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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » "Savage Saturday Night" RP Board
Skeletons in my closet
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"Dark Warrior" Micheal Graves
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#1
01-23-2017, 01:18 AM




01/22/2017, 6 days away from Micheal Graves Hart Title shot, and 10 days away from Micheal Graves first rematch with Killjoy in 13 years.


“I find myself in quite the predicament. I'm Gravy, and we all know Robbie Bourbon is hungry. Saturday January 28th. That date will mark my first championship match in the XWF in over a decade, and I promise that I'm going to make the most of it. Robbie Bourbon you have the hearts of the people, and you currently hold the XWF Hart Championship. Well you just keep telling your lame jokes and getting yourself into ridiculous situations, and you might just keep the people, but that Hart title will not be in your possession for very much longer.”

“We can both be champions!” whispers a soft spoken males voice from behind Graves. Micheal turns his head slightly and yells “Shut up!” Micheal kinda growls as he clears his throat before continuing.

“The thing is Mr. Bourbon, you are a strong guy, and you can take a beating. I've watched enough footage of you to know that much. I realize that it will be no easy task to take you out this Saturday, but I have one thing that you seem to lack, intelligence. You will not catch me putting my victory at risk just to pander to the crowd like some low rent birthday clown. That's what you are Bourbon, a fucking clown! Everything that I've watched with you tells the same story, that you're just an over grown man child that gets by on his strength and comedy. Speaking of your comedy, you're-not-funny. Blue making fart noises in the back ground of your video, not funny. You naming your bourbon men ridiculous names, also not funny. Cyber-jaw, the man with the cyber jaw quoting Hulk Hogan, not funny! You trying to make threats and look all serious, fucking hilarious! Maybe you are funny after all Bourbon, just keep putting that dollar store mask on and keep talking about how you're going to wreck somebody. I know what you're thinking. Who the fuck is Micheal Graves, and what right does he have to speak to me like that? Well I'll tell you exactly who I am. I'm the mother fucker who came into this company a month ago and vanquished the gimmick infringing who thought that it would be a good idea to run around in my old stomping grounds. Shortly after I signed the contract for that match, I quickly decided that not only did I want to return the the XWF, but I needed to. Do you know why I needed to return? Sure the moneys good, despite Jefferson Jackson doing everything in his fucking power to low ball me on my contract, but no, I returned because a decade ago I left this company feeling as though I left a mark that would be remembered. Sure, I wasn't a universal champion, but I was a hard fighting mother fucker, and if you were booked against me, you knew that you had your work cut out for you. I wanted that contract so I could get back in this bitch, and regain my lost legacy. That's what I've been preaching since returning. You know what I've came to realize though? I haven't lost shit. My legacy is intact, it's the disrespectful, conceded little fucks like you that are currently contracted to this company that are the problem. Nobody forget who I am, everyone would rather just ignore me, hoping that I might go away before I bust your little fucking make believe bubble. The general way of thinking around here is that this generation is so much better than mine. I've listened in the locker room as others have sat around and talked shit on Steve Jason... Steve fucking Jason! Outside of maybe 2 or 3 guys here, none of you are worthy of licking the shit off Steve Jason's boot. That includes you Robbie “Gimme a fucking burger” Bourbon! Everyone around here has forgotten my fucking name, not because of my failings, but because of their utter lack of respect for the men and women that came before them. We built this fucking company, it's here today because of our blood and sweat, but you just want to sweep us underneath the fucking rug, and act like you're all so damn superior. You want to forget my name? Well by the time I'm done with you Robbie Bourbon, YOU WILL KNOW MY NAME!”

“Hey, I'm funny right?” Graves spins around in his office chair and glares at a closed closet door. “If you don't keep your mouth shut while I'm recording I'm going to shut you up, understood!?” Micheal slowly spins back around to face his web cam. The exhales an annoyed sigh before continuing.

“Robbie, I hear that you like to talk about how you're a fucking wrecking machine right? Well do you know who you're not going to wreck? “The Dark Warrior” Micheal Graves! I have both faced and defeated bigger challenges than you in my career... well not bigger, but more demanding without a fucking doubt. If you think that you are going to come into this match and rely on sheer brute force to gain the upper hand, then you are sadly mistaken. You need to remember that this isn't my first dance. I was already a 12 year veteran when I retired, and I have defeated plenty of men who were stronger than I. I've already devised a plan to neutralize your strength advantage. I'm bringing 20 Little Caesars Hot 'N' Ready Pizzas with me. I figure if I leave them laying in the middle of the ring, they'll distract you long enough for me to escape the cage. Oh look, another fat joke. They may be cliché, but at least the my lame jokes aren't just a bunch of idiocy thrown at the goddamn wall to see what sticks. For the record, very little, very-fucking-little. Robbie, let's get something straight right now. When I walked into the arena at Warfare a couple of weeks ago to face off against Thaddeus Duke. I walked in lacking self confidence. I didn't believe in myself heading into that match, and I lost before the bell even rang. Despite that, I still gave Thaddeus Duke a fucking fight to remember. Neither of us walked out of that match the same man that we were when we walked in, and while I may have suffered the pin fall, I know that I gained his respect in the process. Thaddeus Duke will remember my fucking name, and so will you after Savage! This is the first championship that you have won throughout your entire XWF career, is that correct, or do we count those Tag Team Titles that you and Scully found in the trash? I find it pretty fucking hilarious that you only won it because Dolly Waters had vacated the Championship. Oh, and Brandon fucking Moore was your opponent. Like who in the fuck is Brandon Moore!? He's a guy that continues to get opportunity after opportunity, and he fucks it up every single time. Well congratu-fucking-lations, you've truly earned the right to wear that belt around your waist!”

Micheal can't help but crack a smile.

“My bad Robbie, getting that belt to fit around your over-bloated waist line is just another battle that you're destined to loose.”


“I agree, he's just a fat shit with zero talent, that everyone loves for no reason! I often ponder how many anime body pillows this guy owns, and how many of them have crotch holes crudely cut out. Robbie Bourbon, king of the neck-beards! He should consider purchasing a dehumidifier. I can't imagine it stays too dry in his mothers basement.”

Graves doesn't even turn around this time. He just grimaces into the camera as he authoritatively holds up his index finger.

“Stifle that shit right now, I'm talking!”


Micheal lowers his hand as he leans into his desk, getting closer to the camera.

“Although my friend does have a point. You do look like you're one D&D game away from virgin purgatory. Where you'll get stuck in an infinite loop of never getting ass.”


“*GASP* Friend?”

Micheal grits his teeth as he shakes his head, annoyed by the uninvited interruptions.

“Fucking shut up!”

“...sorry...”

Micheal waits a moment, ensuring that silence has been achieved before continuing.

“Listen Robbie, under different circumstances, perhaps we could have been friends. I don't particularly have any problems with you. This is strictly business. You have something that I want, and I'm going to take it. After I strip you of that Hart championship, if you want to go out a grab a beer, then cool, but until then, you're public enemy number one. I want competition, I want to prove my worth. People around here seem to think that you're one of the best in the company currently. I can't say that I see it, but it still remains popular opinion. So if you are one of the names that I have to mark off my bucket list, then so be it. I'll see you at Savage. Just don't get Cheetos dust on my Hart Title between now and then.


Micheal switches off the webcam, or he thinks he does anyway. Micheal walks off camera for a second, and then over to the closet door that's in plan view of the camera. Micheal opens the door, and although we can't quite see who or what is inside, we do clearly see Micheal stretch out long strip of duct tape from the roll.

“How do you keep getting the tape off of your mouth?”

“It's easy, I just use my MURRRRUAAAAHH”


Micheal shuts the door to the closet, and slides the bolt lock into position, snapping a master lock in place as well. Micheal stands there for a moment, it's kind of creepy how he just stares at the door. For so long before speaking in a low gravelly voice.

“We should kill him, you wouldn't want your wife to hear him and find out what's in there.... right?”

“No, but I'm not sure if he deserves to die.”

“What does it matter if he does or doesn't deserve it? If you allow him to leave, he will tell the police what you've done. You will be locked away for the rest of our existence.”

“I... I'll figure out what we are to do about him later, right now I'm just hungry.”


“MYME MUMREE MOO!

Micheal walks off camera. You can hear a door shut, and a lock engaging. Micheal Graves has obviously left the room, but the camera continues to stream the empty room to the internet.
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