Tag Team Elite | Supremacy Tag Title RP #1
Jan 17, 2019 1:50:06 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer and Dave D-Flipz like this
Post by Dylan on Jan 17, 2019 1:50:06 GMT -5
01 January 2019
Boston, MA
We open on darkness. Black, silence.
Then, we get a break in the darkness, as we have a POV shot of eyes opening. The scenery is in a hospital room, and although our vision is a bit fuzzy, we can hear the noises of an indistinguishable football game from a small screen on the wall. As our protagonist shakes the cobwebs, a door flies open, and in walks Hailey Black and a doctor.
The camera changes and we see Dylan laying in the hospital bed. He's groggy, but is making out his surroundings. His eyes widen, and he looks towards his mother.
Dylan Viper: M... Ma? What.. Why am I here?
Hailey sighs, and sits beside her son's bed.
Hailey Black: You, uh. You were on quite a journey.
Dylan Viper: Huh?
Dylan goes to rub at his eyes, but hears the sounds of metallic whirring. He looks down, and to his horror, sees his right hand his been replaced with a cybernetic robot hand. His breathing becomes shallow and rapid, and he turns to the doctor.
Dylan Viper: What happened? What the hell happened to my hand?!
The doctor shuffles through a few papers on a clipboard, looking down the bridge of his nose at Dylan.
Doctor: Well, Mr. Viper, you had a bit of a "freak accident." When you fought Big Drag in the second Jefe Wars episode, "The Empire Strike Back," he actually cut your hand off. There was no hope to repair it. I'm sorry, sir. On, uh. On the bright side, I own copies of the first two Jefe Wars episodes, if you wish to watch them.
The doctor smiles haplessly, but Dylan is the least bit amused. He stares holes through the doctor, who takes the hint and gets out. Dylan sighs, and uses his remaining flesh hand to hang his head in. His mother, unsure of how to comfort her now handicapped son(would he be handicapped? do further research), pats his back.
Hailey Black: It could be worse, Dylan. At least you have your legs. At least you can use the handicap spots. At lea-
Dylan Viper: Mom.
Hailey Black: Not helping?
Dylan Viper: No.
They sit in silence for a moment, before Hailey grabs her purse and goes to the door.
Hailey Black: I'll leave you be, Dylan. Rest up, you ought to be let out of here in a few days or so.
Dylan nods, and she exits the room. Dylan lays back, closing his eyes and drifting into the endless oblivion of eternal slumber as we fade to black.
09 January 2019
Boston, MA
We open on the outside of the hospital where Dylan has resided at for the last two to three weeks. Dylan has his right arm in a sling, and in his left hand clutches a doctor's note with which details he must take physical therapy in order to get the fullest out of his new appendage. They both climbs into his mothers car, and begin to make the journey home.
As they drive onto a highway, Dylan reaches for the radio dial to play some music. Hailey, however, is not a fan of music while driving, as it's just as distracting as recording an RP while driving. She smacks his hand away, and he recoils, feigning being seriously hurt.
Dylan Viper: Ow! What the fuck, that seriously hurt!
She rolls her eyes.
Hailey Black: Oh shut up.
*Dylan crumples up the note in his fist, sighing and looking out the window, before opening it back up and re-reading it for the umpteenth time. He speaks softly, reading the note, before shoving it into his pants pocket. He ponders for a moment, before noticing a crucial detail is missing.
Dylan Viper: Hey mom, where's the creep?
Hailey Black: Who?
Dylan Viper: The fat man. The ugly fuck who's been hitting on you since high school.
Hailey Black: Oh, you mean your, uh, "father." Jeffrey.
Dylan Viper: Yeah, him. Why isn't he here, laughing at the fact I'm missing a fucking hand.
Hailey Black: Yeah. Um, about that... best we wait until we get home.
Dylan Viper: Oh god...
Later that day...
Dylan Viper: HE FUCKING DID WHAT?!
We cut to Dylan and Hailey, at home, where Hailey has pulled up the promo where Jeffrey called the cops and misused 911, reporting a murder that would never take place. Dylan groans, putting his head in his hands, as Hailey bites her lip. She wants to make light of the situation, but with her son's partner in jail for the foreseeable future, his heart is weighed down. She instead opts to close the laptop where they were playing the promo, sitting on the couch beside him.
Hailey Black: By the way... know you're more pissed with him then ever, but he's asking for us, or rather you to pay his bail.
Dylan, who's grabbed a glass of water and began to take a long drink, spits the drink out all over the rug. Hailey looks up disgruntled as Dylan is laughing, hysterically, doing a standing ROFL. He calms down and regains his composure, looking down at his mom.
Dylan Viper: You serious?
Hailey Black: Do you want to hear the voicemail he left during his one call he's given?
Dylan Viper: Absolutely not. I'm 90% sure it's a bunch of moaning and sexing you up, and I don't need any of that shit in my life.
Hailey Black: Well, if you don't bail him out, how will you beat the Icons at Supremacy?
Dylan Viper: sighs I'll think of something.
Hailey leans back, amused, a smirk across her face.
Hailey Black: Like what? It'd be a two-on-one match. Mongo won't award you victory out of pity because you get your ass handed to you. He'll shrug in his office, because he'll be making mad bank. Be real, Dylan, you NEED Jeffrey, whether you like it or not, to have even a smidgen of a chance to win.
Dylan sighs, not sure where to go from there. No, it's not impossible to win by himself, but against the likes of Jack and Bobby? That's nigh impossible. He finally caves, shaking his head.
Dylan Viper: Fine. Whatever. I'll bail his ass out. What's it, uh. Gonna cost me?
Hailey glances down, opening her phone and playing the voicemail Jeffrey sent her. She listens for a moment, the phone to her ear, before she looks up at Dylan.
Hailey Black: Roughly, ah.. five hundred to one thousand dollars.
Dylan Viper: jaw drops Are you fucking serious? I barely made that much per match in AXW, and even less now in Champoon! How the fuck does he expect me to pay that off?
Hailey looks crossly at Dylan.
Hailey Black: A simple google search would reveal that companies like GWA, FWA, and VTW Wrestling pay you quite the pretty penny. Your net worth is around two million dollars, son. And who knows how much you've got saved up over the years!
He lets out a long, drawn out sigh. Unfortunately, his mother's got a point. He's accumulated a large sum of wealth over his years of international stardom, and a measly 500 is nothing.
Dylan Viper: ...fine. I'll go get him.
Welcome to the XHF Network
Your Video is Loading...
We open on a wide shot of a trophy room, where various awards and accolades are cased up along walls. From measly little "slammy" trophies to full on championship belts, the room shines with an aura of gold. As the camera pans, we see a case door open, and someone standing there, dusting the championships inside. The someone turns around, to be revealed as Dylan.
Dylan Viper: Oh hi, I didn't see you there. Welcome, one and all, to my own, homemade vault. See, Bobby, you're not the only one with 19 championships. Sure, you've got them all at the same time, while I've had two to three at a time, at most. So I hope while you're boosting your ego, shitty British accent "I'm the best in the world because I hold 18 dead championships." Here's the thing, Bobby, you've only been relevant for a year, two years time, and just about all of that time you've been riding Jack's coattails. You've hid in his shadow. Jack's quite simply always been the better man, plain and simple.
He tosses aside the duster, picking up his FWA Fire and Ice Tag Team Championship.
Dylan Viper: My first title within the XHF Network. I proved from day one I was the right fit to carry the tag team division. Now sure, I've had a string of shitty partners, namely Dackle, who just simply weren't up to the Gold Standard I hold myself at, but there's no denying I'm the epitome of the XHF Tag Team division.
He drops the championship, now picking up an award that reads "Tag Team of the Year."
Dylan Viper: It took just two months for me to make my mark in the XHF. To prove I'm a tag team elite. Jack, Bobby... they spent months losing to Michael Storm. I beat him. To Hyperion. I beat him, in theory. winks To Seth Dillenger and Jackson Steele. Pfft. The legendary Icons have spent months losing to easy foes, only securing wins over the likes of Copycat and the scum from the underbelly of RSW and SSS.
Dylan laughs, and puts the award and championship back in their respective homes, chuckling as he turns to the camera. His tone turns a tad more serious.
Dylan Viper: The Icons are truly nothing more then whiny brats who cry when they don't get their way. Look at their exit from AWF. They threw a fit about Seth beating them, made a whole anti-gay facade, and threw their fingers up in the air as they left the company. For a couple of near-40 year old twats, it's utterly childish they act as such. But folks, imagine the tantrum they'll throw when they walk out of Supremacy with no titles in hand.
Dylan Viper: I don't care if he wins the X*Crown match though, that's not what I'm here for. I'm here to pry the tag team championships from the Icon's cold, dying hands.
Dylan kneels in front of the camera, leaning in towards the camera.
Dylan Viper: So Bobby... bring your Shooting Star Championship. That shit won't phase me a bit, it's a dead championship. Just, be careful. You might not be the only Icon bringing an ICW Championship to Supremacy.
He winks, and shuts off the camera, ending the feed.
Fin.
Boston, MA
We open on darkness. Black, silence.
Then, we get a break in the darkness, as we have a POV shot of eyes opening. The scenery is in a hospital room, and although our vision is a bit fuzzy, we can hear the noises of an indistinguishable football game from a small screen on the wall. As our protagonist shakes the cobwebs, a door flies open, and in walks Hailey Black and a doctor.
The camera changes and we see Dylan laying in the hospital bed. He's groggy, but is making out his surroundings. His eyes widen, and he looks towards his mother.
Dylan Viper: M... Ma? What.. Why am I here?
Hailey sighs, and sits beside her son's bed.
Hailey Black: You, uh. You were on quite a journey.
Dylan Viper: Huh?
Dylan goes to rub at his eyes, but hears the sounds of metallic whirring. He looks down, and to his horror, sees his right hand his been replaced with a cybernetic robot hand. His breathing becomes shallow and rapid, and he turns to the doctor.
Dylan Viper: What happened? What the hell happened to my hand?!
The doctor shuffles through a few papers on a clipboard, looking down the bridge of his nose at Dylan.
Doctor: Well, Mr. Viper, you had a bit of a "freak accident." When you fought Big Drag in the second Jefe Wars episode, "The Empire Strike Back," he actually cut your hand off. There was no hope to repair it. I'm sorry, sir. On, uh. On the bright side, I own copies of the first two Jefe Wars episodes, if you wish to watch them.
The doctor smiles haplessly, but Dylan is the least bit amused. He stares holes through the doctor, who takes the hint and gets out. Dylan sighs, and uses his remaining flesh hand to hang his head in. His mother, unsure of how to comfort her now handicapped son(would he be handicapped? do further research), pats his back.
Hailey Black: It could be worse, Dylan. At least you have your legs. At least you can use the handicap spots. At lea-
Dylan Viper: Mom.
Hailey Black: Not helping?
Dylan Viper: No.
They sit in silence for a moment, before Hailey grabs her purse and goes to the door.
Hailey Black: I'll leave you be, Dylan. Rest up, you ought to be let out of here in a few days or so.
Dylan nods, and she exits the room. Dylan lays back, closing his eyes and drifting into the endless oblivion of eternal slumber as we fade to black.
09 January 2019
Boston, MA
We open on the outside of the hospital where Dylan has resided at for the last two to three weeks. Dylan has his right arm in a sling, and in his left hand clutches a doctor's note with which details he must take physical therapy in order to get the fullest out of his new appendage. They both climbs into his mothers car, and begin to make the journey home.
As they drive onto a highway, Dylan reaches for the radio dial to play some music. Hailey, however, is not a fan of music while driving, as it's just as distracting as recording an RP while driving. She smacks his hand away, and he recoils, feigning being seriously hurt.
Dylan Viper: Ow! What the fuck, that seriously hurt!
She rolls her eyes.
Hailey Black: Oh shut up.
*Dylan crumples up the note in his fist, sighing and looking out the window, before opening it back up and re-reading it for the umpteenth time. He speaks softly, reading the note, before shoving it into his pants pocket. He ponders for a moment, before noticing a crucial detail is missing.
Dylan Viper: Hey mom, where's the creep?
Hailey Black: Who?
Dylan Viper: The fat man. The ugly fuck who's been hitting on you since high school.
Hailey Black: Oh, you mean your, uh, "father." Jeffrey.
Dylan Viper: Yeah, him. Why isn't he here, laughing at the fact I'm missing a fucking hand.
Hailey Black: Yeah. Um, about that... best we wait until we get home.
Dylan Viper: Oh god...
Later that day...
Dylan Viper: HE FUCKING DID WHAT?!
We cut to Dylan and Hailey, at home, where Hailey has pulled up the promo where Jeffrey called the cops and misused 911, reporting a murder that would never take place. Dylan groans, putting his head in his hands, as Hailey bites her lip. She wants to make light of the situation, but with her son's partner in jail for the foreseeable future, his heart is weighed down. She instead opts to close the laptop where they were playing the promo, sitting on the couch beside him.
Hailey Black: By the way... know you're more pissed with him then ever, but he's asking for us, or rather you to pay his bail.
Dylan, who's grabbed a glass of water and began to take a long drink, spits the drink out all over the rug. Hailey looks up disgruntled as Dylan is laughing, hysterically, doing a standing ROFL. He calms down and regains his composure, looking down at his mom.
Dylan Viper: You serious?
Hailey Black: Do you want to hear the voicemail he left during his one call he's given?
Dylan Viper: Absolutely not. I'm 90% sure it's a bunch of moaning and sexing you up, and I don't need any of that shit in my life.
Hailey Black: Well, if you don't bail him out, how will you beat the Icons at Supremacy?
Dylan Viper: sighs I'll think of something.
Hailey leans back, amused, a smirk across her face.
Hailey Black: Like what? It'd be a two-on-one match. Mongo won't award you victory out of pity because you get your ass handed to you. He'll shrug in his office, because he'll be making mad bank. Be real, Dylan, you NEED Jeffrey, whether you like it or not, to have even a smidgen of a chance to win.
Dylan sighs, not sure where to go from there. No, it's not impossible to win by himself, but against the likes of Jack and Bobby? That's nigh impossible. He finally caves, shaking his head.
Dylan Viper: Fine. Whatever. I'll bail his ass out. What's it, uh. Gonna cost me?
Hailey glances down, opening her phone and playing the voicemail Jeffrey sent her. She listens for a moment, the phone to her ear, before she looks up at Dylan.
Hailey Black: Roughly, ah.. five hundred to one thousand dollars.
Dylan Viper: jaw drops Are you fucking serious? I barely made that much per match in AXW, and even less now in Champoon! How the fuck does he expect me to pay that off?
Hailey looks crossly at Dylan.
Hailey Black: A simple google search would reveal that companies like GWA, FWA, and VTW Wrestling pay you quite the pretty penny. Your net worth is around two million dollars, son. And who knows how much you've got saved up over the years!
He lets out a long, drawn out sigh. Unfortunately, his mother's got a point. He's accumulated a large sum of wealth over his years of international stardom, and a measly 500 is nothing.
Dylan Viper: ...fine. I'll go get him.
Welcome to the XHF Network
Your Video is Loading...
We open on a wide shot of a trophy room, where various awards and accolades are cased up along walls. From measly little "slammy" trophies to full on championship belts, the room shines with an aura of gold. As the camera pans, we see a case door open, and someone standing there, dusting the championships inside. The someone turns around, to be revealed as Dylan.
Dylan Viper: Oh hi, I didn't see you there. Welcome, one and all, to my own, homemade vault. See, Bobby, you're not the only one with 19 championships. Sure, you've got them all at the same time, while I've had two to three at a time, at most. So I hope while you're boosting your ego, shitty British accent "I'm the best in the world because I hold 18 dead championships." Here's the thing, Bobby, you've only been relevant for a year, two years time, and just about all of that time you've been riding Jack's coattails. You've hid in his shadow. Jack's quite simply always been the better man, plain and simple.
He tosses aside the duster, picking up his FWA Fire and Ice Tag Team Championship.
Dylan Viper: My first title within the XHF Network. I proved from day one I was the right fit to carry the tag team division. Now sure, I've had a string of shitty partners, namely Dackle, who just simply weren't up to the Gold Standard I hold myself at, but there's no denying I'm the epitome of the XHF Tag Team division.
He drops the championship, now picking up an award that reads "Tag Team of the Year."
Dylan Viper: It took just two months for me to make my mark in the XHF. To prove I'm a tag team elite. Jack, Bobby... they spent months losing to Michael Storm. I beat him. To Hyperion. I beat him, in theory. winks To Seth Dillenger and Jackson Steele. Pfft. The legendary Icons have spent months losing to easy foes, only securing wins over the likes of Copycat and the scum from the underbelly of RSW and SSS.
Dylan laughs, and puts the award and championship back in their respective homes, chuckling as he turns to the camera. His tone turns a tad more serious.
Dylan Viper: The Icons are truly nothing more then whiny brats who cry when they don't get their way. Look at their exit from AWF. They threw a fit about Seth beating them, made a whole anti-gay facade, and threw their fingers up in the air as they left the company. For a couple of near-40 year old twats, it's utterly childish they act as such. But folks, imagine the tantrum they'll throw when they walk out of Supremacy with no titles in hand.
Dylan Viper: I don't care if he wins the X*Crown match though, that's not what I'm here for. I'm here to pry the tag team championships from the Icon's cold, dying hands.
Dylan kneels in front of the camera, leaning in towards the camera.
Dylan Viper: So Bobby... bring your Shooting Star Championship. That shit won't phase me a bit, it's a dead championship. Just, be careful. You might not be the only Icon bringing an ICW Championship to Supremacy.
He winks, and shuts off the camera, ending the feed.
Fin.
