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Post by Casanova English on May 8, 2023 0:27:51 GMT
Okay, how this works is you can post small mini-promos here or CD leading up to What Happens In Vegas. It can be chatting about the last PPV, your upcoming match, or just some CD on how the wrasslin world affects a wrestler’s life. I’ll post some stuff here as well hyping the PPV, interviews and breakdowns with CU:LT staff and board meetings to push along the lore of the company. This is completely up to you if this is used, no pressure, does not count toward RP scores for shows. SEGMENT DEADLINE
APRIL 28TH 11:59:59 PM EST
A SEGMENT FOR HIGHWAY TO... CULT TV OR KILLDOZER CUP WILL ADD A BONUS POINT FOR GRADES! NO POINT STACKING! |
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Post by Jonathan Bacchus on May 21, 2023 19:12:39 GMT
“Get the fuck out of the way!”
His voice bellowed through the commotion as Jonathan Bacchus trundled through the backstage, practically snapping his jaws like a hound in the direction of any stagehand or misplaced talent obstructing his direction towards the exit. He couldn’t feel the aching in his palm which freely dripping blood from the ring up the ramp and to the back – he couldn’t even feel the rubbing of the metal and leather that composed the New World Championship against his neck as it draped over his shoulder.
What he could feel was weight and warmth in his arms – what he could feel was weak breathing and constant bleeding – what he could feel was Lissie Hope.
She dangled in his grasp, limp and unconscious. The wounds of their battle were fresh, and both her palms and feet streamed with blood that seemed to have pooled over and seeped out the holes in the top of her wrestling boots. The noise of the arena around Jonathan resonated only as a high pitched ringing in his ear, anything else blurred and distorted beneath oceans of anxiety and desperation as he hauled both her and himself towards the exit. He ignored the startled gasp of Datura and the concerned stare of Slayer; he rebuked a sneer of Max Daemon only with a hiss of his own. When Alice Gemini advanced, her eyes wide with a mixture of pity and rage, his anger finally boiled over.
“Pick a fucking time and place, but give her some fucking room!”
Gemini stepped back, her expression unwavering. Jonathan continued forward, the doors to the outside just steps away. It was then that the shadows parted like two seas, a waft of cigarette smoke preceding an arrival. And when Casanova English stepped in front of the doors, the corners of his twisted mouth were already drawn up in a smile.
Jonathan Bacchus paused, as the man before him continued to smoke his cigarette. They stood in silence, Jonathan regarding him with an icy stare as English responded back with a tight, malevolent smile. The King of CU:LT took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke to cut the silence before flicking the ash off the end.
Jonathan replied in kind with a spit.
The wad of saliva hit English on the eyebrow, slowly sliding downwards over his lid. He reached up slowly, wiping it away and flicking his hand to cast it aside. His smile never wavered – if anything, it grew wider. Nonetheless, he stepped aside as Jonathan burst through the doors and out into the parking lot, panic fully taking hold as he trashed wildly to break the surface for air.
The closest location he could drive to was the Fort Sanders Regional Medical Center Emergency Room on the other side of the University grounds from the arena. She seemed stable, but her wounds were ugly, the shortest trip possible was a necessity. They didn’t ask many questions after he confirmed with them their occupation as professional wrestlers and employment with CU:LT – perhaps they’d been forewarned. Nonetheless, there was little time before Elisabeth Hope was in a gurney being wheeled into a private room. They allowed him to remain at her side; they gave her stitches and an IV while providing him coffee and a thin hospital blanket to pull over his shoulders during the night.
Her vitals were stable and showed no sign for concern. Perhaps she’d just accepted fatigue and shock as an excuse to sleep and recover. Still, Jonathan Bacchus sat at her bedside, sipping his coffee, and holding vigil.
It was a quiet night. The doctors had cleaned her of any dried blood and laid her on fresh linens, only her undergarments and a blanket concealing her. His phone buzzed and vibrated with unanswered activity for the first hour; then he silenced it so he could remain undisturbed. Outside the window, he could see the pale specter of Alice Gemini staring out from the parking lot. He finished the mediocre hospital coffee in a few quick gulps, just to be sure there’d be no likelihood he would lose vigilance.
She slept peacefully – the beeping of the heart monitor and her gentle breathing the only sounds in the room. Her hands lay above the blankets, and his eyes focused on them. How he wanted to reach out and cup it gently like a baby bird in his hand; how he wanted to press his lips to the lids of her eyes to prompt them open. How he was tempted to crawl into the hospital bed beside her, hold her against his chest, and wake with her in the morning like in that Fort Lauderdale hammock almost a year ago.
But he did not – he merely sat by her bedside in silence, watching her sleep. When the sun began to rise, he looked out the window once more and noticed the shape of Gemini had fled; it prompted his only smile of the past ten hours. His ears piqued as her breathing changed, from long and deep breaths to more shallow and irregular; before panic could set in, she rolled over onto her side, facing the morning sun coming through the window and lazily began to stretch.
He left in silence before she could turn back to him, and as he made his way through the halls, he ignored the calls of Lissie’s attending nurse for him. Out in the parking lot, he cracked the window of his rental car and reclined the seat. Then, Jonathan finally allowed himself to sleep. |
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Job
New Member
Posts: 15
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Post by Job on May 22, 2023 18:02:50 GMT
High above the the streets of Manhattan, Paul Freedom felt, at last, satisfied with the framing of the shot. The placement of the tripod, the angle of the aperture, and the zoom of the lens had all, finally, come together just right. He had fiddled with his phone's audio settings to the point that he was, ultimately, satisfied with the extent to which his voice had carried over the tone of his living room without sacrificing the organic quality of the sound. Nothing was perfect, of course, or even necessarily as good as it could get, but it was sufficient to leave him confident that the signal he intended to transmit would cut through the noise, at least on his end. He stepped, delicately, to the duct tape X on the floor, taking care lest his footfalls jostle this meticulous arrangement. Facing the lens, he took a deep breath, released it, and then tapped the button to initiate the stream. "Hey, CULTists! This is Paul Freedom, coming at you from my living room in the fabulous Tower Black!" With that, Paul, or at least the image Paul was projecting, made its way to screens around the world.
"As you probably know, at Heaven Sent I competed in an inferno battle royal for a shot at the New World Championship. Ultimately, I came up short, but apart from the obvious downside of losing that sort of match I'm holding up pretty well!" In Arlington, Massachusetts, Cousin Jommy fought a losing battle with his relatives to keep the channel from being changed to something--anything, really--else.
"I think, first and foremost, I want to congratulate Mr. Knox on his victory! It was truly an honor to be in the same ring with him, and I can tell you all that from my vantage point he absolutely earned his shot." In Calgary, Alberta, Canada, Amanda Davis shifted in a plastic-backed chair that expertly blurred the line between being ergonomically designed and just plain uncomfortable.
"I also think congratulations are in order for the wrestler who eliminated me, Trey Bouchet! He made a huge impact from the moment he hit the ring and, true to his name, demonstrated with me that he could launch a 200 pound projectile with ease." Next to Amanda, propped up in an adjustable bed, was an elderly man watching the screen with laser focus. He was gnarled, toughened, and vast, a sycamore tree in flannel pajamas.
"As for the wrestlers I eliminated, well, as tempting as it is to claim superiority to them or whatever, it's at least as dishonest. In a match like that, with the sort of chaos it can bring, it's tough to claim that eliminating someone even meant I was the better wrestler that night, let alone in general!" In Bel Air, Maryland, Charity White sat in her bedroom with a contraband device inches from her face, watching in silent fascination as the speech wound on, unresponsive, but not oblivious, to the chattering between the six identical faces ringing her own.
"That's why I just want to make it clear that, if any of you feel like you have some sort of score to settle with me, I'd be all too happy to help you out with that at your earliest convenience! Well, assuming I come out of my next match in competitive shape, at least..." In the basement of the same house, two men sat in metal folding chairs and glowered at the same image on a large display hung on the wall. They were each some distance into middle age, but both had the musculature to suggest that they still had every right to the singlets they wore.
"After all, while Adrienne Beaufort had an impressive résumé as a fighter going into that match, she now has a few more references to go along with that! Our match at All Hell's Acoming is going to be one heck of a test for me and, pass or fail, I want there to be no mistake that my final grade represents my best effort." The Patchwork King simply stared, through layer after layer of lens, and tried to get a glimpse into Paul's soul. It proved too distorted to make out, at least at this distance, through these media.
And you? You watched, too, though it is beyond the scope of this document to say where, when, or how. It suffices that you did. "Appreciate you, folks! Paul Freedom out."
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Post by Alice Gemini on May 23, 2023 23:23:55 GMT
The Definition of Alice According to The Devil His fingers interlocked and he leaned forward with his elbows placed atop his knees. His hair perfectly in place with his usual left side swoop and his constantly pursed skinny lips and judging eyes focused right on Alice. She sat across from him with annoyance and disdain for this man. Alice loathed him and if she didn’t need she would certainly attempt to kill him and be rid of this problem.
They sat together at an empty and abandoned building because no one would think to find them both there. She came only with the promise of being told more of the operation being planned and why she was so important to what he needed to achieve.
“I’m getting very tired of meeting like this. I mean, really? Why does it always have to be some abandoned bullshit? Can’t we just meet at some diner or park or literally anything else?”
He looks back up slowly at Alice with frustration. His gaze felt different as if there was a completely different person behind it.
“Two things define you, Alice. Your patience when you have nothing and your attitude when you have everything. I thought I was right about you but every time we talk you lower my expectations. You’ve experienced success so far and that’s what you have done for yourself but now that you’ve felt what it was like, you’ve become complacent. Losing to Elizabeth Hope was an action you believed was correct and what you thought needed to happen. You have no idea as to why still, correct?”
Alice is taken aback and the speed of her blinking speeds up as she avoids eye contact. He continues to glare at her waiting for a response.
“You have no idea who I am, you don’t know why I do what I do, you don’t know what makes me happy. Lizzie is a very close friend-”
“Is she? What makes her a ‘very close friend’?”
“Well… Why does that matter to you?”
“It doesn’t.”
She clenches her jaw tightly and her icy blue eyes turn to crimson red as her patience is quickly disappearing.
“To lose patience is to lose the battle. Have you lost your patience with Johnathan Bacchus?”
“Don’t even fucking do that. If you want your question answered so bad, fine. I love her. Not because of her looks or how strong she is like most of those worthless men that drool over her. She’s just… like me. People judge her just as much as they praise her, if not more. She’s dealt with so much vitriol and hate that most other women would curl up and disappear. Not her though, she’s mentally strong enough to have even survived herself. That’s why I’m so attracted to her. That’s why I hate Johnny for hurting her.”
A smirk crawls across his face and he stands up and unfolds his jacket that was draped over his arm. He never stops smirking as he throws his jacket back on.
“Nothing? I finally open up about her and now you’re just leaving? That wasn’t fucking easy!”
“Alice, she can never be yours. Elizabeth will never truly belong to anyone’s heart. At the most, you could sleep with her but you will not have reached that level of emotional affection you so desperately crave. Re-evaluate your priorities because I can’t tolerate this."
He begins walking away but Alice quickly jumps in front of him in confusion.
“Woah, just… wait. I can make this right. What do you need from me?”
“Kill that vampire slayer you have chained up in your dungeon and we’ll talk. I don’t care how but make sure it gets done. While you’re at it… kill her husband that you enthralled. If you don’t then I’ll just tend to them myself. Don’t take long.”
“Paradiso is my best thrall! Why do you need him killed too?”
He completely pauses with his back turned towards her. He slightly turns his head to see over his shoulder and peers at her.
“Take. Them. Both.” |
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Post by JJ Slayer on May 26, 2023 14:50:44 GMT
***OOC note: thanks for taking part KILROY!*** ——— If Dame Fortune’s expression could be seen, it would be one of sheer, unadulterated contempt. The Dying Squirrel is the kind of dive bar that gives other dive bars a bad name, and despite the efforts of the new owner the fresh coat of paint does little to hide it.
The woman, far overdressed as she is in her expensive wrap and porcelain mask, stands out like a sore thumb as she approaches the bar. The woman is flanked on either side by hired muscle, hulking brutes of the variety that wouldn’t hesitate to dispose of a body. One of the men holds a Zero Halliburton case in his hand, attached to his wrist with a handcuff.
Once Dame reaches the bar, she turns to face the room, clearing her throat.“This is The Dying Squirrel, is it not? Casanova English’s establishment?” The questions, it would seem, are rhetorical, as Dame continues, “I’m here to make a proposal. Do any of you reprobates wrestle for CULT?” There’s a murmur from the bums, bikers, and boozers, but that gets interrupted by the lights dimming and the shitty song playing on the jukebox abruptly ends, which leads to those same barflies letting out a concerted groan. But then…As Iggy Pop’s lovely voice begins crooning, some of the lights by the jukebox both illuminate it and…This weird creature begins moving and gyrating to the beat, slinking and slithering in the direction of Dame and her associates. The closer he gets to them, the more at the ready the colossi become. Noticing this, they condescendingly hold up their hands and make an insincere scaredy face.“I come in peace!” he lied, “I’m just kidding, I’m a reprobate from my beeeest friend Casanova English’s COMBAT! UNLIMITED! LETHAL! TRIIIIAAAALLLLSSSS!” He holds up a finger the second he stops speaking, disallowing them a chance to respond just yet. Instead, he holds up said finger as he circles them, examining them thoroughly, ending his pacing right behind them.
“Hmm. Hmm, hmm, HMM. Well, if you can cook and clean my cave, I guesssssss I could accept your proposal, buuuuut…” Dame stands her ground as the oddity lumbers towards her group. When the guards move to block his path closer she holds up a hand to wave them off. She then defiantly turns around and steps closer to him. “Mmm. Are you familiar with the others who wrestle in the company? Specifically, JJ Slayer?” There’s a lengthy pause, as the more or less neutral look on his face begins to droop into a frown. “So, we’re, NOT, getting married. Nevermind that, yeah, I know AJ Slater, she’s pretty nice.” “Oh I see, you’re one of those ones who have been hit with a chair in the head a few too many times. That’s ideal, in all honesty. The proposal I had in mind is of the message sending sort. I want you to put Mr. Slayer in a world of hurt next month, and in return you will receive this.” The woman gestures to the man holding the briefcase. He opens it up, revealing it to be filled with rows of cash. “$50,000 for the match, with an extra 25 if you beat him and 25 more if you make a real show of it. Think that’s something you can handle?” KILROY’s eyes grow wide at the briefcase. “WwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwOW! What a briefcase! I could keep all my coyote meat in here with some ice! I guess I’d have to steal some ice, though.” “I don’t know the going rate of Coyote but I imagine you could get quite a lot of it with 50k. So, do we have a deal?” The guard closes the case, if only to help the man focus back towards the task at hand.“Fifty WHAT?” KILROY asks.“…The money I just said I would pay you if you faced JJ Slayer.” Dame’s tone is exasperated as she shakes her head, considering how to best explain her desires to the man who is clearly not as quick on the uptake as she’d like. “Bodies in The Bayou. You have a match with JJ Slayer. I want you to hurt him, and I’ll pay you for it. Understand?” “Are you saying Junko Souma’s name wrong?” KILROY asks using an accusatory tone. “Because it’s pronounced June-Ko So-Mah, and I’ll guh-LADLY put THAT body in a bayou, a swamp, a public swimming pool, hell, even a septic tank would do in a pinch! Just don’t forget to hold your breath! Ha ha HA.” One of the guards leans over to whisper something into the Dame’s ear, which draws a sigh from the woman. “That’s your match for this month, I’m talking next month, after you’ve dealt with your “Junko” problem. That would free you up to assist me with mine, yes?” KILROY’s face becomes affixed into an unmoving agape twisted semblance of confusion. It stays there for some time; within his mind, the concept of a life after Junko Souma is inconceivable. He struggles to think of a future beyond her. But then what did he think would happen if he actually did destroy her? KILROY doesn’t think that far ahead. And as a result, he’s stuck in some fugue state, the cogs in his brain stopped but desperately trying to spin again.“Uh, I think you might have broken him, boss.” Both of the suited men flanking Dame look quite confused as they watch KILROY’s system crash, for lack of a better term.Dame Fortune, for her part, buries her masked face in one of her hands, muttering under her breath. After a moment to recollect herself, she steps forward, snacking the man in the back of the head. “Focus! Would it be easier if someone wrote this down for you?” KILROY shakes the cobwebs free, widening his eyes and blinking them hard to lubricate them again. “Yeah, yeah, no no, JJ Slayer, Bodies in the Bayou, free briefcase, Junko Souma, I got it, you gotta DEAL!” “Excellent! I’m assuming you don’t have people that I can make contractual arrangements with… how about we just leave you my card and you get in touch when the task is done?” As Dame speaks, the man with the case reaches into his pocket, pulling out a business card and holding it out to KILROY.KILROY takes it, examines it very thoroughly, before nodding. “Yup, yup, yes, I got it. So who’s Dame Fortune?” “Someone who will be paying you a lot of money if you do a good job. Any questions?” The woman folds her arms, waiting rather impatiently. Now that she’s getting what she wants, it’s past time to leave this particular dive.KILROY has many questions. "Nope. I'll make JJ Slayer JJ Slayed, nooooo problemo!" “Perfect!” Dame motions to the men flanking her, and the trio make their exit, leaving KILROY to contemplate those questions on his own time. |
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Post by theravenmattknox on May 29, 2023 13:21:29 GMT
“It’s freeing, almost…knowing how you’re going to be perceived before you ever step foot in a place…”
The camera snaps on to find Matthew Knox dressed decidedly casually for his usually dapper self in a black hoodie and black jeans. He’s barefoot with his feet dug firmly into the shoreline of the Bosque river, his face turned away from the camera as he watches the current carry whatever it damn well pleases out towards the ocean.
“The second Keeton suggested signing up for that damned battle royale at Heaven Sent, I knew deep down that should I come out on top? I was going to face nothing but the venomous ire of a locker room that had no use for me, or what I bring to the table..” he paused, a small smile cracking his weathering features “An outsider among Outsiders..”
“I knew, that should I win that I would face the same exact sort of opposition from whoever held the New World Title at the end of the night. I also knew that it would take only the most basic of provocations to send them into a tizzy..” a pause, his eyes find the camera “That’s an old word for ‘bad mood’ or some rot, Johnny…i’ll be sure to try and note date myself too terribly.”
He turns his body away from the water then, face thoughtful as his gaze focuses on something off in the distance.
“I knew all this, and I still followed though. And to the surprise of no one who is being truthful with themselves? I won, and I went out after Johnny had curicifed Lissie like she’d just said something stupid on Twitter again and I put my fingerprints on the Rascal King’s crown..”
“Because I knew that was all that really mattered to him. I knew that when he would see her blood stains on it, he’d lie to himself and say he was mad that she had bled when really, he was mad she had bled upon his prize…” he leans forward then ,eyes finding the camera once more “It’s ravenous, isn’t it Johnathon? It’s ravenous and it Moves us…”
He motioned behind him off handedly “Hence…the imagery, you know?” a soft chuckle, he dug his feet deeper into the soil, producing a smoke seemingly from nowehere and sparking up with a zippo of equally ambiguous origins.
“But enough of the mind games and the truth telling. We’ve already done that now, haven’t we Johnny? You and me, we got nothing left to say that won’t be said loud and clear in the main event on the 31st, A momentous occasion no matter what happens. I do hope you enjoy having the entire locker room in your corner, though Johnny…because they won’t last”
He takes a slow drag, exhaling through a chuckle that overtakes him, gaze moving to his mostly buried feet before he continues “So goddamn bitter and angry at my existence, and my continued success that in one voice, the locker room of the company that’s supposed to be filled with absolute killers makes themselves look like infants comparable to those in SCW…It was almost identical really….Maybe right down to the ending…
Ask Mac Bane about that one…”
“I show up. I get an opportunity in no time flat, which causes all the ones not good enough to capitalize on the situations the’re thrust into to get up in arms. Suddenly it’s fucking taboo to win a shot at a title in an open invitation…as one of the open invitations.
Seriously, you couldn’t be any more transparent if you tried. But, if you tried, you wouldn’t be in a position of such ugly envy, would you?” another drag, he exhales through his nostrils.
“Maybe that’s harsh. Maybe i’ll eat those words and Jonathan will strike me down, and you’ll get to parade my failure while those of you with access to social media in your dive bars and your trailer parks tag me on Twitter with messages celebrating my departure…” a small smirk “This is where I tell you that i’ve decided to deny you that.
See, even if Keeton sticks around and I have an ally? Even with some of the passing compliments i’ve gotten from those who were in that fiery crucible with me? I know that I don’t fit in here with this…this Cult. This thinly-veiled vanity project to English’s depravities…In fact, I would venture so far as to say i’m the absolute antithesis of this place”
“An industry standard walking among the reprobates who would buck against those standards. The fucking success that you sneer at while convincing yourself that this violent, cruel way of doing things is the only way…
Again…Ugly, unbecoming envy.”
He steps out of the soil then, taking one last drag on the smoke before flicking it toward the camera.
“All this to say…I’ve taken root and made roost here. Do I intend to do so as the New World Champion? Of course I do. And I also intend to end the Hot Potato act that title has had going on, as well as I intend on helping it live up to it’s name by reshaping this depraved hellhole into an actual New World.
One in my vision.
Because my vision? It may not be right, but it sure as hell doesn’t have anything to do with Crucifixion or massive living funeral pyres. It’s not a world where a man as small and hateful as Casanova English gets to take out the cruelty life likely dealt him on our crueler selves….
And it is not a World where your minimal effort will ever be rewarded again.”
His smile forms fully now, broad and baring teeth far too white for his tobacco habit. He approaches the camera slowly, his gate and the loose soil causing him to bob almost like the Raven he borrowed so much from for the sake of his monicker.
“And for those of you with designs to stop me? Look to the twenty five who failed, look to the defeat in Johnny Bacchus should he fail or succeed….know that defeat is an inevitability..”
“But so am I.”
With a final twitch in the corner of his mouth, the smile fades as he walks off lens and the camera fades to the sound of his footsteps retreating against the gentle babbling of the flowing river.
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