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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » "Savage Saturday Night" RP Board
4 U
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Prof. Bobby Bourbon Offline
Mad Scientist



XWF FanBase:
The 'cool' kliq fans

(booed by casual fans; opportunistic; often plays dirty while setting the trends)


#1
10-20-2021, 05:05 PM

There comes a time when you have to go it alone. When you have to leave everyone in your life behind you and give yourself that distance to find out who you really are. Self-discovery is critical, especially in our line of work. I have been involved in so many battles, earned enough scars both mental and physical, that in these times of reclusiveness I get to distance myself from them. What they are, who they have made me, the twitches and nigh instant responses learned from the best shots life has taken at me, all become muted without the generosity and care of those I rely on. Nobody there to remind me to be careful because of what happened last time, no warnings coming my way from another set of eyes to let me know I'm in some sort of danger. My opponent notwithstanding, but hey, since when do my opponents not tell me how terrified I should be of them?

That was rhetorical, I'll take whatever answer you might supply in stride.

Am I a man, or a mouse?

Put a piece of cheese on the floor and let's see what happens.

I like Muenster.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We see Bobby laid out on a slab, broken and bloodied. Across the room is Jim Caedus on another gourney. Medics are attending to both men, the Xtreme Champion keeping his eyes wide as they dart here and there, lest some opportunist take advantage of the war he was in. Anybody can take anyone when they're vulnerable, when they least expect it. Cleverness is strength, after all. We hear someone begin to enter the room, and the panic in Jim's eyes pierce the swinging door. Was this yet another OCW villain here to disrupt a show? Was this someone come to take advantage of the fact he was here?

Stop being so dramatic.

Bobby’s chest heaves as he draws a slow, even breath. A member of the XWF backstage staff walks in and surveils the stillness of the room. The medics all chatter about their tasks to one another, talking about the two pieces of meat in the room as though they were soulless things to be repaired. Jim looks over at Bobby. The staffer makes their way to Bobby, who sits up, and hands him a bottle of water.

If someone came here who wasn't supposed to I'd break their legs.

You don't know any leg moves.

Bobby sips his water.

So what? How hard can it be to slam a leg into something instead of a whole body?

Just saying, you're not known for leg moves.

Then I'll bash their skull.

Jim blinks hard.

I'll buy that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You seem to like being clever for cleverness sake, not any rhyme or reason. Flourishes and parries in reparte being lobbed because it's what you know, like a kid hiding under the covers from the boogeyman because that bed you're pissing is a reliable comfort. Thing is, that does fuck all against an atomic bulldozer lined with kevlar and saw blades. Bring on whatever bullshit you got, throw the gun at me after you've emptied the clip and saw me still coming, run for cover, and wait and hope the devastation is quick and painless.

Cleverness is strength, after all.

It's not the only kind of strength. There are numbers, as in strength in numbers, but that certainly isn't a factor in this, is it? This is my road, my sojourn into solitude, eat them all, if you want. Line them up, as you put it. I am not all. I am not them. I'm just me, whatever I want to be, whatever I need to be. I could have brought friends to the party without an RSVP, lord knows I have them. You might think that some euphemism for goons, cohorts, or henchmen to help me out and do the dirty work, but it's not. As much as you do, you have none though, do you? I mean you gave us all the platitudes about destroying the Left Hand, then BOB, in some vain attempt to capture the attention and affection of your peers, but lo, it was me and my crew what got the job done. I guess I did it…

...for you.

Now I have no qualms about getting filthy, the bloodstained hands I eat with are my own, same as yours. So, pray tell, if your mission is to eat them all, burn the world, or some other drastic metaphor for winning against opposition you face, how do you eliminate those you shouldn't in good conscience? The world, them all, is pretty vast and far reaching. Those would be admirers you're playing towards burned and consumed along the way. Hardly considerate as far as I'm concerned, and ultimately foolhardy. You've burned the world, you've eaten your fill, but lo, here I stand, with nobody else left, to face you.

There's strength in passion, but are we really going to try to match who has more, here and now? Desire to overcome doubt and prove to oneself that the place you want is only yours to earn is a commonality among all of us. Some settle on their station, some are never contented, a certain hunger continually driving them ever forward, that void within them never filled because it doesn't exist; there is no void. The completeness of our very souls is why we do this, not for fulfillment or to nourish some need, but because it's what some of us were made to do. We don’t ask why the shark swims or the eagle flies, we just acknowledge that they are at the pinnacle of their domain. Your place, my place, neither of that is in dispute to me, nor should it be to anyone. I will face you down anyplace, anytime, and fortunately according to whatever hackneyed wizardry or magic the powers that be have at their disposal, that's exactly what I get to do at Savage.

There's sheer destructive power, some would consider that to be a mighty strength to have in your arsenal indeed. You know all about that, having breezed through whatever challenges laid in front of you,

There's the strength of will, to survive just to spite whatever has happened around you. Pretty sure I've got you dead to rights on that one…


Bobby looks befuddled.

...what's your name exactly? Calling yourself Alias is like me calling myself Mr. Surname. Shroud yourself, keep it a secret, because it doesn't matter much to me. I don't need to bother with defining you. I could care less about it, or, I could just come up with one of a billion names to assign to you. I think I'll go with George. There's been nary a George to set foot in an XWF ring, so you get to be the all spectacular, awe-inspiring, high-falootin' George.

So, George...


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fuck yeah, a Bastard Universal Champion. We’re going to crush Alias.

Bobby is seen in a locker room surrounded by Thunder Knuckles, Money Oswald, and Vita Valenteen.

I can counter whatever malarkey Alias has up his sleeve, even steer where you wind up when you guys phaseshift.

Phaseshift?

Yeah, phaseshift.

Bobby looks rightly confounded by the term.

What the fuck is a ‘phaseshift’?

You know, when Bobby and Alias transport, or teleport, or time travel, or whatever to another place and time. Phaseshift!

Bro, we’re fighting across existence, not doing trigonometry.

I hate trigonometry.

I know, bud. I know.

Geometry, calculus, all that fucking math bullshit. I can count to ten, and I know more than ten, so I’m good.

But you hate the metric system.

Fucking European bullshit. I don’t care if I can go faster if I use kilometry per hour…

Kilometers.

Stop speaking nerd.

No.

I don’t need math. I have magic.

That’s, uh, look, guys, about my match with Alias.

Wanna jump him before hand?

No.

The rest of Bastards Extreme looks oddly at Bobby’s response.

Why not?

Guys, I just gotta do this. We don’t need to jump Alias. I can beat him.

Are you sure?

Absolutely. Those are my principals. If you don’t like them, I have others.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George, I gotta give you a hats off. If I wore a hat, I’d take it off. Maybe if it was a cap, I’d tip it.

Would it be a fedora, m’lady?

Maybe a nice straw hat.

Beret’s are kinda weird now that I think about it.

What will you have to say?
You’re just wasting your breath.

And that’s no great loss, either.

Enough Marxism. Who am I, Corey? Nah, Corey wouldn’t fight you. He’s too busy building up your zeitgeist. I tore him down, why not tear you down? You’ll have to pardon me for being concise, if not brief. I don’t feel like wasting words or sounding inflated, my gusto speaks for itself in simpler terms anyhow. I’ll be your salmon minotaur, if you need one, since you like lobbing post-modern imagery onto screens in effort to hide you’re not saying much, and that says it all. Weird for weird’s sake, vagaries to be misinterpreted whenever and wherever. Going the distance, George, is best left in the squared circle, and there’s no length too far. Feel free to take my words, though. They’re here.

For you.

I guess, I’m kinda sick of that now.

Twist them, bend them, do what you want to my words.

I’ma do the same to your body at Savage, across the universe, over untold eons. An existence of pain. Bring your best. You’ll need more than it.

[Image: DtUCPfZ.png]
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[-] The following 11 users Like Prof. Bobby Bourbon's post:
ALIAS (10-26-2021), Atara Raven (10-20-2021), Doctor Louis D'Ville (10-20-2021), JimCaedus (10-20-2021), Marf (10-20-2021), Mark Flynn (10-20-2021), Mr. Oz (10-21-2021), MrBig (10-20-2021), Theo Pryce (10-20-2021), thewizard (10-20-2021), Thunder Knuckles™ (10-20-2021)




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