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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » "Anarchy Special" RP Board
Screaming for Vengeance Part 1 - The Meeting
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Douglas Delacroix
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#1
09-28-2014, 06:07 AM


This was a recipe for disaster. A rainy night in Chicago's South Side; a run down motel; and the three men inside said hotel room. Douglas Delacroix, his assistant/cameraman Chris _____, and another man. A tall, muscular man who looked to be in his late 30's or early 40's. His shaved almost head revealed a mess of scars on his scalp and temples; though those weren't as obvious as the signs of wear and tear on his face. One scar in particular, ran down from his forehead to his chin in one uninterrupted straight line.

Papers were scattered all around the hotel room, with the overwhelming majority taking up the entirety of the twin bed in the center of the room. One paper however was taped to the wall; a picture.

"Calm yourself, Eric," Douglas said to his muscular acquaintance, who was too busy pacing to hear anything else out of his mouth. The man, Eric, stopped dead in his tracks and spun around on his heel before jabbing a veiny finger at Douglas.

"I don't need anyone telling me what the fuck to do, alright? Just tell me how you can help me so I can get out of this shithole."

"I'm afraid it ain't that simple."

When confronted with a man the size of Eric, who looked like they've been in quite a few physical encounters and have walked out victorious in all of them, most men would back down and likely flee. Not Douglas. All Douglas did was shift his weight onto his left foot and turn his attention to the picture hanging up on the wall. Eric took a couple steps closer to his associate, cocking back his arm.

"You don't want to do that, Eric."

"What's the fuckin' complication?"

"You're asking me to hunt down a friend, for starters."

Eric's attention turned from Douglas, to the wall right by where the picture hung and he threw a punch the put a massive hole in the cheap, poorly constructed drywall. Yelling, he yanked his fist out of the hole and spun around again, only to find himself pressed up against the wall, with Douglas' forearm pressing into his throat.

"The fuck?"

"For your own good. And mine. Don't need any more damages to this place. Not in my profession, at least."

"Right, the job you ain't doing right now?"

"Lewis being my friend isn't the major complication here, Eric. I'm no stranger to that, it's..."

Douglas paused for a second, as if trying to find the exact, perfect words to describe what he was referring to.

"It's what? Come on, that motherfucker tried to kill me, I know it!"

"I don't doubt that for a second. However, it's going to be real hard to hunt down a dead man."

"What?"



Fade in.

As opposed to the improvised setting that Douglas' last promo took place at, this time the camera powers on to Douglas sitting in a chair in the study of his home in Savannah, Georgia. A smile creeps onto his face as he lays his hands out flat on the surface of the desk in front of him.

"Here's the moment where I talk again. Now, unlike the Ariel/Aerial (because apparently, the two words I said have a major phonetic difference) Knight, Doctor Louis D'Ville is much more succinct and to the point with what he's trying to say and that I can appreciate. Heartsford's gift for gab really didn't help him much in the long rung anyway, did it? No. All the words in the world couldn't save him from his inevitable fate and now, here I am. Three weeks later after being seen nowhere after my win, while Heartsford made excuses for his loss that only made him look worse, and I'm put in the main event. Against a man who got a little more than he bargained for after his victory last week. Am I right in that regard, Doc?

You say our "session" couldn't have come at a worse time? You have bigger fish to fry? Allow me to give you a bit of truth here, Doc. How do you expect to fry those bigger fish, if I decide to cause serious, lasting damage to you? If anyone does? While you're watching out for this bigger fish to hassle ya, the shark in front of ya will be busy dismantling you piece by piece. Then what?

Or, don't answer that question. Play around with foolhardy bravado just like the Ariel/Aerial Knight did and once we're in that ring and I knock you unconscious with a knee to the jaw, you can answer for your mistake of looking past me and towards the "bigger fish". But wait, you aren't looking past me, are ya? You take this "session" seriously? Then why mention these bigger fish at all? To give yourself an out? When the match ends and my hand's raised high in the air as the winner... you've already made plans for that? Can't fault a man for being prepared, I guess.

If this "session" is important to ya and you're taking it seriously, why, assuming you weren't just looking for an excuse, would you bring up these other fish in the first place? They aren't booked in this match, obviously. If you're assumin' that they'll come down to attempt to screw ya, don't worry. I'll help you fight them off in that case. I don't need no one helpin' me with nothing, so I have nothin' to gain by sitting back and watching them attack ya.

And lastly, you asked about demons hiding in my darkness or some other fruity way of explaining it. We all have demons now, don't we? I don't fancy mine to be particularly important but I guess you're the doctor here. That doesn't mean I'm actually going to answer that question of yours, but you'd likely know the importance of my personal demons. Right?

Listen up, Doctor. Right now, while you're busy worrying about bigger fish, I have nothing distracting me from you.

That's a recipe for disaster, for you at least."


Fade out.
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