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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Shove-It! Boards » Shove-It! RP Board
RADICAL || FUCKPERMISSION [2/5]
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R A D I C A L
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#1
10-30-2016, 11:46 PM

RADICAL/FUCKPERMISSION/XWF#004



>>>>>

'The Radical' Gabe Reno doesn't need your fucking permission. -- One Phrase. One Truth | The Very Best, Nothing More, Nothing Less.

Along these dusty roads I have walked. Hitch hiked from wrestling event in the middle of nowhere to one further in the middle of literally fucking nowhere. In cities and towns I have slapped hands with the people, the ones who cheered, and the ones who hesitated to annoint me to the local steeple. Many have doubted, and some have succeed. A select few have made me eat my words with more fury than I could have ever aniticipated. Speaking up for the friends I beat, or teaming up to eliminate any chance of what I could be. So many lessons learned on this long winding career dirt road. Time spent and time off, time training and time a loft, moments of incredible achievement and great disappointments, of celebrating the ultimate and then losing it. All of those things made me who I currently stand as. Stronger, smarter, not looking to make those mistakes, but embrace the skills that have kept food in my mouth and victory on my mind for so long. A testament to a passion for this business, maybe even to who I am as a man and competitor. Many people this week will be from a similar road. One with peaks of ups and valleys of downs. Each story may change, but the roads have all led to the same place. At the same time. Time of an XWF old era you all lived before careless and whistlin'. I just have to close my eyes, I can see it now... and all you can do is listen.

Gabe Reno Enters the XWF Old West >>



-- In the burnt dusk orange horizon a horse and its rider dart across an open field somewhere in the olden times western landscape. The rider gallops quickly as the sun behind begins to set just as fast. A race against the darkness back to the stable. Black hair in every burst dusted into his face below his cowboy hat from the dark stallion he rides. He senses exhaustion and pushes his horse further to make it in time.

Narration

We will make it ole friend, don't give up the fight... you may be tired now but soon there will be no light. Racing to a direction may seem unfair, until you can't see anything else left to compare. Like a battle royal filled with expectations, endless risks trying to rip you limb from limb... winning such a race will make us better again. You will not be abused, but saved from slaughter... against every man who tries to bother. A wish I can grant without a lie, a gaurantee I cannot make to those in a few fateful nights.




A kick and a command as the sun finally falls below the edge of the screen; just as the barn appears up in front with oil laterns on the fence posts.

Family first, an old saying... as if from a western, almost sounds rehearsed. Yet when I tip my cap, on this dusty afternoon, I appreciate the folks, whom without life's a lonely moon. The priest that hears all the things that I do... the saloon owner who keeps sober days to few... but one thing I don't need is a reason to ask. Severance in efforts given without a pass... every unholy demon that the sunshine shoves to last.


Grabbing a lantern and hopping off the horse, leading it to the barn for the night. The horse immediately guzzles water once inside, Gabe's face hits the lantern's dim casting. He smiles and brushes the horse, removing everything, and guiding it into a small area to rest.



When carring across, metaphorical plains... dry and desserted, simple things draw you to be sane. The sanity can be found but can it be maintained, when so many others try to defile your name. A trivial way in such dastardly manners, every one drooling to end their losing disease with X-Treme glamour. Maybe with supper, or unwritten rules, the fire will rise; proving who are the fools.

Walking into the house, putting his hat on the back of the door... a warm meal awaits him from the same woman we previously saw in the bar. He sits and smiles with a steaming plate of meat and greens and a table perfectly set to his plate.



Like a rancher, they protect their own... investing in the things, that help ranches grow. Kurt Angle knows this lesson all too well, all his opponents get suplexed nearly to hell. But when the Olympian meets the Radical, integrity will be taking a ling sabbatical. Counters to attempts the likes of which he has never seen, I've studied his methods with the focus of a coked out Charlie Sheen. Ankle locks are fine, when you can catch them down... but not when Radicality out paces your old tired rounds.

She looks at him and takes a bite, he does too. A warm glass of milk to sip on, enjoying the meal.



When saloon doors, open or close... folks take a shot with you, run off trouble and lasso you home. The same cannot be said for Kitt Kennedy, who's head was treated like a watermelon by his last enemy. When he arrives, if, the key word, the brutality he endures will only deliver what he deserves. Don't count your cards when you have a concussion, into this match you may still be rushin'.

A dog runs out to pick at dinner scraps, he pets it and tosses a meat bone to the floor. It devours the bone in no time.



No matter how you absquatulate, returning home is everything above... so the bees in your bonnet tell, that meaning a constant freshet of love. Dolly Waters knows the feeling too well, Hart Champion and all, but can she survive a night full of nails. One to the left, one to the right, a hammer on the top, and bottom just right. Beating one man is easy, but an entire batch? Who did you defeat again, a few retiree's and some scraps? Stick to your love baby, or your nailed up coffin will be buried shortly after the match.

The hound runs outside and begins barking at the full moon.



With us all in the same saloon, surely will incite a mighty brawl. Some of us standing longer than the majority, some not at all. Jamaican Jimmy, the old west can be so unkind. In every town back then you would certainly need to hide. Not for your creed, or issues of the time... but because no one gives a fuck about islands like yours as they ride. Like a Calypso, in the dark you may be unseen, but even Calypso can smell like collard greens. A soft reminder, and one worth repeating, boy let me tell ya, the sun won't shine on your next beating.

She takes the plates, washes and dries them; he lights a cigar delightfully and leans into a rocking chair next to an old rusty bartop. Swaying slightly with a shit eating grin.



Bourbon... my favorite, back in my day. The drink, not Robbie's sad entrance into our vicious suaree. Some think this is for them, and others know better, but Robbie the booking department should send you a letter. "May cause further brain damage, careful you don't have much left", slip it under your door... and give you two weeks to figure out what's next.

He takes a swig of the dark alcohol with a cherry toothpick topping, then puffs on his cigar.



Slaves were useful when villages and buildings had to be put up. That is far more than I can say for their namesake... you fucking suck. As if round one didn't give you a good enough scare to chew... maybe this time the ring of fire will change your expression... or, ya know, burn you.

Rocking to and from the angle, he notices and old newspaper and picks it up, a picture of a vampire chasing some shmuck.



Ravenwolf... which animal are you, I tend to forget? The guys in the back told me but said the two beasts were actually names for your tits. Is Raven the right, and Wolfy the left one? Or are you just way in over your head because you don't know when to have match abortion?

Flipping to the next page, a picture of Duke's hand raised and Jakob Davis on the ground. He snickers to himself and flips again to an article reading "Gator", laughs hysterically and tosses the paper in the bin with the other trash. Walking outside to bring in the dog.



Gilmour, oh Gilmour, where art thou? Too busy running your endless puckered mouth? Well don't you worry, with such adorable little cheeks... daddy will hold you, and his name is Nico LaVey. What a long western romance, with heat until the end of each day. The lust of the moment, and throw in Eliza Thorne if you enjoy other blow job worthy names.

Tying up the hound, he heads back in, his lady already sound asleep down to her linens.



To discuss 'The Future' future I dive into the past, but one thing Jose Gomez will soon see is Hunter Payne's useless ass. Like a black hole or tornado those two pull you in... not for victory in the ring, but because they can't wrestle away a pen. Even if they did, it would be pure Chaos... the real kind that happens in nature, not when Chris tries to operate a kiosk.

Getting under the covers, he realizes his phone, television and other modern marvels are missing.



See the charm wears off when you understand that the present changed for a reason. Now wars are settled quickly, and we hunt bearded pigs in seasons. Ask James Ellsworth, he has caught a few, when he and Mr. F'n Dominance were together in the XWF mens room.

Closing his eyes in the former frontier, only to reopen them back in the present with the future so near.

<<<<<



Opening my eyes, you can see the dilemma... you're all stuck in the past... not the future, like myself, the fucking winner. So whether your path was filled with triumph and gold or heark break and liability... you will step foot into the same ring, with the same chances, in the same building as myself. The same hope... until... the bell rings. Because once it does, the sweetest chime will unleash me from my prison of what could have been and I will not only tilt the odds in my own favor, but I will give you all something special to remember. More than a label to be, a title to wear, I want to become a lasting legend... on a mission... and BITCH... I don't need your permission.

END.

[-] The following 2 users Like R A D I C A L's post:
Dolly Waters (11-02-2016), Vincent Lane (11-04-2016)




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