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View Full Version : [3. LoC vs. 6. NFW] Derecho vs. Nova - Thirty Minute Danger Zone Iron Man Match



TH
09-26-06, 09:54 PM
The most falls within a thirty minute time period wins. There are no rope breaks.

RP Deadline is Wednesday, October 4th, 11:59:59 PM.

Derecho
09-27-06, 03:55 PM
It was Round Two of the TEAM Invitational Tournament. The weak had been filtered out and the strong continued to shine. Naturally, Derecho had been included in that group known as the strong. He was a fighter. He never gave up and now, once again, the battle between LoC and NFW continued, but this time, the favor was in LoC as Derecho had been given the option to pick the stipulation for his match against Nova. Would the former owner of X Wrestling go sadistic or would he remain mild mannered in this choice?

The answer to that question was about to be revealed.

Derecho.

His figure stood there in front of a giant LoC logo in his locker room. He stood there in casual dress which included a navy blue shirt and khaki pants. That attire had been the normal for Derecho since his inception to the wrestling industry. He felt no need to change it then, nor did he feel a need to change it now. He looked straight into the camera and began to speak.

“Here we are at Round Two of the TEAM Invitational Tournament. While much has happened in the first round, one thing remained constant. Team LoC…. Nay… Team Derecho prevailed. While Jason Payne and I had Match of the Week and perhaps Match of the Year during the beginnings of this tournament, I learned something from that experience. I learned how to focus.”

Derecho’s look became more serious as he continued on with his speech.

“You see. Even in LoC, I took my opponents lightly. I always felt that I could beat anyone or pin anyone that stepped in front of me. I walked around here with my Legacy Championship and flaunted it in the faces of everything and everyone. I actually liked what I had become until Jason Payne opened my eyes. Since then, along with Kevin Kassidy Kenwright, destroyed two tag teams in the second and third weeks of the first round and it showed what a focused Derecho was capable of.”

Derecho’s expression hardly changed as he continued on.

“If you think that my focus has changed since then, Nova, then I am sad to inform you that you would be mistaken. I will be coming into this match with full focus and attention. I will be coming into this match with purpose and determination along with a drive and hunger to win. This is a competition and I am no longer here to showboat. People know me… they have always known me and that’s they way it will always be. I have an opportunity to seize the brass ring for the Legacy of Champions, and I aim to do so and if it means having to go through you, Nova, then so be it.”

Derecho closed his eyes in thought as he looked down at the ground. He waved his finger in the air as if an idea had steadily come to his mind.

“You know… there are many matches I could choose here as the ball is in my court. I’ve wrestled in, conjured up, or had some hand in, at least, every single match type you have ever seen in professional wrestling and even some you haven’t heard of. I could pull a wild card and use an Xw original match concept, but that would be unfair. That would clearly give the advantage to me as I would be familiar with the match concept and rules. I could choose a traditional gimmick match like a steel cage, a ladder match, a tables match, a bull rope match, a leather strap match, the list goes on, but then again, that would be too generic.”

Derecho paused for a brief moment.

“Bloodshed is one thing, but I am here for what this tournament epitomizes: and that is competition. So I decided to come up with a classic match type with a slight twist on the stipulations. Nova… I challenge you to a thirty minute Iron Man match, but not just any iron man match. Pinfall and Submissions… since there are no count outs… are the only means of scoring a point and the ring ropes are deemed legal. Therefore, if I wish to apply an abdominal stretch to you on the top rope, I can do so. If I wish to tie you up with a boston crab in between the ropes… I will do so. If you’re in a pin or if you’re in a submission hold… the ropes will not save you. This is pure competition. It is what I am here for. Under these rules… we will find out who the better wrestler is.”

Derecho turned and walked away from the camera as the scene faded to black.

Derecho
09-29-06, 04:49 PM
Derecho sat comfortably on a couch within his dressing room. He looked at the watch on his wrist and noticed that it was a particular time. Derecho then reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed a random number and brought the cell phone up to his ear.

After a brief moment…

“Hi… this is Derecho. I was just checking in to see if there was any footage left for me…. …. …. I see… …. …. Well thank you for you time.”

Derecho pushed END on his cell phone and slipped it back into his pocket. Derecho sat up on the couch and looked at his watch once again.

“Hmph” muttered Derecho

“It seems that people in this tournament are either lazy or they have a new found respect for me and my abilities because they are doing the wisest thing possible and that is keeping their mouths shut.”

Derecho cracked a grin as he sat back into his leather couch.

“Imagine sitting here and being on top of the world in the greatest organization in the world and having each and every one of your opponents keep their lips shut? Well, that is what has happened here during this tournament. The only person with enough balls to actually step up and say something was Jason Payne and that isn’t really saying much to begin with.”

Derecho sat forward and gazed off into the camera.

“Nova… you were the one that I had hoped to create another war of words with. I was hoping that you could be the next Jason Payne. To have another verbal match of the week, but it seems that you have chosen your own path: the path of the silent one; however, I will not take such a path. I am here for the competition and that means I am here to compete physically, mentally, and verbally so if I have to sit here and compete with dead air waves, then so be it because at least dead air waves can’t open their mouth and retaliate in a fashion where it embarrasses them beyond belief which is something I am sure that you would due if you gave yourself the opportunity.”

Derecho stood up and grabbed his black trench coat. He looked back at the camera as he slung the coat over his right shoulder.

“I’m off to go train for our match because unlike you, I actually care about this tournament and I actually care about winning it for Team Derecho. I am going to be in top physical condition come our match. It seems that the war of words has already been won, now it’s time to prepare for the physical altercation that will, no doubt, score another hash mark in my win column and continue to build my winning streak here at the Dupree Cup.”

Derecho took his leave, but stopped suddenly.

“See ya ‘round…. Perhaps.”

Derecho continued on and his scene faded to black.

Nova
10-02-06, 01:56 PM
(CUT TO: Nova, fast asleep in his bed, snoring atrociously as Bob Dylan’s Nashville Skyline plays softly in the background from a laptop computer.) The NFW…um…mid-carder stirs for a moment…

NOVA: Mmmm…Eddie? George? You guys want me to play with the P-Funk All-Stars? Far out…

…but does not awaken fully from his dream, in which blonde big-tittied *****es are no doubt slathering him in exfoliating sensual oils while George Clinton rolls the fattest spliff imaginable of the bubonic chronic, the ‘stickiest of the icky,’ as Mr. Chappelle might say. I mean, he might.

Ring-ring-ring!!

NOVA: (head still buried in his pillow) Mmmph!

Ring-ring-ring!!

NOVA: MMMPPPH!!!

Ring-ring-ring!!

Nova flings back the covers indignantly and slams a hand down on the phone, yanking it off its receiver.

NOVA: ARRGH!! WHAT THE HELL, MAN?! WHO IS IT?! IT’S THE MIDDLE OF THE ****ING NIGHT!

VOICE: Nova, it’s five o’clock at night. This is Tom Holzerman. I’m calling to remind you that Team NFW is still in the Dupree Cup, and you’re set to face Derecho from Team LoC this week. No one’s heard from you in days.

Nova sighs loudly, grabbing a cigarette off the night-table and lighting it.

NOVA: No, Tom…I won the Dupree Cup, remember? I beat the bricks outta that, uh…that, uh…Waco…Waco Pat…Pat…I beat the bricks outta that guy, remember? NFW wins, commiserations to whoever else was playing or whatever. I’m going back to sleep now. Thanks for interrupting the greatest dream ever, Holzerman.

TOM HOLZERMAN: It wasn’t the one with the blonde big-tittied *****es, exfoliating sensual oils, George Clinton, and the fattest joint ever, was it?

NOVA: Yes, it actually was, and those don’t come around but every couple of months, so if you don’t mind, **** you, I’m tired. Goodnight, Tom.

TOM HOLZERMAN: Nova, that was one match. ONE. MATCH. The Dupree Cup is a tournament. Tournaments have lots of matches.

NOVA: (exhaling smoke) Don’t patronize me, Tom. I know what a tournament is.

TOM HOLZERMAN: …

NOVA: …

TOM HOLZERMAN: …

NOVA: …okay, what is it?

TOM HOLZERMAN: You and the rest of Team NFW, Payne, Lone Wolf, and WildStar, still have more matches against the other teams that remain, and the competition is no joke, Nova. Your opponent has already cut promos, and is probably training for the match as we speak.

NOVA: I’ve been training too, Tom. Ya know, if you ever cared to ask about my workout regimen or anything…

TOM HOLZERMAN: Playing Paperboy and jerking it to Shannon Tweed soft-core VHS tapes is not a training regimen, Nov.

NOVA: Hey, soft-core makes you work for it. Kids these days are just lazy. When I was a teenager…

TOM HOLZERMAN: I really don’t like where this conversation is going, so I’m gonna take my leave now. Get your ass down here, shoot some videos, hype the match, and fight for NFW. Got me?

NOVA: Do you think I would look good in a basketball jersey? I mean, I don’t really have a team, per se, but I could just pick one with lots of cool colors on…Tom? Tom, you there?

(CUT TO: Nova, seated in a chair with a TEAM backdrop behind him. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with a yellow NFW logo on it, and pajama pants. His eyes, though squinted and bloodshot, stare intently into the camera.)

NOVA: Oh, I’m here, Derecho. Don’t worry. I’m here, and I’m pissed. Why am I pissed, you could conceivably be asking yourself right now…

He lights a cigarette.

NOVA: I’m pissed because no one informed me that we were doing impressions, and I’ve got a wicked George C. Scott from Patton, you know, where he slaps the soldier and is all like…“YOU’RE A COWARD, BUH-GAW-GAW-GAW!!”

He chuckles to himself for a moment, then straightens up.

NOVA: I mean, I’m only assuming that we were supposed to be doing impressions because you, sir, pulled out the best “Generic Wrestling Spiel” impersonation I’ve seen since Brandon Youngblood made the microphone cry in PRIME. “I’ve seen every match type, I’ve done this, I’ve done that, I’ve…” *snoooooooooooooorrreee* AND THEY’RE DROPPIN’ LIKE FLIES, FOLKS! IF YOU EVER WONDERED WHAT AN ARENA OF SLEEPING WRESTLING FANS LOOKED LIKE, GRAB A SHOT ON YOUR CAMERA PHONE NOW!

He takes a drag of his cigarette and shakes his head.

NOVA: What next? You gonna “take me to the limit,” “beat the man to be the man,” “no guts, no glory,” “go hard or go home?”

From off-screen, someone starts a “TWO MEN ENTER! ONE MAN LEAVES!” chant, and Nova gives them a thumbs-up.

NOVA: I mean, ****, man, aren’t you like the World Champion or whatever in LoC? Or something? Around these parts, I’m Mid-Card Nobody, pHD, but I fancy myself slicker on the mic than you are.

He takes another drag from the cigarette and flicks it away, grinning into the camera as smoke shoots out of his nose.

NOVA: But you have a few days to prove me wrong. I’m your Huckleberry for that Ironman Match, Derecho. The Dupree Cup belongs to NFW.

(FTB)

Derecho
10-02-06, 07:33 PM
The scene opened up with Derecho as he sat on a couch in his dressing room, channel surfing. He stopped on the evening news because, hey! Everyone watches that!

“Tonight on CBS news: Pro-Wrestling real or fake? How the Iraqi War is a waste of American Tax Payer’s dollars, and find out what Martha Stewart really did behind bars, but up first…”

Derecho turned the television off.

“Hmph… mindless drivel as usual.”

”KNOCK KNOCK” said the door.

Wait.

The door can talk?

Derecho beamed a glare over at the door as he thought he had just heard things.

“Open Up, Derecho” said the door

Derecho got up and did just that… he opened the door. On the other side stood a Dupree Cup staff member with a few items under his arms, one of which was a video tape of a promo that Nova had cut earlier.

“Hello, sir!” said the Staff Member

Derecho interrupted him before he could continue.

“Hold on just one second… who the hell verbally knocks on a door?” inquired Derecho.

The Staff Member, who we shall call Kenny for the lack of a better name, looked back at Derecho.

“It is my custom, sir. Anyway, I thought that you would like to know that Nov…”

Before Kenny could continue, Derecho spied something under Kenny’s arm that piqued his interest.

“Is that the latest issue of P.W. Info Magazine?” asked Derecho

Before Kenny could answer, Derecho grabbed the magazine.

“Mine!”

Derecho then slammed the door in Kenny’s face and took the magazine back over to the couch where he plopped down and opened it up to the table of contents.

“Let’s see here.. this month… how to push your opponent to the limits… best catchphrases to use on your opponents… how to be the man… things to avoid to put arenas to sleep? What the hell is this garbage? They really let the writing go downhill ever since Bill Watts ever became chief editor.”

Derecho tossed the magazine over his shoulder and looked into the camera.

“Nova, forgive my relaxed mentality and my lack of originality. You see, when your last two opponents remained as silent as a motion picture prior to 1927, you kind of let your guard down, but it seems you were falling down the same path until you were disturbed in the middle of writing the sequel to PCU in your head while you slumbered.”

Derecho stood up and made his way over to the opposite wall where the LoC logo provided a subtle, yet, empowering back drop.

“That is a magnificent logo. One must really take a step back and take in its beauty, but while that may be tried and true, one thing just sort of bothers me out of everything you’ve said. No… it wasn’t the blondes with big tits… I’m a sucker for brunettes anyway. No… it wasn’t George S. Clinton… even though I was never a fan of him or Parliament Funkadelic. No… it wasn’t that plant you paid to run by at an attempt at humor… even though I did chuckle… it was the fact that you stated that NFW thinks the Dupree Cup belongs to them? Well, to answer that, I have another NFW for you… No ****ing Way.”

Derecho stood there for a moment and reflected on his comment

“I hope the censors caught that… nevertheless… have you taken a look at the scores, Nova? LoC has taken the sweep. We have the commanding lead which is why I was allowed to choose the match type and no matter how much you try, no matter how much effort you put in, you cannot take that away from us. Not now, not ever.”

Derecho looked over his shoulder and gave a thumbs up to the LoC banner. He turned his attention back to the camera.

“So it’s all fine and good. Come to the iron man match as your favorite Hanna-Barbara cartoon character… come into the match and listen to the snores of thousands of fans in attendance, do whatever it is you think is necessary to do because I will push you to the lim… no… because Nova, when it comes time to be the man you have… wait…. When all is said and done.. when all the smoke… nah… when I leave you in a pool of your own.. nope too used… eh… When you enter, the simple fact of the matter is…. ****.. hold on…”

Derecho walked back across the room and picked the issue of P.W. Info back up and flipped to the back page.

“Ah here we go.. the perfect closing statement. When you and I meet in the ring, Nova… I guarantee you that…”

Derecho squinted as he read the small print.

“Copyright 2006, All Rights Reserved, McMillian Printing Company.”

Derecho looked up.

”That’s right! Think about it for a little bit. You know that you want to, but in case that you don’t. In case you don’t wish to spend a quiet evening pondering one of life’s great mysteries, then consider this… when this all over, after I have racked up another victory for Team Derecho, you can enjoy spending the rest of your days in mid card hell back in NFW and if that doesn’t work out? Well, you can always sell protein packs out of a duffel bag while traveling from place to place on a Segway. I’ve heard it’s done wonders for others in the industry!”

Derecho walked off camera, but for whatever reason, they were still filming. Derecho poked his head back into view.

“Oh.. uhm.. we’re done.”

Derecho disappeared one last time and the scene faded to black.

Nova
10-04-06, 04:07 PM
(CUT TO: Nova, lounging in an antique bathtub filled with Mr. Bubble.) He’s wearing one shower cap over his long blonde mane and another strapped around his chin to contain his enormous beard. Cardboard cut-outs of Playmates of Yesteryear stand around the candle-laden tub, a glass of cheap champagne forced awkwardly into their hands, sometimes duct-taped. The condensation from the glasses is weakening the cardboard’s constitution, however, and one of the glasses slips from a cut-out’s hand and shatters on the bathroom floor.

NOVA: Victoria Silvstedt, you lush! Are you soused already?!

A large black NFW banner hangs on the wall next to the tub. Nova’s toes wriggle in the suds at the end of the tub, and he lights a cigarette before looking into the camera.

NOVA: Derecho…weak, man. Weak. You’re all ‘raging boner’ over having ‘war of words’ (“oooooohh”) like that week with Payne that I’m sure you dream about every night, and then I fight back like you wanted me to so bad, give you all manner of opportunities to come at me with some “Think I’m a milquetoast, fly-on-the-wall cock-smoker? Well I got your cock-smoker right here,” and what do I get? What do I get?

He takes a drag from his cigarette and exhales through his nose slowly.

NOVA: I get “Hey, Nova, know how I’m going to win? By playing directly into your hand!” It’s like I made you out to be a joker and you showed up for the match in a clown costume, I swear. Yeah, I was writing the sequel to PCU in my head, Derecho. I think I’ll call it PCU 2: Even Complete ****ing Paralyzing Boredom Is a More Attractive Option than a Derecho Spot. I like the sound of that, and heinously long subtitles seem to be the Hollywood “In” thing these days, so everyone wins.

Leaning back in the tub, Nova accidentally sloshes some water over the side. It splashes Kimberly Conrad around the waist, and the cardboard cutout quickly folds over in half. Nova quickly sets his glass of champagne down and grabs the falling one before it lands in the tub. He knocks it back and shoots the downed Conrad a dirty look for her party foul before turning back to the camera.

NOVA: Oh, wow. “No ****ing Way!” That’s a hilarious take on the NFW acronym! Really! Really, it’s funny. I’m sure you worked hard and screened it before busting it out on me. You should put it in your reserves…who knows when you’ll need to drop that bomb again! Sure shut my trap, didn’t it?

He sets the empty glass aside and picks up the one he was sipping on earlier, simultaneously using his long-handled brush to scratch his back. He sets the glass down and reaches for the bottle, looking into the camera as he does.

NOVA: I’ve got a more serious take on fed initials, Der-Baby. LoC. In your case, Lack of Character. I tried to be your muse, man! I tried to light that fire, see what was going, see if anyone was home up there…but I’m still looking at the prototypical silhouette of where a personality should be. You are the blank face. You say LoC has the *gasp* COMMANDING LEAD in the Dupree Cup. Happy for ya. I’m sure you’re all anxiously waiting on shifts around the locker room TV set for updates. The NFW team? Two guys who weren’t even around for Season Two, Jason Payne, and myself, who was subbed in for someone more popular. And we’re still a threat to you guys. Our rag-tag group still has a shot at winning the Cup, and you guys are putting it all out there against us. What does that say?

Nova pauses for a sip, and flicks his cigarette into the toilet.

NOVA: Don’t actually answer that. It’s rhetorical. What it says is that we melt crazy amounts of face with our badassery, and this week isn’t going to be any different. Is it supposed to be disheartening or something that I can never, ever, ever, no matter how hard I try or beg or plead or fight…take the, uh, match stipulation away from you? OH, GOD, NO! LoC HAS CONTROL OF THE MATCH STIPULATION!! Pack it in, boys, we’re obviously done here! (Laughing) I can come as any Hanna Barbera character I want? Really? I have your permission to do that? Could I get that on a notarized document? Because I actually was thinking about coming as Papa Smurf if it’s all the same to you. Never really had the beard before to rock it out like I wanted to.

He finishes the glass of champagne and picks up a joint off the bottom shelf on the shower wall, lighting it and hitting it quick before turning to the camera for the last time.

NOVA: I could sell protein packs out of a…God, dude, I change my mind. Just stick to the clichés. Your attempts to “spice it up” make the champagne in my stomach hatch escape plans, seriously. We’ll find out soon out if your fight skills are better than your mic skills, because if not, don’t bother showing up.

Nova leans back as the end of the joint blazes, and closes his eyes, letting the bubbles carry him off to Peaceful Town. Awwwwwwwww, yeah. You know how he does.

Derecho
10-04-06, 11:23 PM
Clap Clap Clap

That was the sound heard in the sheer darkness of an unlit screen.

“Congratulations… your words hurt me more than defeat itself.”

The screen illuminated and there was Derecho inside of his locker room with his Legacy Championship laid out on the couch. He stood there, championship in the background on the right.. the LoC banner on the wall in the background on the left… a truly panoramic sight.

“And to think I haven’t impressed you? Did you once stop to think that you have impressed me? Not in the least bit, I’m afraid.”

Derecho closed his eyes in thought.

“You say I’m boring, then you must think I’m entertaining since you say I came out in the proverbial clown suit. Everyone knows clowns equal entertainment, but I proved that I can work any style of promo. You, on the other hand, have proven that you belong in your mid card hell for you see, all I’ve heard from you was that generic cocky, witty, attitude that every generic wrestler on this planet seems to possess. I’ve seen it a thousand times, and it gets old nine hundred and ninety-nine times. It’s only fresh once, and pal, someone beat you to that years ago.”

Derecho continued to stand there with his eyes closed. Derecho was full of confidence at this point.

“Once again, like with Jason Payne, I have pushed another person to eat up my every word. I have pushed another person to try and turn what I have said against me. I only bring up Jason Payne because you seem to think that I am having the same war of words with you that I had with him. That is where you are wrong. This is not a war, it’s not even battle nor a fight. This is just a little skirmish. At least Payne showed up and kept me entertained. You just showed up and proved nothing beyond the fact that all you’re good for a cheap five second pop.”

Derecho opened his eyes and looked directly into the camera.

“You see, while you’re only good for five seconds of fame, my name value is good for a lifetime. If I were to throw the LoC Championship in the trash can and walk out right now, I’d have every major promotion lining up to sign me… including yours. If you were to drop your… oh wait.. you don’t have a championship.. well, if you were to walk out of NFW.. not only would anyone not miss you, but you’d be forced to sit by a phone and see if some indy promoter took you up on your offer. I mean, aside from nbW, I’m sure work would be pretty hard to find for a guy of your lack of magnitude in this industry.”

Derecho stuck his hands in pockets and closed his eyes once again.

“But it makes no difference either way. I’ve stated it before that words mean nothing and it is actions that speak volumes. You and I may not have a match of the week, but I assure you, this match will make or break you. If, and I mean if, you catch that one lightning bolt, if you find that one rare opening, and you somehow, capitalize, maybe, just maybe you can get out of your little mid-card rut, but your lack of vocalization beyond a high school gym locker level proves to me that you are overrated even for your glorious mid-card status. To think that you’re even a threat to the powerhouse that is LoC is laughable at best… more or less disgraceful at the very least. Third rate wrestlers are never a threat, I assure you of that.”

Derecho turned and began to walk away; however, he turned and stopped with his back to the camera.

“Ask yourself one thing. What are you prepared to do?”

Derecho then grabbed his Legacy Championship and said his final words.

“Think hard beyond the “I’m going to win” answer and start thinking toward the “There isn’t much I can do” answer because that’s what third rate wrestlers from a third rate organization are expected to do and I shall hold you as no different.”

Derecho walked off and we fade to black