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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » "Savage Saturday Night" RP Board
Buster Gloves - Ekans
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Buster Gloves Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP



XWF FanBase:
Traditionalists

(has an old school wrestling mentality; no nonsense; less appealing to some younger fans)


#1
11-11-2022, 09:49 AM

[Image: xwf-xavier-lux.png]


EKANS

---==================e
Give me all your poison
Give me all your pills
Give me all your hopeless hearts
And all your snakes to kill
ɘ==================---


WEDNESDAY NIGHT

Smelling blood in the water, Buster Gloves grabs the body of Notorious Ned Kaye, and in his third attempt to execute the advanced technique, finally cinches in the SOOOUL CRUSHERRR! The devastating D’Arce Choke is locked in REAL tight!

HE TAPS!!! NED KAYE TAPS OUT!!!

A very impressive performance there by Gloves. What a massive win for him - his first in an XWF ring!

Buster respectfully celebrates in the middle of the ring, offering respect, and bowing to his opponent. He raises his arms, celebrating the victory with the San Antonio audience, and spots a snake in the grass…

… There’s Xavier Lux, just standing on the ramp. A confident smirk on his face, as he locks eyes with The Bull of the North. Lux does the unexpected, and just… claps his hands.

Why is he here? What’s so important about this match? What is Lux up to?


---==================e
Add a few drops of venom to a half truth
and you have an absolute truth.
ɘ==================---


TWO MONTHS AGO

In the doorway to the posh, 30th floor suite, is a small, yet perfectly sculpted half-god, in a crushed velvet bathrobe. The name “Atara” is embroidered in gold over white velvet. “That’s funny, I don’t remember ordering room service.” Says the greatest of all time, a man/wrestler/immortal known as James Raven.

Buster Gloves, lost in the gravity of the moment, forgets his rehearsed line, admires the strong stubbly jaw of his new boss, and rediscovers his purpose. “Mr. Raven? I’m hoping you can spare a few minutes of your time. May I come in?”

Raven looks Buster up and down, taking notice of the black and white ‘WGWF’ logo embroidered on his polo. With his lustful eyes, he makes hallway love to the big bald heartbreaker, then stirs the air with the tip of his finger. 

Buster’s gut instinct is to look up and away, but a seductive head shake convinces him otherwise. “Spin.” Says Raven. “Spin for me, like the French girls do.” Hands go up in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture and Gloves does as commanded, trusting that he won’t receive a dagger in the back. “Verrry nice,” comments the GM of the WGWF. “Did Chris Page put you up to this? I bet he did. Classic Page. That scoundrel.” Bewildered by how this entire interaction has unfolded thus far, Buster presents himself as more lost than Joe Biden in an easter egg hunt. “Fine, I’ll play along, you Minx. Entrez-vous.”

The front door is left wide open for the visitor as Mr. Raven pirouettes, sashays across the room, and almost glides on a cloud of self-love. It’s like watching Jesus moonwalk on roller skates. He takes a seat on a beige chase behind a round stone table, crosses his recently-shaved legs and folds his hands over a knee. His eyebrows do the work from there.

The room is glorious by any standards. Like Heaven’s Holiday Inn. Flawless. Tastefully decorated. A shining model of Las Vegas interior design, 30 stories in the sky. Almost everything in this room is perfect, deliberate, and pristine. The brown bag in Buster’s hand stands out.

“Oh, I see you’ve packed a lunch? You must be so very ready to get to work. What unspeakable wonders are you here to show me today? Are you here to dance for me, you tease.”

“Actually, Mr. Raven. I’m just here to talk.”

Raven gasps, crosses his shaved legs the other way, and playfully clutches his pearls.

“Oh, my. You look SERIOUS, don’t you? Shall we skip the foreplay and get right down to business?” Raven gives an open-mouthed wink.

“Uhhh… I’m pretty sure you have the wrong impression about all this. This isn’t at all what you think it looks like.” Buster extends an arm offering the brown bag. “My father told me to never come to a man’s home without a gift, so I brought you a chocolate chip muffin. If it’s ok with you, I’d like to just say what I came to say and get out of your way.”

James purses his lips and puts up a single finger in a ‘hold on for a minute’ gesture. Next, he points at the table. Buster understands the command and carefully sets the breakfast-pastry bag down on the stone table.

Raven’s finger thrusts itself back into the air. “So, just to be clear, you aren’t here to dance for me?”

“…No. Not today.”

“Ohhh, Tartar Sauce.”

“And uh… I’m not gay… Sir.”

“Easy there, Mel Gibson. It’s 2022. Everybody’s a little bit gay these days.” James stands up, tightens the belt of his robe, gives his belly a shiver and shuffles into the kitchen to pour hot water into a mug. He speaks without looking at his guest. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Buster… Buster Gloves.”

Raven squints hard as if he’s defragging his hard drive while passing a kidney stone. His lips screw shut and he gives a slight head shake. “Not ringing a bell.”

Buster tries again, “Your company, WGWF, literally just signed me this week.”

“To be honest, I’ve been doing a LOT of edibles recently. Still working out the dosage.”

“So, you’ve never even heard of me? The Bull of the North?”

The General Manager smirks. Then his smile grows three sizes bigger. And he laughs like he just saw a squad of fat kids simultaneously fall off their bikes. “I’m just yanking your chain, Buster. Of course, I know who you are. Just having a little fun with you. You came all the way to Las Vegas to talk, so you must really have some dirty secrets you want to confess.”

“Actually Mr. Raven, I just moved into the building. So, it really wasn’t much trouble. But listen. You’re my new boss. And… I’ve not had great relationships with my past bosses. So, I thought I would come directly to you for career advice.”

“Oh, you want advice, do you?”

“Yeh, like, in your eyes, what do I need to do, to become a world champion?”

There’s a pregnant pause. A long… uncomfortable… pause…Then wisdom from the mountain top.

“Get good... Make money.”

Unsatisfied with that answer, Buster asks again. “…Can you elaborate on that?”

“…Suuure. Why not? Be sure to write this down.” Then there’s another long uncomfortable pause. “Get good… right?... Make money… still with me?... and please, please, please… unless I’ve called you with an urgent emergency or if you start doing food delivery as your side hustle, don’t ever come to my hotel room again. Just text me and I’ll text back the next time I drop the kids off at the pool.”

“Ok…” Buster mutters, followed by a disappointed exhale of optimistic hope.

“Is that not the answer you were looking for? Well as much as I’d like this awkward standoff to continue forever, why don’t you just say whatever crackpot idea you have and let’s get this over with. I showed you mine, it’s time you show me yours.”

Buster delivers his best elevator speech. “I want the same thing every other wrestler wants. I wanna be champion. I’m ok with being a role player for a while, and I understand that this is a business and that not everybody can be a main eventer. But I want to be one. At least once, I want to be a world champion. At WGWF, Level Up, anywhere. I don’t know what I need to do to get to that point, but you’re the greatest wrestler of all time. If anybody knows how to become a world champion, it’s you. Am I wrong?”

James dunks a tea bag into hot water as he considers the question. “No… you’re not wrong. I can make you a world champion. But opportunities don’t just get handed out to any geek off the street. You have to earn your keep. Cash, grass, or ass, you know what I mean?”

“Not really.”

“What I’m saying is that you need to perform at a high level and then we can talk about getting you a world title match.”

“Define ‘high level.’”

“Beat some people that matter. Get good and force somebody to give you that top match.”

“Who do I need to beat for that to happen?”

“Oh Mylanta!” Raven says as he throws his hand in the air. “You are SO painfully literal.”

Mr. Raven picks up a pen and looks for something to write on. He spots the breakfast receipt on the brown bag, takes a moment to think, and then a wide Cheshire grin sweeps from ear to ear. He begins frantically writing, flips over the paper, and slides it in front of Buster.

“On the back of that receipt is eight names. You get wins over ALL of them, and I’ll get you your world title shot. Is that literal enough for you?”

Buster takes the slip of paper and reads the names. He rubs the top of his own bald head while trying to figure out how it’s even possible to undertake a task of this magnitude. “I have to beat ALL of them? Some of these guys aren’t even in the feds I’m working in.”

“Beat ALL of them. Or don’t. I don’t care.”

“Well, where do I start?”

“That’s up to you, my darling. But I’ll do you one more small courtesy and put a call in to the folks over at the XWF. A few of the names on this list are working over there and I think you working there could be mutually beneficial.”

Buster examines the list a little more closely, coming to an important realization. “Hey… All of these guys… they’re all members of…”

“…Chronic Chris Page Enterprises. Sneaky snakes and excellent wrestlers. Each and every one.”

“What do you have against CCPE?”

“Well, that’s for me to know and for you to fuck off, isn’t it? Look, if you can find another quest giver, be my guest, but those are the guys I need you to beat. It would just tickle my jingles.”

Buster recognizes one of the names on the list as someone he’s recently met in the ring. “Hey, I’ve already beaten one of these guys.”

“Who’s that?”

“Donny Mason.”

“Well CROSS him off the list then.”

“So, who do I go after next?”

“Well, my advice is that you just work your ass off, and when you DO cross one of these fine gentlemen, you give them an elite 8 inches of your bovine love.”

“I will, Mr. Raven. I promise you. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“That’s great news. Now please leave. This house is clear, and I have Hot Pilates in 30 minutes.”


---==================e
A snake in the grass
is a deceitful, sneaky thing;
who pretends to be your friend
while being your enemy.
ɘ==================---


A country rocking chair sits in front of a roaring fireplace. Handsome, rugged patterns are carved into the dark oak forming a rustic throne made for a common man. Our hero, William Bernard Glover, better known as Buster Gloves, digs his toes into the shag rug on the floor. He stares deep into the flames, seeking guidance from the wrestling gods.

Let me tell you a story. One that my grandpa used to tell me when we’d sit down for breakfast before a hard day’s work on the farm. Most of it went over my head, but once in a while, something he said would resonate with me. I’d remember the words. I’d remember the story. And when I became old enough to have kids of my own, I repeated my version of the words. This is how one story goes.

A countryman, returning home one winter day from the market, finds a snake by the road. It’s a common snake. One that feeds on rodents and other pests. A snake that should be a friend to the average farmer. Anyway, the serpent, half frozen, waits for death while just lying on the ground. The man, however, takes compassion on it. He picks it up, takes it onto his lap and brings it home. With great care, he lays the creature fireside, hoping to revive it back to health. No sooner does the warmth restore it back to life, than it begins to attack the man and his children. It even attacks the family dog. The serpent strikes with venom in its fangs, hissing in parseltongue, “You brought this on yourself. You knew I was a snake when you found me, and you still brought me into your home.” Upon this happening, the countryman, whose compassion had saved the life of the attacker, picks up a heavy piece of wood and brings it down on the serpent with great vengeance. Over and over again. Smoke pouring from his lungs, tears streaming from his eyes. When it’s done, all that’s left is a broken heart, a dead snake, and a blood-stained fireside chat. Misinterpreting kindness for weakness will get you killed almost every time.

So, here’s the fun part of this fireside chat where I piss off half the wrestling world. Chris Page and his CCPE goons are a den of snakes, intent on controlling the entire business. They’re a group of elite wrestlers pulling the strings in every major wrestling federation. You don’t so much as sneeze without their approval. I don’t need to say their names for you to know who they are. They coil around each other, warming up in your homes, preparing to sink their fangs into everything you love.

The one and only, James Raven, warned me about them. At first, I thought he was just an egotistical sex-fiend, but later I realized his genius. His ability to coexist inside a viper pit without being seen as a threat is remarkable. They trust him as one of their own, like they did at the Tara Fenix Charity Event, but he’s not one of them. He exists entirely as an independent entity.

It just so happens that the XWF has seen fit to give me a shot at beating two more members of CCPE. Both of whom are names on my hit list. Maybe Raven had something to do with that booking. Maybe not. But at Bad Medicine, I have a murder date with Peter Vaughn. I have a lot to say on that topic, but I think that’s all better saved for another time.

The man I need to focus on right now is a different member of CCPE. A wrestler by the name of Xavier Lux. Now I’m no cactus expert, but I know a prick when I see one. This guy is so brazen in his snake cult membership that he has ‘Venom’ in his name. It’s literally written inside his underwear, so he knows which ones to put on after the cuddle parties. Regardless of what he tells you, he is not, and will never be one of the good guys. He has venom in his veins and poison on his tongue. Right now, he’s probably coiled up at Peter Vaughn’s ranch, drinking himself stupid on moonshine, and working out his daddy issues.

Mr. Lux walks in the shadow of his father, drinking poison to kill those who are already dead, while simultaneously offering ‘the cure’ to the wrestling world. There is no ‘cure’ for the problems he has. And there is nothing wrong with the rest of us either. When you play the game straight up, you don’t need to lie or resort to cheap tactics to be proud of your body of work. And you certainly don’t need to buy snake oil from some grifter with famous friends. Let your own hunger lead the way and it’ll feed you well.

What I’m hungry for right now is a Saturday night match with Xavier Lux. Everything bad I’m feeling about Peter Vaughn and his entire band of egomaniacs is being put into this next fight. Lux has been volunteered as tribute to pay for the sins of his brethren. And I’ll make absolutely no apologies for what I’m about to do to him. When you sleep with snakes, you get bitten.

Xavier is so f*cking thirsty for a win, but you can’t quench your thirst by drinking poison. He’s a wrestler with way more talent than brains. If he had the right mentor. A stronger father figure. Something positive to work on in his life, he could be something special. But today he’s just a shell of a man. And I’d crush his poor soul to dust if he hadn’t already sold it to the devil.

Listen up, Prison Lips! The people you associate with are the worst kind of people. With sugar on their tongue and venom in their heart. Maybe one day you wise up and you purge the poison from your body for good. Until then, you have ME to deal with. You can’t get out of this match. You can’t run away. You can’t gaslight me. I see your fangs and I know exactly what you’re up to.

Winter is coming for you, you fork-tongued f*ck-whistle! Can you feel the frost taking hold? Paralyzing your body? Coming to take you away? You’ve made the worst sin a man can make, by betraying yourself for the sake of nothing in return. No matter how many times a snake sheds its skin, it’ll never be anything other than a snake. So take a hard look at the wood pile. Think about what you want to do with the rest of your life. Are you ready to lose your fangs and be reborn? Or are you just gonna stay at the fire’s side, continue to be an under-the-influence asshole, and let me beat you to death?

The choice is yours, Venom X. See you at Savage.





[Image: bgbannergloves.png]
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[-] The following 3 users Like Buster Gloves's post:
"Venom" Xavier Lux (11-11-2022), Liam Desmond (11-12-2022), Theo Pryce (12-03-2022)




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