An illuminating white light with the faint distinctions of cerulean befalls the stage before the entrance chamber. The silhouette of a man appears casually in the aforementioned light filling the entrance stage. The figure is distinguished with the fall of long curly locks curtaining the face staring at a spot on the floor, broad shoulders hunched low and the outlines of a folded steel chairs in one hand. The slow stride with which the man makes his presence upon the platform is methodical and showing of an air of arrogance.
Mark Sanction: What the-
A lone spotlight appears a few paces in front of the blinding white light. The silhouette emerges into the circle of limelight to take his place. The crowd go mostly silent not knowing what or who is appearing out of nowhere, some even cheer out of the necessity of something to do. The man slowly raises his head to look upon the people with a flaring nose, sharp eyes and curled lips. The last of those mentioned curls further alas slowly into a wide and wicked grin.
Rose: This… must be Draven.
Draven sticks his thick arms out to his sides fixating a momentary pose of a crucifix with the chair hanging from his right fist. Moments later, he begins his intense swaggering march down the entrance ramp and the lights slowly return to better show the spectacle that is Draven.
The new arrival is decked out in a fight ready attire as he has donned shin high battle boots, black denim shorts, a tight fitting black tool T-shirt which shows off his muscular tone of his body, knee pads, elbow pads and both hands wrapped thickly in white hockey tape all the way to the elbow pads. His face has returned to a serious glare from the skull-grin of the previous moments and he makes his way towards the ring, he cuts to the left and marches toward the steel steps – stopping abruptly once reaching them. A fan behind the barrier near the ring reaches out desperately to touch him and attract his attention, but Draven ignores him and the rest around him apathetically. He climbs the steps in a rapid procession and walk along the ropes over the apron. His meticulous navigation towards the centre of the outside ring apron is broken when he briskly ducks through the top and middle ropes - then makes a sharp turn towards the nearest turnbuckle corner. He naturally ascends to the middle turnbuckle to look sternly down upon the people. He jumps down in one hop turns to the announcer in opposing corner and flicks his fingers beckoning the girl on. She walks over and timidly hands the microphone over and exits the ring.
Mark Sanction: Well I guess now we’re going to know this man better and why he is out here in such an unscheduled manner.
Draven peers cynically around the arena before slowly raising the microphone up and giving it a few taps on the head. He brings it up to his lips but the murmuring within the excited masses rises and he is stalled for a few moments. On the second try he raises the microphone up.
“Ladies and gentlemen…”
The buzz returns and Draven lowers his arm looking ever sterner than before. Eventually he tries a third time.
“Ladies and gentlemen…”
There is a pause from the big man as he garners more anticipation from the crowd to hear him end his first ever sentence.
With that the arena erupts into booming jeers and boos and a few curses being thrown back in reply. Meanwhile, the self-satisfied grin of Draven returns.
“That is all.”
The MIC lands with a resounding thud and Draven cuts back across to where he entered from, ducks out of the ring and starts to stride back up the ramp. Upon reaching the height of the stage he stops, turns around and whips out his crucifix pose once again for the benefit of the people in attendance, before leaving the stage to a shower of still building animosity.
Mark Sanction: What the hell was that?
Rose: This guy is a jackass.