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I bury hatchets, but I keep maps to where I put 'em.
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Post by Eden on Jan 16, 2021 0:14:54 GMT -5
LOCATION &a ARENAHumboldt IslandIsle ArenaROLEPLAY & SEGMENT DEADLINES Friday, January 22nd, 2021 at 9 PM PST, Midnight EST, 11 PM CT (US) Saturday, January 23rd, 2021 at 5 AM (UK) Saturday, January 23rd, 2021 at 4 PM (AUS)
ROLEPLAY LIMIT ONE 1,000 word piece or TWO 500 word pieces
SEGMENTS Reward: 1 bonus point added to your total rp score. Must be RSVPed by the RP deadline and submitted by Sunday Midnight CT (US), either in standard results code or plain script style. Open to Anyone! Match Two:GRIMM versus Doctor KilljoyWith the hasty departure of Tiffany White before she could even debut, Callie Franklin scrambled to fill the spot with this apparent ally of the Tag Team Champions. Both are brand new to the company, though GRIMM seems to be a veteran journeyman careerwise.
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Post by skullandbones on Jan 17, 2021 2:18:00 GMT -5
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any names mentioned herein are entirely fictional in nature. Any resemblance to actual wrestlers, writers or hobbyists is purely coincidental.
Hair matted down in perspiration. Forehead caked in sediment and salt from the boat ferry to the island. Dr. Killjoy was not amused at his first impressions of being in this paradise of pumphandle slams. The ferryman seemed as surly as Killjoy felt. Not even so much as a “g’day” or a “stay safe!”. Maybe it was just the good doctor’s own thousand yard beady eyed stare. Maybe it was his duffel bag filled with sloshing, squicky sounding things and leaking damp, blackened liquid. But the boatman hastily pointed him in the direction of some concession stands serving early morning fixings under colorful cabanas. Dr. Killjoy eyed a particularly unique signage that read “Dagon’s Lovecraft Country Surf & Turf Shack” and exclaimed.
Dr. Killjoy: At last! My kinda people!
Killjoy approaches a rather pale looking individual. A downright fishy complexion you could say. With a watery gaze and drooping facial features like Droopy the dog somehow crawled his way into reality as an overlay to a human shell. Already sitting at one of the stools placed in front of the “shack” so to speak is a young woman. Long flowing blonde hair, enjoying a strange dish that appears to be some amalgamation of beef patty, gravy, egg and rice. Dr. Killjoy bounces his eyebrows and looks to the vendor.
Dr. Killjoy: You Dagon?
The pallid complexion of the man brightens slightly as he responds with the voice of a man who spent much of his childhood smoking menthols.
Dagon: I mights be.
The good doctor seems rather taken aback by the sheer...gravelly nature of the vocals that responded to him. But he wastes little time with idle chatter.
Dr. Killjoy: I’ll take whatever she’s having.
The pasty food stuffs person shrugs his shoulders and immediately gets to cracking some eggs and stirring a pot of pre-prepared brown gravy to prepare the next order.
Dagon: Loco Moco coming up!
Dr. Killjoy awkwardly leans on his elbow sitting nearby the blonde woman enjoying her breakfast. He leans perhaps a little too close to the woman minding her own business, displaying his general lack of awareness towards people’s own personal bubbles. She pretends not to notice his glaring, but she eventually puts down her dish in nervousness.
Dr. Killjoy: Hey little girl...what’s your name? What’s a...pretty little thing like you, doing in a place like this?
The blonde woman hiccups slightly, turning sheepishly towards the dead crow stare of Dr. Killjoy, and lets out a nervous giggle.
Blonde Woman: I-My name is Biffany. I’m taking time out of my super busy schedule as a med student to come wrestler here for the WWH Isle Promotion.
The doctor’s eyes twitch slightly at the awkwardness of the name. Whoever heard of a wrestler named Biffany? Regardless. She seemed nice enough. And Killjoy had a certain...affinity for the nice ones.
Dr. Killjoy: Interesting. Never would have pegged you for a wrestler…I will also be competing for Isle. But I don’t have an opponent yet...who are you facing?
Biffany flips the hair out of her eyes and scoffs. She immediately begins to fork around her loco moco while Dagon slaps down a similar, naturally fuller dish in front of Killjoy. The blonde wrestler seems to become slightly chattier, temporarily forgetting the uncomfortableness of the close proximity she is to the Doctor.
Biffany: Yeah, just some sandbagging bum named Grimm. I hear he likes to wait until the last minute to prepare for his matches. Well he’s gonna regret that going up against me! See, I work and study sixteen hours a day, and still find time to show up here in Isle as one of the early birds to prepare for my debut. Only reason I see why anyone isn’t as dedicated as I am is because of sheer laziness. You know what I mean?
The nervous twitch from Killjoys temple goes down to his fingers. They tap tap tap against the wood and iron fashioned bar top next to his loco moco. He takes the bowl of piping hot Hawaiin breakfast food and slurps it down like room temperature ramen. No utensils. No manners. Just sloppy, brutally efficient absorption of necessary fuel. Biffany seems to actually be impressed by this “macho” act. Something about connecting with a gentleman who can fit a lot of shit in his mouth. Who knows. But with that, she seems to be intoxicated by his presence.
Dr. Killjoy: How about you and I go...to the portajohn together? Together we can...shoot, the shit?
Biffany giggles like a schoolgirl, suddenly trying to be liked by this...strange man. She eagerly follows Dr. Killjoy off screen. There is a shutter filter that transitions us from the Surf & Turf Shack to Dr. Killjoy wiping his brow as surgically gloved hands drip with theatrical blood. He sits in front of portable cleaning station and bathroom with his duffel bag, now filled to bursting with whatever viscera was previously in there. But now containing half zipped tops with a seemingly human arm and tufts of blonde hair poking out from the luggage. Killjoys lips quiver with excitement as he begins to monologue for the camera.
Dr. Killjoy: Well Grimm, I guess you have a new opponent this week for Isle now don’t you? I’m sure nobody will complain. After all, Biffany was just telling me about how she had an emergency mid term to...cram for! Bwahaha, mwahaha, hah, hoh! Yesss, I don’t think we’ll be hearing from her anytime soon. But you know what? We became such....great friends. That she gave me express permission to fight on her behalf! Can’t say I know too much about you friend...but I’d say your future...is looking Grimm! Gwaahahaha! Chortle Chortle Chortle! Hnnnrgh. Yaaass...The Doctor, Is In.
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Post by GRIMM on Jan 21, 2021 14:37:13 GMT -5
The camera opens up to the beach and a large, grizzled veteran reclined on a lounge chair with a nearly empty beer in his hand. GRIMM still looks less than thrilled to have to be talking on-camera again after doing all of that work for a girl who might have looked promising on paper, but apparently didn’t have the cohones to actually show the fuck up. He is pleased, at least, that the WWH staff gave him a new opponent so quickly. He wasn’t here to just relax and ogle Gracie’s ass, after all.
All right, all right.
Fuckin’ gotta do this shit again, gonna make it short and right to the damn point.
I ain’t a fuckin’ doctor or a brain scientist or any of that shit.
I’m a goddamn wrestler. That’s the long and short of things. I’ve been around a long time now. Trained a few idiots too. I used to leave the talkin’ to my former manager, always called him the loudest mouth in the business. Took awhile to get used to not havin’ him yappin’ in front of a camera or on a phone for a business deal.
So anyway, the bookin’ office got me a new opponent since the card shark lesbo peaced out.
Now what the fuck was his name?
He pulls his phone up to eye level, scrolling and squinting at the screen until he finds what he is looking for.
Doctor Killjoy? What the shit. You like the opposite of Doctor Feelgood or somethin’?
Well, won’t be callin’ you for anything besides a good fight in the ring.
It’s all I got in this world. It’s all that matters to me.
I like gettin’ hit. I like hittin’ people. Ain’t nothin’ gets the blood pumpin’ like a good fight and I’m the dirtiest fighter in the business. Ain’t gonna stop comin’ at ya until you’re knocked the fuck out and the ref slaps the mat three times.
From off to the side, GRIMM’s favored server (and really at this point, the only one who will put up with him) enters with a pitcher of some cheap beer and sets it down on the table next to his deckchair. He stops speaking for a moment, leaning his head back a little as she squats down to pick up the discarded bottles from where he’s tossed them in the sand. Gracie doesn’t let the camera stop her from doing her job. She notices his ogling with a smirk and stands back up with the tray of empty bottles expertly balanced on her arm.
She flips him off with her free hand, speaking loudly enough for the camera to pick her up easily. “Yeah yeah, keep lookin’. That’s all you’ll ever get. You tip well, but you’re just another horny prick.”
The veteran lets out a deep laugh as she leaves, picking up the pitcher and drinking straight from it. What’s the point of a glass if he’s the only one drinking? He turns in the chair after setting the pitcher down and glances up the beach after her.
Now that’s my kinda woman--big ass, mouth like a sailor, and she don’t want nothin’ to do with me.
Now, where the fuck was I?
Oh yeah, Doctor Killjoy.
Least from what I saw on his roster page, he ain’t no spring chicken and I ain’t gonna break him in half with one good shot. Lookin’ forward to this a little more now, to be honest, I don’t suffer no white coat syndrome.
I’ll see ya in the ring, Doctor.
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