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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » High Stakes Battle Royale RP Board
Kismet
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Corey Smith Offline
Active in XWF



XWF FanBase:
Some of everyone

(cheered; very rarely plays dirty but isn't lame either; many likable qualities)


#1
10-25-2020, 05:32 PM

We drop right in on the sight of Corey animatedly telling a story. Our view is squared up on him as he gesticulates wildly.

...so me and Lux were having a fistfight with this guy right?! And the whole time the helicopter we’re in is like 2000 feet above Monte Carlo. This dude, and he was a BIG dude, is just laying into us, and the door behind us is like, WIDE OPEN! Like, holy shit, right?! Lux and I can’t even see straight, this guy’s punches are just turning the insides of our skull into a fine paste. We’re getting pushed back further and further towards the open door when Lux finally gets the stiletto out. The dude throws another punch and she ducks and gets in real deep on him, pushing the stiletto up into his friggin’ armpit, but actually there’s like a TON of vital nerve endings in there so this guy’s arm just goes dead and he’s like, whoa! He wasn’t expecting that. So Lux grabs his dead arm and just does this insane judo shit, throwing him up and over her shoulder and right out of the helicopter! Oh man, that guy had like a solid five to ten seconds to think about how bad he fucked up before he painted the concrete! Corey smacks one fist into the open palm of his other hand.

The shot then turns about to reveal an old woman sitting up in bed with a meal tray spread out before her, seeming enrapt by the story. And he was a bad guy? From the future?

Well, not FROM the future. But he was going to be a real bad guy IN the future. You feel me?

The old woman nods sagely, but still seems a bit lost. Nonetheless, she smiles warmly. Oh Corey, your stories are always so exciting!

Thanks Ms. Chestnut. You need help opening that? He points at her Jello cup.

Oh, please!

Corey takes the cup and opens it up for her. No sooner has he placed it back on her tray than does a voice call out to him from the doorway.

Corey?

He turns around to see one of the newer nurses hanging her head through the threshold. What’s up?

You have a visitor.

Oh, tell Thad I’ll be over in a few minutes.

It’s not Thad Duke. It’s….her voice drops down into a whisper. ….some attorneys.

Huh? Attorneys? Whose?

I don’t know but they’re waiting for you in the community room and they seem kinda impatient.

He turns back to Ms. Chestnut. Go handle your business Corey. She wags a gnarled finger at him. But don’t take any fucking shit!

I will emphatically NOT take any fucking shit. Catch you later Ms. Chestnut. Corey gets up to his feet, walking gingerly on his braced leg but fully ambulatory without a cane. Passing the nurse, he looks at her as if to say “is this gonna be bad?” and she just shrugs but clenches her teeth in a manner that’s not reassuring.

Before long, he reaches the community room, and what he sees there makes him stop short. Two blond Nordic looking identical twins with chiseled impassive features are seated on the worn couch. They are clad exactly the same, a striking fashion selection of chalk white suits with blood red ties. One of them speaks.

Close the door behind you. His tone is poised.

Corey shuts the door and turns back around. The room is thick with an amorphous sort of tension, and the locus was these two Hugo Boss mannequins come to life.
So which one is Tomax and which one is Xamot?

They stare at him blankly. Corey rubs the back of his head awkwardly and, keeping his head down as he walks to the couch opposite them, mutters Nevermind, I’m too young for that joke too. On the table between them is a stack of old magazines, the top one an outdated news magazine with the headline “Coronavirus: Too soon to panic?”

Mr. Smith, we represent the law firm of Barren and Barren. We are, or rather, were the legal counsel for Madison Dyson.

An icy sensation threaded his guts. Oh my God, they can’t….they can’t know…. Corey mustered up the courage to speak, doing his best to restrain the anxiety that suddenly gripped him. What can I help you with?

One of the twins looked at the other before replying. It’s not so much what you can help us with. We are here to settle Madison Dyson’s estate.

What….? Corey swallowed, anxiety slowly ceding to confusion. Her estate? I don’t know anything about…

The other twin cut in. We’ll leave out the complicated legal technicalities, Mr. Smith, and offer you a layman’s explanation. Said with more than a share of haughtiness. Madison Dyson left the vast majority of her estate to The Engineer. Or at least, that was her intent. However, seeing as how The Engineer was not, by legal definition, a person, she actually had to name you as the heir to her estate.

It was a workaround that we….did not favor….

Unfortunately, Madison Dyson died before she could change her will. And she has no living, known relations that can contest it.

Corey blinked a few times as what they were saying started to percolate. He found his blood rushing in his ears for a different reason now. So….what are you saying?

We are saying that YOU, Corey Smith, are the sole inheritor of Madison Dyson’s estate.


Well, besides a few million dollars she earmarked for the purpose of organizing a complicated scheme to dump 69,000 “Fuck You” leaflets over the property of Shawn Warstein.

Corey’s vision spun. He gripped the couch cushions to try to center himself. So what you’re saying is...I own everything Madison Dyson owned?

Correct.

Which includes…. Corey swallows deep. ....what exactly?

We have an itemized list. But the major acquisitions are approximately 430 million dollars, an additional 200 million dollars in stock in her family’s company, Dyson Arms, her primary Florida residence, her private aircraft, and her beach house in the Cayman Islands.

Corey’s breathing went ragged as the table spun wildly. I think I’m gonna hurl….

One of the twins reaches into an attache case and pulls out a thick file, sliding it across the table towards Corey. You can have this to review for now, but we’ll have to meet a few more times to finalize the….

Corey didn’t hear the rest, he was too busy unceremoniously passing out and sliding onto the floor.

FIVE HOURS LATER….

Corey Smith is ensconced in a plush chair aboard an aircraft. It still has not left the tarmac, but you can hear the engines idling just outside as the crew preps for takeoff. The young man’s face bears the markings of impassiveness borne of shock. The last few hours had been a whirlwind that his mind was not deft enough to process. His fingers worked out his nervousness on the arm rests, tap, tap, tapping. It would take an absurdity to rouse him from this state. Thankfully, one found him.

Excuse me, sir?

Corey looked up, numbly.

[Image: 31aJc7%2B9JCL._AC_.jpg]


A nearly naked man was addressing him. He was holding a tray replete with sparkling gold liquids. He bends over at the waist, pushing his tanned toned buttcheeks out towards the camera.

Would you care for an aperitif?

Corey looked him up and down. A...whuh?

Dinner will be served shortly after takeoff. The main course will be Duck Breast with a Pomegranite-Citrus glaze. The server continues to look at him expectantly.

Oh. He blinks twice. I don’t think I want an…he stops, and then squints up at him. Why are you naked?

Well this is what Ms. Dyson always had me wear, sir.

Corey nods, as though this makes complete sense. You can wear clothes now.

Ah, well thank you sir. But he didn’t say it was thought it was a relief. More like he would say it regardless of what Corey asked or commanded. Douse myself in kerosine and light myself ablaze? Why it would be my pleasure, sir. Something like that.

But um, I think I’m good. Till the….uhhh...duck dinner...thing.

Very good sir! The server stands erect and saunters back down the aisle.

Corey purses his lips and pushes out an exasperated raspberry sound before addressing the camera.

So, to get you all up to speed. I am now on my private jet headed to my new multi-million dollar estate. Both of which used to belong to my sworn enemy. He shrugs his shoulders and proffers up a crooked smile. That’s my day! How about yours, guys? And uh, I’ll warn you in advance that I’m gonna try and do all this while I scream inwardly in a weird mish-mash of joy and terror. Okay?! His “okay” is more of an order, in a higher octave, than a pleasantry.

First of all, I’m not gonna do that thing were I run down every participant in this damn thing with a pithy one off insult like it’s the world’s most pedantic grocery list. Nope. Instead I’m gonna do…

THE TOP 5 DOUCHEBAGS COREY WANTS TO ELIMINATE


That’s right! Laser focused! Oh, and this list will inevitably shift over the course of these promos as some dickhead or another says something unfathomably douchy or stupid and upsets the balance. So, Douchebag Numero Uno!
[Image: 0Uxyowi.jpg]


This guy. This guy who seeks to answer the question, “What if Ultraman turned heel and had a shitty Jim Jones gimmick?” This guy, who is wrestling’s umpteenth millionth cult leader bringing back all your favorites like “dark creepy churches” and “mystery robes” and shouts of “We are Legion” like any of that wasn’t textbook hack pablum. And I should know, I was forced to be a cult leader!

“Witness War.” That’s gotta be the most awkward slogan since Melania’s Trump’s “Be Best”. And you just KNOW this dumb motherfucker watched Fury Road and thought “Whoa, Witness Me is SO COOL, but how can I shamelessly crib that without anyone noticing?” Welp, sorry guy, but this is somebody noticing.

And you know what else? Like, if you’re gonna bother having a cult at all, shouldn’t it be FOR something? Like, shouldn’t it have a core philosophy, or worship some Lovecraftian horror or a UFO behind a comet or some shit? But I watched this dude’s first promo like five goddamn times and I still cannot figure out what this movement is about other than “light” and “witnessing me”....I mean “war”. And at any rate, when I think “guy who i gonna lead us into the light” I’m definitely not falling behind the asshole who looks like The Marvel villain that gets beat up before the Avengers fight that actual final boss villain. So congrats guy, you’re officially top douchebag that I’m gunning to eliminate.

Number two, and in this case he is every bit a number two…..Chris Page. Who apparently is so persuasive he managed to convince Robert Main that Slipknot is still popular AND worthy of emulation. Fuck Chris Page. Fuck this do nothing turd who has proven time and time again he can’t stand on his own two legs and accomplish something without suckling straight from the teat of his betters. How this guy still doesn’t understand that he is mid-card fuh-fuh-fuh 4 LYFE is beyond me. It would be funny if it wasn’t so goddamn desperate and sad.

You know what pissed me off the most about what he said? His comment that he’s “taken losses that should have been won” like what we do is somehow predetermined and the only reason he looks like shit is because “the powers that be won’t let him succeed” or “he’s a good company man just doing what he’s told”. Newsflash you entitled prat, the XWF owes you exactly nothing. Its so called “darlings” were darlings because they were more talented, more charismatic, and more innovative than you. Period. And your persistent efforts to avoid acknowledging your own mediocrity like a dog spinning around in frightened circles because he’s scared shitless of his own tail is tantamount to the most pathetic thing gracing the airwaves today. Again, for posterity, fuck Chris Page.

Corey holds up three fingers.

DREI! James Evans. Yep, the guy who rolled all up in this bitch with a promo chock full of people, personal development and things that have absolutely no frame of reference in the XWF whatsoever. Like tuning in to Telemundo and Javier is in CRISIS and holding a smoking gun but we have no idea why. Plus, turning in stock “XWF Savior” promo number 114,372. Mmpf. He winces.

[Image: 69044252.jpg]


Not well. It will not play out well. James, let me explain something to you. Do you realize how many people walk through those doors proclaiming to be the savior of the XWF? Mmmmm? Dude, it happens, like, WEEKLY. We get some asshole going “this place sucks, I’m here to clean it up...a root toot toot!” Corey pumps his arms humorously for emphasis. And usually? They wash out in a couple months the moment they realize this roster rolls over for nobody. And especially not for some dude who just went all Days of Our Lives on us midstream and for some reason automatically expects us to give a shit.

Just one, just once! Could we roll the Savior Wheel of Destiny and get like Jesus, or Muhammad, or Vishnu instead of some uninspired scrublord with a misplaced sense of superiority? Thanks, that’d be great.


Corey’s face flattens, and you can tell he’s working his teeth together. But it’s not nervousness. It’s….something else. Corey drops his palms down on the armrests as if to say “welp, we’re goin’ in!”.

And speaking of saviors….Dr. Louis Deville. Corey pauses. Look, I’ll admit it, ok?The guy has reams and reams of well earned clout. He’s got the history. The accolades. And the talent. There’s just one problem.

There is no evidence we need him specifically.


Doctor, we have been free of a Chris Chaos Universal title reign since April of 2017. That’s over 3 years devoid of everybody’s favorite tedious edgelord. And since that time, a time in which you were largely absent, the XWF has done a bang up job of keeping Chris Chaos out of the Universal title picture. And, AND! What was to stop YOU from stopping HIM way back in 2017, during a time in which you were much more active in the XWF?

Another point, anointed one. You speak as though you have been cosmically chosen to defend us against the scourge of CHAOS. And yet, there’s another guy, Thaddeus Duke, ALSO in the Rumble, who just beat Chris Chaos like, I dunno, yesterday? Anyway, it was hella recent.

Bottom line is, we don’t need your brand of saving, Doc. Because your brand seems like its own pall cast over the XWF. And frankly, after all the devastation the Engineer wrought, something you KNOW still tears at my heart, the last thing we need is more shadows overhead.
His eyes flash, once again speaking to something as yet unseen. And that’s why you make the list. Because the moment I see you weak, I’m not running the risk of another beast at the helm. I can’t. I don’t care what you are, man, myth, or monster, you….don’t….proceed. Corey’s voice quivers on the final word, imparting it with every bit of passion he can muster.

Corey draws in a deep, calming breath. And because I don’t want to end on a sour note, douchebag number 5 is Thad Duke. Because I know he’s gonna be fuckin’ pissed and bitch and moan when it comes down to him and I, and I eliminate myself because he is the most deserving goddamn person in that ring. No, Thad, shut up, shut up, I’ll even toss in a SHIT UP. I love you. To quote the seminal Bette Midler hit, you were the wind beneath my wings. You were there for me pushing me every step of the way. And what’s more, you NEVER doubted your loyalty to me. NEVER. Not even after all that shit with The Engineer. You just fucking BELIEVED in me. Corey pulls out his phone and texts the following string of potentially risque emoji’s to Thad.

[Image: emojisext-1560528697.gif]


Gotta keep the shippers in material. Laters, boo boo.

Corey starts in his seat.

Oh, damn! I guess Thad Duke can’t count as one of my five because I DON’T want to eliminate him! So who then?

He consults his phone again and without looking up goes EW! Michael Graves?!

He turns to the camera with a look of disgust.

Yeah. HIM.





[Image: CoreySig6A.png?width=270&height=406]
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[-] The following 8 users Like Corey Smith's post:
(10-25-2020), Atara Raven (10-25-2020), Barney Green (10-26-2020), Doctor Louis D'Ville (10-25-2020), HeavensToBetsy (11-19-2020), Jefferson Jackson (11-29-2020), Thunder Knuckles™ (10-25-2020), Unknown Soldier (10-25-2020)




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