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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » "Savage Saturday Night" RP Board
Take a rap, fellows, find her an empty lap, fellows
Author Message
Lacklan Offline
World's best at making murderhobos cry



XWF FanBase:
The 'cool' kliq fans

(booed by casual fans; opportunistic; often plays dirty while setting the trends)


#1
03-11-2019, 05:58 AM

~~Saturday, March 9th, 2019~~

The fuck IS this shit, VINNIE?!

Sarah Selena Grey-Lacklan was a tiny bottle of fury. The albino was dressed for war, with her platinum hair woven into a thick braid that trailed along down her back, her face covered in her distinctive black eye makeup with its large wings and her lips painted a bright red that matched her odd irises, and her body wrapped in a cloak, a hint of her green suit lined with gold lace rising out by her neck. Her eyes are squinting, a clear sign to those that knew her that she had her contacts in, the thick lenses that made up for her terrible eyesight, but hurt to wear for too long. Her mouth is wide open as she screams and her arms wave wildly in the air, and poor Vinnie has to duck the cane in her right hand.

”I specifically asked for FOUR PILLARS OF FLAME for my entrance! FOUR, VINNIE! It is IN MY CONTRACT!”

Staff members avoid the scene as if their lives depended upon it, trying to find themselves something to do, or at least look busy, as the short psycho rails at their boss. Vinnie, for his credit, is doing a remarkable job with NOT bursting into flame while being the target of Sarah’s ire, but is thus far failing to even get a word in.

”And I canNOT beLIEVE that the three monkeys doped out on weed you call a GRAPHICS DEPARTMENT don’t have ANY of the videos of my badassary I sent them! I SPECIFICALLY sent them a 19-slide Power Point presentation on EXACTLY how my Dynamo-Approved entrance music goes with me hitting ALL of my moves on that stupid TRON of yours, and they somehow ‘LOST’ it! What are you PAYING these people for?! My God! I hope you have them FLOGGED for this GRIEVOUS transgression against me!”

Vinnie barely dotches the pigeon head at the top of Sarah’s red and black cane, a staple of her historically ridiculous fashion sense for the past year, and puts his hands up to try to visibly calm her down, but the doubt in his eyes tells the truth of how little faith he has in his (Forever) fiance’s best friend forever relenting.

“Oh! And THEN! AND THEN! I was told by freakin’ KYLE that, APPARENTLY, the show is going LONG and we need to CUT BACK on my grand entrance! Dub Tee Eff, VINNIE! You PROMISED that I could take a FULL thirty minutes on my entrance! You PROMISED that I could sign every Fang Ganger autugraph out there, which means just about literally EVERYONE in MSG tonight, because OBVS I’m the reason we sold this bitch out, but NOW I don’t have time to sign ANY! Because of fucking KYLE?! What am I supposed to do, just walk out there, march straight to the ring, and wait there for my opponent like some GOOBER?!”

Vinnie attempts, again, to get some words in, but it is still for naught. Thankfully for him, a staff member approaches.

“Missus...Missus Lacklan.”

Sarah closes her eyes and lets out a sigh so deep that Lucrecia Guerrero is suddenly inspired to write a sequel to her book.

“...goddamnit, Kyle…”

She spins on her toes, her jacket whirling and giving us a better view of her green and gold gear, and points the pigeon head of the cane at the nervous staff member.

“What?!”

The staffer gulps audibly and points to his clipboard.

“You-you’re up, Ma’am.”

Sarah gives one of her exaggerated eye rolls and lets out an exasperated groan. She spins again and places the cane back in the face of her newest boss.

“We WILL speak on these matters again, Vinnie!”

With another spin, Sarah stomps off, her heeled boots clacking loudly, as she heads towards her XWF debut.

[Image: ajtluKI.gif]

~~One Hour Later~~

Sarah Lacklan sits on a bench, her back against a locker, and holds a bag of ice to her nose.

“Fuck me, that douche canoe hits hard.”

Applying more pressure to her nose, she takes stock of her surroundings. Like most wrestling companies she had been a part of, the XWF was organized enough to supply separate locker rooms for the men and women, and she currently had the women’s to herself, though she was learning quickly that the company wasn’t much more organized than this. Her beloved wife of the last couple of years, Kenzi, was no doubt waiting in Vinnie’s office for them to go hit the town in celebration, but Sarah was in no rush. She needed a shower, needed to visit the paramedic to make sure her nose wasn’t broken, needed to make sure her gear wasn’t stained from both her and Donovan’s blood, needed to-

“Not good enough, Sar.”

Her voice echoes in the empty room, the British accent bouncing back at her. There is a touch of forlorn sadness in her voice, enough to lower her soprano a notch.

“Should have beat him faster. Hit harder. Move swifter. You lose when you take too long. Lose when you play to the crowd. You’ll never be who you are born to be if you-”

She cuts off when she hears a door slam shut. She looks up and sees a girl with dirty blonde hair enter the locker room adorned in an XWF t-shirt, her head down and focused on the phone in her hands. Sarah gives an appreciative nod at the speed in which the girl is texting, but then the painstakingly-plucked eyebrows of the albino furrow.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice carrying in the otherwise empty room. “But this is for contracted wrestlers only. There are probably restrooms for fans somewhere else.”

The girl ignores her, fully engrossed in her phone, and Sarah’s face narrows and her chin rises ever so slightly.

“Child! I said no fans here!”

The girl looks up and her light eyes are full of fury.

“I’m not a child! I work here!”

But those eyes soften as they take Sarah in and her mouth drops open a little, but Sarah leans forward and takes the bag of ice away from her face.

“Work here! You’re, what, twelve?!”

“Fifteen!”

The girl’s fiery response was automatic, but then she softens again.

“...my name’s Dolly.”

Sarah opens her mouth to say something, most likely a retort about how fifteen might as well BE twelve, but then she stops short. She turns her head to the side and her odd red eyes move back and forth rapidly, all the world as a bird looks at a tiny morsel upon the ground.

“Dolly?”

She sits up straight.

“YOU’RE Dolly Waters? The little scamp who Vinnie was telling me about?”

Sarah gets to her feet, her face folding into a wince, but she pushes it away and makes her way over to Dolly, her first few steps heavy with weight on the cane before she gets her balance. She stalks up to Dolly and stands before her, then lets her eyes blatantly look her up and down from her sneakers to her unbound hair.

“Welp, you certainly LOOK the part. Though someone MUST show you how to dress.”

She waves her cane at Dolly’s body and up to her head.

“And do your hair. AND your makeup.”

She leans forward suddenly and lightly touches the slightly taller girl on the cheek with one of her hands, the nails lacquered black with tiny red flames offering a bright contrast to Dolly’s pale skin.

“You would look SO beautiful with wings like mine.”

Dolly stares back at Sarah with wide eyes full surprise and a dullness which speaks of the poor teenager being overwhelmed by the larger-than-life Blood Princess. Thankfully for the Kentucky native, a loud voice in the room bursts the suddenly awkward tension.

“Ready! OKAY!”

Sarah steps back from Dolly with a grimace and reaches into her purse and pulls out the source of the loud notification, a cell phone which might be the largest and clunkiest one in existence since the bricks of the 90’s.

“What the hell is THAT?” asks Dolly with utter incredulance. Sarah offers her the famous Billion $$$ smile that has sold so much merchandise and holds up her phone for Dolly to see.

“Oh, this? This is my SWEET Windows Phone. I make sure that EVERY member of the Legion has one! Un instant, s'il vous plaît

Sarah begins to type on her phone with such a speed that Dolly’s eyes glaze over, but after a moment, she shakes her head.

“The what?”

“The Legion,” replies Sarah, face still buried in her phone. “They do everything for me. Ax, that’s my personal assistant...you’ve probably already met her on Twitter...she is SUCH a wordy bitch...wants to know how many people to book for dinner tonight. We’re going to hit up a club and go dancing.”

Sarah raises her eyes back to Dolly.

“I’ll sneak you in...when you’re a little older and aren’t so obvs jailbait.”

She looks back down to her phone and continues to type with a speed which would cause lesser fingers to cramp. With her head still down, she blindly walks back to her bench, grabs her duffel bag, and walks back towards Dolly. Finally finishing up with her texting, she looks back up at Dolly.

“I have to check in with the trainer...or what passes for one in this company full of vagabonds and rogues.”

She claps Dolly on the shoulder hard enough to make her move a step.

“See ya around, kid. Don’t get lost!”

Sarah skips from the room to leave a bewildered Dolly. As the door closes, Dolly looks down at her shoulder and sees that Sarah slapped on one of her Official Fang Ganger! stickers.

[Image: Viphq12.gif]
~~Presenting the PrincessTwilightSexyFang podcast, as viewed on the app that is going to help XWF actually get enough ratings to afford a REAL medical team, CoolTube~~
‘Sup, Fang Gang!

This is your reason for being, the Dread Pirate Captain of those dreams you do NOT tell your spouse about unless you want to have a VERY uncomfortable conversation, Sarah Lacklan here and I am getting my victory DRANK ON, BAY-BAY! And, thankfully, Daddy taught me one of the MOST important things in life, as this gif will show:


[Image: JKwIS96.gif]
Kenzi is basically already plastered from sniffing the cap of one of her shitty organic beers...which means a VERY rough night for me (don’t say ANYTHING, Roxy!)...but its all good because, rough later or not, my night EARLIER was amazeballs! Now, I KNOW that EVERY Fang Ganger out there FULLY expected me to beat Fucktard #2 (or whichever number I arbitrarily gave him), but the REALITY is that it was harder than it looked! That dude hits HARD! And believe you me, I thought I was DONE FOR when he hit me with the first part of his DREADED combo, the CTRL+C, and when he followed it up with the second half, CTRL+V? I was OUT! But thankfully, the dipshit didn’t AXLY do any REAL research beyond my bra size and didn’t realize that turning a pinfall into the Pigeonwing was kinda my specialty. Welp, its all good for me!

And because of my AMAZING performance as the HEADLINER for the XWF in MY VERY FIRST MATCH in freakin’ MSG in front of a SELLOUT (You’re welcome, Vinny!), I get to go into the second round of this March Madness tournament. At least, I THINK that is what its called? I’m not 100% sure because of a...lets face it, kids...REALLY shitty online experience I have had with the people who handle paperwork around here, but it IS probably what it’s called. Because, if my LAST opponent is any indication, ORIGINAL THOUGHT is NOT something we employ here in XWF!

Which, due to my l33t segue skills, brings me to my second round opponent!

Wait. Wait. Hold on. My wife is dancing up a storm. One sec…


[Image: QAZV82Z.gif]
Good GOD I have the hottest wife on the planet.

Now, where was I? Oh! Segue from ONE dude with ZERO original thought into ANOTHER dude with nothing but recycled garbage spewing from his mouth.

‘Sup, E-Jam! Know who YOU remind me of? Oh, I don’t know, about 581 different people who wrestled throughout the 90’s! Like, I TOTES get being inspired by people, right? I TOBVS understand wanting to channel some of the greats that came before us, ya know? But there is a LINE, Sir. There is a LINE between being INSPIRED by and blatantly RIPPING OFF, and while we can’t always say WHERE it is, we can definitely RECOGNIZE it when we see it, and lets face it, your entire existence is such a rip-off of Goth music-inspired 90’s nonsense that you might as well be Ed Sheeran “accidentally” writing every freakin’ note of Marvin Gaye and putting out a “new” song! Legit, you might as well be sitting down at an MTV special next to Vanilla Ice and explaining why adding two eighth notes to a Queen song makes it COMPLETELY DIFFERENT.

These plagiarism references hitting home? No? Too obscure? FINE. Let me make it a bit more personal and obvs:

The whole “speaking in shitty-ass prose from some dark and/or spooky environment” is SO played out that Five X-Bux says you just took a copy of “1999’s Most Shitty Goth Shoots,” jerked off to some creepy dude drinking his own blood or something a few times, and then started writing everything down verbatim. And then, of all goddamn things, you dressed it up with a lazy-ass “fat guy with an ugly, unwashed beard” cross between hipster and backwoods hillbilly? Good FUCK, man! Listen, I KNOW that people like YOU assume that EVERY person from the south looks like that, but I happen to know someone who is literally from the mountains of Arkansas, and while he certainly SOUNDS as uneducated as you, he actually reads the same books that I do! AND listens to Beethoven!

Do YOU, E-Jam? I highly doubt it. You know why? Because when you decided to be literally every single scary monster from Wes Craven’s discography, you probably didn’t even THINK about doing something that WASN’T one dimensional. Like, remember how I made fun of Donovan for listening to shitty poppy-punk wannabe loser bands because of course he does? MY guess is that YOU are listening to nothing but Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats and dreaming of the day that your Son of a Bitch acoustic cover on youtube gets over the 100 views you begged for from your family and friends, because who the fuck needs complexity in their life, amIright?!

So, I GET that you got into the second round of this tournament by speaking from a pitch black room and pontificating on what being a king means, but the REALITY of your situation is that there is virtually NOTHING that can stop me from going all the way to March Madness and taking home yet ANOTHER trophy. Because while I’m sure you have a few participation trophies for things like “I only wash my wife-beater every six years” and probably legit have an INSANE typing speed in order to write down all those archaic promos with words you probs don’t even understand with your 4th grade education, you are running into the full force of someone who was BORN to do this. Going around the world and fucking up half-baked dipshits like you is what I DO, Sir, and while Donovan was the FIRST man in XWF to realize the truth of my revolution, and you WILL be the second, the full reality is that you will be JUST the second in a long line.

Here’s the final dealio, Tubs-A-Lard: Winning tournaments is what I do. Beating down pale and shallow losers like you is what I do. And from what I have been able to tell, this company is FULL of people who need to be brought up to speed with the NEW way of wrestling, that of people like me who don’t give a flying FUCK about what you did three years ago or something equally as irrelevant. And on Saturday, you are going to find yourself in the same place Donovan did earlier this evening:

Locked in the Pigeonwing and tapping out.

Now if you will excuse me, I have some dranking and grinding to do. See ya around.

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[-] The following 3 users Like Lacklan's post:
"Loverboy" Vinnie Lane (03-11-2019), Dolly Waters (03-11-2019), Steve Austin (03-11-2019)




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