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Post by Vinny Falcone on Mar 14, 2011 12:23:12 GMT -5
You two RP here.
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Post by Ezekiel Tyson on Mar 19, 2011 11:12:39 GMT -5
*The Tysons, Ezekiel and Solomon are backstage in their locker room talking about this coming Worldwide and about how each of them has been put in a TV or North American championship tournament, Solomon has to deal with P.T Merciless while ezekiel has Trip Master but they are also in the tag team gauntlet with The British Union, The Hornets, The Suffering, The Bulldogs, The Dipper Brothers and The Thrill Killers for a chance to face The Klu Klux Klowns for the Tag Team Titles*
Solomon: Do you think we can do it?
Ezekiel: Do what?
Solomon: Defeat everyone we have to at Worldwide, I mean I've got the TV title tournament match against P.T Merciless, you've got the North American title tournament match against Trip Master and then we've got the Tag Team Gauntlet against all those other teams, it's a lot to do in one night.
Ezekiel: We can do it! We just need to persevere, how do think I won the World title, how do you think we are going to win at Worldwide, with perseverence. You understand don't you.
Solomon: Yeah I understand perfectly.
Ezekiel: Thta's a good brother and don't worry about your match against P.T Merciless I'll be at ringside the whole time but that means you have to be ringside all the time for my match against Trip Master.
Solomon: You got a deal, bro.
Ezekiel: And with the Tag Team Gauntlet it will be a breeze apart from maybe The Sufferng but that's only because they happen to beat us when we had an off night.
Solomon: Yeah, we could have beaten them had it not been for the fact that we were having an off night.
Ezekiel: So don't worry about it, like I said it will be a walk in the park.
*Scene fades to black*
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Post by tripmaster1 on Mar 25, 2011 11:07:00 GMT -5
Family Feud?
The man known as Trip Master rubbed what remained of the red paint onto his face, making sure to keep the edges even. He'd gotten rather good at putting the stuff on, no longer requiring the aid of some makeup chick.
He sat in a sort of contemplation, thinking of his upcoming match while the observation that people like Sting and The Ultimate Warrior dealt with a lot of aggravation. Having to apply and remove face paint was a real pain at times, not to mention tedious. Still, Trip thought, it was worth it. He just loved the way it looked.
His cousin, P.T. Merciless, was a busy man lately, plotting and planning how to take over more than one wrestling organization. Trip Master marvelled at his cousin's ceaseless ambition. He wasn't content to be a World Champion or an owner of a major wrestling company. He needed to be both. Trip Master himself had never been so lofty in his goals. As long as there was enough money, drugs, and pussy to make his career worth the bumps and bruises, he was content and happy with it.
Not to say titles and prestige meant nothing to him. The thrill of the hunt when shooting for a title always effected Trip as much as the next grappler, if not more. Particularly when he was racing toward a strap headlong alongside several other men. Such was the case in his latest gambit in the GWA. The television strap was shining brightly at him like a beacon hailing a ship on the horizon.
He gave one final gaze into the mirror in his dressing room and sighed. "Another night. Another piece of jobber meat." He took the straw that lay next to his little canister of red powder that he'd be blowing into the face of his next real opponent. Tonight, at this house show, it was just some rookie kid. Not worth a cheating win. Tonight, the Red Mist would stay in its little vial. The white powder next to that, however, wouldn't. Heh.
Trip snorted the blow with depth, savoring the tingle that scurried up his nasal cavity.
"Another good night," he said as he leaned back and squeezed his nose shut. After a minute more, he stood.
"Time to make the donuts." Then, his cell rang.
P.T. was calling him a lot lately. He'd found a new resolve in his desire to conquer the universe, and Trip was playing the role of his main helper. This was all right, as long as it didn't cut into Trip's own business affairs. The drug ring he was overseeing down in his native New Mexico, for one thing. The one he'd established with his latest ally down there, Sexton Ritter.
"What's up, Cuz?"
"Just wanted to touch base about your match with Ezekiel Tyson. You know, get that ball a-rollin.'" P.T. sounded like he'd had more than a couple glasses of gin, but that was the man's diet. Always had been.
"I know, I know, you're taking on the other one," Trip said a bit hurriedly, feeling the rush now from the coke and wanting to get to the ring while he was feeling it. Coke buzzes were great, but brief. Of course, he knew his match against this jobber punk would also be brief. "I'll be there for you. Although I'm hardly worried. Are you?"
"No, but enemies are everywhere," P.T. said matter-of-factly. That was another trait Trip Master had noticed in his cousin in days of late. Ever since the fall of CWA, his second driven-into-the-ground venture, he'd become more paranoid, always assuming treachery was around the corner. Or maybe that was just Trip's interpretation. Still, his cousin had hardened. Gone was the oft-joking, highly-confident man of a few months ago. P.T. had just lost too many friends and watched too many houses burn down.
"All right, Pete. I suppose they are a lot of the time. We'll be prepared. Who are you thinking of, anyway?"
"You never know. Anyway, have a fun match tonight. I'll meet you at one of my restaurants tomorrow. We'll talk more." P.T. hung up, and Trip tossed his cell phone on the dresser and headed for the ring area. His theme music was just beginning to play. He imagined it playing while he raised the GWA TV title up, the first title of many he planned to hold here in the Falcone Brother's federation.
The Falcones. He'd allied himself with them, but found it unrewarding after all was said and done. He'd attacked KOP at the man's last live television appearance, but gained nothing but a new enemy, one that had been a friend for a longtime to P.T., a stablemate, in fact. A fellow Horseman. But fuck it. He was Trip Master, the biggest heel in the fucking game. He was supposed to be a treacherous fuck. And indeed, he was. He was a part of the Hot Commodity Society in another league with his cousin, a league P.T. planned on taking over, eventually. Trip knew P.T. had the same sort of plans for the GWA, but he doubted getting past the Falcones was possible. Even for P.T. Merciless.
Now was the time to formulate his own plans, or backup plans. He never thought he'd turn on P.T. Knew it, in fact. His cousin should feel honored for that, Trip thought, and in fact, he probably did. He was the one man on Planet Earth Trip Master would never fuck over to get ahead. The only one. Everyone else was more than fair game.
His theme music had barely finished when he slapped the Figure Four on Gary Wood, the jobber kid from Butte, Montana.
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