornellverse dynasty, inspired by the original dynasty by BriFidelity all those years ago and by the irrepressible InfinityWPI’s Welcome to the Zone series. Seems wrong not to mention them both.
Previously, on Welcome to New York…
Saturday, Week 1, January 2021
Rain lashed against my car windscreen as I drove away from Larry Vessey’s funeral. Away from the company I’d help grow. The company which now belonged to Allen Packer’s unstoppable juggernaut USPW. As I left the city limits, I saw a sign. The sign which served as inspiration back in 2016. I took a photo as I passed. Larry’s face appeared in my mind and scowled.
We did good kid, he said.
I looked back at the sign one last time as it got smaller and smaller before disappearing. And as it disappeared, the words written on it, ‘Welcome to New York’ disappeared too.
The end…
Of the road. A burping sound, a flash of wobbly green light and then darkness.
When I next peeled my eyes open, they were met with the fluorescent lights of a hospital.
“You idiot,” said a familiar gruff voice. “You could’ve killed yourself. And us with you.”
I turned my head and sat by my hospital bed was Larry Vessey.
“Larry?” I said “What the Hell is going on?”
“What’s going on is, you were drunk, you crashed your car and you’ll be no good to me dead. The CoTT are crumbling, USPW are threatening to buy our business and our attendances are tanking. I need you up and ready to go. It’s not very impressive that on day one of being my booker you try and kill yourself.”
He threw a half-eaten box of chocolates at me.
“But, you’re dead,” I said. “You died and NYCW got sold to USPW.”
“Never,” he yelled. “I’d never sell. And while I may be old, I’m not dead. Yet. So stop talking crazy, get your sh*t together and let’s go.”
I looked around the room and the calendar showed January 2020. But that couldn’t be right. I’d joined in 2016. Was this a dream? Or a twist of fate? Or time travel? I didn’t know, but suddenly I had another shot. A chance to right what once went wrong.
The wrestling god had given me one last chance. But could I face it again? Another look around the hospital room and I saw a flyer advertising a wrestling show in two weeks’ time. I saw the header and it dawned on me. A do-over. A second chance.
Welcome to New York… Wrestling Gods, you son of a bitch… I’m in.
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http://www.greydogsoftware.com/forum/showthread.php?t=541249
Welcome to New York... An NYCW Diary (Cverse)
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Don't suppose there's a Harry Chadwick re-render knocking around somewhere is there? He's the owner of my new New Orleans-voodoo-inspired company.
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While I'm on the scrounge. Could I have:
White Skull face Paint on this one:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v301/TCPinho/Donte%20Dunn.jpg
A leopard-pring headband on this one (like a Strong Man style):
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v301/TCPinho/Ernest%20Youngman.jpg
American flag bandana? Or perhaps blond hair? Something to make him look a bit more like an American pretty boy hero:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v301/TCPinho/Logan%20Wolfsbaine.jpg
Thanks again. -
<blockquote data-ipsquote="" class="ipsQuote" data-ipsquote-username="Hitman74" data-cite="Hitman74" data-ipsquote-contentapp="forums" data-ipsquote-contenttype="forums" data-ipsquote-contentid="41231" data-ipsquote-contentclass="forums_Topic"><div><a href="http://s1137.photobucket.com/user/hitman74/media/Alts/Amiri20Ngala_zpsyx4nkikf.jpg.html" rel="external nofollow"><span>http://i1137.photobucket.com/albums/n511/hitman74/Alts/Amiri20Ngala_zpsyx4nkikf.jpg</span></a></div></blockquote><p> </p><p> You hero, thanks very much.</p>
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Could I get the attached but with a skull face paint?
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v301/TCPinho/Amiri%20Ngala.jpg
Thanks in advance.
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I don't suppose anyone wants to give the following a go for me? It's for a dynasty I'm writing:
Lone Star Wrestling. Perhaps a sherrif's badge logo with a sandy-coloured background. I also need an event logo called Texas Forever. Appreciate it's a pain, but if someone could help I'd be appreciative.
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Love all the renders in here, thank you for them all.
I wondered if I might request a couple? I'm looking for new versions of The Boys from the Yukon? Basically I'm setting them up as Viking invader types? Same with Hugh de Aske too. Any help would be appreciated.
Welcome to New York... Titans (NYCW)
in Total Extreme Wrestling 2020 Dynasties
Posted
Somewhere in the Mid-Atlantic region…
I was ushered into a room by the strong grip of Larry Vesey and was sat down in a comfortable chair. I was about to ask where we were, but I remembered this place from the last time. Or the dream or whatever. This was the Confederation of the Territories HQ.
“Let’s get this over with,” Larry growled.
“Whose the rookie?” said a gruff voice from elsewhere in the room.
Along with Larry and myself there were five important-looking men and five other not so important sat around a big circular desk. When I say important, I don’t mean in the global, political or social sense, but in the ‘look at me and how important I am’ type of way. These were wrestling promoters. The sort of hard-nosed, carnival-inspired lunatics who presented oiled-up men in pants hitting each other with chairs as an art form.
I’d read all about them in the ‘book.’ The alliance; designed as a way of keeping their names relevant in a business which had basically passed them by. Each had a noble reason for running an unsuccessful business, whether it was to train the next generation, present something alternative for true fans or to help buoy the failing economy in their respective area. Whatever reason they gave; the uncomfortable truth was that they wanted to be powerful, successful and influential. They wanted to be stopped in the street by strangers and applauded for their business acumen, their financial clout and above all else they wanted to be the owners of the top wrestling promotion in the world.
The powerhouses of SWF, TCW and the new champions USPW dominate global wrestling and a bunch of near-to-the-top promotions are hot on their heels. But for the smaller fish, they needed to work together for now in order to survive and perhaps one day, thrive.
This must’ve been the yearly meetup. It was December after all. The notes in the ‘book’ simply said, ‘Waste of time, don’t care, just a chance for a drink and reminisce about the good old days. Idiots.’
Only, those notes didn’t seem to ring true. Especially not for this particular meeting, they looked tense and as they discussed their various promotions, plans for the titles and who should run what shows on what days, I could tell there was something playing on their minds. Larry told me to sit down, shut up and don’t make a fool of myself.
And other than spilling coffee over myself, I did ok.
Rich plumes of smoke danced through the air and seeped into the custom-made suits of these important men and they all laughed maniacally. Definitely villains.
Even though my heart was pounding in my chest, it really was fascinating to have a seat at the table. Literally, in this case.
Sam Keith, owner of Mid Atlantic Wrestling and de facto head of CoTT was winding down proceedings when there was a single knock at the door. The others looked at one another in surprise. Presumably nobody else knew about this meeting.
“Come in,” said Keith. I knew who was entering before they did. It was so weird living my life again.
The door burst open. In walked a suited man. This was a man not suited to events like this. He wore a suit that was more at home in the boardroom of a multinational promotion. He was tanned, but not orange, his teeth were white, but not glistening white and his shoes were pristine and shiny. This man was everything the others in the room wished they were. Allen Packer, owner of USPW. The ‘big boys’ of pro wrestling in the States.
“So it’s true,” Packer said and walked to the head of the table. “The little people are working together. I always thought it was some running gag. Amazing.”
“Who in the blazes are you?” shouted Larry and he nearly knocked me over as he stood.
“I’m Allen Packer,” he said confidently. “I own Reverie. And USPW, and hopefully soon, you lot.”
He pulled five envelopes from his pocket and slid one to each of the big boys at the table.
“It’s 2020 and it’s all about online content,” he said. “You’ve got some, I want it. Here’s a pay cheque for you to go home and stop playing at promoting.”
Sam opened up the envelope and pulled out a cheque. He looked at it and then screwed it up and tossed it on the floor.
Allen Packer laughed.
“Not enough old man?” he said. “How about I double it?”
“I’ve got plenty of money already,” said Keith.
Larry didn’t even open the envelope, he just screwed it up and shoved it in his mouth. He then tried to speak, but his mouth was full of paper. So he raised his middle finger to the newcomer instead and let out a little choked cough.
“OK,” said Packer. “Have it your way. I’ll run you all out of business and then buy your tape libraries for $1 when I’m finished.”
“Not this time douchebag,” I said.
The room fell silent and all eyes fixed on me. This was new. I hadn’t done this before. But I was wet-behind the ears last time.
“I don’t know you,” Packer said with interest.
“You will.”
There are rare moments in life when you pull off the incredible. Those one-liners that normally only have a place in movies.
Packer looked a little shocked, but rallied quickly and with a shrug, he spun on his heels and strolled out of the dark room.
“How the hell did he find us here?” asked Sam. “Who flapped their gums?”
Nobody responded.
“Wha’re we gonna do about zis man? Kill im?” saida masked Luchador.
The bookers suddenly looked nervous, but the owners barely looked fazed.
“We’ll expand,” grinned Keith. “We’ll get as many promotions in the COTT as possible, unfiy, absorb and eventually force him out the industry. Old school. You can have all the technology you like, but nothing beats good old fashioned wrestling knowledge.”
The others looked at him like he was mad, but nobody presented any other idea. It wouldn’t work of course. I knew that. I’d seen it in fact. But this time I kept quiet. If knowledge is power, then I was God. The meeting ended abruptly after that.
“We need to discuss WrestleWorld sooner rather than later,” Keith added as we left.
Hours later, once I was sure it was just me and Larry, he swore loudly.
“Everything alright?” I said, knowing exactly what his brain was churning over. This was actually a lot of fun.
“Plans have moved up,” he said. “We’ll need to be very careful now.”
“You’re tired of presenting Stomper’s vision of what NYCW is. We’re at war. And you want to win!” I said to a shocked, open-mouthed response.
“That’s why I hired you kid,” Larry said. But more like he was reading from a script than talking as he thought.
“You want to take them all done,” I added. “Reshape the wrestling world, and you’re going to need me to help me. It’s time to go to work, oh and Welcome to New York City.”
“Not quite,” said Vessey. “Everyone is using that ‘Welcome to’ line these days. We need something new.”
“Leave it with me Boss,” I said.
***
The next day and I was in the Weston Gymnasium in New Jersey. Which didn’t feel quite like The Ministry in New York City, but that never stopped us before. Larry had arranged a meet and greet, so I could get to know the workers and genuinely what we had to work with.
It was weird, I’d known these guys 4 years ago, but the more things change, the more they stay the same. I asked them to stand in their respective card positions of main event, upper midcarder etc. They looked at me confused.
“Yeah we don’t do that anymore,” Larry said.
“Cool, cool cool cool,” I replied. “Alphabetical order please or by team.”
Singles Roster:
Andrew Harper (Heel)
Animal Harker (Face)
Brutus Milano (Face)
Crockett Tubbs (Face)
Denny King (Heel)
Devastating Don (Heel)
Geoff Borne (Face)
Machine Gun Marino (Heel)
Masked Stranger (Face)
Ray Snow (Heel)
Richie Riggins (Heel)
Riley McManus (Face)
Sal DiMeo (Heel)
Super Massive Destroyer (Heel)
Tennessee William (Heel)
The New York Doll (Heel)
It wasn’t exactly dripping with talent. I suddenly missed Bulldozer Brandon Smith, Roger Cage and even Sammy the Shark. But times had clearly moved on, and so should I. The sight of the useless lump Brutus Milano made me smirk. Larry had always had a soft spot for him and even four years later, here he was. Gorgeous and useless.
Tag Teams:
Brooklyn’s Finest – Hawkeye Calhoun and Freedom Eagle (Face)
The Boys from the Yukon – Whitehorse Whittaker and Howlin Mad Mort (Heel)
The Casey Brothers – Tully Casey and Chuck Casey (Face)
The Italian Americans – Vito Pirelli and Luca Sacramoni (Heel)
The LA Stars – LA Star 1 and LA Star 2 (Face)
This was more promising. A good set of tag teams, each bringing something different. The LA Stars had clearly taken the jobber role from Brooklyn’s Finest, who themselves looked better somehow. More confident maybe? They’d be worth a good look at.
Other Talent:
Larry Vessey (Owner and Road Agent)
Steve Flash (Road Agent and former Head Booker)
Michael Bull (Head Referee)
Arnie Plumber (Referee)
Rock Downpour (Lead Announcer)
Ron South (Colour Commentator)
Ernie Turner (Colour Commentator)
Fern Hathaway (Valet)
Cheerleader Nicki (Valet)
Steve Flash, who I’d known for years, eyed me suspiciously. Luckily he was a workhorse when he was wrestling, I’d imagine he’d be the same now in backstage role. The commentary team had a new guy, Ron South. But I knew I could do most of their jobs. Ernie Turner remained too, still best friends with Tennessee William, and still overpriced.
Stables:
The DiMeo Family (Sal DiMeo, Luca Sacramoni, Vito Pirelli and Machine Gun Marino)
I thought back to my original idea for the Milano Family. It wasn’t quite as impressive as that had been, but it could work if carried right. Sal DiMeo was a cocky sort, but boy could he talk. He reminded me of an old school NYCWer, which gave me an idea.
“So, come on, whose holding the gold?” I asked.
This was always a fun exercise.
Titles:
NYCW Tag Team: The Boys from the Yukon (27 prestige)
NYCW Tri-State Regional: Masked Stranger (23 prestige)
NYCW King of New York: Steve Flash (33 prestige)
NYCW Empire: Brutus Milano (29 prestige)
He’d actually done it. Larry, the mad old fool with a terrible eye for talent had put the strap on Brutus Effing Milano. Good God, what was he thinking? Brutus introduced himself to me with a firm handshake. Oh, brilliant. He’s respectful and an obviously popular backstage personality. What was going on?!?
Not only had Larry done that, and split up the Southern Stars, but he’d taken the King of New York title and turned it into a Battle Royal. Nobody liked Battle Royals. I’d be looking to change that pretty sharpish.
Having met and greeted everyone, I already had a good idea of who was good backstage and who was bad. Devastating Don, Luca Sacramoni and Ray Snow were bringing everyone else down. A toxic backstage environment is more trouble than it’s worth. So I overruled Larry on some rules, offering to pay for peoples transport and insisting they didn’t have to stay to the end of the show.
Next step was ‘the book’ which had all the storylines and events currently running. Fair play to Flash, he had more creativity than Larry. Then again my left sock had more creativity than Larry.
Storylines:
Cage Clash Fallout: Brutus Milano vs Tennessee William (Hot – How? How was Brutus in a ‘hot’ storyline as the Empire freakin Champion)
Freedom or Family: Freedom Eagle being hunted by the DiMeo Family (Not hot)
McManus vs Harper: Blood Feud over being put through tables (Hot – Nice to see Harper hasn’t changed his gimmick at all in four years)
Masked Stranger vs Denny King: (Hot – Denny King, who I knew as Dermot O’Logical, had clearly completely revamped himself. I quite liked his new attitude to be honest)
Company Positon:
17th in the world of wrestling
24% Prestige
22% Momentum
Work needed to be done, and fast.
Retiring to my office, or the broom cupboard as I knew it, I looked at the books. Books was an overstatement. It was a ziplock bag of receipts and hand-written post-it notes. We had $50,000 in the bank, which was… fine. I guess. We’d need to work on that seeing as we’d apparently got smaller and less relevant since 2016. Looking at the various handshake deals and non-exclusive contracts, the familiar faces stood out.
Top Earners:
Ernie Turner: $400
Rock Downpour: $400
Steve Flash: $400
Ron South: $200
So firstly, I cancelled all shows except what I’d consider the key ones, and added a centrepiece event.
Calendar
February – Rush Hour
May – Gang Wars (3 vs. 3 matches)
September – The Kind of New York (cancelled the current title and created a yearly tournament title)
December – Empire City Showdown I
Every month would have a show to boost and grow our popularity in the Tri-State area, which was, in my mind, the key. I’d promised not to re-use the Welcome to New York title for the monthly show. So I needed something else. Something which showed our old school roots, but with a modern twist for new fans. Something cool and edgy, but not pretentious or too niche.
Meanwhile Larry gave us a list of goals:
1. NYCW must have gained popularity.
2. Must not fall below $20,000.
3. No Hiring of workers with trouble with the law.
4. No Strikers.
5. No Luchadors.
While I let my creative juices flow, I made marks next to various names. I’d get Larry to fire them.
Releases
Ernie Turner (too expensive and I had a better idea, although this affected Tennessee William’s morale)
Rock Downpour and Ron South (I’d do their jobs)
Fern Hathaway and Cheerleader Nikki (We didn’t need valets at this stage. Music first, valets later)
Devastating Don (Bad attitude, bad wrestler)
Ray Snow (Bad attitude, decent wrestler)
LA Stars (too many tag teams, especially with my plans)
So, I’d cut away enough deadwood to free up plenty of cash for new signings. Time to revamp this entire organisation. Then it occurred to me. The one person I needed to sign up immediately. The centrepiece of the organisation last time.
“Yo,” said the voice at the end of the phone.
“Ross Henry, you sonofabitch, it’s me Mr Patrick from NYCW. I wanna bring you in and relive the glory days.”
There was a pause and I realised my mistake.
“Who?” said the former NFL player. “Listen, don’t call me again.”
The line went dead. Ok, so no Ross Henry. Add that to no Roger Cage, no Sammy the Shark, no Cameron Vessey, Greg Gauge, Matthew Keith or Casey Valentine.
“Larry!” I called. “How old is your nephew?”
“What?” he growled from the next room.
“Your nephew, Chuck Vessey,” I said.
“I ain’t got no nephew,” he replied. “Stop being weird.”
Alright, so not everything was the same this time. Dammit. I flicked through the latest copy of Powerslam magazine and saw some names I did recognise and got on the phone immediately. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a great start.
“See you soon boss,” said Brutus Milano as he left the gym later than the others, covered in sweat but with a smile on his face. Oh he was such a nice guy. I hated him.
“Go away Milano.”
I sat back on my desk and picked up the New York Times. Huh, apparently there was a nasty flu-like virus in China called Covid-19. Luckily President Kaisch had it all under control. Thank God for effective leadership.