OOC Note:
It is usually acceptable to place an "Out of Character Note" at the top of your
roleplay. They can usually save your ass in a complicated situation. Check your
fed's rules or ask the prez if you are not sure.
This is an updated
roleplay I wrote after an almost 6 year hiatus of being retired. I lost the
match, but it was against the RoughKut.com 128 man tournament champion the week
after he won the tournament. Check the brackets here:
http://www.bracketmaker.com/tlist.cfm?tid=137729
All
in all, I held my own against the tournament champion and almost beat him. You
can't win them all, remember that. Always remember that. The roleplay is NOT
too long, that is a personal preference of mine. I don't like writing nor
reading long roleplays. If you fed-head requires long roleplays and you don't
like them, there are plenty of feds that don't require them.
Detroit, MI. 4:34 AM – 2 Months Ago.
Freezing
rain pours down, as opposed to the snow of winters past. In the distance, the
figure of a man, jogging, protected from the elements by only a thin, dark,
hooded sweat-shirt with the hood drawn tightly against his face, and a pair of
thin track pants. The man’s gentle stride becomes more and more lethargic
as he draws near.
Approaching what appears to be a small park, the man
collapses to his knees in front of a park bench, creating a splash in the slush
that blankets the freezing cold concrete. Desperately trying to re-gain his
breath, the man has obviously worked himself into exhaustion.
The
man’s head is down, still lacking the energy he needs to lift it back up.
The half-frozen raindrops drip from the brim of his hood. Although the sound of
the rain tapping against the ground is quite strident, a voice with a slight
Australian accent manages to break through.
Voice:
“You’re gonna kill your self, mate. Lemmie help you up. Here ya
go…”
The towering figure leans to help the fallen man up to
the bench with a single hand grasped to the base of his elbow. The aided man
looks up in disbelief as they both sit down.
HardKore:
M-Metal, s’at you?
Metal: Sure is, mate! What the hell you
doing? You’re gonna get pneumonia out here!
HardKore rubs his sore knees as he excitedly greets his long lost
friend.
Metal: Look here, your tournament is getting all
kinds-a-rap down under. I decided to come and see what my ol’ mate is
getting himself into. Looks like you’re committing suicide though. Why are
ya jogging in this freezing weather?
Metal lift his massive hand
and slaps HardKore on the back.
HardKore: Oww, watch it big
fella! (Rubbing his aching shoulders) You’re still a god damn moose, I
see!
Metal: Aw, HK… it’s nothing! What the hell are
you doing out here anyway?
HardKore: Nothing, dude. Just trying
to stay in shape, ya know?
HardKore peers out of the corner of his
eye, trying to avoid a detailed answer. He tries, but fails to hide the fact
that he's been killing himself training.
Metal: I
suppose…(Raises an eyebrow) Let’s get you home. Still live in the
same place?
The 6 foot 7 foot tall Metal, aides Steven
“HardKore” to his feet and they both walk towards a rented, grey
Lincoln Towncar and head to HardKore’s home.
HardKore’s home, 11:00 AM – Later that
day
HardKore: Dude, I haven’t seen you since we both
left EPW back in 1998. What made you decide to come here after all this time? I
haven’t even talked to you in months!
Metal: You were my
best mate then and still are now. I heard you were having a few problems and
Ol’ Metal decided to see what he could do to help solve ‘em.
HardKore: Yeah, I wanted this tournament to be the biggest
tournament of them all. The bad news is, it was the biggest.
Metal:
Yeah, I hear ya, Rough--Kut. (Laughing at the sound of that
name)
HardKore: What’s so funny? That name made me millions.
Besides, I had to stay under the radar after I got out of the nut house.
Cripple a few douche bags and all of a sudden “you’re crazy”.
Metal: You were pretty brutal in the old days, mate. I was even
scared to wrestle ya.
HardKore: Hey! They all signed the dotted
line and knew what they were getting into! Yeah, but I couldn’t even find
work under the name “HardKore”. So I had to do what I had to do, you
know?
Metal: So do I call ya RoughKut now
or…
HardKore: Dude, call me whatever you
want…
Metal: Alright HK. That’s better. So what’s
the game plan?
HardKore: You’ll see, you’ll see…
Phoenix, AZ, America West Arena- 2 Months later.
A
camera crew hustles to get setup for a special shoot backstage in the arena
where the tournament is taking place. Various men, all wearing white shirts
imprinted with the “RK” logo, are carrying equipment and performing
sound tests.
Steven ‘HardKore’ Hanson, more commonly known as
RoughKut, is positioned in a strategic locale and donning a plain grey suit
with a red striped “power” tie. In his hands are notes, specifically
about the tournament competitors.
An amber light flashes prompting
everyone to get in their final positions and finally the red light flashes then
goes to a solid color as the director counts; 1, 2, 3
ACTION!
HardKore: One hundred and twenty eight men and women
entered the biggest tournament this side of the industry. Over 150 total people
applied. We’ve had ups, downs… *ahem* many downs, highs and lows and
still we are here at the finals.
Two men are left. Two men are going
for what is now the most sought-after trophy in the world of professional
wrestling. Two men are bloody, battered and tired. However these two men may be
interested to know that your jobs are not over.
This is directed to the
person with the balls to win this thing-- The person who lives and breathes
wrestling. The person who, if possible, would liquify wrestling and inject it
into their very veins! This is directed at the person who wants to be known as
the hands down best that has ever stepped into the squared circle.
Do
either one of you have what it takes to handle…. ME?
HardKore
pauses and takes a quick look at his notes.
HardKore: So who
will it be? Jason Violent? Seamus Macarthur? Personally, I couldn’t give a
crap less who it is. Either one of you is in for a world of hurt. Unless that
is, you are scared of me.
I don’t blame you if you are scared. I
mean, I’ve put more men in the hospital than you both have probably
wrestled in your careers. I’ve put more men on the permanent injured list
than you could ever imagine! I’ve calmed down now though, I promise not to
break your little bones in half. I promise not to lick the blood from my hands
as you lay on the mat in pain! I’ve changed!!!
HardKore’s
pupils begin to dilate as his words become more and more disturbing and
fervent. His speech becomes passionate and maniacal. He realizes that he is
going overboard and begins to calm himself down.
So there’s
your challenge. Something tells me that there isn’t a single set of nuts
between the two of you. Still, I lay my challenge down anyway. So I guess
we’ll find out when you two are done with your little “match”.
Excuses… I don’t have time for excuses. You won’t have a
week to rest; you won’t have a minute to breathe! You won’t have time
to relax or call your sweetie for comfort. Your match will begin with me as
soon as you win this tournament! And if you can’t handle the pressure, if
you can’t handle the fear then I feel your pain… AND I LIKE IT!
HardKore’s shoot ends with his familiar catch phrase and the
crew breakdowns the equipment as normal. HardKore signals an intern to take the
interview he just shot and make copies to send to each of the finalist’s
dressing rooms.
Disclaimers and stuff - Best viewed
on 600x800. All written material and website related images are property of
roughkut.com. You may use written material with permission only with a link
back to roughkut.com.
