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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » High Stakes Battle Royale RP Board
#4: El Generico: The RP!
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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
11-17-2020, 02:15 AM

4A: Trope City, population: you

The nightclub’s ambience is best absorbed at night.

With the lights dimmed, the blue neon strips that are wrapped around the skirting of the entire club radiate their glow across the floor. Their reach combines with the deeper blue being cast by spotlights mounted in an irregular pattern across the ceiling and walls, joining forces to bleed through the tacky ankle-high smoke blanket consistently puffed into the room. The blue and the smoke cloak the partygoers littered amongst faux-marble décor, transforming them into ghostly apparitions. Periodically the image is shattered by alternating green and red strobes and the flashes of white from the fairy lights strewn across the bar, bringing the ugly, alcohol-fuelled reality to the forefront before enveloping it in the supernatural myth once again.

But as Steve Sayors emerges from the top of the stairs, the daytime image is vastly different. On the surface, it’s lavish if not a little barren. However, lingering a few seconds on any point in the room peels back the opulent mirage and reveals a lack of substance.

“Steve!” a Voice calls from amongst a small group of people gathered at the bar. A hand rises above the murmuring huddle and beckons him over. Steve embarks across the very floor where just 8 hours ago, a future five-star general dropped to their hands and knees and lapped up their own vomit like a dog. Evidently, there is good company to be found here.

“You know, I got attacked by a shark just the other day,” Bobby Book remarked as Steve neared the pack.

“Oh yeah?” asked The Voice that Beckoned. “What did you do?”

“Nothing! The shark started it!” Book shouted, defending himself and fulfilling his sole narrative purpose in life of providing Dad Jokes. Bobby Boot shakes his head and draws a deep puff on his joint, empowered by the forthcoming legalisation of marijuana in Arizona at the end of the month. That’s today’s fun fact.

The shaggy blonde Voice’s laugh is hearty but forced. The surrounding crowd follow his lead but with notably less enthusiasm. Anguish is spotted upon his face for just a millisecond as he notices the subtleties of his audience’s reaction. That old familiar feeling of exposed heterodoxy.

His will prevails as quick as his eyes despaired, and the terror in his eyes is subdued.

The chuckling abates and a small part is made in the group for Steve to join.

“Thanks for coming, man! I’m so glad we’re on speaking terms again.” The unnamed Voice gently punches Steve in the shoulder as he approaches. “I just got done telling the team here about how I jumped a shark last week.”

“You own this place?” Steve sceptically asks, with a sweeping scan of the room.

“I sure do!” The Voice excitedly confirms. “What kind of XWF great of yesteryear would I be if I didn’t own a nightclub? Steve Jason did it. Centurion did it. Lee Stone did it. Raziel did it. It’s pretty much written in the Hall of Legends bylaws. So I went and bought my very own House of Horrors. Did you know that someone ate their own mother here once? Neat, huh?”

“Umm… I guess,” Steve stutters.

“You haven’t met the crew yet, Steve. Let’s go around the circle,” he dances his hand towards the others. “Starting on the left, please.”

“Hi!” the large man eagerly starts. A vein throbs on his forehead, larger even than those on the biceps peeking out of his tight polo shirt. Something about his presentation seems off. “I’m Generic Best Friend. I get to travel the world with My Best Bud, getting caught up in all his wacky antics and always making sure His needs are front and centre. Truthfully, I’m just here so My Bro has somebody to bounce dialogue off. Dialogue is so much easier than narrative.”

“Umm… pleased to meet your…”

“Next!” Interruptus.

“Hey babe…” the curvaceous blonde teases, batting her soulful green eyes. She thrusts her chest out, enticing Steve. “I’m Generic Girlfriend. I’m a total bombshell. Like Generic Best Friend, my entire life revolves around my boo. I don’t have my own life, and my life is constantly in peril thanks to My Man’s enemies.”

“Next!” The Man with The Voice shouts, before Steve can even wipe the drool from his chin. You know… because everyone’s girlfriend is always a thirteen out of ten.

“I’m Bobby and this is Bobby…” The Bobby Brothers get a rare second appearance.

“Oh you already know these guys,” He says with a dismissive wave.

“Wait, they’re real?” Book and Boot are confused. As if The World’s Greatest would have imaginary friends? That’s crazy!

“NEXT!” he barks.

“Hey babe…” the trim man next to Booby Boot purrs. The top four buttons of his shirt are open, displaying a dark pelt that matches the rug of fur on his cheeks. “I’m Generic Boyfriend. I’m here to compete with Generic Girlfriend to prove that The Guy is very desirable, but in a modern way.”

“So you’re…” Steve begins, looking at the Team Leader. He doesn’t get a chance to finish.

“I’m what?” He interrupts again, staring unblinkingly at Steve.

“Nothing!” Steve begs off.

“Great!” The Man with The Voice beams. “Only one more in the retinue to get to!”.

“Hi…” the scared man in shorts mumbles, shuffling in place. As he writhes on the spot, the Hawaiian woman tattooed on his calf dances the Hula. “I’m Generic Secondary Friend. While I’m considered part of the wider supporting cast, I’m mostly a tag-a-long and am clearly the outsider. That allows me to betray the Hero without any real long-term damage to the order of things.”

“You’re going to betray him?” Steve follows-up. “Why would you admit that?”

“Because I’m an evil Nazi cult leader,” Generic Secondary Friend explains. He continues, “I’m a boring, one note supervillain.”

“So when is this all going to happen?” Steve glances around nervously.

“Now. Attack!”

The dirty glass windows of the club explode inwards. Hordes of Nazi Setsujoku-Kai ninja soldiers – yes, they’re ninjas – flood through the open window panes. Our heroes are surrounded!

Lucky they’ve got a Soldier in their midst. He leaps into action, kicks everyone’s ass, and saves the day.

That’s it. No elaborate fight sequence. The Soldier is that fucking good (obviously).

When the dust is settled, and bodies are strewn across the floor, Steve and the crew emerges from where they were hiding behind the bar. Only Generic Secondary Friend remains, kneeling on the floor in front of The Solider. A knife is held to his throat.

“Tell me who sent you!” The Soldier demands.

In the background, Steve leans over to Generic Best Friend.

“Didn’t that guy say he was the leader?” he whispers.

“Shhh…” Generic Best Friend silences Steve. “He’ll reveal the secret all by himself.”

“I’m the leader!” Generic Secondary Friend squeals.

“See?”

“Defeating you was going to be part of my plan to rule the XWF, and then…” he pauses for dramatic effect, “…the world!”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

In one swift move, he slices Generic Secondary Friend’s throat. (If we’re going to pick on CCP, we may as well throw shots at his master too. Fuck Robert Main and that generic stabby-stabby bullshit.)

As the blood pools around Generic Secondary Friend’s body, Steve yelps and bolts for the staircase. The Executioner swoops in, catching Steve’s panic and pinning it against the wall.

“Easy, easy, eas-eeey,” The Executioner urges, drawing out the final syllable.

“You just killed someone,” Steve whimpers. “You just fucking killed someone.”

“He was the enemy,” The Executioner affirms. “It was kill or be killed. Sure, I’ll feel bad about it for a while, I might even try to right the wrong for my own selfish purposes, but with the support of my friends, I’ll get over it and move on like nothing happened.”

“I’m not even supposed to be here,” Steve blubbers. The Executioner’s eyes narrow and his face scrunches.

“What do you mean by that?” he interrogates.

“I’m not who you think I am!” he screams. “I am not Steve Sayors!”







Silence.

Every sound is sucked out of the room.

“Care to say that again?”

“I’m not Steve Sayors!” he repeats, tears streaming down his face. “I’ve just been fucking with you this whole time!”

“Why…” a lump forms in in The Conned Executioner’s throat, causing him to stumble over his words until an involuntary cough clears his throat. “Why would you do that?

“You put an ad up on Craigslist, for fuck’s sake. You even linked to a dam Geocities site! I didn’t even know they still existed!. So my buddies bet me $50 to call you and pretend to be Steve Sayors. We thought it’d be funny.”

A giggle comes from the dead body of Generic Secondary Friend. Not-Steve doesn’t notice but The Conned Man shoots the body a bitter side-eyed glare. The disgust in his eyes remains as he refocuses on The Liar in front of him.

“So… you’re really not Steve…” he says, to himself rather than to The Fraud. Giggles come from the rest of the crew but are quietened by a solitary raised finger.

“Dude, I don’t even look like Steve Sayors!” The Faker points out, his tears drying up. “He has grey hair and doesn’t even wear glasses! Shouldn’t you have known that? Shit, don’t you even have Google?”

More awkward giggles.

“So this whole time, you’ve just been messing with me? Like some sort of sick joke?” The Executioner’s eyes moisten, The Trickster’s saline sadness finding a new home.

“I didn’t know you were a fucking psycho!” The Swindler screeches.

“I’m not,” The Executioner quietly affirms. Confidently, he proclaims it again for the world to hear. “I’m not a psycho! I’m a real person.”

His grip releases and he takes a few steps backwards. He wipes his eyes and draws into the centre of silence. The gathered group, including The Imposter, shuffle awkwardly.

Moments pass.

To the observers the minutes feel like hours. To The Wounded Man, it feels as though no time has passed at all.

Eventually, he speaks.

“Go,” he commands. “All of you, go.”

Generic Secondary Friend opens an eye from his resting spot, and flutters between The Wounded Man and the hushed mob.

“Go!” the command is repeated with a bellowing wobble. “Go! Go! Go! Fuck off!”

The entire host, including the entirety of the invading force, scramble to their feet. Led by Not-Steve, they make for the staircase, nobody pausing to consider why the dead bodies are rising. Generic Secondary Friend needs a little prompting, so The Wounded Man gives him a hefty nudge with his foot and he clambers to his feet and starts off to join the rest of the group. Just before he gets there, he pauses and turns back to the man on his knees in the middle of the nightclub floor.

“What about our pay?” he sheepishly asks.

“Fuck the pay, man!” Generic Best Friend calls out, ticking the dialogue box. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

Generic Secondary Friend considers his options for just one moment, but not two. He turns on his heels and joins the rest of the group. The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur stands at the top, directing traffic down the stairs. When the last person makes their descent, The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur waves goodbye, and trudges on down after them.



4B: The sad clown

He kneels alone, gasping for air between desperate sobs.

His eyes awash, they mutate to a different shade of a blue.

A more familiar shade.

This is the shade he spent his entire life trying to control.

This is the shade he thought meant he was in control.

All those years of trying to control how he was perceived were peppered with times where he truly believed what everyone said about him:

That he was weird.

That he was crazy.

That he was a psycho.

Today is the same.

His world today is bleak, lonely, and obvious.

He’s put himself in a position where people will tell him exactly what they think of him, again and again.

And they do.

So he weeps.



4C: Honest to God

“It hurts. Every single time, it hurts.” He sniffs, trying to steady himself.

“The taunting, the teasing, the name-calling – this is The Love, right?” he looks up through the ceiling locking eyes with the entity on the other side of eternity.

“I wish people would be honest with me. If dealing with this – giving, receiving, observing how others are treated – if this is what it takes to put a smile on everyone’s faces, then I’ll keep going. I’ll keep trying. I just want to make everyone smile.” His eyes close as he pushes against the desolation.

“It’s never good enough though,” he inhales deeply, before pursing his lips together to control his exhale. His eyes open, aflame.

“For ten fucking years, I’ve been involuntarily drugged out of my eyeballs on Love, but apparently that’s not a good enough reason for not wrestling on a fortnightly basis. I still get questioned… doubted.” The cozened indigo erodes its way back into his irises and a grimaced smirk supplants his weary face. “My life has not been mine, but no, let’s talk about whether I deserve any credibility based on whether I wrestled a fucking match every two weeks. Shit, it’s a good thing I watched Warfare, right? I got the chance to see a cleared Thaddeus Duke – those are Paul Heyman’s words – not wrestle. Oh boy, that sure showed me! I also got to see Derrick Diamond actually say Thad deserved a title shot… which he’s getting at High Stakes. Nothing else. He didn’t make him the super special extra number one contender, despite Thad’s self-centred, entitled demands. So what was I supposed to see from that? Thad acting like a toddler in an adult’s body? Sure. That I saw. He’s got that character nailed.

I also saw evidence for literally everything I’ve ever said about the guy. Forget picking cherries, I’m talking about the whole damn tree.

But like a fiend, Thad just thinks it’s all about him.

Divide and conquer? No. Where Thad’s concerned, it needs to be all conquer.”
His face sinks back to its worried blue as he pensively contemplates the empty room. “It has to be.

Yet I’m alone, and he’s not.”
His voice shakes, weakened rather than strengthened by its conviction. “He’s got Corey convinced. Sweet, sweet, Corey. That’s truth we’ll all agree on. Those moments of agreement are… comforting, I guess. I appreciate Corey owning his mistakes, but why can’t he see that Thad won’t do the same? I get that Thad has helped him in a way that I genuinely won’t ever understand, but friends are supposed to try and push each other to be better. The longer that path remains a one-way street between the two of them, the further Thad will turn towards the dark side. I’ve seen it before.

In another life… I’ve lived it.”
His memory travels back to simpler times – tales that were once told that risk being forgotten.

“If Thad ever gets his hands on that Universal Championship,” his brow furrows, “He’ll turn the XWF into a cult of personality centred around his ego. And he’ll make people like me feel like outcasts.

Like we don’t belong.

I’m so tired of being bullied.

I just wish more people were like Marf. He said such lovely words.”
A glimmer of hope sparkles in his azure. “Marf’s a sweeter guy than people give him credit for. I feel bad that his Jurassic puppet-path of destruction didn’t come to light as it was written. I was… having a moment. But I’m feeling better now.

Right?”


The silence reigns once more. He nods to himself.

“Right. People like Marf are making this world a better place for people like… me. Same with Witness. A week prior I was an undesirable. Now? I have a sharp wit. That’s one of the first compliments I remember receiving in years.” He bares his teeth when he smiles.

“It’s almost like he realised who he was actually dealing with, and completely changed his opinion based on that and that alone. Funny how that works.

Compliments aside, he still thinks I’m just a clown.

Just like Champ Sportsman or Chris Page do. I tried to reach out to them, but they won’t even take my call. Champ particularly is a painful one for me. He wanted so bad for others to talk about him, but when I do, he just ignores me. He treats me the exact same way he didn’t want to be treated. I mean, I predicted it, but it still hurts.

At least there’s Barney Green.

Barney Green is hope.

Barney Green is proof that even the worst of us can be better. I guess that means that there is still hope for Thad then. Barney may have bitten off more than he can chew, but by God, don’t we all just want to see him succeed?

If I could, I would ask my new… friend…”
on that word, the sorrow fades completely, if just for a second. “…my new friend Marf to put Barney at the end of his list too. Right now, I kind of need to believe in Barney.

I don’t exactly have much else going for myself.

I’m here, alone, and talking to myself.”
He bows his head in defeat. “Again.

It’s like me living on the moon for the last ten years was for nothing.”




4D: Clownin’

“On a completely different tonal note, am I the only one struggling to see why everyone finds Bobby Bourbon so damn threatening? I know he was the Universal Champion, but so was Peter fucking Gilmour, and he’s still a joke. I struggle to see the difference between Bobby and Peter.

Bobby’s the real clown.”

Do you have a light?

[Image: 7qdASxF.jpg]
(Banner courtesy of Atara Themis)
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[-] The following 9 users Like ALIAS's post:
(11-19-2020), Atara Raven (11-17-2020), Barney Green (11-17-2020), Corey Smith (11-18-2020), Doctor Louis D'Ville (11-17-2020), Dolly Waters (11-24-2020), HeavensToBetsy (11-19-2020), Marf (11-17-2020), Witness (11-17-2020)




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