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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » High Stakes Battle Royale RP Board
#2: The Horror Show at High Stakes
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ALIAS Offline
Space Jesus



XWF FanBase:
The IWC

(gets varying reactions in the arenas, but will be worshiped like a god and defended until the end by internet fans; literally has thousands of online dorks logging on to complain anytime they lose a match or don't get pushed right)


#1
11-01-2020, 02:02 AM

2A: Dread oak

While Hannah was sprawled face-down upon her bed, her feet dancing in the air behind her as she scrolled through [insert hip, cool, social media app here], she never once thought about her forthcoming death. In the days since, that always struct me as odd, and if I dare say it, irresponsible even.

I guess you get what you get. From a purely deterministic perspective you don’t just get what you get, but you get what you were always going to get. But Hannah didn’t think about determinism. For all her faults, Hannah was wise enough not to subscribe to any sort of nonsense ideas about science, facts, or reality. As far as Hannah was concerned, the Earth is flat, fairies are real, and zebras are just fabulous gay horses.

God bless Hannah.

CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK

A young Oak tree scratched against the window of Hannah’s second-floor bedroom as a steady, gentle breeze coerced its branches to life. At just 15 years of age, still a babe in tree-years, the besieged Oak already had its fair share of stories. At just 5 years old it bore Witness to a man breaking into the first-story window that had provided its original glimpse into the home of man. The window had previously spoken only of the importance of family. It had been a story of growth, of love, of life. After the man, it was… devastation.

CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK-CRRRRRRR

The Oak’s memories distracted it from noticing that the breeze had become a gust. Hannah similarly took no notice. She was immersed in the nothingness of her phone, ignorant to Wednesday Night Warfare returning from break. Hannah had put the show on mute after apathetically grunting when Robbie Bourbon won the Hart Championship. Can you blame her? Despite his Universal Championship reign, nobody really gives a fuck about Robbie Bourbon.

Nobody.

Like seriously, nobody.

Get the fuck out of here, Robbie.

On the plus side, at least that gives a date reference for this story.

14 October 2020.

While the lights of Roxy Cotton’s entrance flickered across Hannah’s face from the TV in her room, the increasingly anxious Oak remembered the first time that he caught of glance into the second story window that Hannah now vacuously occupies. It was 10 years old and the wind that is now foe was instead an opportunity. On this night, the gust blew just wrong.

CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK-CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK

Tonight, Hannah was home alone. Her two housemates were at their respective partner’s houses. On the night that the Oak got its first experience of the upper world, the two housemates of the day were in the room of Then-Hannah.

Then-Hannah was there too.

The Oak watched the scene unfold in the room in still-frames. The male housemates moved. Then-Hannah tried to. It was… despair.

Everyone is granted a Witness, but not everything needs to be seen.



2B: Interruptus

“Wait, wait, wait…” Steve Sayors interjects. His hand smacks against his forehead with as much force as he can muster – which is absolutely nothing – and he scrunches his nose to move the fashion-less glasses (see last time for more details) up to the resting place of their design. “I came out here to this crumbling hotel to see you again on one provision.”

“Right,” I confirm. Steve’s dead on. He made me promise not to take the ‘long route’. His words. He never was one for detail.

“Can you please focus on what’s relevant?” he petitions. “You know… professional wrestling, the XWF, Battle Royale, the Universal Championship…”



2C: I am the wind

Ah yes, the universe…

I swear I could hear it singing on the day that the I escaped from lockdown (see last time… again.)

“This better be going somewhere.”

As colony after colony of Gould’s wattled bats fluttered across the night sky, the shadows of the moon danced on the cobbled street that stretched before me.

“Didn’t you say something about sunlight hitting you when you left the hospital?” (See last time… again… again.)

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you…”

Anyway, where was I?

I raced down the street, pushing through the fog that settled on the city. The cold, damp air soothed my throat against the gusting wind, as I heaved in breath after breath during bound after bound. As my prior penance bled into the forgotten, life sprung up around me. Stern firs and capricious grevilleas; guarded beeches and succulent eucalypti. Each ent guarding a townhouse framed in rustic Gothic ironwork.

As I galloped away from yesterday, the weary Oak fought against a wind that became a gale.

CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK-CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK

CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK-CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK

CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK-CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK


The wind whipped under my armpits, thrusting me forward as I became the gale itself.

As Wind-Me rushed past, two men sat on the porch of an adorable white timber cottage, adorned with roses and surrounded by a magnificent garden full of gnomes and windmills and the burnt remains of three-legged cat.

“I started playing Skyrim again the other night…” Bobby Book announced to the aether while struggling to wrangle his body-length mane against the force of the human gale storming past.

Bobby Boot just cocked a furry eyebrow and inhaled. Incidentally, that one breath would be the largest intake of marijuana that Boot had ever inhaled in one go, but he was never to know.

“I was in a sweet dungeon, having just savaged a Dragon Priest,” Book continued, his hair wrapped up in what would officially be the ugliest manbun in history if Guinness recorded that sort of thing. “…And there was this flaming torch, and I thought to myself… this is a fire that is powered by electricity. What sort of Bizarro World-shit is that?”

By then, the wind had whipped me so far down the street that even if I cared, I would never have known if Boot reacted.



2D: A.K.A. The pull-out technique

“Wait, wait, wait…” Steve Sayors interjects. This feels a little déjà vu. “Book and Boot. Weren’t they still in the hospital?”

“Well there was a big hole in the wall,” I point out. Stupid Steve.

“So they escaped through the hole that you the first person to go through…” The faintly-hidden accusation dripping from his voice, “…and somehow, they wound up further down the street than you, while you’re empowered by a magical gust of wind?”

I am so freaking happy right now.

“I am so freaking happy right now”, I tell Steve, echoing my brain-words. “You get it!”

Steve lets out a heavy sigh. He really hasn’t been easy-going as I remembered him to be. But maybe it’s me? Maybe my perception of the world has been warped by years and years of Love injections.

“If I can be honest…” Steve begins, appealing to my clearly proven track record of never lying or making shit up. “It feels like we’re treading water here. We’ve traded third nipples and pink…”

“Salmon. He’s still important.”

“Sorry, we’ve traded third nipples and Salmon-Coloured Minotaurs,” he corrects himself. “And in return, we’ve got sentient trees and you transforming into the wind? What does any of this have to do with anything XWF-related?”

“I’m getting there! I’m getting there!”



2E: Knock knock

My propulsion down the street seemed eternal. It would take something supernatural to stop it. Enter the raddest dude that I’ve ever met: The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur.

He was leaning on a deep blue letterbox at the edge of a freshly water-blasted driveway. The white-yellow glow of the streetlights highlighted small globs of mown grass gathered around the driveway’s edges, thicker and wetter in the cracks between concrete and dirt. He dramatically waved as I drew near, and with exaggerated gestures, pointed me towards the front door of the two-storied house that oversaw the grass-clogged driveway.

Nodding, I let the power of the wind discharge ahead of me. As the wind barrelled down the street, I stopped and turned. Skulking from the road to the driveway, I ‘Too Sweeted’ The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur on my way past him and dodged the low-hanging fruit of an overgrown apple tree that, like me, Reggie Estrada could never hope to dispose of.

I rolled a natural twenty and successfully slinked up to the door. I gripped the round brass door-handle and turned it.

It opened!

The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur had done it again! That glorious bastard!

And this is where we get back to Hannah. Hannah is upstairs, ignoring Wednesday Night Warfare.

I’m downstairs.

I peer into the darkness of Hannah’s home, my dash through the dark having helped me adapt the best night vision I could muster. Straight ahead, beyond sofas, tables, and refrigerators, I see the burgeoning trunk of what will one day become the mightiest Oak in all of Perth, Australia.

“You mean Melbourne.”

“Sure.” Never mind the ban on travel in and out of that city. Stupid Steve.

From my assessment, it looked like downstairs was the communal living area, though nobody was there. That meant there was nothing for me there. So I turned to the unpolished hardwood staircase and began my ascent upstairs.

Upstairs to Hannah.

CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK-CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK

The Oak stood firm and overcame the gale. As I snuck up the stairs, it reached out to Hannah as a warning.

CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK-CRRRRRRR

Perched at the top of the stairs, I was given a choice: three doors on the right and one to the left. The only light came from the door on the right closest to me. It was cracked, ever so slightly, casting a spotlight out into the hallway. From my crouched vantage point, the spotlight revealed the door on my left was just an empty bathroom. Again, nothing for me there.

Inside the warm light, Hannah’s world became smaller and smaller. Her phone was the centre of her existence. She had no idea I was there.

Like a moth to flame, I went straight towards the light.

CRRRRRRR-CKCKCKCK

The Oak appealed to her again as I tiptoed across the crack in the doorway. It was… despondent. As my approaching body sealed the crack, I cast fresh shadows into her room. Hannah didn’t notice. I placed my hand on the door and gave it a gentle nudge, opening the gate of light a little further…



2E: Hand brake

“Please stop!” Steve begs. Steve looks up to one of the production crew and makes a circular rolling measure with the index finger of his left hand. “Whatever you’re about to say that you did, I don’t want to know. I think we should end this now, and Jimmy… can you call the police?”

“What?” I ask. “Why are we stopping?”

“What did you do to that girl?” he presses.

“Nothing!” I plead. I can’t believe that Steve would think that… oh, I get it! “Oh, I get it! You think, because of me being in the house, and opening the door, and the Oak and the forthcoming death, and yada-yada-yada, that I did something unsavoury. No, no, no. I didn’t touch Hannah!”

“Then what are you talking about?” Steve used to be a joyful, bumbling little toad. Now he’s being a real sour puss. “I’m asking, once again, what does any of this have to do with anything?”

“This was the moment that I decided to enter the Battle Royale! When I peered through the door, I saw Sarah Lacklan handing the Universal Championship over to Vinnie Lane. That triggered a whole bunch of other memories! Some of them good, some of them bad…” None worse than those of Jimmy-Jam the Raven Man, “…Next thing I know, I’m on a plane to Tombstone, Arizona.”

“From Melbourne, Australia?” Steve asks.

“Sydney,” I clarify. Stupid Steve. His lips purse, still sceptical about, well… everything.

“So why were you in the house?” Oh right. I guess I didn’t explain that.

“I had just come out of a psych ward, and was wearing pyjamas,”[/white} I start. [white]“I needed some fucking clothes, dude. I grabbed some clothes from Hannah’s housemate’s room and skedaddled.”

“That’s still illegal.”

“Don’t think about it.”



2F: The talky thing

“This is what I’m supposed to do, right Steve? I’m supposed to use this time with you to smack talk about all the other Battle Royale participants. If I don’t do this, there’s no possible chance that I could win a match! It’s almost like I could waste everyone’s time by telling nonsense stories about Zodiac-inspired secret societies and piloting fighter jets, and none of it would matter as long as I launch into a fun, little, profanity-filled monologue at the end.

Boy am I glad nobody does that.

But hypothetically, let’s say somebody did. You could kind of understand how, despite their blustering hubris, they wouldn’t be the actual for-real number one contender, right? This, good sir, is the kind of person who I’m talking about when I say I want people to confront their realities.

Take Thaddeus Duke for example. Thad thinks that the two requirements for having a valid vision of the future are a) being young, and b) simply being around on a regular basis. And that’s it. That’s everything he’s offering. Newsflash: that’s not a vision; that’s just entitled bullshit. And that bullshit is the exact reason why James Evans speaks about Corey Smith and not about Thad, despite the shipping. James knows what I know, and what deep down Thad knows too: Corey’s better than him. Young Thad should be more like Atara Themis. She knows that she’s not committed enough to hold the highest title in the land, and she owns it. That’s reality! That chick’s got IT.

It’s quite refreshing to be honest. Theo, James, and Corey, they represent the same old war between the same old egos that’s raged for decades now. They’ve just slapped a fresh coat on it. But you can put lipstick on a pig and a ribbon on its tail – it’s still a pig at the end of the day. How many times can we deal with the same old shit?

Hell, from my vantage point, another Chris Chaos title reign would be a bazillion times better than any of those numbskulls, and that still would be the same old shit.

That’s why I’m here! The Universal Championship is an opportunity to tell a completely new story. Hell, it’s an opportunity to tell any story you want! Why not get creative with it? We’ve got people talking about wars and curses and all sorts of fun stuff. That’s the good shit, baby! With me as your champ, we could see the entire XWF lean into these creepy crawlies! How fun would that be? XWF, I promise that if you turn up to the voting booths and vote for me, we’ll give Marf some more faces to bloody; we’ll sing along with the congregation ringing in the Witness War; we’ll help Dr. D’Ville make Scooby Snacks from fava beans and liver. Come on guys, let’s just get real weird with the next few weeks. A broken company leads to broken people, and broken people leads to personal growth. You’ve got to break a few eggs to make an omelette. Keep the cracks and crackheads coming!

My greatest hope, as we get deeper and deeper into each other’s crevices, is that we see a lot less of this talk about being “unknown” or about trying to hide who I am. Early on in this piece there have been some broad strokes of paint applied to a box that bastards built themselves. I’m not a mystery though. Can’t you guys see my blonde hair? Can’t you see my blue eyes? Can’t you see the lightning bolt scar on my forehead from the Dark Lord’s wand the night he killed my family? Or maybe it’s a circle burn from my Dad’s cigarette… I forget…

The point is, I am who I am. I’m just me. The only person who seems to get that is Barney freaking Green.

Let that sink in.

Barney Green has more insight and wisdom than any other person in this match. This is where we’re at, team, and it’s a pretty damning picture.

But Barney’s still not all the way there. Supposedly, he ‘vaguely’ remembers me. I call bullshit. If he did, he would remember the other thing too. You know… the…



Exactly.



But I don’t need Barney to remember. Yes, I spoke of the past. That’s my frame of reference for what I saw, what I felt, when that championship was handed over to Vinnie Lane.

It’s the same frame of reference that helps me find one, small, glimmer of hope that maybe we actually can come together as a whole and change the narrative – we already all agree on one thing! There is no role for Chris Page in the next story. None, whatsoever.

Fuck Chris Page. Overrated twat.”




2G: Epilogue

Oh, and in case you were wondering, Hannah’s death occurred a couple of weeks after her feature in this adventure. She died on Halloween when she dressed up as a pumpkin as part of a plan to kill her ex-boyfriend’s husband.

Yes. To kill her ex-boyfriend’s husband.

Hannah was cunt.

She hid, full pumpkin, on a side street that she expected them to walk down after a party. When they got near, she jumped out at them with a butcher’s knife and charged. After just two steps, she tripped and fell over a tree root and impaled herself on her own knife. She died on the spot.

It also wasn’t her ex-boyfriend and his husband that had walked past. It was two twelve-year-old girls.

Hannah was a dumb cunt.

God bless Hannah.



2H: Epilogue of epilogues

“B-t-dubs, was Corey mind-controlled at some point? I don’t really understand what’s going on, but that just gets my dick harder. Shit, I wish I was getting shipped with him. The dude’s so sweet he’s willing to eliminate himself for that whiny little turd, Thad.

I think I’m in love.”
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(11-07-2020), Atara Raven (11-07-2020), Barney Green (11-01-2020), Corey Smith (11-05-2020), Doctor Louis D'Ville (11-01-2020), Dolly Waters (11-24-2020), HeavensToBetsy (11-19-2020), Marf (11-01-2020), Prof. Bobby Bourbon (11-01-2020), Theo Pryce (11-01-2020), Unknown Soldier (11-02-2020)




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