sample rp guys

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sample rp guys

Post  Illegal on Fri 20 Feb 2009, 6:58 pm

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: T’hell with that! What the ©️Èѧخ️ are you doing way out here? I thought you moved back to Australia?!

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: What do ya mean?

HardKore: 128 damn people entered this thing…

Metal: So that’s good, right?

HardKore: It would be if half of the assholes didn’t no-show or flake out on me. I had A LOT of ©️Èѧخ️ing money invested into this. I would sue all of their asses if I had the extra dough and time. Running one of the largest wrestling companies in the world isn’t easy.

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
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