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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Lethal Lottery 4 RP Board
RADICAL | 'GOLD' | UNIVERSAL #8
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03-31-2017, 01:42 PM


RADICAL

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RADICAL












yesterday, 08:32 PM

Post: #1




















RADICAL | ☆ | "GOLD" | ☆ | XWF#049 | ☆ | LETHAL LOTTERY 4 | ☆ | VERSUS CHRIS CHAOS FOR THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP | ☆ | #08



GOLDEN || SHOWER

THE VERY BEST | NOTHING MORE | NOTHING LESS







A sidewalk comes into view. One single drop hits leaving a wet splash imprint. Then another. A light sheet of sprinkles douse the ground. Signs in Korean writing get scrolled by along the carved out path to a leaf covered area of a park in the middle of the night. Wind gusting the occasional grouping of fallen brush under a lamppost. A damp serene silent evening. Footsteps can be heard against the cement sidewalk. Bundled up in a scarf and coat a man walks down the pathway and over to a bench. He slides damp leaves off the seating planks, finding a dry spot beneath part of an enormous tree canopy above.

BRRRR! Chilly out tonight.



Blowing hot air from his lungs into intertwined fingers for warmth; his face finally emerges while doing so. Gabe Reno looks up into the drizzle. Reveling in something amazing coming from the sky. He reaches his hand out just to where the tree cover shielding him ends. Drops hit his hand. He pulls his arm back and notices what seems to be a miracle. The rain on his hand is gold. He smirks to himself in disbelief. Shaking his head, then drying his hand; he looks off into the distance in front of him. The shot over his shoulder from behind barely picking up the top of a large arena near the horizon. Suddenly it hits his stream of consciousness. What lies in front of him. The journey, and where it leads. An ear to ear grin; a golden twinkle in his eye lights up his entire face. Color in the form of a golden blush changes the hue of his cheeks. An epiphany in the form of a daydream.

"Ladies and gentlemen,

Winner,

AND NEW...

UNIVERSAL CHAMPION..."


In the background the water falling gets torrentially worse. Now looking like a golden wall just beyond the broad shoulders of 'The Radical'. These sheets of rain come down harder. Making it difficult to see anything but him. The tree's begin to sway back and forth from the wind picking up speed. Trash from a city park garbage bin flies by. Leaves blow past on the ground and in the air. Dancing through the wild wet conundrum of where to land. Water hits the tip of his nose. No blink. No change in expression. An unheralded focus. Unfazed in his dynamic stare... nothing can distract him from the inherit daydream that forces a stop and a whisper.

( CHAMP... ION. )

Transfixed on the mission. Obsessed with the rightful outcome. Needing the nourishment that can only come from ripping the Championship from Chris Chaos' wanting fingers. Then raising it high above. Giving the XWF what it truly deserves... a worthy Champion. A representative who will not grow stale or complacent. A real man. Refusing to break concentration, Gabe recounts what all of it means, tucked in a dry bench nook just out of harms way. He reaches out a hand to help illustrate the feelings deep inside. Moving it as if a painter delivering his final masterpiece. Stroke by stroke. Building to one magnificent final piece of heaven.

Wanting to hear those words before my name was announced kept me in this business for years. It's not easy to win a centerpiece Championship at the biggest places. Each company has its own set of pros. Its own cons. Many grueling obstacles along the way. To hear that... means that you've accomplished something that most wrestlers never do. Never will. You're probably injured by this point. Chronic conditions. Ailments you may never be the same from again. From scratching and clawing your way up the ranks. Day by day. Show after show. Sometimes two a day. Sometimes more. Those words make it all worthwhile. I've heard them before. I've been fortunate enough to have the kind of career guys only dream of. But I'm far from satisfied. And nothing would mean more to me than hearing them again. Here. Now. Over this opponent. Meaning is a funny thing. You can have grand entrances, and the best matches, and it could mean a lot, or it could just be a paycheck you cash and turn the page on. It was never that for me. Lately, it seems like it is becoming that for Chris Chaos. I've seen it all before. The empty eyes. Taking longer in the "Guerilla Position" than before. Trying to understand things about matches that used to be second nature. I have seen wrestlers that started acting that way after a hard hit. A concussion before all the protocols we have now. Others weren't injured, they just... mentally... fade away. Either from lack of interest, or they just, fade altogether in their life. Wrestling can be a symptom of success. It can also be a reason for failure. Chris heard those words not long ago when he won the Universal. He was filled with exuberance. Pride. Just like I will be at Lethal Lotto. The long road trips, years of training and barely eating, oh yeah, even the dirty road pussy. All of it comes into perspective. This is why I put myself through it all for as long as I have, and never gave up. Chris may remember it, but I will FEEL IT. OWN IT. BE IT. And enjoy it. He can say what he wants about me. That's fine. Because when those words are murmured by the announcer... I will be whole. A wonderful moment. An eternal stride. A crowning achievement.

He picks up his feet to avoid a rush of water from the thick pouring rain. Looking back up, he imagines posted signs around him in the park within his poignant vivid daydream. One of a "Volcano". Another of a "Ghost". A baby "Cradle" symbol. Various types of "Shadows". A "Specialty" love letter. One simply reading "Anti-Chaos" with a line strike through it. And finally, the face of an "Angry Panda". Gabe's pupils widen. Like any good meal he knows that the refrigerator is filled with all of his favorites. Irony, talent, aggression, and charisma. Knowing is half the battle in his mind, now recounting the parts that will make him Devine.

All the ingredients are there. The doubt has crept in and consumed Chris Chaos. Made him question not IF HE CAN win, but HOW HE WILL lose. XWF golden Radicality born on the heels of Chaos showered in shame. While the shower of sparkling gold confetti rains down upon the beginning of a fresh reign as XWF Universal Champion... my God; it's perfect. True life instants like this are too good to be written in a fairy tale. Because it is earned and deeper than any superficial thing ever could be. Imagination pales in comparison to flesh and... gold. Too real. Chris, himself, could write a fairy tale when this is all over. He could call it... "When I was" and inspire kids across the country, hell, the globe to be what he became; as long as he stops before the final real life chapter. Because in the same context that fairy tale's don't do real profound victories the proper depth of justice, they also cannot recreate the complete agony that accompanies real life failure. When I wrap my hands around his throat, then around that belt... it will be my defining chapter. Like a raging boner ready to blast. A hard on that never goes away. All the positions. Can you imagine? I'm hard just thinking about it. Wait, I think that might just be needing to pee...

Here it comes Chris, are you ready?

For your
Golden Shower?

The signs all disappear from view. Replaced by what looks like a hologram of Chris Chaos signing autographs, getting done with the last one, then tucking himself behind a curtain, eyes watery with ironic certainty. The worst kind. The face of a lost man. The type of internal loss that no travel plans can erase; no flight can soar away from; no layover can put to rest; and no hell can burn into anew. A sickly look. Like that of an old man who has just been diagnosed with the thing that will end him.



Tragic. Grasping for straws usually is. That's all you have left, Chris. A flickering flame about to die out. Trying to find a way to stay lit, but the wick just isn't long enough to last. A Shakespearian fall from grace. With the linguistic awe of an Icon. But the repulsive distaste of a water sport fetish. Like a disease. The long goodbye. Where the subject doesn't even realize what's happened, but instead that they just aren't the same anymore. Dignity fleeting by the day. Other people bathing you as you tell stories of how your body "didn't used to be like this", they nod like a dismissive parent and turn you over to wash the other side. Then call it "the worst part" of their job later at home while they pet their many cats and tell them all about their day because no one else will listen. Nurses try to help, but you're too stubborn about what you've lost to see what you still have left. A life. A rocking chair. Some expired magazines on a side table next to your awfully flavored Jello. Because that's what they give you when its time, Chris. The stuff no one will miss. Like you. Your golden years. But only bronze as a man, aren't ya? Not even second place. Maybe third. For now. Until you deteriorate even more and continue this vicious downward spiral into obscurity. Bronze it is. You convince yourself it looks a lot like gold, but it's still just bronze. Good ole bronze. Not even silver. Fucking Bronze. What happened to you? Are you really destined to hear lullabies while tears stream down your face and someone hands you a bedpan to go "boom boom"? Are you GONNA FIGHT AND BE A MAN!? As tender and heart-breaking as it is... I am up to the task. You won't be alone in your fleeting state. I'll send flowers.

Nothing fancy,

Clearance rack from last week,

A little brown, but it's the thought that counts, right?


The Chaos hologram ages rapidly then turns to golden dust, evaporating out of the daydream into the golden shower. In its place one of Gabe Reno, standing on what looks like a turnbuckle, arms spread in victory with a glimmering belt in his hands; the rain appearing like confetti, gliding perfectly down.

Before the coronation... let's clear up a few things. I've heard this vicious rumor in back. About how I somehow put Father Slathe up to taking Jenny last Warfare from Chris Chaos. That is absurd. I didn't put him up to anything. I paid him. Coin. Dolla' bills. Hard cash from my money clip. Don't leave home without it. I know what you're going to ask... why?

Why would I pay a man to steal your other half?

Your precious pussycat.

The doll of XWF.

It's easy. Your mind was where... when this match was announced? On... getting her back. Right? SO MUCH so that you actually gave Slathe's client a SHOT AT THE TITLE! Big surprise there. Just another mistake in a long line of them by a Champion who leverages the belt to make a mockery of XWF. Yeah, you got her back... once I told him when and how I wanted it done. Ask him. Ask Mister Tidbits. They were both in on it.

And here you thought you'd been playing me...

This entire time?

Cute.

I did what I had to and used every tool at my disposal whether personal, professional, or financial... Chris. I did it all... for you. For us. See, after this match we still have unfinished business. I need you to lose the Title. Not for the self-righteous reason you think. But because it will narrow your focus, then, we take tag gold. I NEED YOU TO LOSE THEN GET UP! OUT OF YOUR ROCKING CHAIR! AND I BECOME DOUBLE CHAMPION! OOOOOww! And here you thought my plan ended at beating you at Lethal Lottery?! OHHHH, Nonononono, NO, NO, SIR! Not even close! I am the best Chris, you used to be. On one hand, that is a dire reality to admit you're on the downslide of your career. Wrestlers peak here and there, and not everyone enjoys more than one run at the top, or any runs at all... but on the other hand, the best now is your PARTNER! LUCKY YOU! What amazing odds that you just so happen to have wandered incoherently into! Great instincts, Chris!


Finally snapping out of his daydream trance, Gabe slaps his own cheeks, and again looks at the top of what appears to be the dome of Rungardo 1st of May Stadium, in the heart of Pyongyang, North Korea. He gets up off the bench and walks out into the golden sheets of rain. Reno stops for a second and looks back over his shoulder.



Shhhhh... it'll be okay...

Shushshushshushshushshush!

It'll be fine!


He pulls a shiny gold coin from his pocket and flips it toward the camera. It lands on the wet concrete perfectly on the side. The view shows side one reading "Chaos wins", and on the other side "Chaos Wins", a two sided duplicate coin.

Even chance won't pick you, Chris. There's no luck like bad luck. Looks like everything I touch will turn to gold at Lethal Lottery 4. But, I'll take great care of it for you. By not offering every chump that walks by a shot. By respecting the brand that has been built as XWF more than you ever have. By beating anyone who thinks they can just stroll on by and defeat me. By not allowing my valet and wife to be kidnapped by some weird-o. By giving the kids an example that doesn't flame out every time it is convenient. By being a dynamic... erratic... enigma... it is who I am, and who you could never be. Oh, and by doing what you never could... transcending what it means to wear that belt. For the greater good. For us all. Really. Universally.

Gold is coming home with Papa.

Now move out of the way...


BITCH.

He turns and walks off into the golden night.








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