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Day One; RP Show
Topic Started: Dec 11 2008, 04:09 PM (206 Views)
brlysis
Milk-Chan
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
12 Days DAY ONE!

We hear from

HEARTLESS JAKOB VOLGA!
THE LEGACY MARK ADAMS JR!
HOTSTUFF STEVIE PORTER!
ROMAN ANDERSON!
COBRA!
MATT PAYNE!
THE SCOURGE ALLISON DETORRE!


‘HEARTLESS’ JAKOB VOLGA

[Our scene opens very simply, a gorgeous red head stands in front of us, hands on hips, wearing a pair of black denim jeans and a black muscle shirt with the word "SADIST" along the front in pink. Her makeup is simple, but done just right, her hair is styled nicely down to her shoulders. A small grin crosses her lips as she briefly looks back to the man standing behind her...

The man actually has his back to us. He wears a black boxing style robe, hood up, with the word "HEARTLESS" written across the back in simple white lettering.

The woman is the "Red Headed Sadist" Kendra Volga, behind her, the self proclaimed "Killing Machine" "Heartless" Jakob Volga. Together they form the infamous Cleveland Violence Couple.]

KV: The man standing behind me probably needs little to no introduction to those who even slightly follow this business of wrestling right now. In just over a little more than a year, "Heartless" Jakob Volga has gone on a tear of the SPW roster and its titles. Former Diamond Champion, Former Tag Team Champion, Perennial Number One Contender to the SPW World Heavyweight Championship, Member of the most elite stable in wrestling today, The Black Mass, voted last year as the Best Brawler in the business in a nationwide fan poll of not just SPW, but ALL wrestling organizations, and this was all in his rookie year in the big leagues.

[Kendra crosses her arms under an ample cleavage and tosses her hair a bit. Jakob has not moved.]

KV: The "Killing Machine" has not used fancy moves or flashy gimmicks to get the job done. He comes into any ring across the country and drops opponents with his Heart Punch like wrecking balls drop abandoned buildings. Now the "Angel of Death" of the Black Mass is making his way into the 12 Days of Christmas Tournament, because even though beating up guys like Sammy Knight and Sabbath are a lot of fun, they tend to get old after a while.

[A small shift from Jakob in the back. Kendra notices and sets her hands on his massive shoulder.]

HJV: A man cannot live by bread alone. And though the SPW definitely affords me some very good "bread", as it were, sometimes you need to go out and get some new snacks.

[The man turns now. He looks even more imposing from the front. His hood is still up, but we can now see the lower half of his face, which would mostly be a mouth and a long goatee. The feel is as if the Grim Reaper himself is facing us...]

HJV: Roman Anderson, I am sorry to say, you are going to be my first snack. Now I know you are an accomplished tag team wrestler. You are a current holder of your companies tag team titles, and I am more than willing to admit getting to the top of a mountain like that is an impressive feat. But you need to remember one thing, my friend...

[The hood now comes down, and we are looking the Heartless One right in his cold eyes. His head is shaved very short. His forehead shows some old battle scars.]

HJV: This is not a tag match, you will not have anyone to give you a breather for a bit. You are stepping into the ring with "HEARTLESS" JAKOB VOLGA, and if you know anything at all about me, if you have been smart and done your research, you know that I do not let up for a SECOND. I always go into every fight with the idea that it is no retreat, no surrender. I do not stop until either my opponent is unconscious on the mat, or I have fallen over DEAD. Just consider me like King Leonitas and all of his 300 Spartans rolled into one vicious person without the six pack abs.

[Volga smiles, showing he has a little sense of humor, but then goes right back to serious...]

HJV: Roman, I hope when this is all done, you and yours can have a very happy holidays. Just know that your holidays are definitely NOT going to start well. It is going to start with a lot of blunt force trauma, ending with you laying yourself down for that "long winters nap", courtesy of the quickest knock out since NyQuil, the Heart Punch. And when these 12 Days are over, and I am standing over a pile of broken bodies, you all will RESPECT ME.

[Volga tosses the hood back up as Kendra massages his shoulders a bit as we...

Fade2Black]
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‘THE LEGACY’ MARK ADAMS JR

[We fade up on "The Legacy" Mark Adams Jr. as he prepares for his debut match in the 12 Days of Christmas Tournament against veteran superstar "Hot Stuff" Stevie Porter. Dressed in knee-length black tights with the word "Legacy" written down the side of the right leg in barbed wire-wrapped red lettering and a pair of crossed Escrima sticks on the left, the 6'1" tall, 220 lb., second generation wrestler finishes lacing up his boots and turns to his manager and identical twin sister, Yuki, who hands him a black warm-up jacket with matching graphics on the back as he turns to head out the door.]

ADAMS: Well, little sister, this is it. The 12 Days of Christmas Tournament. I just hope I can do the family proud with my performance here tonight.

YUKI: Of course you can, Mark. Wrestling is in your blood!!

ADAMS: But can I take home a medal in my first big tournament? Uncle Jason has two, you know - a bronze and a silver, won two years in a row.

YUKI: So then your job is to win the gold. Mark, you were trained by "Hurricane" Kirk Maclean, Van Wild, Jason Storm, and Despair, four of the biggest names in the sport of professional wrestling. You wouldn't be here tonight if they didn't think you were ready.

ADAMS: That's true...and I _have_ researched my opponent. I know his strengths _and_ his weaknesses...and I have just the weapon in mind to defeat him.

YUKI (smiling): The Escrima sticks?

ADAMS: No, but I will use them to defend myself if I am absolutely forced to.

The weapon I was talking about, little sister, is the Icebreaker Crossface.

YUKI: The Icebreaker? But why? I thought your opponent's major weakness was his leg!!

ADAMS: It is, Yuki. Stevie Porter has a bad knee but it wouldn't be sporting to cause the man a serious injury when I can win by using my wits, the talent I was born with, and the skills that my uncle and my teachers all helped to develop.

Besides, Stevie Porter has the advantage of experience and the Icebreaker Crossface is a hold that even the most experienced wrestler will find almost impossible to escape.

YUKI: So your plan for the man they call "Hot Stuff" is to put him on Ice?

[Adams smiles.]

ADAMS: Very clever, Yuki. Your sense of humor has progressed by leaps and bounds since we moved to the States.

YUKI: Well I _am_ an Adams, too, big brother, so some of our father's charm and personality must have rubbed off on me as well.

ADAMS: Then it's a good thing you got your looks from our mother, otherwise...

[Adams sticks his finger into his mouth and pantomimes gagging as his sister playfully slaps him on the arm.]

ADAMS: Now come on. I have a match to wrestle.

YUKI: No, you mean a match to _win_!!

[And, as the two siblings exit the locker room, WE FADE.]
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‘HOTSTUFF’ STEVIE PORTER

"What does the Messiah of Memphis, Icon of Indies, Stud of San Diego, and
the Prince of Phoenix want for Christmas?"

[We open inside to a VIP room. Sitting back enjoying himself is wrestling
icon himself, "Hot Stuff" Stevie Porter. He sits back relaxing with a
gathering all around him. His valet, Trinity Burke approaches him and
hands him a drink.]

"The Angels were heard up high rejoicing that ol' Stevie Porter is back in
the wrestling ring. Wrestling greatness hasn't been seen since I was last
in the IGA destroying anyone that stepped into my path before I packed my
bags and left town. Even the "great" IGA couldn't contain ol' Stevie.

[A smug smile forms across Porter's lips.]

"So every year there's a twelve days of Christmas event. In the past it
wasn't really thought of a global spectacular, but _this_ year my name has
been tossed in the hat. That's right the Messiah of Memphis ...

[Oh boy here we go ...]

"The Icon of Indies ... The _STUD_ of San Diego, and the Prince of Phoenix
... The Hot one himself, Stevie Porter. So I got a fax the other day of
the line up. The other unlucky saps that have to step in the ring with
such awe inspiring greatness. This average Joe, Mark Adams Jr. has the
_honor_ of going toe to toe with me."

[Stroke that ego!]

"You see you may not have a chance in hell to win this match, but you must
of been a good boy this year. While you may not win you have the
opportunity of being involved in the greatest ... The most memorable
wrestling match in your pathetic career. I have wrestled plenty of
nobodies. Their names may be a blur and lost in some wrestling history
book, but for that single moment they had the chance to feel what it's like
wrestling one of this sports _icons_. They had the honor of going down in
the record books of stepping inside the ring and going toe to toe with
Stevie Porter."

[Stevie may sound drunk, but ironically he hasn't even taken a sip of his
drink yet.]

"So Mark Adams Jr. for Christmas this year you join that group. Your name
is added to the long list of career's I have highlighted. The IGA couldn't
contain me and this twelve days of Christmas tournament will be another
notch on my belt ... Another gem in my crown ... Another trophy in my
trophy case. "

[Finally Stevie raises his glass as if he is going to give a toast.]

"So let's give a toast to the end of another year ... It was a year of ups
and downs ... A lot of good men tasted their share of failure ... Of course
not Stevie Porter, but that's besides the point. Here's to wishing "Group
A" all the luck in the world. Let Lady Luck shine down on you and give you
the strength to do your part in making Stevie Porter look as good as he
always does.

Cobra ...

Allison DeTorre ...

Mark Adams Jr ...

And whomever the other poor sap is set to stand in our bracket ...

May 2009 bring you a better ending, because the end of 2008 is all Stevie
Porter!"

[Porter takes a big drink ...]

"This tournament is as good as mine ... Ol' Stevie has spoken and
_everyone_ loves Stevie Porter!"

[With that we fade.]
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ROMAN ANDERSON

[Anderson stands in front of the 12 Days banner, like he done before]

Jakob Volga. I think I know the name. Isn’t he one of the ‘exclusive’ guys from SPW.

So Volga, how did you get into the 12 Days tournament?

I know. Are your knees sore?

[Anderson enjoys his joke]

Volga, I do know a little about you. I know you have had success in SPW and the company has some big names in it.

[Nods his head]

I am indeed impressed.

[Eyes tighten]

I am Roman Anderson. I ran off Mike Bisignano from VXW. I ran off Damian Payne from the VXW.

I ran off that group from the old folks home known as Werewolf Gregorson, Despair and Travis LaGrange.

And the guys from OMG!W were so afraid of me that none of them ever got the guts to show their faces in the VXW.

You may be a big fish in a big pond.

But Volga.

I am THE BIG FISH in my pond, because I eat the other fish.

[Anderson leans back on his heels, very impressed with himself, I mean he just came up with that off the top of his head]

So welcome to the pond Jake.

[fade]
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COBRA

A plain locker-room. Nothing inside in terms of decorations or logos. Just several lockers with nothing in them. In the middle of the room lays a half open gym bag. The beat up and ratty bag has wrestling gear spilling out from its inside as if the bag itself threw up.

A chair sits next to the bag and sitting on it is a half dressed wrestler wearing a mask. It is the now infamous mask of the legendary wrestler and current back-to-back defending 12 Days tournament champion, Cobra. The mask sits loosely on his head, as he has not yet secured it. Cobra sits reclined in the chair, slouched down, very relaxed.

Cobra: ZZZZZZZ

Amazingly, Cobra has fallen asleep. He is just a mere couple of minutes away from his first match in the 2008 12 Days tournament. And he is asleep.

Cobra: ZZZZZZZ

A knock is heard at the door to the locker room. Then a brief pause before a second round of knocking occurs.

Stagehand : Cobra? Are you there?

Cobra: ZZZZZZZ

Stagehand: Cobra? Open the door.

The knob of the locker room is jiggled and the door comes ajar letting the stagehand into the locker room. He walks over to Cobra and nudges him awake, sending Cobra into a brief panic.

Cobra: Who are you? Where am I? What’s going on?

Stagehand: Calm down Cobra. You’re at the 12 Days Tournament. You’re first match is in a couple of minutes.

Cobra: Oh. Ok. Wake me in five then.

Stagehand: There is a reporter waiting for you in the hallway. He says he’s been here for hours.

Cobra: Ugh. Fine. Send him in.

Cobra starts to dress for his match as the stagehand heads outside to get the reporter. The reporter enters the room and takes a seat next to Cobra.

Reporter: Cobra do you have any thoughts about defending your crown?

Cobra: Been there, done that.
< /FONT>
Reporter: And what are your thoughts on your opponent Allison DeTorre, who is the current VXW TV champion? A title you have held and have arguably been the best ever.

Cobra: Been there, done that.

Reporter: But what about Allison? Do you have anything to say about her?

Cobra stops dressing leans back and sighs. He thinks for a brief moment before answering the question.

Cobra: Ask me in 10 minutes, and your answer will be, been there, done that.

Reporter: Uh thanks.

The reporter gets up to leave, letting Cobra to finish dressing for his match.

FTB
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MATT PAYNE

RP #1

[Two weeks ago...

The camera snaps on cold. 11/23/08. 10:04am. We see a poorly lit motel room, or some other random bargain-basement dive. Cramped, dingy. Just a bed pretty much, pizza box visible at the foot of it, clothes scattered on the floor, thick curtains pulled across the one window, letting the slightest stream of light into the room.

A shadow – no, a hand, closes over most of the lense, yanks the camera unceremoniously around, onto a large figure that sits down heavily on the bed. Big, powerful, a gym rat and no mistaking it. Black shorts and a stained muscle shirt. Tattoo on one veined bicep - a coiled cobra, twisted around a dagger, maybe? No, impaled upon it, more like.]

“You think I was DONE?”

[The man roughly pushes long black hair up away from his scowling face. Five o’clock shadow well past its bedtime. Square, locked jaw. Circles under his glaring, angry eyes.

Exiled son of Vegas Xtreme.

Matt Payne.]

Payne: You think I was GONE FOR GOOD??

[Yeah, there’s a little resentment there.]

Payne: You think all those bitches in VXW that screwed me over, kicked me... KICKED _ME_!... outta that stinkin’ hole they call a wrestling promotion... all ‘cause there wasn’t a single son of a bitch that was _man_ enough to take me out for real??

You think _they_ thought I was gone?? All you bastards that laughed and pointed at me, when they was draggin’ me outta that place and throwing my ass on the street?? All you spineless punk fans that wouldn’t _dare_ say a goddamn word to my face, ‘cause you knew I’da jammed my boot straight down your stinkin’ throat... YOU ALL THOUGHT I WAS [BLEEP]IN’ GONE!?!

[Seething, he takes a couple of labored breaths, and glowers back at the camera.]

Payne: Uh uh. No way. Ain’t gonna be that [bleep]in’ easy. See, this ain’t VXW no more. You don’t got that broken down bitch, O’Malley, pulling the strings an’ hiding behind his little p[bleep]y desk. You ain’t got Blake freakin’ Covington, begging an’ crying for one more shot at the man who owned his ass every time he tried to take me down.

Hell, you ain’t even got poor ol’ worm-food Ric Beauty no more, to protect all you fa[bleep!]ts from the BADDEST MAN IN THIS TOWN!

[Yeah, always politically correct was our Matt. Not to mention a little behind the times. Least he heard about Ric.]

Payne: Twelve Days Tournament, that what they call this thing? MATT PAYNE’S GODDAMN PAYBACK TOUR, more like. See, all you bastards an’ you big time stars out there, come to strut your stuff on the Sin City streets. You better stand the hell up and take notice, boys, ‘cause Vegas is _my_ town. Ask around. An’ I’m coming to take it back.

[His mouth curls into the faintest hint of a twisted smirk.]

Payne: An’ lemme promise you this – any son of a bitch that gets put in my way, ‘specially you precious VXW ‘stars’? Shit... didn’t ya know? It’s gonna be the LONGEST TWELVE [BLEEP]IN’ DAYS OF YOUR LIVES...

[And with a snarl, he smashes the camera aside, sending it spinning to the floor. There’s an empty box of Graham Crackers under the bed, for those keeping score at home. And then the feed cuts out... fzzt to black.]




RP #2

[Fade up backstage, at the site of the Twelve Days Tournament, night one. The camera finds a tall, intimidating figure of a man, focused on his pre-match thoughts. Full length, black leather wrestling pants and a shirt that reads “Yeah, I’m Angry and I Curse a Lot – You Got a [Bleep]in’ Problem!?!” herald a man prepared and fully anxious for the clash of battle. Long black hair pulled tightly back, business-like, does likewise. Clenching and unclenching a fist, the other gripping at a thick, black-taped wrist, his breaths hits the air with a low, staccato hiss. His square, unshaven jaw downturned, locked tense, lets loose muttered, unheard words between forced exhalations.]

Voice: Matt... uh. How’ve you been?

[Matt Payne, for it is he, turns his head with deliberate menace, mouth curling into a muted grimace as his eyes fall upon the figure that stands nearby. A short, fresh-faced, mussy-haired young man, barely in his twenties if even that. Twelve Days t-shirt and matching microphone proudly on display, his expression that of cautious opportunism. The man is Danny Dunn, young up-and-coming interviewer for the local Vegas Xtreme Wrestling promotion. Payne’s hardened expression almost – almost - softens a notch, just the most minimal amount at the familiar face.]

Payne: Dunn? You don’t... Jesus Christ. What the hell are you doing here?

Dunn: It’s... [shrugs] you know. It’s the holidays, I could do with the extra cash.

[Payne strangles what was almost a laugh there for a second. Almost. The near seven-footer shakes his head.]

Payne: That’s real funny. Wanna know why?

Dunn: I, uh, yea-

[Payne claps him on the shoulder. Hard.]

Payne: Sure ya do. It’s _real_ [bleep]ing funny, ‘cause I’m standing here, in the middle of the goddamn _holiday season_, like some piece of garbage outcast in my own freakin’ town. Denied the basic human right to make a living, doing what Matt Payne does better than any son of a bitch around.

Dunn: And that’s... a funny thing to you?

Payne: YEAH, it’s funny, what’s the matter with you? It’s funny ‘cause I been spending the last God knows how many weeks of my life, holed up in one rat-infested dive after another, feeling so goddamn sorry for myself over the biggest stinkin’ screwjob this shithole town has ever seen. I been stewing, and plotting, and planning my revenge, like I was gonna get it all back, get back every single thing those bastards stole away from me.

Like I was [bleep]in’ COBRA or something, and this place was the goddamn pinnacle of my piss-poor existence.

[He snorts, and a smirk crosses his face.]

Payne: See, then I realized, Dunn. Like a [bleep]in’ bolt outta the blue, that Matt Payne is bigger than this place. I been in IGA. I been on national TV. I already been bigger than the VXW could ever handle.

An’ then this Twelve Days gig comes rolling into town? Hell, you know what this is, right here? This is my freakin’ audition tape to the world, all wrapped up in a shiny [bleep]ing bow. All these bigshots that think their shit don’t stink. Shootfire Pro. The “big league” stars. Yeah. Whoever the hell else comes crawling their ass to Sin City for their fifteen minutes under the lights. Even this punk I’m facing tonight... what’s this guy’s name?

Dunn: Clyde Kennedy. He’s the Tri-State Wrestling Cham—

Payne: The Tri-State-WhoThe[Bleep]? Jesus, Dunn. I’m supposed to _know_ this guy? Him and whichever bottom feeder garbage fed of the week he carries some dollar-store tin strap from? Gimme a freakin’ break.

[He looks into the camera.]

Payne: Kennedy. Any other day, you ain’t worth shit to me. Hell, you probably feel the same way about Matt Payne. That’s a big [bleep]in’ mistake when you come waltzing into _my_ town, but I’ll let you figure that one for yourself.

But tonight? Shit. Tonight, Mr. hotshot champ, you’re my glitterin’ goddamn prize. ‘Cause of the two little fanboy virgins somewhere who give a flyin’ crap about you and your Tri-State trash, holed up in their momma’s basement ready to cream themselves all over the world wide web when Matt Payne sticks his boot through your teeth? ‘Cause of them, man?

You _bet your ass_ you mean something to me. Just like Volga, Stevie Porter, [bleep]in’ COBRA, and any other overhyped bitch who comes in with a store-bought rep. Every one of you guys, you’re one more notch waiting to happen on Matt Payne’s resume. One more fat chunk of change on any contract I wanna ask for, into any show in the game. And at the end of this thing – you know what it’s gonna mean? When the clock strikes twelve, an’ they hand out that gold medal?

[He turns a glance towards Dunn, then back into the camera with a self-satisfied smirk.]

Payne: It’s gonna mean Merry [bleep]in’ Christmas to _me_.

[And with an unpleasant laugh, and a dismissive shake of the head at Dunn, Payne walks out of the shot – stopping briefly to “fake out” the camera with another smirk, then he’s gone. Fade out.]
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‘THE SCOURGE’ ALLISON DETORRE


The scene opens with the Scourge; Allison Detorre standing in the middle of her living room. The walls behind her are painted a deep blue in color, something that the ebon of her semi-wild curls contrasts against surprisingly well. Since this is not strictly a VXW affair, the Scourge has seen fit to bring the other gold she is currently defending to the party - in the vein of the first time she defended either belt, she is not wearing anything but championship belts from the waist-up. Over her left shoulder (and breast) is the VXW TV Title; on the right? The PSW Heritage Championship. Thusly covered (and saved from a lawsuit by the FCC), Allison's depthless blue eyes regard the camera with boundless determination.

Allison: "You probably don't know who I am - more than likely, you're assuming I'm 'just another broad that thinks she can run with the big boys'. Allow me to dispell that once and for all and properly introduce myself. Quite obviously, I am 'The Scourge' Allison Detorre, current VXW TV Champion. I am the reigning PSW Heritage Champion as well, with successful defenses under my belt for both. That fact alone right there ought to debunk your theories of me being just a harmless little girl; if it isn't, then consider this. Each and every man that has tried to step into the ring with me under the delusion that I was nothing more than a beat-up porcelain doll paid the price... and did so dearly. Some of the biggest names in this business - Michael Black and Elijah James during his Era of Terror, just to name a couple - had to resort to cheating to beat me since I stood toe-to-toe with them instead of being nothing more than a pushover."

Yes yes, we know - the Scourge is a (comparatively) small package. Know what else comes in small packages? C4.

Allison: "Making history isn't a one-time deal with me, Cobra - it's a fucking lifestyle. VXW, PSW - Hell, VWA soon if I have my way - are all feds that I have walked into and rocked to their very core... and the tournament will be no different. The way I look at it, you're the best draw I could have had for this match - I mean, you've made history yourself in winning this deal two years running. What better way to begin my run of victory than to take down what many consider to be the favorite to win this thing?"

That's precisely her point - there isn't a superior situation to be hoped for... well, shy of everyone else conceding out of fear of getting their asses kicked by a pissed-off broad. However, since that has clearly not happened, the Scourge will gladly settle for what she can get. Canting her head slightly to the side, Allison continues.

Allison: "From what I understand, your tale last year was one of overcoming great obstacles - hospital stays and the like - that you deserve to be commended for. However, this is not 2007; this is 2008, which means that your accomplishments, while respectable, are not nearly as relevant as you would like to think. I'm not going to claim that you should step aside, for that would be unfair of me to expect; instead, you should be prepared to be SHOVED aside."

There is only so much that one can talk about, however, without feedback... and Allison has never been one to ramble. Deciding now is as good a time as any to put an end to this promo, she glares into the camera's lens - hopefully, Cobra would feel it through the gap of time and space.

Allison: "Take me lightly at your own peril, Cobra. After all, you're not the only one capable of striking out of nowhere. If you value that gold medal of yours, you best come ready to fight... because otherwise? You'll be out of this shindig before it truly begins."

Everything fades to black as the Scourge walks off-camera, the gold from her titles reflecting the light as she goes.

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