Drake Mallory

Sex: Male
Aliases: Drake Tenchi (Marriage name), "The Master of Kicking Ass" (self-appointed title), "Good-for-nothing Drunken Ass"
Age: 28
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 198 lbs
Hair: Black
Eyes: Dark Blue
Nationality: English
Alignment: Tweener

Entrance Music:




Strategy: Normally, Drake is a balanced fighter, careful not to get carried away yet capable of driving his opponent back when needed. However, ever since joining AFW, he ensures to get a buzz on at the very least before his matches. Utterly unpredictable with movements that are incredibly difficult to read, Drake grapples onto any part of the body that he can and won't let go until he feels something break. He’ll move onto one after the next until they submit.

Style: Unpredictable Mess

Preferred Matches: Anything and everything.

Favorite Moves:
- Chokeholds
- Chokeslams
- DDTs

Finishing moves:
Drunk Pilot - With his opponent on their back, Drake will grab them by their legs and twirl them around and around like a helicopter. He will then throw them towards the nearest solid object, be that a ring post, cage wall, or solid brick. Combine this with his freakish strength and level of alcoholism, and the result is devastating to say the least. The rate at which this speed can gather is dangerous. The referee is advised to exit the ring temporarily.

Physical Stats
Endurance: 4/5 - (“Was tougher back in his days as a veteran in the air force. Years of drinking have worn his perfect exterior somewhat. Still, his street fights and time as an enforcer has kept him conditioned.”)
Strength: 4/5 - (“Military training and years spent as an enforcer. Not the largest guy around, but definitely on the upper end. Largely concentrated to his upper body. Opponents should steer clear of this runaway train if they see a hook flying towards them.)
Speed: 4/5 - (“In the army, you learn quickly that speed is everything. He’s only gone up against enemy infantry on a couple occasions, but you won't soon forget lessons like that. He stays on his toes no matter the situation, a strategy that kept him alive on the streets and shadowy corners of underground Birmingham.”)
Defense: 2/5 - (“Has plenty of counters and defensive poses, but most of those go away once he’s in the ring. Probably because he’s drunk. Still, he won’t allow himself to be hit by anything obvious.”)
Technique: 3/5 - (“Comes entirely from the unpredictability of alcoholism. Nothing flashy, but nothing simple either. It's hard to tell whether some movements are meant to be distracting or simply unnecessary.)



Personality: Drake is a brash, tough man with nothing to lose. He loves to fight, almost as much as he loves to drink. Spending years amongst fellow gangsters has given him a tough outer shell. He is not easily intimidated, but can nevertheless tell when he is in over his head or wasting his time. His time in the military has given him a sense of courage as well, as he’s seen the worst the world has to offer. Though he’s happy to keep to himself, he’s willing to lend a helping hand if it seems needed, willing to make a friend if it seems worth the time. That is, when he’s sober, which isn’t often the case. Under the influence, Drake becomes a lot more aggressive, or bubbly, depending on the context. Its often difficult to predict his mood, and people are better off minding their own business.

Appearance: Prefers to go topless in the ring, sporting simple black pants and a belt. Bandages his arms for rougher competitors. Outside of the ring, he wears Ayame’s last gift to him into the ring. A gray shirt with a yellow long-sleeve undershirt, and a black beanie with black pants. Adorned with numerous promotional buttons and trinkets he'd picked up bouncing from bar to bar.

Ring Attire:

Casual Attire:

Captain Mallory:

Leaving for work:

Water Yew Lookin at?:

In A bind:

Stupor:

Hey there, laddy:

There isn’t much to be told of Drake’s early life. The only relevant portions begin after high school, when he enlisted in the Royal Air Force at the tender age of nineteen. Despite being recognized for several distinguishable acts of valor and awarded a number of medals, he was dishonorably discharged some time after his twenty first birthday. Wouldn’t pry much further than that.

Clear of conviction and coming back from his tour of duty, he became involved in a number of drunken incidents. Steadily, he devolved into a good-for-nothing drunk with no morals to hold onto. He was brawling every night and drinking twice as often. Running in a number of underground circles, he carved some semblance of a name for himself as an enforcer for a notorious Birmingham syndicate. His life became a cycle of drinking, violence, and more drinking. That circle shattered one day, when he took a trip down an alley and met a group of miscreants he’d become quite familiar with. They had come up with a certain “mystery drug”, and offered Drake the honors to be the first to try it. He inhaled, exhaled, and blacked out. He woke up, alone, broke, topless...and in Japan. Quite low on his list of expectations, that last bit.

From island to island, he would travel. Aimless, getting by on the occasional odd job, he settled down one night, content to drink himself to death. Until he saw her. One singularly striking young woman who caught his gaze, just as he caught hers in the midst of the dark.

She was beyond words. Hair like midnight. Eyes as full and bright as the moon. Her fair figure shining like a star in the endless night. This was it. He knew it. The woman that he had been searching all his life for. One that would right the wrongs that he would have to endure all his life. For all the suffering, struggle, and hardships, he was granted this moment. With these thoughts swarming in his mind, he gallantly stepped forward and, with the woman, began an endearing conversation that would change his life forever. One that, to this day, neither of them would ever forget, as one of compassion, bravery, and hope. Kidding. He threw up on her dress and passed out. He awoke in a holding cell that same night and slept until day. He was only released when the woman mysteriously paid for his bail. Wanting to make it up to her, he offered to take her out on a date despite having no funds and quite literally dying on the street some hours ago. Instead, the woman would pay for their dinner, and he would repay her with his company. She introduced herself as Ayame Tenchi.

She was a grand woman, to say the least. Raised in an affluent family, she lived by luxurious, yet humble means. His delightful humor, natural resistance, and masculine charm wore the woman down over time, giving life to an endearing relationship and, soon enough, marriage. Drake Mallory became Drake Tenchi. Ignoring the criminal aspects of his experience, Ayame’s father hired Drake as chief of security at one of his company’s branches. With a proper income, home, and wife, he was learning to live as a man of respect and integrity. He became more familiar with the surrounding culture and gradually started to adopt the Japanese language through lessons with Ayame and phonetically. He began to learn finance, proper penmanship, and hygiene. At one point, the two even considered bearing a child. However, Drake was a rugged man with a wild soul, unable to suppress the talents that kept him alive years before coming to this country. Soon, his bad habits overtook him and his life steadily crumbled before him. After a year of marriage and passionate love, Ayame divorced Drake, leaving to live with her parents back home in Shikoku.

Even so, Ayame was a compassionate and gentle soul, not without empathy. The last thing she left him was a new pair of clothes, a hefty stipend, and a letter. The contents of the letter he refused to disclose, but all he would say was that Ayame ‘wished him well, to be happy, and to live honestly to himself, no matter what path his life lead him’. Within a month, the money was gone. Spent on hotel rooms, fine women, and even finer bottles.

Military training and a drunken stupor is an apparently deadly combination. The liquor calmed his nerves while his professionally-trained fists did all the talking. Night after night he would trade belows with every happy hour participant and tough-talking gangster this country had to offer. It wasn’t until one night in particular that a scout would recruit him into AFW. Not because he was scouting him, mind. He was walking past a bar after a long day, no talent catching his eye, when Drake came flying through the window and landed on him. It was only after dispatching his foes with ruthless efficiency and impressive prowess, despite being outnumbered 5 to 1, that the scout offered him a chance at the promotion.

Drake was of a mind to refuse, never having been a fan of wrestling. However, his dear Ayame were never far from his mind. Perhaps this was the chance he needed, to earn enough money to keep him off the streets, yet enough prestige to see Ayame once again, if only for a moment. And so, he resolved to become a man of wealth and proper means. For his love of drink, and the love he once knew...

Fun Facts:
-Has a strict policy to never hit girls. (E.N. - Is that why he gets so drunk before his matches? This guy really is a good for nothing. Should get along nicely with some of the guys around here.)
-Bit of a potty mouth when he's buzzed. A. Bit.
-Has a cat that won’t leave him alone. It can hold its liquor, though.
-Misses Fish n' Chips.
-Hasn't made an attempt to contact his family since returning from the RAF.



Record: 0 - 0 -0
Wins: 0
Losses: 0
Draws: 0

Career Milestones: Newbie.

Friends: None
Allies: None
Rivals: None
Enemies: None
Crushes: None