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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » "Savage Saturday Night" RP Board
#2: BLINK!
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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
04-16-2021, 05:58 AM

2A: The Iliad

“These were inspired of Mars, but the others by Minerva - and with them came Panic, Rout, and Strife whose fury never tires, sister and friend of murderous Mars, who, from being at first but low in stature, grows till she uprears her head to heaven, though her feet are still on earth. She it was that went about among them and flung down discord to the waxing of sorrow with even hand between them.”





2B: Hospitals are Familiar

Eyes flit open. Gentle and groggy at first, but soon the shape of the world returns. A head swivels from side-to-side, taking in the surroundings. A sterile white plasters everything, from ceiling to floor. He rolls over on a white pillow and sits up on a white mattress. A white sheet falls from his body, curling upon his lap.

Everything’s fucking white, okay?

“Wha… wha…” a body stutters, struggling to start.

“Oh!” exclaims a responder in a husked voice. “You’re awake!”

“Whe… whe…” the body stammers further. Vision clears upon a white (unsurprisingly) chair. A woman sits upon it; Grecian, beatific, and serene. She closes a book - The Iliad - upon her lap. As she does so, strands of auburn hair fall beside her cheeks framing Aegean orbs wrapped in little brown lines, ashed and perfectly smoked to the edges. Other eyes, blue but faded and distant, settle upon her divine form. They widen in the face of the unknown. “You!”

“It’s okay!” she begs. The eyes scramble up the bed, pressing into the - you guessed it - white wall. There is not enough distance to flee. The man at the end of the eyes stands out too much.

“You! You! You!” he echoes, over and over. “You! You! You!”

“It’s okay!” she repeats. He doesn’t calm.

“You’re not…” reality doesn’t sink in. “This is the…”

“This is the real world,” she says, offering the palms of her hands in a gesture of safety. He still recoils.

“But.. but.. but..”

“But this wasn’t what you were expecting,” she says, trying to calm him further. “I know… it’s okay…”

The - white - door opens into the room.

This is the real world.

A plump doctor steps through. Her face, dark and unpleasant, but familiar.

It’s okay.

“How did I get here?” he asks. He locks eyes with the woman who had been waiting for him. “Aris… how did you?”

“I don’t really know,” she replies. Around them the doctor plotters about, fixing charts and wiping utensils.

“My right hand is my left,” the doctor mutters as she turns towards the bed. The sun hits the window behind her and illuminates a halo above her head - an angel smiling through the discord.



---BLINK!---




Echoes of memories gone.

The man is alone in a room.

His hand fucking hurts.






2C: Desire is Familiar

“Atara, last week you recited some poetry to our ‘mutual friend’. Hesiod, wasn’t it? Well today, allow me to be the one to share some of his works with you:

‘If a man sow evil, he shall reap evil increase; if men do to him as he has done, it will be true justice.’

Now, let’s put aside the gender terms used and just consider that a product of the times. Instead, let’s delve into the spirit of the words. As I’m sure someone of your culture and taste can appreciate, that quote’s a warning. Translated into layperson’s terms… do bad things, get bad things.

So… have you done bad things? Your sister has. She’s legitimately in a group that calls themselves ‘Baddies’, for crying out loud! But with recent events, it kind of seems like you’re wanting to be painted with the same brush. Why else would anyone in their right mind step into a ring that has Lycana in it and not want to punch her in her stupid, pasty, evil, CUNTISH face?

I need you to understand this, Atty. I’m not defending Betsy Granger. She’s a big girl, she can handle her own business. But anything that affects those left-handed fucks, is my business. I’m the one person who got The Baphomet in the ring. And after how that ended, I’m the one person who deserves a chance at burning that entire fucking group down. Your bullshit ego is affecting that. And that… that’s a very bad thing.

For you.

So if you think that I’m protecting anybody from you, I’m sorry for not being clear. I had hoped I got my message across last time that if you want to shoot your shot, fucking take it. But if you’re interfering with someone like Lycana getting her comeuppance, then ‘friend’... I’m afraid it’s you that’s protecting people. Really, an argument could be made that you’re protecting Osira too.

To be honest, I don’t really understand the family thing. I guess that’s to be expected though. You’ve heard my story. But you’re supposed to be the bigger ‘star’ when compared to Osira, right? At least as far as the XWF goes. So you giving up your world for her means a lot more than what she’s giving up. But is she giving anything up, Atty? Or is it all you? What do you get out of this sacrifice you’ve made? Your sister back (I don’t fucking understand the issue)? The Shooting Star Championship?

Couldn’t you have had your cake and eat it too? Couldn’t you have had your sister, your title shot, and your Legacy? Why did you have to sacrifice, but she didn’t? Sounds like you’re making stupid decisions here.

I need you to know, Atty… I’m not willing to give anything up. Not this week, and not in the future. No fucking chance. I have too much on the line!

This isn’t personal. Not between us. But every fucking fight I have is personal for me!

What I will do though, just for you, because I like you, is that I’ll revise that top five from last time. There’s only one change that needs to be made though. I’m going to scratch that joke about Big Bitch Baph’ and replace it with a real answer.

Number 3…



















Osira.












Is that better?”






2D: Scars are Familiar

In the corner of a room, on an uncomfortable chair, under a spotlight that pierces the dark around him, he peels back the glove on his right hand. He flexes his fingers. They tighten and release. Through thin, nearly translucent remains of burned skin, he watches as his blood pumps away under the surface of the back of his hand. He turns his palm face up showing where scars replaced scars. The damaged skin never heals but at least it’s better than the alternative.

He closes his eyes, and the image conjures itself there. That’s the place it was truly burned. Marking his physical body was one thing; that assault to his autonomy. He rid himself of that though - he took back his control. The true definition of ‘by any means necessary’. But the invasion of his psyche is something he was still working on. There are gaping holes that keep getting slashed and torn at. He squeezes his eyes; squeezes his will with every fibre of his being to blot out the remnants of The Baphomet and The Left Hand.

Forget.

A door opens with a creak. A regal frame appears in the shadows, leaning against the wooden setting in the wall. Her voice sings of beauty in dark places.

“It’s okay…” she reassures him.

It’s okay.

“H… how?” his eyes widen in distress.

“I know… I know…” she continues, blissful comfort in every word hinting at something beyond. “This is the real world.”

This is the real world.

“What…?” his mind is adrift, trapped in the flaming fingers of a hand. A goat bleats, but can’t be seen.

“I’m trying to help you,” she pleads.

“I know… I know…” the axis turns. “I just… I need a minute...”

He reaches in the dark for the discarded glove. He lays it across his knee and reaches into the dark once more. He grips a white pen in his left hand and scrawls upon the glove.

He scrawls an impossible gift.

A star.

A temporary ward against what remains, the original worn away in the heat of battle.

“Let’s talk then,” he says, finding his voice. “You’re here…”

“Of course,” she replies from the shadow.

“And you say this is the real world?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” she insists.

...

“Aris.”

...

He says her name, her power.

...

“Why do you have a name?”

“What?” she pauses.

“A name…” he repeats. “You have one. I don’t have one; my friend doesn’t have one. Why do you? This…”



“This isn’t real.”

He bows his head. Calmly she steps forward from the shadows, her majestic face shimmering in the light from above. He holds his scarred paw tight to his body - his totem of reality. She sees this, and gently kneels before him. Silently, she asks for him to share. He obliges, offering his hand as if under Aphrodite’s blessed influence. She soothingly strokes it above the glove. His voice quietens under her spell, willed to be able to articulate though his body still trembles.

“The hospital wasn’t real,” he states, convinced. “The doctor… she… I… the dreamscape, the nexus… none of it’s real.”

“What’s more likely to be real?” she softly whispers back. “A woman with a name or a minotaur without?”

Enclosed by blackness, time stops - again.

“I never told you that.” His body stops trembling.

“Sure you did!” she chirps. “You told me about your…”

“Friend.” His voice grows coarser. “I only ever said ‘friend’.”

They pause in a disharmony of silence.



---BLINK!---




Truth deliberately obscured.

The man stands atop a mountain.

Vulnerable and alone.






2E: Sovereignty is Familiar

“I’m curious, is this what drives your need for attention? Is this why you plaster your image everywhere you can? There’s the posters, the billboards, the answers to Google searches of ‘Atara Themis boobs’ that (un)suspiciously link to websites that seem to be owned and operated by someone in your employ, and most of all… that fucking statue.

Does this all stem from your childhood, growing up competing for favour with your sister?

Fuck, I don’t know. That’s probably not even fair for me to ask. I don’t know what your life was like - I never walked in your heels just as you never walked in my full-of-holes socks. I guess I’m just being an asshole. I just want to know if there was more to your personality than ‘I like sex’. Like cool, pound away, you do you and then do whoever else you want to - as long as it’s consensual and stuff - but some sort of depth to your character might be nice, you know? I’m not trying to take the easy route here and chastise you for being a whore. Or at least not that type of whore; I’m not that kind of guy. But if you hadn’t noticed, I do have a little bit more of a fire in my belly today than when last I spoke. Because it’s the attention whore in you that’s mildly chapping my ass.

It’s that fucking bullshit you pulled on Anarchy.

You want the old bastard to make you Queen? You fucking lost. Live with it.

Or better still, you want him to institute some sort of Atty-ism as the state religion?

I can’t swallow that pill, I’m afraid. Religion isn’t exactly my jam - just ask Morbid Angel. Where is that motherfucker anyway? Did I manage to beat a supposed ‘all-time great’ into quitting or something?

Fuck it, ‘Praise Themis’. I’ll say it facetiously. You know… for a gag. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to worship at the Atty altar, just as I’ll be damned if I’ll grovel at the feet of a man who would be king. But you? You’d give away whatever integrity you have left just for the attention. Just to have your name up in lights - even if the show itself is a let down.

Shit, when was the last time the Atara Themis show wasn’t a let down? A year, is it? You get those moments of brilliance but then - poof! It’s gone again! When I first respawned here, before the changing room incident that is, I actually brushed you off as being in the same damn category as Ash Quinn! Can you believe it? That’s how low the Atara Themis brand had sunk! Someone who - objectively - didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, couldn’t discriminate between you and Ash fucking Quinn! Yikes!

Is this the attention you want? Let me be clear, it’s the exact sort of attention that cavorting with the old man brings. And anything beyond that… any rules you wish to impose on me. Well that’s going to bring a whole other type of attention, if you catch my drift.

But I will not be subjugated. Not by you, not by the king, not by anyone. Not again. I will not be forced into doing anything I don’t want to. Fuck saying my prayers, fuck eating my vitamins, and fuck Terry Borden! He’s your last real ‘win’, isn’t he? Well I’m a tad different than he is. I’ve got bigger things on mind - bigger things to accomplish.

I’m fighting for my fucking freedom!

So thanks for the motivation. But unfortunately, you’re just going to be the fourth notch on the bedpost of my Universe.

I don’t have another choice.”






2F: Echoes Are Familiar

“Enough!” he shouts. It echoes across valleys that trickle with glittering streams and splendid forests. Birds flee at its sound.

“Listen!” an echo returns on a gale of wind.

“Show yourself!” he demands. “I’m done playing this game, Aris!”

A dusty tornado whips to life in the sky above him. It gradually lowers to the peak of the mountain, flicking stones and twigs from the ground. They fly in every direction, some hitting the man who called it. He pays them no mind. They bounce off his chest and fall to his feet as he watches the swirling whirlwind settle and a feminine form emerge from its center.

“Let me explain!” Aris pleads.

“Quickly!” he commands.

“I needed to find a way to relate to you,” she begs, “a way to make you listen. So I used things that I thought you might find familiar.”

“You took advantage of my position,” he counters. “You took advantage of my friend not being here. What do you know of him?”

“Not a lot,” she sweetly shrugs. “It’s you that’s got my attention more than anything. Just like you have hers; just like you have all of ours.”

“Who?” he questions, eyes narrowed. She winks, darkness washing out the blue. In this world, a shade of purple glistens in her hair.

“Oh you know…” she gestures to the skies above her. “They’re very interested in you. I wonder why that is…”

Half-skipping, half gliding, she closes in towards him. A finger circles in front of his face before booping him on the nose. He swats her hand away and she glares back at him.

“You think you won some sort of victory,” she scowls. “You saw the face of the man who condemned you. You solved the great mystery! But at what cost? The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur is nowhere to be seen! And now… Aphrodite’s not the only one who’s going to have her fun with you.”

“Yeah?” he asks, rhetorically. “Well how about you take a message to the rest of them? I’ll give Aphrodite the same on Saturday.”

As deft as Hermes, he jabs her square in the nose. A small trickle of glowing blood oozes over the top of her lip.

“Bring your gods and goddesses; bring the other lot too.” Defiantly he stands. “And you can just fuck right off, Aris.”

Her cackle rings out across the mountain top.

“You heard my name wrong, dear,” she smiles wickedly. “But if that’s what you really want, let me leave you with a little picture of the Chaos your future will bring. The real world will not be okay...”



---BLINK!---




Discord reigns.

The man is still atop a mountain.

Bodies are strewn everywhere.






2G: The Odyssey

“Much have I suffered, labored long and hard by now
in the waves and wars. Add this to the total—bring the trial on!”

Do you have a light?

[Image: 7qdASxF.jpg]
(Banner courtesy of Atara Themis)
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