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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » "WAR GAMES 2015" RP Board
"Loverboy" - Get In The Ring
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Vincent Lane Offline
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09-11-2015, 10:06 PM Heart  "Loverboy" - Get In The Ring -->




“Operator, how can I help you?”

“Yeah, can you put me through to Maverick?”

“Um… Maverick who, sir?”

“Exactly.”

“Loverboy” Vinnie Lane slams down the payphone into its cradle with a bang, tinging the tiny bell inside and rattling the handful of change within it.

As dusk turns into night with no sign from Poppa Feder, Loverboy is getting impatient. He’s been travelling almost non-stop for days, barely eaten, hasn’t brought any luggage of any kind with him, and has been babysitting a quartet of non-GMO bananas for Feder as if they were a pretend baby in a Home Economics assignment.

Long story short, Loverboy isn’t a happy camper.

Add in the fact that “middle of nowhere, USA” doesn’t get much in the sense of cellular service, forcing him to rely on a relic of a gas station pay phone, and Loverboy’s mood is pretty understandable. Especially since the last bit of WiFi he’d managed to pick up before wandering into the slums garnered him the chance to see Maverick’s first contribution to his team.

“Seriously, what the fuck was that anyway?”

Loverboy scrolls across the screen of his cell phone, looking through the contact numbers. Finding the winner, he digs into his tight vinyl pocket for more change and then slams the coins into the slot before sticking the phone into the crook of his shoulder and dialing the chrome button pad while reading off the numbers under his breath.

“…7…2…4. Alright.”

Silence as Loverboy waits for the call to dial through. Then, he springs into animated action when the call clicks to a connection.

“Guppy? That you, dude? Look, I don’t have a lot of time, so just listen… I’m way out in some fucking suburb from hell, trying to meet up with Feder. I need you to keep an eye on shit for a day or two, alright? Just… listen, just keep an eye on Maverick. Yeah, he’s apparently alive after all. Anyway, the dude seems to have gotten some of Lyden’s powers fucked into him or something because I’m pretty sure he started travelling through time. I can’t really explain it, man, just watch his dog turd of a promo and you’ll see what I mean. What? Yeah, you have to watch the promo. I don’t give a shit if Good Will Hunting is on. YES, I know, it’s a good movie. Oh for fuck’s sakes, dude… look I’m out of quarters and I don’t have any service here, I might only have a minute left… what? What do you mean use the app? You downloaded an app on my phone? When the fuck di you… you know what? Nevermind, just watch the god damn promo and keep an eye on Maverick. And try to find that Code Red kid if you can. He might have shot his eye out for all I know. Yeah. Later.”

Loverboy plunks the receiver down into the cradle and then turns away from the phone, trudging back towards the closed gas station. As he approaches, he sees a transient-looking black man leaning against the side of the building and can’t help himself from being a little snarky.

“Hey… hey man, don’t mean to interrupt your loitering, but can I ask you a question?”

“You just did, fam.”

“Right… hey, looks like just because you’re broke doesn’t mean you can’t be rich in attitude, huh?”

“Fuck you want, punk?”

“Chill dude, just chill… no need to get all #BlackLivesMatter on me here. Look, I just wanted to ask a simple question. Then I’ll be on my way. Alright?”

“What the fuck ever man, get on with it.”

“Okay… how long do you think it would take you to do a thousand pull-ups?”

“The fuck?”

“I mean, I know how long it would take ME, but I’m in peak physical condition… I need to know how long it would take… uh…”

Loverboy looks the thin man up and down over the rims of his aviator shades.

“…someone a little BELOW average, know what I mean? Someone like the dude I’m dealing with.”

“A thousand pull-ups? Like in muh-fuckin’ gym class?”

“Right! Yeah, you know, like this?”

Finding a low bar over a window of the gas station, Loverboy hops up and grabs it, then quickly rips out four or five picture perfect pull-ups without his heartbeat raising even a single beat per minute.

Loverboy drops back down onto the concrete sidewalk and holds his hands out, pleased with his demonstration.

“See what I mean about peak physical shape? I’d probably knock a grand out in like 20 minutes, you know? What about you?”

“Fuck… I don’t know, nigga, why you askin’ me this stupid ass shit for?”

“Just answer me, man. I’ll give you a little cash.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, no worries, dude.”

Loverboy pulls out a roll of bills from his pleather fanny pack, licking his finger and flipping several twenties out to show the man he means business.

The black guy nods and checks his cheap flip phone, most likely for the time, then punches a few buttons in and smiles a golden-toothed grin down at the phone before looking back up at Loverboy.

“Yeah, a’ight then. I think I probably could do, fuckin’, like 200 of them pull-ups in a half hour. So that’s like two hours for a thousand, right?”

“Uh… yeah, whatever, close enough. Something like that. But you think it would probably take you less than two weeks, right?”

“Two WEEKS? Nigga my dead-ass granddaddy could do it in two weeks, man, what the fuck you thinkin’?”

“Exactly! See, it doesn’t make any sense for it to have taken Maverick this long to finish one workout session… even if it was as unrealistically long as he wanted us to believe! There’s got to be more to the story… I really think that Lyden kid must have magic sperm or some shit and it granted Mav some sort of time warping ability when he swallowed it.”

“White boy you best watch your mouth with that shit.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean…”

“Matter fact, your punk ass might want to just go ahead and give me that fat stack you got in that ugly ass bag, nah mean?”

“Hey! Dude, just chill… I’m gonna give you like 40 bucks in just a second… I want to hear what you think about Maverick paying off some scrub at the gym to put him over and make him look good in his promo. That’s some bullshit, right?”

“Nigga fuck yo’ 40 dollars. You best gimme all that shit right now, cuz.”

Loverboy puts his hands up and takes a step back, but grins wide and chuckles as he does so.

“Dude… alright, trust me man, you don’t want to try me out, okay? I’m a pro athlete. A champion fighter. These hands are federally certified lethal weapons. I don’t want to hurt…”

From around the corner of the building, a group of six other young black men join the hoodlum next to the gas station. The gang move as a unit towards Loverboy.

“…you. Shit.”

The group crowds around Loverboy who tries to shrug them off and defuse the situation with some ill-advised humor while continuing to back off into the parking lot area.

“Hey now, you guys are really trying to force me to stand my ground here, man… I don’t want to have to - ”

The first fist crashes into Loverboy’s face quicker than he had been expecting, but he is certainly used to taking hard shots to the skull. He staggers backward a little bit but maintains his composure and even starts to move forward again before three of the guys grab him by the arms and pull him backward, exposing his midsection for a pummeling from the largest of the gang members.

One of the men rips open his fanny pack, grabbing the wad of cash and his cell phone, but Loverboy manages to get a grip on the man’s wrist as he tries to back away, snatching the phone back and switching it on before another series of punches drops him to the dark asphalt.

Loverboy curls up to defend against the series of punches and kicks being delivered by the men, and simultaneously tries to find a way to make an emergency call on his cell.

It’s then that he sees the Batman logo on an app button near the bottom of his screen.

“Fuckin’… Guppy…”

Loverboy manages to grunt out between kicks to his stomach.

With no service anywhere in sight, Loverboy gives up trying to make an emergency call and presses the app, immediately sending a brilliantly bright beam of light into the sky. As Loverboy looks up into the dark clouds, he sees a perfect Bat Symbol illuminated against the backdrop of the night.

And then he hears the yelp of a gang member and the crash of metal trash cans.

“What the…”

The gangster who had been kicking him is ripped away, and a blood curdling scream echoes through the evening air as Loverboy sees a caped form wailing away on the prone body of his assailant.

Scrambling to his feet, Loverboy turns and catches one of the gangsters with a quick snap kick to the ribs right before he gets behind his rescuer in the black cowl and cape.

“… Guppy?”

Loverboy is in shock, watching a real life super hero drop four men on his own. When the man in the bat costume hears Loverboy say the name, though, he stops in mid-beatdown and looks right into the megastar’s eyes.

“I’m Batman.”

The caped crusader says with a deep snarl.

Collectively, the gang members gather themselves up and run off into the darkness, leaving Loverboy catching his breath and attempting to converse with the man in the rubber bat costume.

“Dude, it’s really you? Like, you really fight crime and shit? For real?”

“I’m Batman.”

“Yeah, it sure as shit looks like it! That was fucking AWESOME, man! You are gonna kick so much ASS in War Games, Guppy!”

“I’m Batman.”

“Right, yeah, Batman, whatever. Hey, listen… how long do you think it would take you to do a thousand…”

A cloud of black mist erupts from a pellet thrown down by the dark knight. Loverboy coughs and shields his eyes from the smoke, and when it clears the hero has vanished back into the night from whence he came.

“Huh. That was fuckin’ weird.”

Loverboy dusts himself off and sees his money sitting in a pile on the ground nearby, so he gathers it up and sticks it back into his fanny pack.

He checks his phone screen for cracks, and seems satisfied by its condition. Then, his eyes light up with inspiration.

“Shit, since I’m just sitting here and just got done fighting crime with motherfucking BATMAN, I might as well pre-record some shit for Maverick to deal with. He’s gonna be so pissed that I saw through his bullshit.”

Loverboy purses his lips and straightens his hair, using the reverse angle of his cell phone camera to see himself in the screen and check for any imperfections. Then, after making a few adjustments to his clothing and straightening his sunglasses on his face, he starts a video recording.

“Maverick! Dude! So glad to FINALLY hear from you. I thought maybe you gave yourself dysentery from shitting all over yourself all the time and died like a settler on the Oregon Trail. But man, was I ever glad to see you alive and shitting as usual.

Maverick, though, for real… we need to talk about your newfound timelord capabilities. Me and Batman and these six assholes all agree that there’s no way it took you two whole weeks to finish even that ridiculously long of a set of basic gym moves. Like, when you started that set, man, you were prepping to defend the Hart Title on Madness, remember? Like, that was the whole point. Then that guy you paid off started thumping his chest at you like he was Trax defending his woman’s bright pink and blue ass from a rival male, and you were going to have a totally real, absolutely not faked or fixed, straight-up for sure “fight” with him. Remember? I mean, you MUST remember.

So like, how did you possibly time warp into that same moment but be all talking about me and War Games and shit? Like, none of that had even HAPPENED when you started your pull-ups, man! That was TWO WEEKS ago! And… just between you and me, dude, don’t worry I won’t sell you out on this it’s just us talking… but I totally know you just started counting those reps at like 950. Don’t fucking try to bullshit me, man, your arms are too scrawny to lift even your narrow ass up and down a whole thousand times. I mean, look at you. I can tell you whack off right handed because that one’s slightly thicker, dude, and if that’s the kind of workout you’re into then there’s no WAY you’re doing some godly amount of pull-ups out of thin air, man.

Like I said though, that shit’s between you and me. As far as anyone else knows, you totally did a thousand.

What really needs to be explained though is the fucking time travelling. I knew you and Lux were fagging out on each other, but I didn’t know he could pass on that weird magic shit he’s got going on sexually. Like, does his man goo glow in the dark? Don’t answer that, man, I really don’t want to know.

Hey, Mav, while I’ve got your attention… have you talked to Ghost Tank? I’m really starting to think he might have taken my advice and pulled the plug on himself, man. Dude, you have got to have the unluckiest team in War Games history! First your Asian ladyboy gets banned for growing a new penis with HGH or whatever happened, now I hear your rookie PG-13 isn’t gonna make it and you have to swap in TJ Wallace? WALLACE? This whole thing is turning into a reunion of mid-carders I’ve already beaten half to death, man. Top it off with GT probably having offed himself and it’s really looking like this is going to be the saddest match since Gator and Simon shat down your throat.

Maybe you should have tried harder and gotten seven or eight losers to help you out at the Games, man. You probably could have swapped Lyden off to a team that has a shot and gotten a few more chunks of flotsam and jetsam, you know? Maybe get those Drake brothers or Mike Emerick? Bobby Zi was RIGHT THERE, man, imagine the new levels of mediocrity you could have reached with that illiterate motherfucker on your squad! Now we’ll never know just how badly five main eventers could beat ten chumps and it’s all your fault. I guess it’s not too late though, since apparently you can just trade team members like Pokémon cards. You probably should have thought of something a little better than WALLACE though, dude. I can beat that knuckle-dragging shithead in my sleep. I fucking helped him train, man! I know everything he’s got! And he’s been practically retired lately, dude, same as Oppenheimer and Tank… you’ve got half your team made up of retirees and cripples. Hey, trivia time… know what happened last time Iris Oppenheimer and TJ Wallace were in the same ring? Ready for the answer?

I became the number one contender to my Universal Title, that’s what.

Man Maverick, you sure know how to pick ‘em, don’t ya?

Ah, shit…”

Loverboy squints at the screen as a repeating beep chimes from the speaker. A little red light flashes in the corner over the screen. Loverboy clucks his tongue in annoyance.

“Hey Mav? I gotta go dude, my fuckin’ battery’s about to take a shit. Ha! Talking to you about something ELSE taking a shit! That’s new!

Anyway man, go do some more time travelling exercises and maybe get back to the draft and try to make things interesting? I’d totally appreciate it. I’m getting tired of squash matches, dude.

Peace out!”


Loverboy throws up deuces at the screen and presses the button to save the recording just as the phone goes dead in his hand.

“Fuckin’ Bat Signal takes a lot of juice…”

Checking the vintage Swatch on his wrist, Loverboy walks to the side of the gas station and leans back on the wall, waiting for a sign from Poppa Feder as the scene fades away

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