Wildfire1324

Thank you! My thread got a little buried because I went a few weeks between posts but I am getting back to more of a regular schedule hopefully. Thanks for reading

Location: Juice-O-Rama, 37th Street (Queens, New York) <a href="https://imgur.com/Ph0gzeI"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/Ph0gzeI.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a> <a href="https://imgur.com/xBzMpIa"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/xBzMpIa.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a> "Hi there Maya. Yeah, I'm glad to be back in the city. Buffalo is as cold as a penguin's rear end this time of year and the crowd was lousy too. We're going to be in Jersey City next month though. Let me know if you want to come and I'll get you some tickets." As I watched him talk with the girl taking our order, I thought to myself of course Steve Flash's favorite bar was a juice bar. OF COURSE IT WAS! I shudder to think what he'd say if he saw how many pizzas I had devoured over the last few weeks. I tried to imagine the last time the man had allowed himself the luxury of a slice of pizza, a travesty considering he lived in the pizza capital of the world. "I'll take my usual beet and carrot juice and set my friend up here with a green juice, heavy on the kale." He brought our drinks over to the table and I saw the green sludgy looking beverage he expected me to drink. "Here you go Franklin, you look like you needed this. It's loaded with vitamins and nutrients so you'll be in peak shape for your interview today. You do drink green juices, don't you?" "Does Mountain Dew count? It's sort of green." Steve Flash recoiled in horror and quickly changed the subject, asking me about what it was like behind the scenes at the SWF. "There are some great people there but the Eisens keep things very tense, intentionally I assume. I felt like I was walking on eggshells the entire time I was there. It's not how I would do things but I guess there's a reason why they have a wrestling empire and I'm out of the business at 22." "You should be proud of what you accomplished though Franklin. I'm 50 and never made it to the big leagues but I'm still proud of what I accomplished in my career." "You definitely should be! You're one of the best in-ring performers in the history of the business. Actually when I was twelve, I read in one of the dirt sheets that you were going to be a surprise entrant in the Rip Chord Invitational and I whined until my dad finally agreed to take me up to Baltimore so I could be there to see you compete. He's not a fan of wrestling but even he had a good time that night watching you win." Steve Flash sighed. "When you were twelve? Geez......way to make me feel even older kid." I tried to stammer out an explanation but Steve just laughed. "So tell me, are you really done with the business for good? A lot of people have said that but the siren's call of professional wrestling has lured many a man back into her grasp." "I honestly don't know. My family would be thrilled if I was, that's for sure. Part of me says move on, part of me wants to make an epic comeback, a Kill Bill-esque return of revenge on the Eisens.....only with less katanas and murdering and more of me announcing and maybe doing a little booking for another company that would make them regret dumping me." Steve Flash stared at me, either in disbelief or maybe fear. I wasn't sure which. "Well, that escalated fast Franklin. But I get what you're saying....I think. I didn't know you had any interest in booking. Did you get to do any of that while you were there?" "Not really. Beyond broadcasting, I mostly just helped the scouting department based on my Florida indy experience. Although I DID help Jack with a small TV angle one time when everyone else was tied up." "Jack Bruce? You want to pick up that name you just dropped kid or should I?" A wry smile crossed my face. "What can I say Steve, I ran with fast company." As we had a small laugh over that, Steve's phone suddenly blew up with a series of text messages. "Sorry Franklin. Let me just take a look at this.....oh cripes!" The color left the man's face. Something was clearly very wrong. "Are you okay Steve?" "No. I need to get to the hospital. Rock had a massive heart attack this morning!"

Location: A Third Floor Walk Up Studio Apartment, 36th Street (Queens, New York) <a href="https://imgur.com/Ph0gzeI"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/Ph0gzeI.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a> <a href="https://imgur.com/xBzMpIa"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/xBzMpIa.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a> I had barely landed at LaGuardia when my day went from bad to worse. The airline had lost one of my bags so I had no razor, deodorant, cologne or any of the other toiletries I had packed and I was already a bit ripe from the flight. I lugged the rest of my bags up two flights of stairs and dropped them off at my buddy Anthony's apartment where I was crashing for this trip. Fortunately he had left me a key to get into his place while he was still at work. I figured I should run down to one of the bodegas in the neighborhood to stock up on supplies in case the airline didn't find my bag. Even with the early winter chill in the air, the streets of Queens were alive with people. It was a different energy than I had been used to of late, but I was still lost in thought and buried in my phone when I barreled into someone coming out of the gym on the corner. I hit the pavement. The man barely budged."Hey are you alright man?", he said as he extended a hand. The bright afternoon sun glared in my eyes but I would know the silhouette of that mullet anywhere. "Holy sh*t, you're Steve Flash!", I fanboyishly said. The man helped me up with a smile and replied. "Well.....I used to be. Where are you off to in such a hurry kid?" "I'm sorry. I'm a hot mess today Mr. Flash. I just got into the city a little while ago for an interview with NY1 and the airline lost the bag with all my toiletries so I'm scrambling to replace them." "Please call me Steve and good luck with your interview.....what did you say your name was?" "Franklin." The iconic indie grappler stared at me for a long moment before it suddenly clicked in his head. "Franklin Fumier! It was driving me crazy where I knew you from! You were the host on the pre-show panel for The Supreme Challenge this past year right? You did a real nice job kid! Why the hell are you looking for a new gig, the Eisens cheaping out on you?" Wait, Steve Flash knew who I was? Even though I had worked with some of the biggest stars in the business, wrestlers knowing who I was is still a strange phenomenon to me. "Thank you. I appreciate that but not quite. They made a few cuts in light of that damn IRS setup and as one of the newest employees, I was expendable I guess. I'm still trying to figure out what my next move is." "That sucks kid. Hey, are you busy? My favorite bar is around the corner. Let me buy you a drink. It sounds like you could use one."

Does Steve Flash know how to party or what?

<div style="text-align:center;"><p><strong><span style="font-size:14px;"> Location: Crossfit Unleashed, 37th St. (Queens, New York)</span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="font-size:14px;"> </span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="font-size:14px;"> <a href="</span></strong><a href="https://imgur.com/xBzMpIa" rel="external nofollow"><strong><span style="font-size:14px;">https://imgur.com/xBzMpIa"><img</span></strong></a><strong><span style="font-size:14px;"> src="</span></strong><a href="https://i.imgur.com/xBzMpIa.jpg" rel="external nofollow"><strong><span style="font-size:14px;">https://i.imgur.com/xBzMpIa.jpg"</span></strong></a><strong><span style="font-size:14px;"> title="source: imgur.com" /></a> </span></strong></p></div><p></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> The ink was barely dry on the contract and already Steve Flash was celebrating the only way he knew how.....with cardio. Whispers of his legendary workout routines had circulated for decades and just about everyone who tried to keep up with him in the gym invariably ended up heaving into the nearest garbage can. People thought he was an absolute maniac, but they couldn't argue with the results that kept him in the game until his fifties. Now he was moving on to the next stage of his career, as the owner of New York City Wrestling. Just being a road agent and head booker wasn't enough for him. He was too competitive. He needed some skin in the game, some real stakes. While he had always had a rep for being a bit, let's say thrifty as a wrestler, it left him with a bank account that, buoyed by prudent investments, enabled him to easily write a check for the company. And even though he was sure Larry had overcharged him what he thought his company was worth, he had had the company appraised by an independent analyst a few months earlier and Steve Flash knew he was potentially getting a steal. </p><p> </p><p> He also knew it was almost embarrassing how little money this company had made over the years. Top flight talents like American Buffalo, Roger Cage, Bulldozer Brandon Smith, Joey Minnesota, the Ring Generals and more had plied their trade in NYCW. They had all come and gone without making the company a fraction of what they would go on to draw in USPW, SWF and TCW. To be in the vicinity of all the wealth that the Big Apple has to offer and only being able to merely exist? It never made sense to Steve Flash. In fact it was downright maddening, but as a worker, he just showed up and did his job. But now as the boss, he knew had to modernize the product to draw in some new fans but he couldn't just rip the whole thing down to the studs either. While not huge in numbers, NYCW did have some very loyal fans and there was no point in alienating them right off the bat. </p><p> </p><p> His next move would be to put his team together. Losing Larry to retirement would mean the company was losing an encyclopedic amount of professional wrestling knowledge and experience. Also, while Larry had given him the book, Steve never really felt comfortable with it. It's like how great athletes rarely become great coaches. He just instinctively knew how to tell a great story in the ring but he couldn't script it out for someone else though. Plus at his age, he wasn't on the cutting edge of what was cool any more. He wanted some youthful energy on his team. Once he got back to his office at The Ministry, it was time to start doing some research and making some phone calls. But for now, he had to finish his workout.</p>

Location: A one bedroom apartment above a Quiznos sub shop just outside of Tampa Bay. <a href="https://imgur.com/Ph0gzeI"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/Ph0gzeI.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a> "No dad, I haven't been avoiding your calls. The reception here is really bad. I think they're working on the cell tower. I'm not seeing any missed calls on my phone." While Franklin Fumier didn't enjoy lying to his father, he really didn't have any great difficulty doing it. When the wishes of your family are in diametric opposition to your dreams, you learn to stretch the truth a little. Growing up in a family that barely tolerated his obsession with professional wrestling, Franklin had a hunch that when he told them about his plan to pursue a career in the business after he graduated from the University of Miami (which he did, graduating a semester early with honors, mind you), it would not go well. He never told them that he worked for a local indy promotion the entire time he was in college. As far as his parents knew, he worked at the school bookstore. What they didn't know, didn't hurt them. He actually had to laugh about it all. He had no worries and there were minimal problems when he came out to them as gay during his junior year of high school, but the sheer terror of telling them he was taking a job in professional wrestling? That nearly caused him to break out in hives. As bad as that was though, telling them that he had been let go was a hundred times worse. His father practically demanded that he move back home immediately. "I'm definitely looking to move dad but not back home. You remember Anthony, my suitemate in college? So he got a job up in New York City working for NY1, the local cable news station there and he got me an interview next week. It turns out a lot of the behind the scenes work I did in the SWF translates nicely to working in cable news so I'm headed up there and we'll see how it goes." This satisfied my old man and honestly, it wasn't the worst thought for me either. I could do the job they're looking to fill in my sleep and maybe if I lost some of this pizza and Doritos weight I've gained, they might even realize how handsome I am and use me as on screen talent. It wasn't another spot in the wrestling business but it would be a nice job in media in a major market and potentially a stepping stone to something bigger and better. It was something and something was a lot better than the nothing I'd been wallowing in. Perhaps this job could be just what I needed. And as much as I loved wrestling, perhaps the universe was telling me it was time to move on.

<div style="text-align:center;"><p><strong><span style="font-size:14px;">Location: A 2019 Acura RDX heading eastbound on the Grand Central Parkway out to Long Island</span></strong></p><p><strong> </strong></p><p><strong> <a href="</strong><a href="https://imgur.com/7wkk2WK" rel="external nofollow"><strong>https://imgur.com/7wkk2WK"><img</strong></a><strong> src="</strong><a href="https://i.imgur.com/7wkk2WK.jpg" rel="external nofollow"><strong>https://i.imgur.com/7wkk2WK.jpg"</strong></a><strong> title="source: imgur.com" /></a></strong></p></div><p></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <strong><em>"So I called up the Captain,'Please bring me my wine'. He said, "We haven't had that spirit here since 1969....."</em></strong></p><p> </p><p> Larry Vessey turned up the dial and sang along with The Eagles. He found himself getting lost in song until the overly enthusiastic millennial DJ kicked in. She wasn't actually a millennial but Larry called everyone younger than himself a millennial. </p><p> </p><p><strong><em> "Well there is a goldie oldie, classic rock hit! If you were around when that song hit the charts, it's probably time for some eye cream!"</em></strong></p><p> </p><p> Larry clicked off the radio in a huff. He didn't need some punk kid's opinions. Besides, he had some thinking to do. Steve Flash had just offered to buy out New York City Wrestling from him so he could go enjoy retirement. He knew his wife would approve. Hell, deep down he knew he wanted it too. But the business was all he had ever known ever since he and his brother had broken in when they were barely more than kids. The thought of relaxation and getting away from the grind sure did sound appealing but how does someone finally walk away from the only life he's ever known?</p><p> </p><p> And then there was the whole Stomper issue. The man was like family to him, like an uncle....granted a really surly uncle who reeked of cigar smoke no matter the time of day, but an uncle nonetheless. He could see the writing on the wall. Steve had come to him several times with the idea of modernizing the product a bit, taking a giant leap from being stuck in the 70's and zooming ahead to the 80's, maybe even the early 90's. He actually agreed most of the ideas were pretty good so of course Stomper would have hated them. Handing the reins over to Steve Flash was the right thing to do for the business because if ever there was a Mr. NYCW, it was Steve. Even grumpy old Stomper couldn't be mad at Steve Flash taking over the company. Larry had given NYCW a decade of his life so maybe it was time to move on. The problem was even if he wanted to get his blessing, the last time Larry had seen The Stomper, he wasn't in good shape. All the years of whiskey and cigars had caught up with him and he was in the early stages of lung cancer. After that visit, Stomper's wife called him and told him not to come back. Stomper didn't want anyone to see him withering away, a proud old bastard until the end. </p><p> </p><p> Still Steve's words had resonated with him. Stomper stayed in the business for years and years until it had used him up and spit him out. He managed to stretch out the couple of thousand bucks that Larry had given him for the company which managed to keep he and his wife afloat for a while but he just went from health issue to financial crisis to health issue over the last ten years. Larry even had to help him out a few times and even though Stomper told him he would pay him back, he knew there was no chance of it happening. He never brought up any of the debts to let the man have his dignity. </p><p> </p><p> He pulled into the driveway of his exquisitely manicured home on the north shore of Long Island and sat in his car for a few moments before pulling out his no-frills, most decidedly not smart phone. The call went to voicemail. <em><strong>"Steve, I'll get my lawyer to draw up the paperwork. And I'll meet you in middle, nine thousand off the price of the company to cover what I owe you. I'll catch up with you next week and we'll finalize everything. Talk to you soon."</strong></em> </p><p> </p><p> He hung up and then placed another call over to the firm of Duey, Cheatum & Howe and left a message for his lawyer, Harry Cheatum III, explaining the whole situation, with an explicit note to express the value of the company at nine thousand dollars above its actual worth. Steve may have been a good friend but business was business.</p>

<p></p><div style="text-align:center;"><p><span style="font-size:14px;"><strong>Location: A one bedroom apartment above a Quiznos sub shop just outside of Tampa Bay. </strong></span></p><p> </p><p> <a href="<a href="https://imgur.com/Ph0gzeI" rel="external nofollow">https://imgur.com/Ph0gzeI"><img</a> src="<a href="https://i.imgur.com/Ph0gzeI.jpg" rel="external nofollow">https://i.imgur.com/Ph0gzeI.jpg"</a> title="source: imgur.com" /></a></p></div><p></p><p></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> His fingers slid across the keyboard for a couple of seconds before arriving at an all too familiar site. </p><p> </p><p> </p><blockquote data-ipsquote="" class="ipsQuote" data-ipsquote-contentapp="forums" data-ipsquote-contenttype="forums" data-ipsquote-contentid="48618" data-ipsquote-contentclass="forums_Topic"><div>From supremewrestling.com:<p> </p><p> <em>"Effective today, December 4th, 2019, SWF has parted ways with Franklin Fumier and he is no longer under contract. SWF wishes Franklin the best in all his future endeavors."</em></p></div></blockquote><p> </p><p> He had pulled up this particular post seemingly a dozen times a day in vain for the last few weeks. The information in question had yet to change. </p><p> </p><p> He should have known that scoring his dream job with the Supreme Wrestling Federation in his early twenties was too good to be true. Maybe he should have taken that wrist-sliteningly dull office job his family implored him to take. At least then he wouldn't have to listen to an endless stream of <em><strong>"I told you to stop wasting your time with that fake crap!"</strong></em> from his father. He tried to explain he was cut because of the chaos and fallout from the IRS sting job, not because he wasn't good at his job but his old man didn't want to hear it. He closed the laptop and sighed.</p><p> </p><p> Based on the collection of empty pizza boxes and bottles of Mountain Dew strewn everywhere, one might think Franklin Fumier had opted to just give up. The TV screen seemed to mock him as Netflix yet again asked if he was still watching. He could see his unkempt mug staring back at him.</p><p> </p><p> He clicked yes to get rid of this reflection and resumed his binge watching. He didn't even know what the hell he was watching anymore and he didn't care. For now he was taking comfort in his defeat, luxuriating in his self-pity. He knew he was a loser. He didn't need to be reminded of the fact. But deep down, he knew something had to give. He knew he would make the SWF regret cutting him some day. For now though, he wanted to finish the season of whatever this show was and then maybe take a nap. Inspiration would surely strike soon enough. At least, he hoped it would.</p>

Location: The corner of 10th St. and 43rd Ave., Queens, New York (aka The Ministry) "If you're looking for your cut of the gate Steve, you're outta luck. I don't got two damn nickels to rub together. We took a bath on that last Buffalo show and you know how it goes. You know I'm good for it. The boys gotta get paid otherwise we're outta business." "You call this being IN business? Christ Larry, I can count on one hand the number of shows I've gotten paid for the last few months. Not a great way to treat a beloved NYCW icon if you ask me." Steve Flash was just busting his chops but inside, Larry Vessey bristled. His head booker was one of the few good people in this business and one of his only real friends. He hated taking advantage of his good nature but New York City Wrestling was struggling. Even more so than usual. For decades the throwback company had manage to exist. Not thrive. Not by any means. But now the boat was really starting to take on water. Something had to give and soon or NYCW was going to end up at the bottom of the Hudson River alongside all the bodies the mob had disposed of over the years. "You know I'm good for it Steve. I've never not paid a debt. You know that." "Tell that to your first wife Larry." "Dammit Flash you know I can't legally get within a hundred feet of her. Besides I'm talking about actual people that I've owed money to. Turns out it's impossible to ever truly pay off a goddamn harpy!" "Seriously though, what do you owe me? Ten grand?" "Eight!" "I think your math is a little fuzzy. Anyway, how much do you think this company is even worth?" "A lot! This company has been a part of the city's landscape for over three decades!" "Aside from a couple of rings, some handshake agreements, a relic of a website that I'm pretty sure was made on Geocities and a sponsorship deal with a two and a half star pizzeria according to Yelp, what else of value do we really have here Larry?" Larry Vessey shifted in his chair. He was starting to get annoyed at this line of questioning. Despite being in his early 60's, he was still a burly man and when he wanted to, he could still intimidate people with his size and glare. Steve Flash had seen the look before and knew he was minutes away from Larry blowing his lid. He talked quickly, trying to get in what he could before the explosion. "Look I love this company as much as anyone. I gave the bulk of my adult life plus several of the disks in my back to make this promotion a success. My point is, why are you still doing this Larry? You have an amazing wife, a lovely home outside the city and a grandchild on the way. You had a heart attack three years ago and that still barely changed your routine. You shouldn't be here at this old dump at ten o'clock at night crunching numbers to try and figure out how to eke out a few more bucks to keep this thing afloat. Besides, we both know what needs to happen here. You can't keep running a 1970's promotion in 2020 man! I'm not saying we need to tear NYCW down to the studs but a little modernization would do wonders!" Vessey drew himself up from his chair to his full height. Steve Flash braced for a tongue-lashing. His red face seemed to suggest it was coming but the onslaught never came. Larry Vessey spoke, more slowly and softer than usual. "I know. Believe me Steve, I know. In my mind, I'm just the caregiver of The Stomper's promotion. I always respected the grumpy old bastard and I gave my old mentor my word that I would protect NYCW and continue to run it in his image for as long as I was here. My word is my bond Steve and I can't break it." Steve laughed to himself at the idea of a grumpy bastard like Larry calling ANYONE else a grumpy bastard. But he didn't let his face betray the seriousness of the moment. He pressed on with his pitch. "The solution is right there in your answer Larry. You told Stomper for as long as you were here, nothing would change. But what if you weren't here?" "What the hell are you talking about Flash? I'm not faking my death again. I settled everything with those loan sharks from Atlantic City!" "Oh dear God Larry! I'm saying I'll eat the ten grand..." "EIGHT!" "....that the company owes me and the lawyers can figure out what would be a fair price for me to buy this place from you. You can go retire to spend well-deserved time with the family. You can golf and fish and drink fruity boat drinks with umbrellas in them. You gave Stomper's company a decade of your life. You don't owe him your soul too. Go home Larry. It's time."

<p><strong>NYCW, August 2025</strong></p><p> </p><p> Empire Champion: Xavi Ferrera (5 defenses since beating Matty Faith)</p><p> </p><p> Tri-State Regional: Akihiro Hisato (7 defenses since beating Remmy Skye)</p><p> </p><p> Tag Team: The Smokin' Aces (Princeton Pryce & Ranger, 11 defenses since beating Notorious)</p><p> </p><p> Women's: Brooke Tyler (3 defenses since beating Lucy Stone-Mcfly)</p><p> </p><p> Rip Chord Invitational Challenge 2025: Austin Smooth (Tourney final over Garry the Entertainer)</p>

I've been running NYCW as Peter Michaels and its now August of 2025. I was racing to make it to cult level so I could lock up some of my younger talents before they were snatched up by the big boys. I lost Austin Smooth for a second time after grossly overpaying him and Xavi Ferrara to come back from RIPW when he signed with TCW but I did manage to retain Xavi who is my current Empire champion and just started a feud with James Diaz who turned on him in the main event of Gang Wars. I'm glad I was able to hang on to Garry the Entertainer, Akihiro Hisato, Jack Massive (formally Rick Hogan and is improving with every match), Remmington Remus (who has become the 2nd best announcer in the world) and my really popular tag champs, The Smokin' Aces, Princeton Pryce and Ranger. But the best part was that I was able to retain Tommy Cornell Jr. and Lucy Stone-McFly, both of whom I locked in to reasonable contracts for 10 years and have since become close friends. I could only imagine how talented a baby Cornell-Stone-McFly would be if they get even closer. <img alt="" data-src="//content.invisioncic.com/g322608/emoticons/wink.png.686f06e511ee1fbf6bdc7d82f6831e53.png" src="<___base_url___>/applications/core/interface/js/spacer.png" />

I can't seem to find anything on this so I figured I would ask here. What benefit does a male character with high sex appeal have? How would you use them to get the most out of that trait? Its not like I would have him shooting t-shirts into the crowds lol. <img alt="" data-src="//content.invisioncic.com/g322608/emoticons/smile.png.142cfa0a1cd2925c0463c1d00f499df2.png" src="<___base_url___>/applications/core/interface/js/spacer.png" />

<p></p><div style="text-align:center;"><p><a href="</p><a href="http://s520.photobucket.com/user/NWAdiary/media/NYCW/0580b3d0-b777-4d59-a0b6-33c51c19ab12_zps9wzmede2.jpg.html" rel="external nofollow">http://s520.photobucket.com/user/NWAdiary/media/NYCW/0580b3d0-b777-4d59-a0b6-33c51c19ab12_zps9wzmede2.jpg.html"</a> target="_blank"><img src="<a href="http://i520.photobucket.com/albums/w327/NWAdiary/NYCW/0580b3d0-b777-4d59-a0b6-33c51c19ab12_zps9wzmede2.jpg" rel="external nofollow">http://i520.photobucket.com/albums/w327/NWAdiary/NYCW/0580b3d0-b777-4d59-a0b6-33c51c19ab12_zps9wzmede2.jpg"</a> border="0" alt=" photo 0580b3d0-b777-4d59-a0b6-33c51c19ab12_zps9wzmede2.jpg"/></a><p> </p><p> <strong><em>Coming Soon......</em></strong> </p></div><p></p><p></p>

So how many of your guys were hurt in that match?