Post by Mickey Carroll on Oct 9, 2018 15:08:08 GMT -6
There’s a Bad (Boys) Moon On the Rise #NP “Bad Moon Rising” by Creedence Clearwater Revival Locale; A Limousine- Somewhere in Las Vegas, NV
It had been a wild and crazy week since the Showdown/Pride/Avalanche Supercard had taken place. A wide array of emotions have been belched up from the deepest, darkest crevices of Honor Champion, Mickey Carroll. Memories of both the good times and the bad had come flooding back to him, but mostly the bad ones. He stares through the tinted windows of the limousine, watching the bright lights whirl past him, watching with deep, silent thought.
However, the limousine is anything but silent as trap music blares from the speakers. A pair of exotic dancers wind around the pole, dropping it down low to the beat of the music. One a woman, and the other a man. Gianni Di Luca, Shorty, and Erik Staggs watch the female with huge smiles on their faces, tossing one’s like they were unlimited. Meanwhile, the male does his best to entice the same reaction from Dax, but he’s too busy singing along to the music, trying to drown out the unwanted presence of Mickey.
It was all too real now. And yet, surreal at the same time. Mickey finds himself watching the reflection of his old life in the window. The life where he wouldn’t have hesitated to “Tanya Harding” Alex Jones for even looking at him funny. The life where Alex Jones would have found himself in a puddle of his own blood, every other week, for having disrespected him. The life where validation wasn’t so important to him. The only thing that these lives have in common is the desire for greatness.
The reflections in the window return to the bottles popping, and the body shots off of the strippers, and Mickey begins to feel out of place again. He is interrupted by a sloppy drunk Erik Staggs sliding up next to Mickey, wrapping an arm around him as he grunts like a real beast.
Erik: It’s time to let loose and enjoy the party, old chap! Never mind the bollocks! Oi!
Mickey: Ye do a piss poor British accent, mate. Like, proper shite. But, I appreciate the thought anyway.
Erik hands Mickey a pint of guinness after using the male stripper’s belt buckle on his g-string to pop the cap off. Mickey takes it, but just stares down at it before glancing over to the Honor Championship hanging out of his bag.
Erik: What a sour puss. We had this grand welcoming party for you, Mickey. We’re all glad to see you back.
Dax: I’m not…
Shorty: And I don’t really give a shit.
Gianni looks around, debating on his words very carefully… for all of two seconds before letting out his signature laugh. He rolls across the limousine, past Dax and Erik to plop down next to Mickey.
Gianni: Yo, this here is the original Bad Boys. None of you’s would be shit without me and Mickey, so remember that.
Mickey looks at them for a second before looking back to Gianni.
Mickey: Hate to burst yer bubble, mate, but… they still aren’t worth a shite, ‘aven’t done shite, and frankly, is nothing more than glorified henchmen to Timmy, anyhow. Say, where is Timmy?
They look around for a second, curiously as they try to think of an excuse as to why the writer forgot to place him in the frey. Instead, they shrug their shoulders and go on about their business once more.
Shorty: Listen up, Fire Crotch! I got further in SCW than you could ever have dreamed of, in the near two months that I was in the Blast From the Past Tournament, so show some goddamn respect, you ginger prick!
Mickey stares at Shorty for a second, studying him before he finally sighs and nods his head.
Mickey: Respect for that. And an Avalanche Champion on top of that. ‘E’s probably the most relevant Bad Boy, especially considering I’m no longer a Bad Boy.
Dax: Thank fuck for that.
Erik: Nonsense. Your match against Alex Jones, and the circumstances surrounding it, make you an honorary member at the very least. I had even thought about making it a permanent thing if all goes right at Zero Hour.
Mickey basically snarls with laughter as he turns away from the still full Guinness in his hands. He spots Dax with his jaw gaping open, and then sees Erik Staggs, who is not laughing.
Mickey: Fraid not. Nope. No way in feckin’ ‘ell. Not happening.
Erik: Well, why the hell not?
Mickey: First of all, last time we was a team, I fecked ye over when I screwed Eyesnsane out of ‘is half of the Hardcore Tag Team Championships.
Gianni: Eyesnsane wrote himself off this show a long time ago. It’s nothin’ we couldn’t get over, for those of us who ain’t over it already.
Gianni glares over at Dax, who is now taking his turn in glaring out of the window as the male dancer straddles him, looking almost as disinterested as Dax does.
Mickey: Or what about the times ye lot screwed me out of legitimately winning the Honor Championship, just because none of ye’s could do it yerselves?
Shorty: Even if you are an asshole, we got your back through and through, because let’s face it… we’re all a bunch of assholes! You screwed us, we screwed you. Even Steven.
Mickey: I’m not exactly sure that’s ‘ow it works, lad. On the flip side of the coin, we’ve screwed each other over, so what is to stop us from doing it again?
Dax: For the first time in a long time, I agree with Mickey. This is a shitty fucking idea.
Erik listens for a second, and in his inebriated state, it takes him a moment to come to a certain realization.
Erik: Oh my god… Tim’s not here…
We see Tim Staggs standing outside of a liquor store, holding three bags with bottles wrapped within brown paper bags. He stares in one direction, and then in another. He raises one hand to scratch the top of his head before walking around the entire building, looking for the limousine. He doesn’t spot it, and he takes one of the bags and slams it against the hard concrete as he jumps up and down angrily.
Tim: You goddamn,motherfucking, cocksucking, fatherfucking, unclefucking, grandmafucking, ass licking sons of bitches!!!!!!!!
Erik: Also, I’m in charge of your contracts, so theoretically, what I say goes.
Gianni: Seriously, I swore Tim was with us when we got in from the airport. It’s like, I can almost hear him now.
Mickey: Oi, there’s only room for one ginger prick in this limousine anyhow. Just as there is only room for one in the Bad Boys. Tim’s the contender for the Avalanche Championship, so that’s right up yer alley, since that’s where ye run around.
Dax: Not that it matters to any of you, but I don’t even want to have his back at Zero Hour, let alone on a regular basis. I’m not the smartest one out of the bunch, and I know that, but fuck! Can’t you all see how shitty of an idea this is?
Gianni: No, not really. Like I said, we are the two that started this whole thing off. If it wasn’t for us two, you’s wouldn’t be dick, yaknowhatimsayin’? So, as ya manager, I’m tellin’ ya to pull up ya bitch panties and put personal shit aside. It’s just that fawkin’ simple.
Dax glares out across the entire group. He grins, but the grin is very hollow, and a rage fills up his eyes. Instead of speaking, he just begins engaging with the male stripper, placing a bill between his teeth as the stripper leans down to catch it. Mickey looks away, shaking his head.
Mickey: I got me own problems to worry about now. I don’t need this. I never even wanted this reunion. I left for a reason! I’m done playing these childish games and making a mockery of me name in this sport. I’m over being the guy who runs up on people from behind and group attacks them just to gain an advantage. I’m more than just the guy who will stoop to the lowest of levels just to get ahead. And since I’ve stopped doing that, I’ve become the Honor Champion, and I’ve stayed the Honor Champion for over 5 months!
Dax: Come on with your two title defenses in five months, Mickey! Let’s all take turns kissing his ass and stroking his ego. Oh, Mickey, you’ve done such a great job being an honorable champion. Those fan’s asses must taste really good since mine went off limits, because… if I remember right, you were the worst offender of organizing attacks on people and sneaking about to get ahead. You were the rat bastard of the Bad Boys, so drop the high and mighty act and just admit that you got what you could out of us, and then dropped us like a bad habit!
Dax says everything with a big smile on his face, and in a baby tone of voice, all while grabbing tightly onto the backside of the dancer in his lap. He then goes as far as to pick up a half full glass of champagne and toss it right into the side of Mickey’s face. Mickey gets up from his seat and marches around Gianni and Erik, who try to hold him back from doing something. However, the adrenaline rush is far too much as he yanks the male dancer off of Dax’s lap and punches him in the face. He then pulls Dax up by the collar of his douchey left wing slogan t-shirt and slams him up against the refrigerated mini bar, nostrils flaring and eyes glaring. He gives Dax a few good shakes.
Mickey: How many bloody times do I have to apologize for what I did to ye, Dax?! How many times do I have to apologize to everybody for being such a bloody knob?! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY!
Dax: Yeah? Well fuck your apologies, you piece of shit. I sure as fuck don’t need them. Some things can’t be fixed with an “I’m sorry.” I mean, it’s not like I’m Ben Fucking Jordan…
Mickey glares at Dax as Dax practically laughs in his face. Mickey slowly lets go of his collar and Dax shoves him away. He walks back over to the dancer whose lip is bloodied, and he helps him up to the seat. He talks with him for a moment as he tends to the dancer’s lip. Meanwhile, Mickey takes his seat and goes back to tuning everything out for the remainder of the joy ride. He doesn’t so much as stare in Dax’s general direction, doing his best to hide a streamed tear that rolls down the left cheek, catching the gleam of lights as they begin to ride down the Las Vegas Strip. He closes his eyes so not to even allow himself to see this tragic sight. Eventually, the scene fades out.
Desire #NP “Desire” by Meg Meyers Locale: The Curious Cabinet of Desires; Las Vegas, NV
Desire comes in so many forms. It is what the soul craves, from the deepest, darkest, most carnal desires. Many of these needs can be fulfilled through the dark web, including access to an underground club where most of the major desires can be satiated.
Mickey Carroll walks through the alleyway near the address he was given to meet his contact. He is wearing a black suit with a black dress shirt and a red tie. He looks around cautiously before turning on a small camera on his lapel. The view switches to first person view, dropping slightly in quality as he spots someone standing near a dumpster, dressed up like some sort of low rent Gotham henchman. Mickey can’t help but chortle while still out of earshot of the man.
Mickey: Oi, ye got any idear where I can get the best tapas in Las Vegas, mate?
The man quickly turns and gives Mickey a nod. Mickey pulls out an envelope carrying a small deposit and a letter releasing the club from any and all liabilities. Once the man checks that it is properly signed, he lifts three bags out of the dumpster. Mickey stares at him, until the man leans down to give him a boost into the dumpster. Mickey notices a trap door where the bags once laid. He knocks on it, and a lock is heard clicking.
Mickey: There’s a strange wind coming…
A second lock is heard clicking, and then a return knock. Mickey opens the door and steps down next to a tall, burly man who seems very out of place in an Armani suit. He stares at Mickey and then grabs onto his arm to guide him down a dank stareway filled with leaky pipes and dim lights that flicker on and off. All in all, it looks like a rather promising night ahead of Mickey.
Mickey looks around and the camera catches a glimpse of the emotionless, bald, burly man who looks like someone straight out of a Rob Zombie movie.
Mickey: Play rough with me, Yankee Daddy…
The man completely ignores Mickey’s request as he ushers him to a door. Just outside of the door is a series of masks. A goat, a horse, a gas mask, Trump masks, and a unisex demon clown mask catches his eyes. Mickey opts for the Trump, because… why the hell not? We can see it being pulled toward his face, and we hear him struggling with it. As soon as the mask is secured, the door is opened for him, and the man walks him inside of the lobby, which is much nicer than the hallway and entrance lead him to believe. The few people that are standing in the rounded lobby resemble something of The Purge meets Hunger Games. Mickey almost instantly starts to regret it due to how much it intrigues him. He looks around to the various doors.
Mickey: What’s behind each door?
Man: The better question is, what is your desire, sir?
Mickey: I desire power. Dominance. Completion. Control. And yet, I am so, so hungry.
The man smiles as he scans the doors. He guides Mickey over to the first door. He opens it as some iridescent acid jazz plays over a small speaker in the dimly lit room, making it all the more haunting.
Man: Might I suggest starting in this room, sir? Hunger is fulfilled here.
Mickey walks inside to see half dressed people eating food off of human serving trays as if they were savages. They turn their faces to look at Mickey. A dog, a clown, Charles Manson, and a smiling ghost all stare at him, moving over slightly to make room for Mickey. The food is merely slop spread across the lean man who is blindfolded and spread out and held up by chains. He has an IV in his arm to keep him vaguely sedated. He turns his head to look at Mickey to mutter a simple “Help me…” Mickey looks up to the smiling man standing behind him, rubbing his shoulders reassuringly. Mickey then leans down and begins licking up the slop, slow and disgusted at first, until his animal instincts take over and he begins more passionately lapping it up. Finally, he lifts the mask up just enough for his mouth to be fully exposed, running his teeth across the pale skin of the serving plate, causing the person to groan softly, in an unpleasant way. Soon, Mickey begins nudging the others aside, growling low and guttural as he asserts his dominance. The man laughs and exclaims behind him.
Man: Atta boy!
Mickey snaps and snarls at the others, causing them to back up and watch, or move along to another serving tray. Mickey leans down and begins biting at the man’s skin hungrily. He eventually draws blood, and is immediately pulled back by his guide.
Man: You don’t want to drink from these subjects, as drugged up as they are. If you want, the vampire expose is not far from this room.
Mickey wipes away at his mouth as the guide hands him a cloth napkin. He stares down at the man as a trickle of blood runs from the side of his ribs in the shape of Mickey’s mouth. He shakes his head as he walks out of the room, almost ashamed of himself.
Man: You have to let go of the rules society has placed on you if you want to satiate tonight, sir.
Mickey: I don’t wanna drink blood. That’s not me anymore.
Man: Then I have just the room for a few of your other wishes, sir. Follow me to the cage.
Mickey: The… cage? Is that like a bondage thing?
The man shakes his head in the negative as he guides Mickey through the lobby to a room on the other side. He opens the door, revealing a second cage door, which he unlocks and allows Mickey inside. Once Mickey is inside, he locks the door behind him.
Man: I’m afraid the cage is an exhibit where guides are not allowed for our own safety. However, I will remain here to give you tips if you so wish.
Mickey looks around the room, and it seems rather self explanatory to him. The electrical shocks spark through the cage doors of the upper crust elitists who prod at others inside of a cage as if they were cattle. The sadistic game almost makes Mickey sick to his stomach. He turns back around to the door as the guide smiles, pointing over to the wall.
Man: Here you will find the prods, electrical, stainless steel, or old fashioned iron, sir. There are also whips if you so fancy.
Mickey lifts up the corner of his eye at the thought. It isn’t even something he wants to find out if he enjoys or not. He hears the uproarious chuckles of a woman who watches as a man convulses on the ground in front of her.
“Oh how glorious, Reginald! I actually did it!”
Mickey: This is almost like a less fatal retelling of Hostel.
Man: Oh, no, that is an entirely different room where entrants must pay a far higher price to enter. We can just charge your account, if you wish.
Mickey: Hmmm, no thanks…
Mickey picks up two electrical prods and sparks them up as he begins charging at the others in his position of being outside of the cages. They begin screaming and rushing away, staring at Mickey as if he were a madman. His guide watches on with delight, clapping for Mickey.
Mickey: Oppressive bastards! How do ye like it? Ye nearly put that man into cardiac arrest!
Mickey tucks the prods under his arms as the others leave the cage exhibit. However, Mickey can’t help but notice the cage of men who are barking at him, snarling, literally foaming at the mouth. He stares at them as they seem to mimic the Dogs of War in his eyes. If he didn’t know any better, the one in the middle looked much like Alex Jones with shorter hair and a full beard. But those same, beady, testing eyes come from the snarling man, and Mickey can’t help but shove the prod through, clicking it violently at the man. He takes his turns with the others, but most of his attention goes right to the short haired, bearded “Alex” until the man lays on the ground convulsing.
Man: Stunning performance, sir! And it appears that your memory cam has caught it all so that you can relive this moment over and over again. Have you reached satisfaction this evening?
Mickey walks over to the cage exhibit door. The guide opens it up, and Mickey walks past him. He takes the lapel off and hands it to the guide, who steadies it for Mickey. The Trump mask comes off as Mickey glares at the camera.
Mickey: I am driven by desire, and nothing will ever be enough for me. I won the Honor Championship. I defended it with honor, no pun intended. And it is still not enough for me. I will always look for a bigger, badder challenge, because I want to be the best. That belt doesn’t prove I’m the best, and beating Alex Jones for the third time will not prove that I’m the best. But, it will feel damn good, mate.
Mickey pulls his suit jacket opened to reveal the Honor Championship around his waist. The crusted slop around his mouth is flaked off as best it can be with a couple stroked of the chin as Mickey flashes a wicked smile.
Mickey: This title is mine, and I refuse to hand it over to ye, Alex. Whether ye was still pretending to be the friendly, fun, competitive Alex, or this new, sycophant, Dogs of War Alex Jones. I took it from ye, Alex, and I’ve never intended to give it back. But I enjoyed the competitive spirit ye once ‘ad. The roar of the crowd, the thunder of bodies smashing into the mat like a violent drum, the blood, sweat, and tears. And the handshake to the better man afterwards, which ‘as been me the last few times we’ve fought. I loved it.
Mickey reminisces of the last few battles he’s had with Alex. He sighs as if they were among some of the greatest moments of his life. He then returns back to the camera.
Mickey: For a brief moment, it made me think that there was still some worthy competition in Honor Wrestling, or wrestling as a whole. I figured there was still some decent folks left in the sport, but then ye went and proved me wrong. Guess ye figured if ye can’t beat ‘em, turn on ‘em. Punch ‘em in the nards. Kick ‘em whilst they’re down. After all, there’s not enough room in Honor Wrestling for two nice guys, and I do it better than you do, Alex. Always will, too. And I think that deep down inside, ye know it, and you’re jealous. And that is why this third title match is so important. If ye can somehow find a way to reach deep enough to find that shred of skill ye claim to still have, and mix it with a well timed distraction from yer mates, then ye might, just might, be able to hold this title again. But deep down, ye know that’s yer only shot, and now that I know it, I’m ready for it.
Mickey nods his head as he glares at the camera.
Mickey: As much as I hate to admit it, and as much as ye like to remind me of the fact, Alex… I am a former Bad Boy. And I have the Bad Boys in me corner for this battle. We played the game yer trying to play, and we did it a hundred times. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, the Bad Boys play it quite well, and I still got the playbook. I’ll ‘ave to dust it off and ‘ave a read of it, just to freshen up. But contrary to popular belief, I don’t need the Bad Boys. Even with the Dogs of War in yer corner, I could do it all on me lonesome. It would be me greatest test as the Honor Champion, but it’s a test I’m ready for. But, whether I like it or not, Erik Staggs owns me contract, and he says the Bad Boys will be in me corner. So before ye say that I’m leaning on them as a crutch, know that yer the one to blame. Yer the one who thought it would be a funny idear to mock me by saying I can’t do nothin’ on me own. I needed a stable or Caleb Storms to take ye out, when motherfucker, I’ve taken ye out twice, all by meself. And if memory serves, would’ve been three times if the Bad Boys didn’t come down and save yer arse in our first title match that ended in a No Contest.
Mickey strokes his chin, wiping off more crusted slop to reveal a now clean looking face.
Mickey: Quite honestly, yer just as guilty as I am when it comes to leaning on others. Even if bringing out the Dogs of War was just a way to try to get under me skin, it’s yer fault that the Bad Boys will be at ringside to protect me title. That blame rests on you and you alone, Alex. I didn’t ask for it. Trust me, I’d rather not ‘ave me ex who hates me guts at ringside. I’ve tried making a career out of not needing others.
Mickey stops himself and takes a deep breath. He looks around the lobby as people stare at him as he does his promo. He turns back and focuses on the camera.
Mickey: Ye know what, no… I do need others. Not to fight me battles. I need others so that I don’t turn into an old, jaded, bitter, angry former champion who ‘as become so obsessed with the fact that ‘e’s no longer on top that ‘e compromises everything ‘e’s ever stood for just to try to stick it to the man one last time in a pathetic attempt to relive that faded glory. That’s you, Alex. Yer the pathetic old man who’s outlived ‘is prime. And I refuse to become you, even should I somehow lose the belt to ye. I don’t ‘ave to be lonely, because I ‘ave people I can lean on, and all I ‘ave to do is ask. A family to keep me in check. I ‘ave all of that, and this title. What ‘ave ye got, Alex? Hm? I’m waiting.
Mickey stares, literally waiting for an answer that he knows isn’t coming.
Mickey: Not to draw this out any longer than necessary, so I’ll be waiting for an answer at Zero Hour, this Saturday, and we’ll see who the better man truly is.
Mickey reaches behind himself and unhooks the belt from around his waist. He then raises it up as the light gleams off of the belt. Mickey stands proudly for a moment, relishing in it, surrounded by the curious cabinet of desires. Eventually, he lowers the belt, and the scene fades out… TO BLACK!
Henry Saxon: Crap, I may have lost the results. I'm on a device and as I was trying to make sure the coding was correct the device lost internet. I know of a way to recover it from google docs but I can't do that on a device. I may have to go to my job to get
Sept 17, 2018 8:25:56 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: on a PC as that is the only way I can go back in history. Unless soome one knows how to do that on a moblie device.
Sept 17, 2018 8:28:01 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: Got to a PC but I lost the coding and new card so I'm going to recode it and post it. Then sleep, I'll redo the new card when I wake up
Sept 17, 2018 10:15:16 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: I tried adding the roster gfx for the segments and refs of each match but everytime I try I get the Blue Bear so results are posted with it. I'll add it ater when at work along with new card.
Sept 17, 2018 11:12:08 GMT -6
Earl Lockyer: just asking because this is a supershow is there a word limit on rp's
Sept 23, 2018 2:50:49 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: Only one match has a word limit. Courtney Vs Rosanna Latoya Vs Ella Vs Nathalie Vs 3 Mystery. It is at 2,000
Sept 23, 2018 21:24:38 GMT -6
The Aloni Brothers: I didn't realize the deadline was up. -_-
Sept 29, 2018 12:34:03 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: No worries, it happens.
Sept 29, 2018 22:43:34 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: Results still being worked on.
Sept 29, 2018 22:44:21 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: Waiting on a segment, if I don't get it with in the hour I will post the results with out it. Everything else is done and coded.
Sept 30, 2018 15:25:19 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: Card is posted. One or two more matches will be added later as well as GFX
Oct 2, 2018 11:46:28 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: Last match has been added to the card.
Oct 2, 2018 23:20:13 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: Promo threads will be posted in a few hours
Oct 4, 2018 17:50:40 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: Working on the last two matches then have to code the whole show and it will be psoted
Oct 14, 2018 10:25:50 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: Guys results are done but Google Docs wont let me remove it over to this site
Oct 14, 2018 16:25:42 GMT -6
Earl Lockyer: so are bio's going to be moved over to the new sight
Oct 14, 2018 19:09:30 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: Yes, everyone will need to move there bios over
Oct 15, 2018 4:41:19 GMT -6
Tad Ezra: Apologies to all, and to John Blade especially. Somehow I was unable to post the results with his segment, but it has been added to the show, so hopefully all will read it. My apologies again.
Oct 15, 2018 23:48:46 GMT -6
Henry Saxon: In the next 24 hours I will be moving NLW Bios over to SCW that agreed to come over. You have to at least make an account there ASAP please
Oct 21, 2018 17:02:31 GMT -6