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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Relentless Day 3 RP Board 2020
Legacy Babies
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James Raven Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP



XWF FanBase:
Some of everyone

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


#1
09-26-2020, 10:59 PM

[Image: RavenCanada.jpg]

NOAH JACKSON: Go for the takedown, you cunt!

JACKSON HART: Fuck that, he’s wobbled! Knock his ass out!

SHAWN WARSTEIN: Twenty bucks says the referee stops it early.

I’ve gotten used to this sort of chatter. I hear it from my fellow Legacy members each and every day in the gym; but this isn’t our usual setting. There’s no clanging of iron weights in the background, no gasps and grunts of aspiring world champions echoing as I sweat and bleed all over foam grappling mats…

Those familiar sounds are replaced with the clinking of shot glasses, and the clatter of empty beer bottles toppling across wooden countertops. Laughter booms through the room, mirth and merriment in every direction as I tear into the meat of a chicken wing before dropping the bone in a large ceramic bowl.

NOAH: This cunt better not stop it! It’s MMA! Not fucking ballet!

JACKSON: Don’t worry. He’s not gonna stop it.

SHAWN: He’s gonna stop it.


Noah hurls a balled up paper towel across the room at his dad, Jackson Hart flipping Fuzz the middle finger for trying to rain on this parade. Shawn shrugs™ and leans forward to reach for another pizza slice, motioning to the enormous television hanging on the wall.

SHAWN: Fine. We’ll just see what happens, then.

Jackson and Noah return their attention to the screen eagerly. I grin quietly from my chair, finishing the rest of my drink. This whole evening has been nice. You may not be able to tell from some of our public appearances or how easy we make things look in GCWA, but we work hard and fuck it… we’ve earned the opportunity to kick back and relax a little bit. One night of greasy food and massive quantities of alcohol wasn’t going to kill anyone, was it? We can get back to the gym next week.

NOAH: Oh fuck!

JACKSON: Goddamn it! What’s he doing?! Is he fucking stupid?

I glance to the TV screen, watching as the referee dives between the two fighters and separates them, calling an end to the bout. Noah pops out of his seat arms in the air as his face reddens furiously. Jackson looks equally dismayed by the result. I glance over at Shawn, who isn’t even looking at the screen to see the pay-off of his prediction. He grabs a nearby whiskey bottle and begins to refill his glass.

One finger, two fingers… three… four… he stops pouring when the amber liquid nearly reaches the rim of the glass. Well shit. It’s gonna be that sort of night from here on out, huh?

He glances over at me.

He shrugs™.

NOAH: Well, Jax, you owe my dad twenty bucks.

JACKSON: Excuse me?

NOAH: He was very clear, twenty bucks if the ref stopped it early. Pay up.

JACKSON: So are you paying too? You were with me on this one.

NOAH: Are you really trying to deflect attention to me as you welch on a bet? I’m worried about you, cunt. Your degenerate gambling is really changing your character.

JACKSON: Oh, fuck off.

The two continue to bicker as I stand up from my chair, setting my empty glass down on the table amongst the food and discarded bottles. The other three turn to look at me curiously.

JACKSON: Where are you going?

RAVEN: I should probably head out, try and get some sleep.

SHAWN: Seriously? The co-main event is next.

RAVEN: I know, but you know, I got a match tomorrow and shit… so…

NOAH: Yeah, but it’s Bourbon. It’s like wrestling with a fridge, only he’s dumber.

I stare at Noah, blankly. Did I hear him right?

RAVEN: Noah, how often are you wrestling a fridge?

NOAH: As often as I need to in order to keep the cunt in line.

Noah turns towards the kitchen, shaking his fist menacingly at nobody in particular… well, I guess at an appliance. Jackson is as confused as I am, but it’s Shawn to move on first.

SHAWN: Fuck Robbie Bourbon, man. Do what I did, just log out.

RAVEN: Huh?

SHAWN: Leave. I meant just leave. My bad, I’m pretty drunk.

RAVEN: I can’t just leave. The whole reason Robbie’s butt hurt in the first place is because I didn’t give him the attention he thought he deserved.

NOAH: Well, I submit to you this… in the words of a great man… “fuck Robbie Bourbon, man”.

I roll my eyes.

JACKSON: They kind of have a point. You’re not on the XWF roster. You don’t care what Bourbon thinks. Soooo… you don’t owe anyone anything.

I think it over for a second.

RAVEN: The fans?

Shawn and Noah throw their hands in the air in mock horror, Jackson slapping his palms to his cheeks as he flashes me the Macaulay Caulkin.[/color][/b]

SHAWN: How did we forget about the fans?!

NOAH: We can’t upset the precious fans!

JACKSON: We’re monstrous!

I shoot daggers at Jackson.

RAVEN: You’re getting real cocky for a guy that had his first match, like, three months ago.

Shawn and Noah cackle wildly, and call both of us cunts. That’s fair.

JACKSON: Just be a good cunt and sit back down, have another drink, party for a while. These next two fights are going to be sick, cunt!

I shake my head and take a few steps away from my seat towards the front door.

RAVEN: I can’t. I said I would do it, so I’m going to do it. I just wish I had never said yes in the first place. It seemed like a fun idea at the time, but now? It’s just, so… “meh”…

Noah looks to Shawn suddenly with a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

NOAH: So what you’re saying is you wish you could go back in time? Maybe stop yourself from saying yes? Maybe sleep with your own mother? Maybe write Johnny B Goode for Chuck Berry?

RAVEN: Stop myself from saying yes, sure. I don’t know about the rest of it.

Shawn takes a slow bite of his pizza, chewing thoughtfully.

SHAWN: We have a time machine.

RAVEN: Very funny.

SHAWN: No. For real. We have one. It’s in the garage.

I look to Noah, who nods his head wildly. I glance to Jackson, who seems at the very least intrigued by whatever’s coming next. Finally I turn back to Shawn.

He shrugs.

™.




Do you know the crazy thing about innovation, Robbie?

It’s easily confused.

People like you seem to think that just because you march to the beat of your own drum, walk off the beaten path and spew a bunch of nonsense that the majority of us don’t understand… that you’re somehow a game changer, or a revolutionary. Half the joke to you is laughing at the normies that don’t get it. You’re not an innovator, Robbie, you’re the XWF’s resident hipster.

We get it.

You’re different.

You’re an outlier.

You’re not an innovator.

To be an innovator people need to follow in your footsteps. People need to recognize your moves as beneficial to themselves and a path of less resistance than their own. They need to be inspired to follow where you lead. Who has ever followed you anywhere? Bearded War Pig? And… I’ll wait. Even if you can rattle off a few names, where has it gotten them? Who can honestly sit down, look at their careers and say “I’m better for having followed the blueprint that fat fuck in a mask drew up”?

Fucking nobody, Robbie.

You’re not an innovator, you’re just fucking weird.

Now, ME on the other hand? I am exactly what you pretend to be. There are rules in place in the XWF because of me, there are World champions that have modeled their game after me or learned under my wing, and there is an endless line of jock sniffing clout chasers like yourself begging me back into the ring every time they think that I’m ripe for the picking… knowing that a win over me elevates them to heights they’ve never even seen before. Just ask-

Fuck it, you already know.

I made you more than you’ve made you, Robbie, and here you are two years later begging for a second chance at the fucking teat because no matter how many breifcases they dangle in front of you or tournaments they toss you into with favorable seeding… you just can’t get over that hump on your own… Chris Chaos is legally and he’s going to get a Universal title shot. Chris Page hasn’t won a match since like 2017 and could weasel his way in there again before you could.

Robert Main.

Sarah Lacklan.

Madison Dyson.

How many names do I need to mention here? I can keep going. Dozens of names that the fans and management alike would put ahead of you in drawing power, wrestling ability and general pleasantness to work with. Seriously, your breath smells like Gilmour shit in your mouth. Floss. How long have you been here Robbie? How long have you had to elevate yourself but been unable to do it, as wave after wave of new talent comes in and overshadows your inconsistency?

You. Are not. An innovator.

You’re the asshole wandering off to the side by himself, shouting loudly while the rest of us carry out our business… but another win over me changes all of that… it puts you back on the map.

Good luck.




RAVEN: WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?!

SHAWN: Time travel just happened, baby.

JACKSON: Why can’t I see anything?

SHAWN: I can’t explain how a time machine works to you, man. You just have to try to keep up. Everything will go back to normal when we step outside, trust me. Now remember, we’re only trying to get Raven and Bourbon not to fight at Relentless. Anything else we change can send major ripple effects through the timeline that we know.

JACKSON: What sort of ripple effects?

NOAH: There’s no way of knowing. It could be anything from Mike Tyson marrying the Queen of England to Barney Green owning the XWF.

RAVEN: Good Christ.

SHAWN: No pressure.

RAVEN: I’m having second thoughts. We shouldn’t be doing this. I’ll just fight Bourbon. I’ll phone in some half assed effort and it won’t be that bad. Fuck, it’ll be more than I can say for my last effort.

NOAH: Shut up, cunt! We’re getting that match cancelled! Now everyone out of the machine!

SHAWN: Hang on, Noah… what did you set the date to?

NOAH: I set it to go back twenty days. I thought that ought to be enough.

SHAWN: It’s not “back twenty days”, it’s to the 20th, but… the year… you’ve got us going back to the 90’s...

JACKSON: What?!?!

SHAWN: And… and… it’s set to internal…

RAVEN: What does that mean?

NOAH: Oh, son of a cunt.

SHAWN: Everybody out.




James Raven is basic.

James Raven is cake.

James Raven is a Ronald McDonald with tits.

All week I’ve listened to that sort nonsense, but at no point has Robbie Bourbon said “James Raven is a worse wrestler than I am” or “James Raven has a worse resume”. I get it Robbie, your absurdist bull shit is all you can cling to when there are no legitimate points left to raise. You release promos that are nothing more than verbal diarrhea packaged with the notion that if you talk for a long time AT me it counts more than saying something meaningful TO me.

You have no legs to stand on, Robbie, and to the surprise of most it had nothing to do with diabetes.

You don’t get to lecture me about how the XWF is all about fun, but then try to shame me for bringing my friends along to have a good time. I hate to break it to you, but a rematch with you wasn’t really a selling point if I had to come alone… oh, and since you were so eager to drag Atara into this she says “Fuck off, Dove”.

You don’t get to tell the fans and I that you’re over our previous match up when it was LITERALLY the only reason for you to be chasing after me two years later, and I don’t even work for this company anymore.

We’ve talked enough, Robbie, one of us more effectively than the other.

Time to settle this.

G.O.A.T.

Vs

Innovator

For Legacy

Fear the Raven… Forevermore…





Something has gone horrifically wrong.

That much is clear to me, now that we’re outside of the machine and my vision is restored. We’re still standing in Shawn’s garage, everything exactly the same as we had left it… but…

JACKSON: Why am I small?

Yep. There it is.

Jackson stands in front of me, his cheeks plump and cherubic and his hair messy and matted down to his forehead as he stares at me with bright and innocent eyes. I’d say he’s maybe four years old?

SHAWN: Whoa, so you were a little chubby kid, weren’t you Jax?

Shawn looks older. Maybe twelve? I don’t really know how to describe his look other than as a kid that you KNOW sat through a lot of detentions. He scratches his forehead in frustration. This isn’t what he had planned.

RAVEN: What happened? What year are we in?

My voice is high pitched, and what I meant to be a demanding question comes across as sing song bull shit.

SHAWN: Noah set the machine wrong. We’re still in 2020.

JACKSON: Huh?

SHAWN: There’s an interior and an exterior setting. Exterior travels back to the time you set, interior, it travels whatever’s inside back… but the machine never actually travels… does that make sense?

RAVEN: NO!!!

SHAWN: Well, it’s time travel, it’s complicated stuff. Don’t worry your little first grade head about it.

I’m going to flip out. I want to hit Shawn but he’s twice my size right now. I’ll remember this later. It suddenly occurs to me that Noah hasn’t spoken since leaving the time machine.

RAVEN: Where’s the cunt?

SHAWN: Not born yet.

RAVEN: So… where is he? Is he still in the time machine? Did he… cease to exist?

SHAWN: He exists inside all of us. In our hearts.

I hate Shawn sometimes. I really really do.

RAVEN: This is strange. It’s terrible. I don’t like it. All I wanted to do was get out of fighting Robbie Bourbon!

JACKSON: Look, it’s fine, we made a mistake. Just change all of us back, and then we go to the time we meant to go to. No problem.

SHAWN: Small problem. This thing doesn’t run on energizer batteries. The energy takes forever to build up, we have enough juice to do one or the other… change back, or jump to a new time…

RAVEN: Well! Clearly change us all back then! I’ll just fight Bourbon, damn, I didn’t expect this to be so fucking complicated.

SHAWN: It’s adorable watching a child swear.

RAVEN: Everyone get in the fucking time machine!

Shawn and Jackson oblige me, stepping inside before I follow suit.

JACKSON: Are we sure Noah will be back when we age our bodies back to normal?

SHAWN: Yeah, his energy is floating around in here somewhere… like a ghost or something.

Jacksons eyes widen in horror.

Then I see nothing at all.



September 27, 2044
New Toronto, Australialand
Noah Jackson’s Estate

YOUNG GIRL: Grandpa! You said you’d come outside and play!

NOAH: I’m on my way, my precious cunt. Just let me finish what I’m writing.

Noah Jackson sits at his laptop as his granddaughter runs from the room to grab the laser swords and jet pack fuel for playtime. After a few minutes of thought, he continues to hammer away at the keys.

“Raven never did get out of that match with Robbie Bourbon at Relentless. He tried everything, but at a certain point he had to bite the bullet and just follow through. He killed Bourbon. Literally. He beat the guy to a bloody pulp in their sanctioned streetfight and after the match, in the ambulance, Bourbons heart stopped. Doctors think it was years of fatty food consumption and general abuse of his body, but I’m pretty confident it was Raven. After that, Raven drifted away from the XWF again and continued to do legendary shit everywhere he went. I haven’t spoken to him in a few years, but last I heard he was doing well. Rich, and the head of a colony on one of the moons in the Rober-1245X7 galaxy.”

Noah stares at the screen, pondering the next entry.

“Jackson Hart went on to become the GCWA World champion, but things went pretty bad from there. Once he got a taste of the fame, he flew too close to the sun. I’ve heard mixed stories about what happened to him. Some people say he was arrested in Morocco and is currently locked in some mountainside prison, never to see the light of day again… but some people say he died of a drug overdose. Whatever happened, I hope he’s doing well. I miss that cunt.”

Noah smiles warmly, as he reaches the last of his old friends.

“I still see Shawn around from time to time. That makes sense. He’s my dad.”

Noah cracks his knuckles, ready to wrap up.

“So that’s it. That’s the story of Relentless, and it may have taken a couple of decades but I’ve finally fulfilled my promise to Raven of writing it all out for him so that he didn’t have to. You’re welcome, old friend. I’m glad you didn’t have to write anything for Relentless yourself.”

“I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12. Jesus, does anyone?”

“I wasn’t 12 by the way. I just heard that line in a movie once. Cheers cunts.”


YOUNG GIRL: GRANDPA!

NOAH: Coming!

FADE

TO

BLACK

The People’s G.O.A.T.
120-24-3

3x Universal Champion, 3x World Champion, 9x Xtreme Champion, 1x Hart Champion, 2x Phoenix Champion, 1x Women’s Champion (lol), 1x Federweight Champion, 1x Heavymetalweight Champion, 5x Tag Team Champion
(w/ Aidan Collins, Roxy Nova, Mia Sanchez, Big Shank, Drew Archyle/Robert Main)

XWF Hall of Legends
#4 on XWFs “Top 50” List
2009 Rookie of the Year
2009 Face of the Year
2010 Heel of the Year
8x Star of the Month
2x Star of the Year (2009/‘10)
2x Feud of the Year (2010/‘11 w/ Big Shank)
2017 High Stakes Winner
Former Owner
Lots of other random shit
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