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Karma and Fate vs The Dresser Boys
Topic Started: Sep 28 2006, 03:48 PM (136 Views)
Damian Angel
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The Devil Himself and Member of the Nation of Moderation
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Karma and Fate vs The Dresser Boys

Deadline Tuesday October 3rd @ 11:59pm

RP Limit: 3

Teaser to be added later
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Dresser Boys
Karma's Warrior
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Dresser Boys RP | Breakdown | Helping Out a Friend
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R3B3LYOU5
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48 Hours Prior to Breakdown (09.27.06 Edition)

An enchanting melody comprising of the thunderous roars of lightning which struck down upon the trees from far up onto the sky every few moments, the beating rain which drizzled down onto the forest in a steady hum, and the distant screeches of birds flailing against the silent but mighty winds all came together into one harmony that sang throughout the damp forest as creatures scurried in search of haven from the downpour. Amidst the frantic forest which seemed to move along with its' inhabitants, one creature dashed from the safety below one tree to another in search of something else: a prey. While the creature had just enjoyed a delicate feast hours prior to the rain, the weather conditions forced animals and critters to scatter around from their hiding places - which provided the perfect opportunity to catch quarry.

His eyes like that of a lion's - with no fear residing within nor no guilt of the bloodshed to come, his arms long and muscular, grasping one finely carved long spear, obviously used for killing, and his short but mighty legs - quickly carried him throughout the area. Only a loincloth strapped around his waist covered a portion of his lower body. Looking around frantically, for he knew that even the slightest loss of focus can result in a flee'd game.

A small rodent dashes across the grassy ground, and the man snarls while lunging out his spear towards it, not realizing what it was. He was not thinking, his instincts were guiding him through his current hunt - for the time that's wasted while thinking was not worth it. His spear made bulls-eye impact, shattering the spine of the black creature and lodging itself through its' skin. The hunter pulls his spear out of it though, because it was not the prey he was looking for.

He continues his hunt, darting across the screen under another tree. There, he crouched down onto his knees, and remained still, now allowing his senses to work together with his instincts to lead to food. With his head remaining still, his eyes zip from one direction to the other while his ears honed in on any and all sounds that occured at ground level. Flinging his head first, then his body outwards to the right side, he closes in on a potential prey.

Standing low with his back arched, he calms down once more to listen.

'KRRSH' - some nearby bushes slightly move, confirming the prey. He takes a few quick steps before diving forwards, landing on his belly before rolling to his back (while moving forward) and back to his feet. He pauses to listen once more, and a faint brushing is what he hears very near. Moving very slowly as to not startle the animal, he walks with his spear in hand - ready to be thrown for the execution.

Behind a tall bush, he concludes that the animal is directly ahead of him. In one motion, he steps through the bush with his head peering out of the grass first and then his spear, before finally his body and legs come out. As he stands in front of the bush, he looks around and sees nothing. Rain is all that moves as it splashes down all around him. Looking down expecting yet another small rodent to have interfered on his hunt and to have led him on this chase he sees nothing but soggy brown soil rising above the green grass.

Nothing?

He's confused.

But confusion is the first of a flood of emotions that runs through his visceral mind. An odd screech very nearby rings out peaking his curiousity as to what he was chasing, but curiousity turns to fright as a net falls down from the branch high above him. With no time whatsoever to move out of the way, he's caught under the binding constraints which appear to have some sort of substance smothered on them. The man anxiously looks around from side to side before trying to escape from the hidden trap.

But the substance - which looks like a very strong adhesive clings onto his body indefinately. Scowling in uncertainty, he hysterically lunges out both his arms to try and escape. They get stuck as well. And as his consciousness slowly subsides, it's apparant that there's a second affect to the glue...

Finally passing out after three minutes of intensive and violent moving, it's time to meet his predator.

"Looks like the hunter... has been hunted" A muffled voice against the rain cackles. Stepping aside from the trunk of a tree, it is none other than Jack Watson - the hired eradicator whom Scott West had employed to capture Wayne Don. From the opposite tree several feet away, his partner in crime - Jonah Watson comes out, wearing a matching uniform to Jack's. Both men circle their victim, taking satisfaction in yet another mission accomplished. "Let's bag'em." Jack utters as both of them get to work...


24 Hours Prior to Breakdown (09.27.06 Edition)

"Beautiful," pronounces a gleaming Scott West. Dressed in an SCW Staff shirt and blue jeans, he examines the brute that is encaged in front of him. Behind him, The Watson Brothers stand with grins on their faces and their arms crossed. Scott turns around to face them. "You two are brilliant!"

"It took us three days to track him down..." Jack begins.

"...And another day to observe him and figure out the perfect time to catch'em." Jonah finishes.

"This is certainly a job well done boys. I'm sure you've recieved your payment?" Scott mutters while turning back towards the caged beast. The camera has yet to pan out to the cage to reveal what was within it, but the edge of the wired metal was visible on the screen, revealing there was a cage, and common sense discloses of the 'beast' that lays within it.

"Of course," Jack declares. "Every penny is accounted for. It was a pleasure doing business with you Mr. West, now if you don't mind, we've got some work to do in the Middle East." Jack turns around before Scott dismisses him.

"Yes, whatever - have fun." Scott West mumbles, while paying attention to the contents of the cage. As Jack leaves, Jonah takes a step forward towards the cage and smiles at the animal within it.

"I'll see you tonight on my laptop," he chuckles. "Good luck." Jonah whispers to the dorment creature before turning around to leave with his brother.

As they leave what seems to be the loading area, Scott pulls out his cellphone and dials in a number. "Hello, yes I need a few big and strong guys who can carry a large cage with contents to the Gorilla Position, for the opening match tonight. ... Yes thank you."

Finally, the camera pans out enough to reveal the cage and its' resident. Inside, on the steel bottom of the cage, lays the man who was seen in the forest just one day ago. He's unconscious by the looks of it, and has been stripped of his loincloth and given checkered blue and red shorts. His upper body remains exposed. Scott stands right in front of the cage, with his hands wrapped around the bars of the cage. "Are you ready, my little pet?"


Sometime This Week

Standing side by side with his father, a filled glass of wine in hand, standing calmly still while outside the winds raged and howled against the airbourne vessel cutting through the clouds like a leaf freely falling to the stony ground of a tree, Scott West sighs relief and articulates "Cheers!" in not contentment of an accomplished task, but of happiness. For he had become the victim of pain - of shame for too long. He winced while drinking his alcohol of the past he'd become accustomed to, but smiled subconsciously while realizing of what the future held.

Finishing his drink, he patted his father on his back, before moving away from the frail old man. The camera chose not to move though, as it remained focused on the old man whose wrinkles formed from the pit of his chin and lead across to the depths of his hair. His eyes which had now grown to a pale navy hue hinted that they were once bright and as blue as morning. The happy days were short for the man. The days during which he had chased the dreams of his youth were the only occasions where he was happy. But the joyful notion of waking up every day, getting ready to do what he did best and loved to do was broken one day as his neck gave-way in the middle of a match, from a botched Death Valley Driver.

And so he lived the rest of his life, in misery, knowing how he'd achieved his dream momentarily but had lost grasp over it within an instant of recieving it. But as his brood turned to manhood and exhibited interests in attaining the same dream, a careless - a selfish thought awoke in his mind: to live his dream out through his children. That is exactly as everything was planned. He trained them. He taught them. He made sure they were all that they could be.

But as veracity showed its' ugly face on his fantasy, his youngest decided the dream was not for him and pursued other opportunities. And while his eldest went onto wrestle - to attempt to fulfill not only his own but also his fathers' dream of becoming a well respected and honourable wrestler, he spat back on everything his father had taught him by choosing to be casted as a sideshow freak. Demolishing any pride in both their dreams, he had turned into a no name never-been.

Enough was enough though. He knew it himself and his father knew it. He had potential. He could one day do it all, all he needed was a slap back to reality. And so the proverbial slap came as he - Wayne Don was sent off into the violent forests of the North West Territories to initiate The Plan...

The scene quickly cuts with the camera seeming to be positioned in the cargo area of the airplane that Scott West and his father were seen just moments ago. Greeting the camera once again with his ever-conniving egomaniacal grin, is Scott West. This time dressed in full nightware - checkered white and black pyjamas and a NIKE basketball muscle shirt. Walking past the camera, he clicked his tongue which was synchornized with the meeting of each of his feet to the metal floor.

Surrounding them, were several large crates full of boxes. Scott paid no attention to them though, because there was only one cargo in there that mattered more than the pilot himself - the Cage. Inside it lies the ever-peaceful Wayne Don. Still slightly beat up from his match earlier on, bruises filled his back as he laid sleeping on his stomach. Scott looked on intently with the expression as though he was watching his new-born baby sleep.

"Look at him - adorable," West whispered. There appeared to be no noise coming from the engine of the plane. "You know, whatever the end result would have been, he made me proud tonight." West turns around and leans against the metal tiers of the cage. "It's just about 3 AM, and we're heading over to Canada to get some R&R, and since I'm not sleepy anyways I thought I'd cut a promo - on BEHALF of Mr. Don."

Scott takes a large gulp of air before flashing his pearly whites to the camera with a smile. "I guess I have double duties, I'm a manager, and the official spokesperson. But what does it matter of how much work you're required to do when you know that in return you'll recieve remuneration that outweighs the effort of work twice over: the feeling of knowing you're part of the winning team." West nods in dissapointment while sighing - which is a very unusual and sudden mood change considering he was just smiling with great joy just seconds ago. "It seems that our modernized world has altered the 'big picture' which we all must so dearly concentrate on. While idiotic morons run around preaching about 'heart' and 'soul', the true goal is distorted, and results in our own untimely failure. What do I mean? Well if you go around to kids - to the children in schools and ask them what playing a sport is really about, they'll reply "It's about having fun!" in their annoyingly adorable and sweet little squeaky voices. With this sort of mentality, how can anyone expect to ever truly get FAR?!"

The intensity in West's voice causes him to project his voice a bit louder than he'd planned. This disturbs the latent Don who turns over in his sleep, while snarling about something inaudiable. Scott exhales a fit of rage that had built up from the frustration over current youth - as he'd been explaining. "Now getting back on topic, as I've made it apparent, the true big picture is to capture the big 'W' - to overcome your obsticals, to gain wisdom while defeating your foes, and to most of all: win. "

Scott looks back at his quiescent warrior and recalls of the past where the exact 'big picture' was confused by Wayne and the horrors it lead to. It was time to address them. "Now I'm not sure if any of you are aware of Wayne Don's past, but he was a joke. In a big name promotion - the XFC, he chose to portray the gimmick of a pedophile. What did this achieve? Nothing but a few moments of laughter before being forgotten as the spotlight rested itself upon the bigger name 'real' wrestlers. It's why we sent him out into the North West Territories - to learn to adapt and to change his calm and impractical state of mind and evolve it to a vicious and lethal attitude that knows not of failure!"

Scott spoke too loud as he ended that paragraph, and awoke the dormant beast within the cage.

Wayne roars to life and throws his body against the cage in a futile attempt to break out and wring West's neck for waking him up. He fails though, and falls back down onto the base of the cage. Scowling at West with a frown, the lion-like Wayne crouches standing still, looking into the camera. West comes around and stands right in front of the cage, beside where Wayne was being held and poses for a moment.

"He's been harvested from one of the most sadistic conditions in the world. He's a brute and has ripened to perfection. I told you all that the Wayne Don you saw before will be nothing like the new Don, and it's already been proven. This man is cruel. He's uncaring - not only for his opponents but his own well being. He is everything you can want in an elite wrestler. He IS the SUPER Wrestler!

"Imagine being taken from your home. Imagine being caged and not fed. Imagine being held against your will, and being forced to wrestle as the only salvation from this inexhaustible confinement. You would be a fucking pissed off person wouldn't you? Now take your anger and multiply it by a hundred to match the animalistic frame of mind my boy's got. That believers, is the equation to the defeat of the ones known as the Dresser Boys.

”Two wily veterans from the tag division of the SCW. They’ve held SCW Tag Gold not once but thrice. They’ve held a grand total of six tag team titles, a number which makes Karma & Fate’s history look like absolutely nothing. While one would say it’s safe to assume that with such prestige labeled to your name, it isn’t wrong to overlook your opponents … But what I say is that the Dresser Boys are acting idiotically naďve for such an experienced duo. Dismiss the threat that is Karma & Fate, and fate shall see to it that karma is delivered.” Scott looks willfully at his prize. "Come prepared, but no matter what, you two will not emerge as the victors. This is not a promise, nor a threat. It is simply the natural order of things."

While Wayne tries to stand tall, but is obstructed by the low ceiling of the cage resulting in him snarling, West smiles and waves goodbye as the scene fades to black.
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Daemon
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"192..."

The sweat oozed down my right red arm, like a slim it was. It crawled and slithered down my arm, in a snakelike motion. Stopping as it was caught between my arm hairs every now again, and then falling with the pumping action my arm was doing. Sure this was a pretty generic thing to do in the slammer, but hey, it really is the only thing to do.

"193..."

One night in here can drive a man insane. It nearly broke me. Living in here is a death penalty. I nearly felt the fatal blow. Having to look at these walls. Having to see the men around you. That... That is what got to me. It didn't really hit me... The reality of my confession and my duty until I actually stepped in here. Rayne was right. It would have been easier for him to go back and serve a few more years then for me to serve the full penalty.

"194..."

Some of the sweat flung off my right arm, hitting the wall, hitting the floor, hitting the bed. Nobody cared where anything went in here, as long as it didn't get on your food you wouldn't mind. If you did you wouldn't last long. I almost didn't last long, but my wrestling training and nearly perfect body kept me from falling victim to the superiority of the ones who had served much more time in here to me.

"195..."

My name. Yeah I lost that. Nobody really knows my name. It got lost in the slurs of prison insults. Yeah, thats where I was. Prison. I can't really remember my name. The guards called me Daemon because of my wrestling career. The in-mates called me chump a mockey of champ, which I had been so many times. The warden called me "son" because... Well... I don't actually know why he called me son...

"196..."

I got let out early though, for good behaviour, and boy did that come just a day early of the day my good behaviour would go to hell. It felt nice to feel the free air on my face for the first time in an unknown amount of years. The years morphed into one to me. Days morphed into hours, and minutes into seconds. When I actually was told how long I was in there, I told the bearer of that info that it did not seem that long.

"197..."

This memory though, the one I where I am counting how many times I can lift 70 lbs with the one arm and bicep, it is a sort of epiphany for me, as it was the day I was let out. It may have not seemed like I spent as long as I did in there. Still even the amount of time it felt like in there, it was long enough to change someone. I sat there, my black thin toock on my head, as I was pumping the iron...

The sweat flew from my bicep, as I continued with the assault on my fatigue. Nothing distracted me. The mumbled swears of my fellows. The sound of cots squeking. The screech of the iron bar door being slid out of place. Nothing broke my concentration as I looked at that one bicep, putting all my concentration into that one pumping movement. That one movement that had kept me sane for the past several years.


"200..."

????: "Daemon?"

I did not take in the call at first, as I had started to go about the next hundred of pumps, my concentration as solid as a rock.

????: "Daemon?"

Still I did not answer this man. The second time I thought it was just an illusion, a hallcunation, something imaginative conjured up by my mind to try and sooth my terror... Or to prolongue the suffering...

Warden: "Son..."

I looked up on impulse, as the sound of a banging noise echoed in my head. A reflex, given to me on my first few days in here. I was to look up when addressesd, no matter what, and if I did not, I would recieve a crack to the back of the head with a nightstick. That was what that bang was. That oh so painful bang.

When I looked up, I looked straight at the warden, on impulse, but my gaze slid over to a women standing beside that man. She was rather short for a women, and she had quite pale skin, but it was natural of course. She had dark emerald eyes, and they looked over my form. My well muscled form. The sweat was still falling from my tear glande in my armpits, and my hairline on my forehead. I knew this girl...

Funny, a memory within a memory, eh?

At that moment I remembered a time in Japan, where I was heroically fighting of my nemesis's man, and it was a scene straight out of a Jet Li movie. But then I heard that scream from behind me, and as I dispatched my latest opponent, I saw her. HER! Her standing infront of me. Her had a name. Her name was Kendra. And I saw her die. At that moment I thought it must be an illusion, and I shook my head and looked back down to the ground.


Kendra: "Daemon?"

I felt her reletively colder grip against my hot skin, and my eyes widened. Her hand was on my shoulder, and I let a gasp escape from my mouth. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself catching a black T-Shirt and putting it on, and then leaving. It was only until I felt the burst of fresh air hit my face as I escaped that prison. As I was given my freedom back. I looked up at the sun, squiting, my eyes more accostumed to the dark and dank appearence of my prison cell.

Rayne: "Look who it is..."

I tore my gaze from the sky as I looked down at the black hair, navy pant wearing black jean jacket wearing fully grown emotionally driven friend of mine. Rayne. Rayne Riggamortah was his full name. He was of german descent, which I think is quite obvious from his last name. He had a dark grin on his face, which I knew was all to familiar. Rayne was a guy who took a proverbial bullet for me, and went to jail for a crime which I commited in the younger years of my life. I thought him the cause for something that tore me apart, but he wasn't. Rayne was the reason I was in prison, but only by choice.

But that is a story which I plan to tell later. For now, that is all I wish to share...

Present Day...

I leaned on the back of my chair, stretching my still well toned arms out rather wide. I looked straight up at the webcam that would give live feed to SCW.com, where my opponents, and my friend and partner, Wayne Don, would see this promo which I was about to cut...


Daemon: "Memories. So full of information. So full of weaknesses. So full of emotion. Memories are a kind of strong point and weak point for me. In some memories I find inspiration and a courage that could not be rivalled. In some memories I find only pain. Even after searching every detail in it, I only find more pain. Within every crevice, crack, and wide open space, was pain."

"That courage though. That courage is my most powerful quality. When I reach deep down, past the pain, past the good times, past all of the real memories, and find the courage within me. I become instoppable, and that is simply enough what I will do this week on Breakdown. I will do the samething that I did at UnderAttack and win. I will make an example of The Dresser Boys. I will show all that it takes more then fame and fancy names for people to fear and respect you. I will show you just why Drachewych put us in a match against you. He is sick of all your bullshit that you guys promo about. He wanted The Relentless to finish you off, but The Relentless, were simply not relentless enough. No, Karma and Fate are going to cut you up, chew you up, and swallow you. Swallow you for good, and make sure you guys never bother to even saying the word "wrestling" anymore..."


I see that the camera's light blinks off, and I stretch out once more. Sleepless nights had become a habit for me since I had gotten out of the slammer. I heard the click of the door, and looked to the side of the room where the door was located, and I saw my auburned hair love walk into the room then let out a giggle, her being the exact reason I couldn't get to sleep at night. She just couldn't get enough of her own Mind Sickness... Just like SCW couldn't get enough of the addictive and contagious drug within me...
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