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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Warfare Boards » Warfare RP Board
Still Waters Run Deep
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R.L. Edgar 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
04-26-2021, 10:32 PM

CHRIS PAGE
















I


















KNOW
















WHAT


















YOU



















DID















ON
















MARCH 29TH!!!

And I don't mean underwhelming the wrestling world in a handicap match against a one-eyed man who hasn't wrestled in a year.

Chris Page's "Poppin' Bottles" From March 29th Said:I have also already grown pretty tired of listening to all the bullshit being spouted out by the masses revolving around my title defenses; yes I am more than aware that beating Big D was not worth writing home to mom about while beating up on Drew Archyle was just eh for me. So I am going to call my shots right here and right now just to end the speculation and move some names up to the top of my list. On April 17th I will be taking my ass on over to Savage Saturday where I am throwing down the challenge to you…


Demos.


That is right kiddo, you are the next contestant on who gets served next. When I finish with your Demos I am going back to Warfare on May 5th where I am looking at you RL Edgar. Both of you have shown me over the last several months that you are both warrant the opportunity to grace the squared circle with perfection in its purest form that is “Chronic” Chris Page. Will I successfully retain? I do not know but it is going to be a shitload of fun trying to find out; regardless of how those play it will lead me to Leap of Faith where I am going to go ahead and call you out here and now… Robert Main.


The Champ is busy if you cannot see, but that comes with the territory. For as long as I can remember the Universal Champion has just seemed to roll with the punches with whoever Theo and Vinnie put in front of them without remotely trying to deal with some people that have earned the right. Not I, not anymore. I’ll leave that for the Warstein’s the Main’s and the Engineer’s of the world because the word complacent rounds them all up in a fucking walnut shell.

Chris Page's "Origins 11" Said:I was a little bit shocked when I saw that you were announced as the Challenger for the title following that sheer castration of Demos.

Chris Page's "Origins 13" Said:I was told that I had defenses against Demos and then against you by Theo Pryce the morning after March Madness; March 30th if YOU are keeping track; so where the hell did I challenge YOU at March Madness, dumb fuck?


Ruh Roh, you Raggedy Fuck!



Hey, Chris Page. Aren't you the self-proclaimed master at this promo stuff? Talk about ROOKIE mistakes, brother. For someone so convinced that they hold the keys to making promo-work translate into ring results, it looks like ol' Chedder BOB done shot himself with his own gun. This is what happens when you mistake "good" promo work, for simply running off at the mouth so unconsciously, trying to fill air space that you lose track of what you say. Chris even flip-flops mid-sentence: From not knowing if he'll beat RL and Demos to calling himself perfection. I know it's taken a lot of your time co-opting Miss Fury's hopeless ass origins and retconning yourself as the mastermind of BOB, but this lack of attention to detail is just inexcusable. Especially of such a "GREAT" Universal Champion.

So which was it, Chris? Did YOU challenge me to this match because you want to be a TRUE champion like you said? Or did RL Edgar EARN this opportunity from management as you said? In a promo you released, yes, March 29th, in an unspecified location, did you magically predict that Theo was going to tell you that you were facing me and Demos for the title? Do you have a fucking time machine? Was that a robot Chris Page in your promo against Mickey Kinkade? You're such a lying piece of shit. Truly though, in either instance it just makes you look like a giant pussy. Imagine that. A man whose only champion because he beat a "paper champ", his words, playing make-believe badass. Pretending to flex nuts and call shots to cover up that he knows his reign since beating Thad Duke has been a joke. Leave it to Chris Page to finally make an honorable move in the XWF, such as challenging deserving competitors, only to make himself look like he's been cucked by management. Leave it to Chris Page to scramble, and flail, and flop and crash and fucking burn to cover his tracks now.

Oh boy. This is some sweet nectar.

It is what it is though, homie. I think you just slept on R.L. Edgar. You not being man enough to admit your own words fits your billing perfectly. You're a punk. You're a coward. You're a bully, and you've got a big stupid-looking nose that I'm going to smash into your skull, buddy boy. You know the moment that someone starts mentioning "behind the scenes" and "rumors" that you've got them shook, shaken, stirred, and poured into the blender. Just the sight of RL Edgar pulled that shitty, nonsensical stank from your breath. That's when you know they've got nothing of substance to offer the argument. Especially when the shit doesn't even make sense. When in the fuck have I ever hung out with Thad Duke? It's a goddamn amazing thing. A man who hops "kliq" to "kliq" constantly worried about who is riding who's dick. Miss me with that pussy, insecure bullshit, dude. It's not championship material if you ask me...

It's more befitting of a "man" who jumps senior citizens to try and look tough. Bitch made. You build this perception of yourself, Chris. It's pretty hard for you to convince me that you're worthy of donning that championship that you've turned into a mockery. What is a champion without a worthy battle? You call everyone you battle with a disgrace, hell you're the champion of a wrestling organization that you think sucks. Everyone else might be afraid to flat call it, but I'm not, The Emperor wears no clothes. That's why I'm fighting. To pull back that curtain and show everyone that the future of the XWF hasn't been pre-ordained by Chris Page.

It might feel like that's where wear headed, but not if I have anything to say about it first. This is what Chris Page has been dreaming about for so long, his long-lived desire to become Universal Champion, becoming greater than Engy, Main, Fuzz, and doing it... but only by being the greatest chicken shit of them all. For all of your talk about wanting to be a fighting champion, all you've done is go out of your way to make sure no one can ever challenge you again. Is this reign of yours an homage to dystopia? Your manipulation ain't working on me, Page. You want to take the XWF to the point where history stops, and no one can ever be Universal Champion besides you, but it's just a fantasy. Another laughable attempt to flex an authority that you don't have. The utter hypocrisy and irony of a man who failed to capture the gold over and over to try a block that opportunity from someone else. Acting like you're someone who has never lost a match? "Perfection" you called it? As I said, everyone else might be afraid to say it, but blocking a championship contender makes you a PUSSY.

If you say that losing a match to you means that someone is not worthy of being a Universal Champion, what are you REALLY saying about yourself? And what are you affirming by scrambling around and gloating about blocking people from challenging you, coward? You're stricken with chronic weakness and an obsession of presenting yourself as being in control of the situation. You're an egomaniac with an inferiority complex, and boy you're goddamned destined to prove it. Because if you thought having to face Demos was an embarrassment, something beneath you when the man clearly just missed a step or two and scared you into barring him for future bouts with Bob, then you're in for a rude fucking awakening when you face me.

Never forget, Chris. You put R.L. Edgar's name in YOUR mouth first, why was that, again? Don't keep tripping up over your own words. Think about it, let it sink into your thick skull. Beating me, right now, MEANS something to your reign. It would mean that you disproved the truth that ANYONE is beatable. It's a truth I'm going to reveal to the entire world. When the guy who lost to Gilly makes you sweat your way to the promo booth. Makes you cry about cameos when 90 percent of your work features full-length matches as cameos themselves. Shit any of us can go watch filler of your daily nothing-burgers on the Network at ANY time. When I make you go harder than you ever have before to try and defeat me, and when I show you in that ring what this war is all about, what it means to me, you're going to know that you've fucked up.

I'm going for the throat, Chris. All of your lying, and whining, and maneuvering and manipulating isn't going to stop R.L. Edgar from dropping you on your neck. The STOMP of my boot is going to make you rethink your life. Wondering how on earth you could've let this happen. Of all the losses you've swallowed in your career, how good do you think my load is going to taste?

Trying to pull that baby back "I told you he was going to have depth and substance! Edgar fell for my trap!" shit, what trap? I'm sorry if you failed to pay attention, there was no one by the name Waters in my promotional. And what would it have mattered if there was? That would be like someone guessing that Robert Main or Miss Fury would be a feature in your convoluted diatribes for the ten-millionth time. Or guessing that the sun is going to settle in the west. It's nothing at all like calling out someone who is going render swaths of the bullshit they said as irrelevant while word-slinging for extra camera time. Which is exactly what I knew you'd do.

The only traps you laid, Chris were ones for yourself. Setup by your own words, and your own throbbing desire to try and constantly be controlling a narrative that people lost interest in at the moment you made the main event of a PPV an exhibition for the beatdown of an already hobbled Drew Archyle. Spin it all you want, even facing the facts, it won't matter. Everyone knows now. All Chris Page speaks are lies. He's built a facade for himself out of his ego. With a fuck up that big, seeing as how Chris Page likes to think this mic shit means something in the ring, I am afraid that this airheaded stoner is about to shit himself and be made to look like an idiot.

Blather on all day about those losses, Page. Talk out of one hand saying you knew me beating Lycana was impressive. Then turn around and talk about how taking that flook of a loss to her means I suck. Talk about me eating a pair of brass knuckles from Ned Kaye after a low blow as being pathetic, and then claim that your daddy, Theo Pryce told you that R.L. Edgar EARNED a Universal Title shot right after that. Render it all absolutely moot and think about how you said:

Chris Page, seconds after challenging Edgar to the Universal Titl Said:the Universal Champion has just seemed to roll with the punches with whoever Theo and Vinnie put in front of them without remotely trying to deal with some people that have earned the right. Not I, not anymore.

LOL. I guess this was before Daddy Theo spanked that ass for you trying to pretend to be the boss. Because you are "I" now, aren't you? After all you're facing the man he "lined up" for you.

I know where I stand in this fight. I know it's Edgar v. Page and the world. The hero always stands alone against the tyrant. But Chris winning is anything BUT a foregone conclusion, and he KNOWS it. You better bring all of your tanks, all of your arsenal, and you better be prepared to use every trick up your sleeve in this war, Page. Like it or not, the common man pays your rent, bitch. Now it's time to collect.

I'm coming for you.

You can call me meaningless, call me worthless. Tell me how I don't fit in, and how I'll never measure up. Scream it all from your depth-lacking, unimgainitive ivory tower, but just keep one thing in mind before you fall from the window and drown...

Still Waters Run Deep


I’ve been drifting in and out of sleep, even with my head rattling on and off the back window of the taxi. An ironic and resound confidence stirring in my belly after coming off three consecutive losses. It left me willing to relax. I felt honed-in. Prepared. I’d seen enough of Chris Page to know exactly what I was dealing with and after some battles of doubt and a much-needed whisper of serotonin, I knew I had everything it takes to defeat Chris Page.

Half-awake, but with my eyes closed, I felt a nurturing brush from the sun warming the window glass on my cheek. It’s that feeling that’s always been so fleeting. One that sings you out of a slump. The grace that believes in your will. It settles deep beneath the ebbs and flows of the waves. It’s that fleeting, yet constant reminder that your soul is worthy of this fight. That power of your love is impregnable. With it, I can conquer ANYTHING.

Marie needs her champion again.


“Home sweet home, monsieur!”

I peel my sweating forehead from the glass and adjust my eyes as the friendly cabbie looked at me from the rearview mirror smoking a cigarette. “I’ve seen you…” he says, adjusting his thick French accent to accommodate my foreign status. “You have?” I replied smiling, knowing where this was going,

“Oui, monsieur, you’re the…” he struggles to dig through his lexicon, “...the man who will lose le’ match to CCP”. I take it back about him being friendly as he begins having a jolly good time laughing at my expense. I roll my eyes, pursing my lips, and nod, “Merci beaucoup” I responded, which sounded like MAR-SEE BO-COO. I gathered my belongings and exited the cab.

I was so happy to finally be home, and though it was going to be a brief stay before I was heading back to the states to challenge for the Universal Championship, I was going to make every moment of it count. Just a matter of weeks ago, I was ready to be done with the XWF, and retire away here…


...in the French Riveria with Marie and the children. It was a well-deserved dream come true, if not for me, at least for Marie. That lovely woman of mine. My whisper. My song. My depth. My will. My heart. She deserves anything in this world she damn well pleases. It’s only when you see a true fighter, that you find something worth fighting for, and that’s what Marie is, the muse of my grit.

With every opportunity to tell me to hang it up, and fulfill her dream of raising our children together here in peace and security, living the love of the crab and the scorpion near the waters as she always joked, Marie insisted that I stay in the XWF and fight. To fight for those who couldn’t or were unwilling to take up arms against this changing guard of wickedness. Because aside from our selfish dream of seclusion and eternal procreation (It’s amazing), Marie and I share a common dream for justice. One that’s cloudy and always redefining its meaning, but the one constant objection to those who treat cruelty as a virtue.

Marie, and her love, are my fighting spirit. It’s been that way since that day I saved her from Chad Percy on the school bus all of those years ago. I can still remember that day, even its tiniest details, like the color of the shoes the assistant principal gave me when I arrived barefoot and bloody, or the name of the guidance counselor who pulled me into her office to talk about my home “life” with some suit-wearing state worker.

But the most important thing that day was mine and Marie’s ride home together on the bus. I spent the whole day scouring the halls for her, trying to remain as close as possible in case she needed me. It was an urge of compassionate guardianship that I was unfamiliar with, one that was always somewhere inside, like a locked away memory. The power of that kind of love was something that I had been missing all of my life. It rejuvenated me, I was…

“My champion,” Marie said gripping my hand and looking out the bus window while we sat together on the ride home. We had already passed my stop at the industrial park which pulled her face into a curious glance. “I ain’t never leaving your side again,” I said in a firm, whispering tone. She gripped my hand tighter. We pulled up to her stop in front of Imperial Trailer Park. A place I too lived only a few years prior.

Marie’s fingers got sweaty inside of my palm. I could see her studying her glasses that Chad broke on the morning ride. But she was looking beyond the splintered and cracked glass of her frames. Those would only be an added damage to the hell she starred down every night in that trailer. “What happens if I don’t get off the bus?” she asked, “I don’t know” I replied, slipping to wonder if my father even realized I hadn’t got home yet.

The air-breaks of the bus popped and whistled as the door screeched open. The bus driver looked up through his rearview mirror at the few kids left on the bus as Marie and I, one and the same, ducked down beneath the back of the seat. We looked at one another, our hearts racing as all we could hear was the idling engine.

I thought for certain that we were going to get busted for doing something wrong, what though, I wasn’t sure. Trying to escape our voiceless pain and suffering? Confiding in the strength and goodness of one another to pull ourselves through another day of our neglected compassion?

Marie didn’t have to say it aloud, and neither did I, we both recognized each other’s anxieties through our touch. I crawled up to the seat and peaked out of the window to see if someone was outside waiting for Marie. There wasn’t anyone. I could see her trailer sitting there, with the neglected toys and broken bicycle rusting through the winter. It was a place that suffocated joy. Terrible things happened in that trailer.

Marie pulled me back down from the window as the bus driver closed his door and began rolling again. Our hearts sank into the grasp of our hands. In that spot, tucked away between the seats of the bus, we were safe. We were comforted. We relaxed. We slept. We dreamt.

When the bus driver discovered Marie and me asleep hours later he went to the school administrators. We awoke startled to the faces of a dozen concerned adults. The next few days were a blur. Social Services got involved and after my father got another DUI I was sent to live with my Aunt Kathy. Marie went to live with a foster family two hours away in Bardstown.

I lost her once… for eight years. I could never lose her again.

I moved my way up the sidewalk, heading for the front porch. My heart racing with excitement, my ears awaiting the sweet cries of joy from mine and Marie’s children. Avadot, Llewelyn, Thomas, and Elly. I missed them so much. I was so ready to lay my eyes on Marie, to feel her, to hold her. To relax. To share with her this confidence in the fight to come. To be her champion. I notice our van sitting in the driveway, but the property is so quiet I can hear the cracking whistle of a gusting of wind that brushes through. I would have usually been ambushed by the children already. Marie already giggling her way towards me from the front door.

Something was wrong.

Then I see it… the door. It’s not just ajar but busted away from its hinges. My head spins as I start running into the house,

“MARIE!” I scream. No response. The spot just beneath the doorknob was dented and bowed, like a battering ram beat its way into my home. I tripped over myself climbing through the wrecked door frame and fell into the Front Fourier. I kicked, and slid and scrambled my way to my feet from the wood floors, rising to look out into the open home. It’d been ransacked. “OH GOD, NO! MARIE!!!” I scream again, “KIDS!!!”, fall from room to room becoming dizzier with each revelation that my family was gone, abducted somehow. In a full hyperventilation sway into the children’s room, where mattresses were turned and cut open. I wail out with a breathless, choking sob and collapse to the floor. My little Elly’s stuffed bunny she sleeps with there to meet me. I pulled it to me slowly by the ear, pulling it towards my nose like Elly always.

Hope dies somewhere…but not for long.

I told you to believe Misty to be dead was poor logic, honey.

Sarah Tonin, my mind’s manifestation of my imaginary mother, who I subconsciously created in the image of…

”Misty Waters”

The mother I’d only known about for a few months. The psychopath who tried manipulating, and then murdering me. Why did I-

Make me look like the mother you never knew all of those years ago?

”Yes”

Because you had hope. You knew deep down, that you felt a mother’s calming love before. You were right, and you manifested it in me and kept me with you. You shared that nurturing with Marie who never had it either. It was the fight for that love that kept you and still keeps you going. Still Waters Run Deep.

The phone from the kitchen rings. I bolt towards it and snatch it from its receiver, knocking a bunch of disheveled items from the counter.

”Who is this?”

…a laugh,

”You know who this is... SON.”

”Where are they, you bitch?! WHERE ARE THEY?!” I explode into the phone as it shakes in my hand,

”Reginald-Lewis… honey. If you ever want to see these children, or that precious Marie of yours again, then you’re going to do exactly as I say.”

Credits:
A fuck ton of cameos

[Image: nSPgiDy.png]
-Thank you for the banner Atara Themis-


Former:
1x Hart Champion
1x Federweight Champion
April 2021 RP Of The Month Still Waters Run Deep
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