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Post  General Freedom Mon Apr 02, 2018 6:55 pm

Some of us in the Skype chat were talking about how embarrassing it is to read our early RPs. I got the impression that some of us wanted to see each other's roots. Here's one of mine from some time in early 2001.

(Stone. Cold, gray granite. A rivulet of chill water runs down its surface, tracing a darkened path of absorption into the porous rock. Everything about the stone screams "cold." As cold as a Minnesota winter. As cold as the grave. Almost as cold as the vacuum between Kid Dynamo's ears. The camera gradually wideangles, bringing into sight more than the rough texture. A ribbon etched into the rock. A name.)

Kevin Castillo

(The camera pulls back still more, catching a black pant leg, caught in a harsh winter wind. The light drizzle evidences the above freezing temperature, but as the camera pulls back still more you see a hand against the leg, red and raw with wind chill.)

Rest in peace, you Machiavellian bastard.

(The camera continues to zoom out and angle up, bringing the undone belt buckle of a biker jacket into view along with the pant leg and hand. The arm is sheathed against the elements in a leather aegis.)

I bet the worms love you, Kevin. Though I guess this must be some sort of cannibalism.

(Rapid wideangle, causing the camera to briefly lose focus. Full back shot of Piter Svoboda. His meticulously glued spiked hair is beginning to fall apart in the deluge, becoming a matted peroxide blonde mess. His shoulders fail to completely fill out his leather jacket, stooped as if by a burden too great for his slender frame to bear. His black work boots have sunken into shallow mud near Castillo's tombstone. His hands disappear in front of his face, and a thin blue haze begins to drift over his head.)

Takin' the fight to Bradley...

(A raspy chuckle turns into a lungie. A gob of blackened mucus flies from Piter's mouth onto Castillo's tombstone.)

Ah, shit. Not quite what I was going for there. See, now the whole "patronizing yet intimidating man from the past" thing is gone. Now I'm the "monster who spits on graves." Not at all the intended effect. Cuz, like, I knew Kid Dynamo back when he was starting out in this business. Green as currency, man. Not so verbose, in those days. Nah, he had one sentence that he tweaked a bit every time he was on camera. Hey, it's not as bad as it sounds. He was portraying a mindless thug, and he played the part to a tee.

(Another short laugh, this one not resulting in expectoration.)

No big deal, the kid didn't have any ambition back then. He aspired to mediocrity. Did he achieve it? Not quite. He was the token cruiserweight in a band of misfits known as the Millennium, only it wasn't spelled right on their T-shirts. I lay the blame for that at the feet of Kevin Castillo, which are currently residing a bit behind me. Ever heard of Kevin Castillo? I doubt it, let me give you a brief run down. He was a small time promoter, ran a federation with his brother Chris for a while, but it wasn't exactly selling out Madison. Kevin was a pragmatic guy, much like yours truly. He needs a cash cow, and wrestling is his game. So he recruits a crew of goobers to wrestle for him in Meaningless Violence Wrestling, which was at that point moving onto the wrestling radar screen in a big way. We had Michael Chain, who made up for lack of intelligence with a lack of agility. "Precious" Roy and Erik Ruth, an ambiguously gay tag team straight from the wrestling textbooks. And finally, Incubus, whose special skill was that he could weigh less than most wrestlers. As I believe I mentioned, they weren't exactly experienced grapplers. Castillo filled their heads with visions of fame and threw them at the MVW like so much cannon fodder. He did favors for the president in exchange for literally thirty seconds of promo time. Did it pay off? Hell, yeah. Michael Chain got the TV title. Then a couple days later I climbed in the ring with the self-proclaimed "three hundred and something pound pile of greatness" and punked him out decisively. Sorry, I'm not trying to brag right now. Figure there'll be plenty of time for that after the match. Michael Chain doesn't really figure into things between me and Dynamo, but that he killed every member of the Millennium except for Incubus, otherwise known as Bradley Christopher. Otherwise known as Kid Dynamo. But we don't get to that part, yet.

(There's a contemplative sigh, followed by a space of silence.)

People have asked me in the past why I still wrestle. Six years in the business and I've still got a body like a steel spring, but on the flip side, I've been making money doing odd jobs and getting the shit beaten out of me for six years. It kind of piles up, y'know? Still, directly wrestling related events have never come close to killing me, but Dynamo barely survived his brawl with Chain. It didn't happen in a ring, but he met the man through grappling, and that's close enough. Brad didn't see his near death as a good reason to hang up the tights. He got a new gimmick, and once again almost died. This time, good sense prevailed and he went to work as a pimp, just like his father. I guess it wasn't paying too well, because he ended up back in MVW with an old girlfriend named Stardust. She was really a sweet girl, everybody loved her. Well, pretty much. Her interference in my match with Dynamo cost me my MVW Light-Heavyweight Championship. But whatever. I really had no ill will toward her. Apparently Brad did, though, because he fucking shot her to death not too long after.

(Piter strolls to his right, staring at his feet, the soggy but still glowing cigarette clenched between his first two fingers. He stops in front of another tombstone, illegible in the hazy light. Withered, dead roses rest at its foot, too far gone to drink in the life-giving rain. Beyond saving.)

Christ, Dynamo. I've done things I regret. I have, really. Not going to get into that now, no good reason to. I'm not a star, people don't want to hear me whine. But c'mon, Brad... whether you believe in a higher power or not, you must realize that you've damned yourself to the lowest level of hell with your actions that night. You got this girl to trust you. Love you. And you gave all of that up just to take out some job-related stress. Your boss was angry at you, so you shot your girlfriend. Do you remember anything about that night, man? I do. I remember the expression on Stardust's face as the bullet tore through her abdomen. I'd call it pain, but it wasn't. It was so much deeper than that. You are become death. You are Iscariot. You are the motherfucking Saint of Killers. And Brad, I'll tell you right now that that scares me in a way Friday the 13th never could. Not that I'll be getting in the ring with you; I can handle myself. But you're a sociopath, and you've been unloosed on society at large. And the scariest part... I don't think you understand how far gone you are.

(Piter leans down and stubs out his cigarette on one of the roses. It ignites like cheap paper. He turns to face the camera and takes a seat in the mud, leaning back against the tombstone. If he's uncomfortable, his face doesn't show it.)

Hey, Judas, how's the old conscience doing? Heard you bring all this stuff up, but it's from your own sheltered viewpoint. You focused on how you feel: guilty. Now, I'm focusing on how I feel: horrified by your continued existence. You murdered Jet Turner. Smashed his head to pulp in cold blood. You didn't even go mano a mano with him, you ran him over. With a monster truck. I'd gone for quite a while without having to think about you, and seeing the tombstones that have paved your road to success brings it all rushing back. This taste of bile in my mouth. Y'know, Dynamo, I'm really not a successful person. High school dropout, been at the same job since I was seventeen and I'm still not main eventing consistently. But when I look at your career, kid, I'm reminded of how well I have it. I'm not at the top, but at least nobody had to die to get me where I am. I became King of the Mountain through my own tears. My own sweat. My own blood, Brad. How much innocent blood has to be shed before you're satisfied with your lot in life?

(He blinks as his spiked hair continues to degenerate and fall toward his eyes. Eyes still closed, he begins to speak, obviously from rote but still with natural inflection and intonation.)

"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who in the name of charity and good will shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper, and the father of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, those who attempt to destroy my brother. And they shall know my name is the Lord when I raise my vengeance upon them." Bradley Christopher, you're a cold-blooded killer. It may sound suicidal, but I feel it's my duty to stop you before you kill again. Too long have the unrestful dead gone unavenged. It's my time to make you atone, or die trying.

(Slow fade to black as the rain continues to fall.)
General Freedom
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Join date : 2017-08-06
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Post  Mister N Mon Apr 02, 2018 8:08 pm

(ah fuck...all my old RPs were cringe as shit, some of them didn't even make sense)

(just read over the earliest i could find and jesus fuck this was bad...oh my lord)

*Mister N rushes into Abigal's office*

Abigal: Look who we have here. Mister N himself.

Mister N: Yeah im here. Look that loss last week, i need a rematch. I'm not going to let thast be the image of me.

Abigal: i was hoping you would bring that up. See if you join my team, you will get all the title shots you want. Our team will help you win them, and you will be the best wrestler there ever was.

Mister N: I don't want help. I get my titles, my way. And if you don't get me my title shot, my road to that chapionship starts now. BEAT IT!

Abigal: you will regret this

(I am so sorry...)

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Post  Jimmy James Mon May 07, 2018 12:11 am

This is the earliest I could find. I know I have others that are earlier than this that are somewhere on the web. If I find my earliest there I'll post it but until then this is my first rp on the old OMEGA forum. The context is that I had matches my whole first season against The Crow that I never rp'ed for so I always lost. I finally started rp'ing my second season iirc.
If this doesn't show that six years later, I still write trash every week.


*“Blow [Cirkut Remix]” plays throughout the arena. Jimmy James comes out dancing and wearing a t-shirt that reads “This Is Going to be… LEGEN-… Wait For It… -DARY.” Jimmy jumps up and down while he goes down the ramp. He then stops at a fan holding a t-shirt. Jimmy takes the shirt and spits on it. He laughs then gets in the ramp, stands on the middle turnbuckle, throws his pink sunglasses off and throws glitter at the crowd. He gets his sunglasses, puts them back on and gets a microphone.*

Jimmy James: “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Shut up! I have something to say.”

*Crowd boos Jimmy*

Jimmy James: “Damn it, you bird! I have had enough of the games! I want you in one more match! I tried to find you all off-season. I couldn’t find you! Stop and show yourself! I want a match, any match, anywhere, anytime! But there is a problem; I have been calling that dumb general manager all off-season and he said he has not heard from him. But I will find you. I will prove to the world that I am an ‘A-Lister’, ‘Number 1’, ‘The Las Vego (censored)’!”

*GM Stromberg comes out to the ring. The crowd goes nuts with excitement. He steps in the ring and gets a microphone.*

Jimmy James: “What the hell are you doing?”

GM Stromberg: “I am here to tell you that, who you call 'The Bird', is fired."

Jimmy James: “No! Why?”

GM Stromberg: "No need to go into details. You have a match tonight against..."

*emmanuel's theme song plays throughtout the arena. emmanuel walks to the ring.*

GM Stromberg: "That match is now!”

*Stromberg calls for a referee so the match can start. Jimmy gets ready in the ring as Stromberg takes the microphones. The ref calls for the bell*
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