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NAME |
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Frost |
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HEIGHT |
| 6'5" |
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WEIGHT |
| 275 lbs. |
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DATE OF BIRTH |
| April 2, 1980 |
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HAILING FROM |
| St. Louis,
Missouri |
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THEME MUSIC |
| Tantric -
Breakdown |
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APPEARANCE |
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Frost is strong and fast.
His ring attire is plain black baggy pants. His backstage attire is
the same black baggy pants.
Comparison - Vin Diesel |
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ASSOCIATES |
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Frost has no manager as of this moment
and has no tag team partners. |
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HISTORY |
Background:
-
Gimmick/Personality:
Frost's gimmick is a
trash-talking wise crack who makes the fans have fun. He's an
all-round, fun loving guy. He's mostly easy to get along with but if
you say or do the wrong the thing, he snap and attack anything in
his path of destruction.
Accomplishments:
Frost speaks of
himself in third person. Great on the mic and in the ring. One of
the very few people with speed and strength his size. Drives around
in either a Black Dodge Viper or Black Crotch Rocket Motorcycle.
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FINISHER |
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Fatality |
The Gore |
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SIGNATURE MOVES |
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One and Only |
Split Legged Moonsault |
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Big Boot To Face |
Big Boot To Face |
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Thundous |
Massive Spinebuster |
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BASIC MOVES |
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Sambo Suplex |
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Senton Bomb |
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Belly to Belly Suplex |
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High Cross body from Top Rope |
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Power Clothesline |
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STYLE |
ALIGNMENT |
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Powerhouse |
Face |
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SAMPLE ROLEPLAY |
:: When cameras come on
the air they're in an office. Blade and Eric Costintinos are talking. ::
Blade: Eric, I want you to watch after my client. If you do him wrong
I'll do you wrong.
Eric: Don't worry, it won't be a problem.
Blade: Good. But on another note. I can't belive the nerve of Adam Whyle
not to put Steven Paul in the Main Event agianst Scrap Metal. Paul is
2-0. He didn't even lose his tag team match. El Diablo got pinned.
Eric: I know. I tried to talk to Adam but he's stubborn-headed and won't
listen.
Blade: That's okay once my client comes in that won't be a problem.
Eric: How do you suppose?
Blade: Well lets just say we'll hit him where it hurts. Along with
anybody that stands in their way.
:: Steven Paul walks into the room. ::
Blade: Ain't you ever heard of knocking?
Steven: Nevermind that. Come check out what He's driving.
:: Blade, Eric and Steven leave to the parking lot. When they arrive
there is a Black Dodge Viper with a dragon decals on the sides. The
tinted window lowers a bit to see the eyes. ::
Eric: Kid, where'd you get all this money.
Steven: Well to make a long story short he got it out of this trust fund
set up because...
Steven&Blade: He's quater indian.
Steven: How'd you know.
Blade: I'm his agent, I know these things. Plus him and me have gone way
back. I still hate him for the fund too.
:: Suddenly "Area Codes" by Ludacris starts to play. ::
Steven: Check this out.
:: Steven pops the trunk and revels 3 NOS cans. 2 on on side and 1 on
the other. ::
Blade: Damn. Check out that stereo system.
:: Blade climbs in the passanger seat. But still nobody can make out the
guy. ::
Blade: He said he get this. I never thought he would. I'll be damned.
Man, you don't smoke.
:: Blade pushes the lighter button and there is another button. Blade
goes to touch it but the man hits his hand away. ::
Steven: Oh I wouldn't touch the blue button.
Blade: Why not.
Steven: That ignites the NOS.
Eric: Why do you have 3 cans of NOS?
Steven: He doesn't.
:: Steven hits the button on each of the 2 tubes reveling that those 2
are subwoofers. He then hits the buttons agian, turning them off. ::
Steven: That one is NOS.
:: Blade climbs out and Steven climbs in. And lowers his window. ::
Steven: We'll see you guys later.
Eric: Kid where you goin?
Steven: Race Wars. We're suppose to meet Dom there.
Blade: Dominc Toretto?
Steven: You know him?
Blade: I've raced with him here and there. Tell him I said hi.
Steven: Like he cares. We're gonna be busy.
Eric: Kid no. Please tell me you're not pulling another job.
Steven: Okay, I won't tell ya.
:: The car then starts up. ::
Eric: Kid, no.
:: The car then speeds off. ::
Eric: Dammit!
Blade: Don't worry they're in good hands.
Eric: They better be. Or that's our asses.
:: Eric walks off with Blade behind him ::
Blade: What do you mean that's our asses? |
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