VP Episode One: Battle Royal's RP

Posts : 83 Join date : 2013-07-29 Location : Boston

Everyone included in the Battle Royal, shall post One RP. Post them here. You may edit your RP until the Deadline. No Direct Replies. Good Luck.

This thread will be locked on Friday August 16th, 2013 12:59 PM EST.

remember you do not write the match, you write an RP.

Also: You may not use anyone elses character in your rp, with out theirs and my opinion.

Posts : 10 Join date : 2013-08-06

So where have I been? What has had the Icy Princess fallen from the face of the planet recently? Well, we can start with the professional. Two things happened to me that made me realize I needed to slow down. Fucked up knee and a contract that never got negotiated. Yeah, I was pretty much screwed over by the very company that made me. So I decided a vacation was in order, priorities needed to be straight. Then, most recently, I came back to twitter as a free agent. No sooner had I done that, management from PWR gave me a shot and a nice contract.

I have a major future to think about, who was I to turn this down?

Time and patience. Two things I used to my advantage. I became the First Female of PWR, and that is how it will ALWAYS stay.

Now the personal.

Divorce is a bit of a messy thing and I wanted to keep myself out of the spotlight. Not for me, for my little daughter. After that, I needed to get myself grounded, centered and ready. A move to New York later and I am ready for action and business.

What business is that you may ask?

Well, PWR is having two battles royals at the very first Vantage Point. The second one is the one I shall talk about first. That is for the Vantage point title and it is the losers of the first battle royal. This one is interesting because there is a load of talent in the first match. Eric Steel, Tate Jaxon, Eli Bower, Nicole Reyes, Ryder Martin, Silas Romero, Callie Winter, Abobo and Mostafa Sayad. Add myself to that mix and you have ten of the finest talent in wrestling today. Nine of us will be vying for the Vantage Point title.

Everyone however wants to be the victor of the first match. The biggest one there is.

The PWR Championship match.

Being the first PWR champion signifies that you start the era of Rebellion. The nine who fail to make it will all be vying to be the first Vantage Point champion. Everyone wants to be top dog. They all say that by being the first, you have the biggest target on your back.

Further from the truth. They say the first time is the most special time. Especially if it is your first world title like it will be mine.

You create what PWR is boys and girls. This night is the night that defines PWR as well as your careers here in the company. What will they be saying about you after this night is over with? I know what they will say about me.

PWR Champion, The Icy Princess Tiami Tyler.

Has a nice ring to it, yes? Don't get me wrong, I am walking out of Boston with gold around my waist. I want the big prize, but so do you nine as well. I'll take either belt, I am not a picky person. Just know boys and girls I will be leaving with gold around my waist. It is time that a revolution starts up in PWR. The Icy Revolution. Now other places have seen it before, but this time is different. This time, I am looking out for my best interest, and that is the world title. You can't have a company without having a Revolutionary woman to start it up. I am the First Female of PWR, I am the Icy One. Who are you all to sit and try to stop me?

I have nothing to lose and every single thing to gain from these matches.

These matches weed out the weak and shows who the loyal and strongest PWR stars and starlets are. What will they be talking about when you are eliminated one by one? When your feet hit the floor and you are wondering what happened, who will you see standing in the ring before you, smiling bright?

That will be me.

Vantage Point title, PWR title, how will you define your legacy in PWR? How will your rebellion begin?

Mine will begin with a simple match, throwing nine others over the top rope and walking out PWR Champion. The Rest?

History can not write itself.

Subject: Re: VP Episode One: Battle Royal's RP Mon Aug 12, 2013 1:25 am

The scene opens to a quaint suburban home, definitely upper-middle class the mother is quickly making dinner for her waiting family, dad is checking his fantasy sports team, he’s in third place and half his team got suspended for PEDs. The eldest daughter a lanky blonde in her late teens with breasts too big for her thin frame taps her iPhone and gives it a nasty glare presumably one of her friends’ boyfriend talked to one of her other friends who is kind of a friend, but not a close enough friend to talk to without his girlfriend there, he really is the worst boyfriend ever not surnamed Kincaid. The twins, boys around the age of fourteen compare notes on their math homework.

A typical WASP setting.

CRASH!

The wall shakes and explodes into nothing, glass flies everywhere although miraculously harming no one. All of the family members stare in horrified awe at a broad shouldered man with a stylish mullet wearing neon green and blue facepaint who now stands in the gaping hole that once was the back wall of their kitchen. He is shirtless, other than small strands of fabric that cling to his shoulders the lasting remnants of what was likely, at one point, a shirt. His pectoral muscles glisten in the now dying sunlight creeping through the kitchen, he is holding a comically large duffle bag, and slowly strides into the kitchen and takes a seat at the head of the table dropping his bag on the ground with a shuddering thud.

Greetings Jones family, Abobo lives here now, be grateful.

The man’s voice is a growl, dripping with an intensity that shakes the family to the core. A deathly silence follows, a piece of wood that had been hanging precariously falls to the Earth kick starting the family back into action.

Father: Who are you?

Abobo: Abobo is Abobo, I told you this when I sat down.

Father: I’m calling the police!

Abobo: The Bluemen will not be needed, Abobo sent you all e-mails regarding my arrival. Did the Interweb fail me yet again?

Daughter: You mean that one from Abobolives@phatmail.org? That was in all caps about how we won a lottery?

Father: You read that?

Abobo: Abobo prefaced it with promises that if you forwarded it to ten of your friends you’d have your crush ask you out on a date.

Mother: Chloe, you didn’t.

Abobo: How is Blake doing Chloe-chan?

The girl blushes and can’t answer.

Abobo’s Blessing never fails. Ever.

Father: So... my fantasy team... that was... you?

Abobo: YOU DID NOT HEED ABOBO’S WARNING

The shout echos off the remaining walls, the painted man’s face curls in a fervent madness his fingernails digging into the table, his knuckles white. As suddenly as they had broken from their shock, the family is put right back into it, nobody moving a muscle aside from the mother slowly reaching for a can of mace she bought on her way home from the grocery store. She aims it and catches the intruder flush in the face, emptying the contents as he roars and shakes the table.

Mother: Quick escape while he’s...

Her words cut off mid-sentence because the madman sits there with a wide smile on his face, showing no ill effects of an entire can of pepper spray at point blank range. Rather than being enraged, he seems thoughtful, and licks his lips and smacks them as if tasting something.

Abobo: I thank you for sharing your secret herbal blend, it was most intense Mrs. Jones-chan. It was delicious. Quite peppery.

He deftly slides out from his chair and wipes off some of the spray from his eyes, and “sprinkles” it on the roasted chicken that was in the over. Since he's between her and the phone and everyone else seems too shocked to use their cellphones, the matron of the house attempts a stall tactic.

Mother: Why are you here?

Abobo: You won me.

Mother: Excuse me?

Abobo: Well, I suppose I could say you wished for me.

He leans over and unzips a pocket on his duffle bag, removing what appears to be a print out of a chat log with the names James Jones and Lorna Jones. The man pulls a pair of half-moon reading glasses from the left leg pocket of his cargo pants.

Abobo: On the twenty-third of July at around seven fifteen in the evening did you not tell your husband a Mister Jimmy Jones, “I wish I had some help around the house,” to which he replied, “Yeah if only someone would come crashing through the kitchen?”

The exactness of her husbands whimsical sarcasm staring her the face, Lorna breaks down giggling like she hasn’t in years. She continues to do so as she opens a drawer and pulls out a piece of cloth and tosses it at the chest of the overly tan facepainted warrior sitting in her kitchen. He holds it up, it’s a pink apron with white hearts all over it.

Lorna: It’s my only spare. I need potatoes halved, and then mashed... knives are over there.

Abobo puts the apron on over his rippling Adonis physique and starts chopping potatoes as Lorna prepares a salad and the rest of the family sits and wonders what in the fuck just happened.

************

We see a room with a maroon bedspread on it, we can assume it’s the spare room in the Jones’ home, because that’s exactly what it is.

Abobo: Greetings wrestling Fan-men and fan-chans of Pro-Wrestling Rebellion, I am The Beyonder, sent to these people to help them live a better life, and dabbling in the foray of pro-wrestling because my supervisor said I’d have what she called “The Look” Now I don’t know what she meant by that, but if Poison-chan says I should do it, I’ll do it. I learned of this sport when Abobo had a Great Journey through Death Valley and visited the Pit of Danger, which is found in the Danger Zone. On the mountain tops and in the deepest vales of the forgotten sea, I traveled and learned, and as I learned, I grew stronger than five, maybe six oxen, faster than a cheetah, and wiser than Harry Potter’s Owl. From a young Abobling, I became Abobo.

My metamorphosis was complete, and the world shook, walls broke down like Jericho’s of old, and man walked on the moon. It was an instant and it was an eternity, it was everything and it was nothing, and then Abobo took his first step and signed his John Hanbobo on the dotted line for a Rebellion.

A new company, for a new Abobo.

Two infants, two giants to be, the beginning of others end, the simple poetry was almost too brilliant to pass on, it was like an aborted haiku.

Abobo has a great chance, Abobo is in a battle royale for a chance at a title. Two chances, actually, should Abobo fail the first time.

He leans in really close to the camera. Uncomfortably close.

Abobo: If I fail, Poison-chan will murder me, so it’s not an option. Capiche? Now we’ve been graced with the presence of royalty already! An Icee Princess!

Abobo backs off and paces excitedly, only knowing Tiami from her promo, neglecting to read the competitor bio information sent to him.

Now Icee-chan, Abobo has a bone to pick with you... yes Abobo does. Why did you and your father the Icee Bear get rid of Pina Colada? Can you answer me that Icee-Princess-chan?

He pauses, folding his arms across his chest, his facepaint glowing eerily in the fading light of the basement room

Abobo awaits his answer in the ring, or a prototype for the renewal of Pina Colada to fill Abobo’s Thirst Hole. Make it happen Icee-Princesss.

He unfolds his arms, and cants his head to the side slightly.

You said something good though, Icee-chan, you said that we are the creators of this new world, we are the engineers of the rebellion against pro-wrestling, we are the starters, we are the first blend, we are... the origin. It begins with us, it begins in that ring, ten competitors, nine failures, one victor, one slightly less important victor who failed at the first, then didn’t fail again.

Lives aren’t made there, lives aren’t ended, but there can be only one first. Only one first Lady-chan of PWR, only one first Championman or chan of PWR. There can be only one, there is only one Abobo, there’s nine of you. Nine who are not Abobo. Nine who don’t know the mystery of the Elbow-Punch that Destroys The World. Nine who shall stand, nine who shall fall.

Abobo doesn’t fall. Abobo stands.

Abobo will take your revolution against a rebellion and shove it down your throat Icee-Princess-chan. Abobo will teach Silas Romero the art of the Elbow-Punch, and his prophetic words that everyone gets knocked the fuck out will become a self-fulfilling one. The Araxican Punk Man Mostafa will get a genocidal jihad on his face, the Man of Adventure will stumble and fall on the precipice of Mount Abobo’s challenge. Marketman will crash, Canadaman will watch me bend Steel, Giftman will see God reclaim his prize, and the rest? The rest shall be weighed, proofed, and likely be found wanting in the crucible of torment and Elbow-Punches that Abobo will rain down upon them like an angry angel.

I will rend your limbs, I will shatter your spleens, I will consume your corpses and steal your souls.

I am Abobo.

Survival is your only hope, victory is Beyond.

With that the feed cuts to Chloe Jones’ Vlogging about how dreamy Blake’s hair is.

Chloe: It’s sooooooo dreamy.

Posts : 9 Join date : 2013-08-07 Age : 34

Flicker on. The camera comes to life in a room that has slate grey painted walls and black curtains. Sitting at a desk was PWR's newest conquest. Callie Winters. She has a book closed upon the desk before her. She looks towards the camera, curling her lip up to smirk.

"What is the first thing you do when you open up a book?"

She asked as she opened up the book. She paused as if expecting the viewers to answer her.

She flipped through the pages, looking down. Skipping to the end of the book.

"If the book is boring you skip towards the end of it trying to decipher if the book is worth you wasting your time to read it."

She then closed the book and pushed it aside.

"That is what most of you here in the PWR are like. A book that is not worth reading. Not even the pictures are that good, should there be any."

She shook her head.

She reached off to her left and retrieved another book. She placed that book on her desk and opened it up.

"Now me on the other hand. I am the book that you read word for word, page by page. Even the index looks good to you."

The confident young woman read some of the book on the desk before her. She glanced back up at the camera.

"I am a book that no matter how many pages. You have to read me from front to back. Yet, you still do not know the whole story. I leave you wanting more."

She stood up and walked over to a window. Her movements followed by the camera.

"Is that what kind of book you are Tiami?"

She hoped now. She longed for a good read. Her lover was being quiet as of late. So has everyone else. Save for two.

Callie leaned against the wall by the window. She inhaled sharply in thought. Her arms now crossed.

"I hope so. I am sick of the few books that I have skimmed through painfully and learned that everyone has the same story to tell."

Callie took on a mocking tone. Her face distorted some as if she was fake crying.

"I went through a messy divorce."

She rolled her eyes and dryly continued.

"Wah. Wah. Fucking wah. Divorce is messy, Tiami Tyler. That is why it is a divorce. Those are never meant to be clean. Your marriage failed. If you can't make that work, what makes you think you have the time or dedication to be a wrestler? Hmm? Am I being harsh? Too harsh for the self proclaimed Icy Princess?"

She turned, pressing her back to the wall now so that she could fully face the camera.

"Tiami, my book is about 469 pages long. You people are all still on the first chapter. Which is about fifteen pages long."

Callie cocked her head to the side as she continued.

"Now what I am wondering is if I will have to do to the rest of you what I have done to Abobo?"

She let a smile sneak out and then quickly put it away.

"Opened his book, flip through the first two pages and skip all the way to page five before slamming it shut."

She smiled to herself. Quite pleased.

Callie pushed herself away from the wall.

"Or will you be the first book here that I just can't put down? The book that leaves me chewing on my lower lip as I read it. Waiting for the next adventure hook to reel me in."

A simple shrug.

"You tell me. Or wait until Monday night for all of us to find out. I can either keep reading or slam you shut. A win for me."

A sigh escaped Callie's lips. Lips that happened to match the wild strands of black hair that flowed with her platinum blonde hair.

"Gold for me."

She shook her head and turned to look back out the window. Flicker off.

Posts : 19 Join date : 2013-08-05

VP Episode One: Battle Royal's RP Silasr2

FROM THE DESK OF THE "KNOCKOUT SUPREME", SILAS ROMERO.

Pro Wrestling Rebellion.. The place that dreams are made of.. For some. This brand new federation is place where people can come and start fresh. It doesn't matter what you've done.. It only matters what you do from here on out. See, take myself for instance. Ever since I've been back in the States, I've been on a hot streak. I've only lost a handful of matches during that time. But, does that matter here? Not so much. Does it matter that current I still hold a major championship title in a promotion? Again, not so much. Now, most are going to expect me to come running off at the mouth about how I am so much better than everyone in this match and well.. They'd be right. Let's face it, you can look up and down the "stacked" line-up in the main battle royal at Vantage Point and it is clear to see that Silas Romero quite possibly is the best thing going here in PWR. What does that mean, boys and girls? It means that if the stars line up just right, Silas Romero will be walking out of Vantage Point with the World Championship around my ridiculously good looking waist. Is it going to be easy battling it out with nine other PWR "Superstars"? Probably not. The thing is, that doesn't bother me in the least bit. The Knockout Supreme is always up for a good challenge.. The thing is, the only part of this match that is challenging is the Battle Royal itself and not so much the competitors inside that ring. See, this type of match-ups are not about skill or technique. Nope, they're simply about one thing -- Luck. When it comes right down to it, I can outwrestle and outclass each and everyone of these chumps any day of the week. But, in a Battle Royal? All you have to do is have perfect timing and toss one of those bad boys or girls right the fuck over the top rope. There is simply no skill involved in that, people. Anyone of these little fucks can be lucky enough to catch someone off guard and walk away with the World Championship that they really didn't deserve. Hell, that Mostafa Sayad guy could end up coming out on top and let's be honest here, nobody wants that. That would be one of the biggest travesties this business has ever witnessed. Honestly, anyone other than myself walking out with that World title would be a travesty, but it would be far less than Mostafa winning it. Even if he walked out with the Vantage Point Championship, which seems like a glorified Television title, that would still be quite the crime against humanity and this business.

Speaking of that belt, who really wants to win that? Who really wants to say, "Hey, I'm a big fuckin' loser.. But here's my Participation Award." .. Look, this isn't Grade School anymore.. None of us need to make the losers feel welcome by handing them another opportunity to feel kind of like a winner. No. That's bullshit. They don't win the Battle Royal? Fuck them. Don't give them the chance to feel like they mean something to this company. Hell, even if I would somehow lose this match.. I shouldn't be getting a chance to walk out with gold around my waist. Don't get me wrong, however. If you see me thrown over the top rope in the Battle Royal for all the marbles, then you can bet your ass I'll show up in the other one and walk out with the Vantage Point Championship and you know what? I'll go out there and make that belt look more prestigious than the World Championship. That's what I do. I go out there and I make whatever I'm doing the main event. If I'm jerkin' the curtain? It's the main event. If I'm going for some low tier chump stain of a Championship? It's more important than the World Championship title. Basically, where ever I'm at on the card, it's a ratings spike. People WANT to see me in that ring. I've prided myself on becoming the most prolific technical wrestler this business has ever seen. Sure, I'll throw in some flashy moves here and there, but my ground game and my knockout ability are where I shine the most. As I said, however, this type of match does not favor a technical master such as myself.

The best part about all of this? The first event for the Rebellion will be smack dab in the middle of my hometown. So, do you really think I'm going to let down my hometown crowd by failing to capture a title? Please. You guys are really, really going to have step your games up if you want to take this night from me. If lose in one let alone one match at Vantage Point in my hometown.. I'll be the laughing stock of all of Boston. Basically, I'll be the new Red Sox of Boston.. Which is something that I don't want to be. Sure, the Sox have been killing it lately, but let us not forget about our killer drought we were in for decades. I don't want that for myself, people. I don't want to wait decades until I win my first World Championship since coming back to the States. Sure, I've been a champion damn near every country I've ever stepped foot on.. Yet, somehow the World Championship has eluded me here at home. So, here in Pro Wrestling Rebellion is my first chance in a long time to capture the World Championship since returning. I've had opportunities at titles here and there and I've captured a title in the other federation I work for twice and I said, I still hold that same Championship for now. But, due to a shitty front office.. I'll probably be opting out of my contract very, very soon.

Which means more than likely that Pro Wrestling Rebellion will become my home base of sorts. So, the chance to start the Rebellion with the World Championship strapped around my waist and winning it in my hometown of all places? What more could I ask for?

In doing that? It will be impossible for people to not respect me with every fiber of their being. See, people want to throw the word "respect" around just like they throw the word "love" around. Both of those of words have become meaningless in the business and the world at large. But, after Vantage Point.. The word "respect" gains some weight. I will FORCE people into realizing that should have taken me seriously since the beginning. It's easy to write me off as some over confident chump. It's easy to sit back and say that everything I've said or will say has been said before time and time again. I get that. I understand how I come off people to people and quite frankly, it doesn't bother me. It's hilarious to me that people still find it so damn easy to underestimate me just because of the way I carry myself. So what if I'm confident in my abilities? So what if I'm a bit of a loudmouthed dirt bag that is probably one of the nerdiest dudes you'll ever meet? Again, I get it. It's all been done and said before. I'm just me, ladies and gentlemen. I'm not some over the top gimmick. I don't paint my face and run around like a buffoon. I don't portray myself as a walking cartoon character. What you see is what you get with me. I am everything I say I am and so much more. I don't need to shower myself in crazy gimmicks and what not to get myself to where I am. Everything I've got throughout my career, I earned on my own merit. Don't get me wrong, I don't fault anyone for doing anything like that. I understand the appeal of those type of people.. It's just not me. But, because of the things I say.. People assume that it's all an act. People assume that I'm just trying to play the character of the self-centered asshole, who thinks they're better than everyone else and because of that, I'm not supposed to be in the position I'm in. That's the part that kills me. I'm not supposed to be that "guy".. I'm not supposed to earn the respect of my peers. Yet, the same people who claim to respect the greatness that is the "Knockout Supreme" are the same people who said I couldn't and CAN'T any of the people who make up the Battle Royal's on Vantage Point. They're the same people who said I COULDN'T and WON'T walk out of Vantage Point with the World Championship, let alone the Vantage Point Championship. I'm not supposed to be standing here, period.. But, I AM. I'm supposed to be labeled as a loser, ladies and gentlemen.. I've heard it from a couple of you, even if you didn't directly say "loser". I'm not supposed to be one of the greatest strikers this or any other company has ever fuckin' seen.. But, I AM, people. A lot of things weren't supposed to happen in my life, let alone my career. I am life's bastard son.. I'm the mistake that made good. I'm the mistake the rose above the garbage that liters this business and became something greater.

See, I've seen the guys and gals that fly far too close to the sun and crash back down to earth with the their wax wings in pieces.. But, that won't be me. I've learned from the mistakes of my forefathers and have become far too good at this to fail.

Then again, in some regards.. I might be closer to Icarus then I originally thought, 'cause I tempt fate on a daily basis. Everything I step take.. It's one more than I was originally guaranteed. So, no matter how I may come across.. I am grateful for each and everything I've earned. Why do you think I pride myself on becoming the greatest in-ring competitor that this business has ever seen? I wasn't guaranteed a single thing, despite coming from a life of privilege. It's not important why I wasn't guaranteed anything.. All you need to know is that fueled me into becoming the man you will see before you at Vantage Point. Am I undersized compared to some of the other dudes in this match? Maybe. Do I enjoy beating up on females? Of course not. But, what I do enjoy? Competition. I enjoy going out there and forcing the spotlight onto myself. I enjoy going out there and beating up people who I'm not quite supposed to win against. That shit makes me almost as happy as my girlfriend does.

Yeah. Surprising right? The Patron Saint of Dirt Bags managed to nab himself a chick to call his girlfriend. I know, it even surprised myself. But, shit happens, right? Though, at this point.. I do feel as though I am rambling. However, I still find that no matter where I go, I still don't seem to be recognized for my greatness. I didn't realize it was possible to call yourself a fan of this sport, yet not know who Silas Romero is. I mean, how is it possible that people still haven't seen me knock people's heads off with the GKFO? Thus, which is why I clearly need to broaden my horizons as far as the companies I work for. The previous company? I was practically their biggest star outside of their cavalcade of so-called, "legends".. Yet, I'm still not know to the wrestling world? Countless promotional tours for that sinking ship.. Yet, I still find myself having to enlighten people on the majesty that is the "Knockout Supreme". So, either I'm not doing my job right OR they suck at promoting their true talent. I mean, you had people left off the show for absolutely no reason and you have people stepping into opportunities that quite frankly didn't deserve. Maybe I'm just whining? Maybe I need to suck it up, because clearly.. If you're still upset about something, you don't have what it takes to make it in this business. Let's say you went through a divorce and you're still a bit bitter about it? Hey, maybe you're not cut out for this business, because you lack dedication. Or maybe, just maybe, you use it as fuel to keep you going through this sometimes shitty business? I don't know. I'm just a shitty picture book that isn't worth the glance over, so.. What do I know?

However.. The thing I know for certain? |...

The screen fizzles and pops as it fills with static. Eventually, we come to a shot from a camera, focused on the sheet of paper, filled with the words of the "Knockout Supreme". The camera slowly pulled back from the piece of paper, before turning around to finally reveal for the first time, Silas Romero. He was sporting a solid black V-Neck shirt, accompanied by a pair of camo cargo shorts. Their was a smirk inching across his face, as he simply glared into the camera lens.

SILAS ROMERO: The one thing I know for certain? No matter who you are.. No matter if you're black, white, brown, or blue.. Male or female. Everybody will eventually get knocked the fuck out. That's just a fact when it comes to facing Silas Romero, boys and girls. Ya' know, we've already heard from a couple people.. And they seem to be way to confident that their either going to teach me a lesson in being knocked out or that they're simply just too damn confident that they're going to walk out of Vantage Point with the World Champion. Good for you, ladies and gentlemen. Reach for the stars and make sure that you set those goals oh so high. Why you might ask? Well, don't worry baby birds.. Papa Silas is here to feed you. The reason I want you to get your hopes so damn high is because I enjoy watching them fall back to earth. I take pleasure in crushing your futile dreams with my elbow of destruction. Whether you like it or not.. Silas Romero is leaving Boston with the World Champion. Try and stop me if you must.. But it will be for not. Prepare for war, my friends.

With that, Silas put his right elbow front and center, so that everyone could see the instrument of their destruction. He chuckled as he looked down at it for a moment.

SILAS ROMERO: This is going to be so much fun.

Silas simply shrugged his shoulders, as he began to trail off to the right of the shot. Soon after Silas had been gone for a moment, the scene faded to black.

Subject: Tales From McDermott I Sat Aug 17, 2013 1:46 am

( BURY ALL YOUR S E C R E T S IN MY SKIN )
★ COME AWAY WITH INNOCENCE AND LEAVE ME WITH MY SINS ★
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VP Episode One: Battle Royal's RP QTTO2zs

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SCENE ONE: TALES FROM McDERMOTT I

The strong, almost unbearable smell of ammonia filled the entire building. Each day, waking up, you never had a problem with a stuffy nose. That's for sure. Sometimes I wondered if the orderlies didn't really watch our rooms at night. I wondered if they took a toothbrush and straight ammonia to every inch of the building. In all reality, if you had a suckish immune system, McDermott was the place to be. It wasn't somewhere you wanted to be or chose to be, though. Nine times out of ten, you were placed there by a psychiatrist or a court of law; sometimes even a friend or relative. One time out of ten you put yourself there. Those that did that? They were the Mary Sue's and Gary Stu's that were only there for attention. They realized what McDermott was and thrived to be there. That wasn't the case with me. I knew what McDermott was, only I thrived to get better and find a way to get out and find a place to go. Home wasn't an option.

Usually, my schedule consisted of waking up extremely early, usually about five o'clock in the morning. The orderlies would enter our rooms in the most obnoxious ways to get us up for breakfast. I called it slop. The orderlies usually slammed our doors open, screaming at us like a drill Sargent. One time they took a cast iron skillet to the metal frame of our beds and slammed it over and over until we woke. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays, like today, a lovely older woman I'd grew to have a great friendship with, would give me a nice, "Tate, sweetie, it's time for breakfast." The other guy that I shared a room with too. This elderly woman's name was Agnes. She was my friend. My best friend. My only friend. Sure, my roommate Michael was cool too, but he was more just a roommate. He didn't really want to be my friend. We kept our distance other than when we had to be in our room together.

Today, as I said, was a Saturday. Agnes had woken Michael and I up at five in the morning and told us to get ourselves presentable before going to breakfast. Just before Agnes left the room, I smiled at her like always. It was our way of saying thank you for being my friend. Michael peered over at me as I sat up on the edge of the bed. I ran my fingers through my hair, short and tamed. He could tell there was stuff on my mind. In all reality though, what wasn't on a seventeen year old's mind? What was on mine was different though. Most teenagers thought about sex and booze. What they were going to wear to prom or who they were going to take to prom. I just wanted to know what went wrong. How I got here. How I was going to get out. Agnes knew my story. She was the only one who did. I wouldn't even tell the therapist they had me see one-on-one about my story. I was too ashamed. As I sat on the rod iron framed bed, I thought about what happened to get me in this hell hole. Keep in mind when I'm thirty and a big time wrestler, I'll have all of this erased from my life. No one needs to know any of this. For all they know, I'm another punk ass kid who made it big. But that's another story that I'll tell years down the line.

I remembered, though. Dad left. On my birthday nonetheless, too. Well, mine and Taryn's. Taryn is my twin sister. I'll never forget the sobbing, the crying. The sheer emotion that filled the house when dad left. Taryn and mom were devastated. Me? I wanted to kill the bastard. He cheated on my mom. After so many years of marriage, he actually cheated on her. Twenty Goddamn years and he cheated on her with his personal assistant. He left mom for this cunt too. It was still unreal to me. I watched him pack his things. I belittled him. Called him a coward and a fucking putz. I told him he wasn't a part of this family anymore. We didn't want him here anymore. Truth be told these were more of my personal feelings than truth. Days, weeks seemed to pass so slowly after he left. Taryn and I were afraid to go to school and leave mom alone. When Christmas vacation came along, mom had a breakdown. She drank herself so hard that we had found her passed out and unresponsive on the floor. Took her to the emergency room. They admitted her at Mercy hospital in Council Bluffs, Iowa. I remember right then is when and where I got placed in McDermott.

Taryn and I stood outside her room. The hospitals were lined with carts that had instruments in it for medical procedures in the intensive care unit. After all of this shit, Taryn left to go back into mom’s room. I looked around, no one watching me. I scavenged through one of the carts, finding a sanitized unused scalpel. I opened the package, placing the blade against my skin before slicing my wrist wide open. The right after the left. After that I don’t remember much. I remember losing a lot of blood. Crashing to the floor. Then Taryn ran out after hearing me thud against the tile flooring. She screamed for the nurses. I blacked out. The next morning I woke up in the mental facility at Mercy; McDermott. The rest is history. Here I am, four months later. They haven’t been able to help me. That’s why I’m still here. I guess when you don’t talk about your problems to the doctors that are trying to help you, this is what you get.

So here I am. Stuck at McDermott with nothing but my thoughts, memories, and Agnes to keep me company. I know despite what the doctors say, I'm going to make something out of my life. I'm going to make something out of my life. I just know it. My chances may not look so good now, but one day, I will be a somebody. People will know my name everywhere...

SCENE TWO: THE HEART OF A CHAMPION

"Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls of all ages, my name is Tate Jaxon and tonight I'm in Boston, Massachusetts. A glorious place to be for PWR's first show. A perfect place to crown two champions. Tonight we'll see that, but let me take you a little bit away from all of that for a moment. Let me take you into the mind of one Tate Jaxon. Some call me a little deranged. I don't see it. Looks can be deceiving, though. What one sees as a reality could be a complete falsity. What one sees as complete and utter bullshit could be reality staring them in the face. The way I see it, life for me is like a two-way mirror. I can see everything that goes on in this filthy Goddamn horror show of a world. The great thing is that I can save those who are deserving to be saved from the piss and shit and pure vulgar mess that is the world we live in. Those on the other side of that two-way mirror, everyone else except me, they're blinded. I'm invisible to them. They couldn't see the greatness that is "God's Gift to Professional Wrestling" Tate Jaxon, even if I'm right in their face, ready to knock their teeth down their throat.

See, other people only see what they want to see. Their two-way mirror is able to be turned on and off. If you ask me, that's the cowardly way to handle your mirror, in essence, your life. If you can't see the world for what it is and you choose to ignore what you can see, then you're hiding from it. I see a lot of that in my opponents this week. There's one competitor that I know for a fact can see life through my eyes and that's Tiami Tyler. She sees the world, this company, these matches for what they truly are. Just as I can. She sees that they're just a way to weed out the talent that shouldn't be on the roster at all. The PWR Championship is a great accomplishment, don't get me wrong. It truly is, but it's contested in the first match of the evening on the first show with the first ten talents to sign a contract with PWR. Wouldn't you agree that the prestige is to be questioned of said title? The Vantage Point Championship, however, oh my God. Are you serious? You're throwing the nine losers from the PWR Championship into this match for shits and giggles. Right? That's a load of bullshit.

Don't get me wrong, though. I'm fighting for these two titles either way. But the way I see it, these titles? They're only a symbol. A symbol that I am the best. That I am the greatest gift that God could EVER give to professional wrestling! My opponents, I need not mention their names, for they aren't that important, they're setting themselves up for disaster by even showing up for this match. That's all I can say. The scariest part of these two battle royals is that those who claim to be so damn good? They're going to fall to me. Do you know why? Because I'm actually as good as everyone else claims to be. Period."

» VP Episode 2: Abobo vs. Eli Bower
» VP Episode 2: Eric Steel vs. Adrian Glanton
» Vantage Point Episode 2: Bloodshed
» Vantage Point: Episode One: A New Beginning
» VP Episode 2: Tate Jaxon vs. Silas Romero