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TheOriginalSE
08-02-07, 07:22 AM
All RP for the TINA DAVIS / BRANDON BRAY match at New ERA BANNED in the US should be posted in this thread.

*This match is a singles match.

RP and angles are due Sunday, August 12th at 11:59pm PST. All angles should be sent to secandido@san.rr.com ... enjoy!

King Bear
08-05-07, 09:36 PM
<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comhttp://www.fwrestling.com/fwc/ /><st1:date Year=August 1<SUP>st</SUP>, 2007</st1:date>. Hilton Head Country Cloud. <st1:time Minute="14" Hour="14">2:14pm</st1:time><?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
The scene opens up behind Brandon Bray, following him as he’s walking down the sidewalk. He is dressed to the nines in a white suit and pair of black sunglasses. He shoots a hand-gun gesture to the doorman as he rounds the corner into the Hilton Head Country Club Members’ Dining area.<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
“Mister Bray,” says the young man, astonishing expression gleaming from his face. “I haven’t seen you here in, well… since the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Arizona</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>State</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> game in oh-four.”<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
Brandon Bray, Mercer College’s most notarized and successful signal caller in school history, wraps his arm around the kid while checking his starboard and port sides. “Yeah, yeah, real shame. Hey look, junior; you think I could ask you to do me a favor? I’m runnin’ a little late and I don’t want to have to go in there if I don’t have to, so would you mind giving this to Miss Price when she gets here? She’ll be in there with Doctor Evans and his wife.”<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
The young man holds the video tape in front of his face and rotates it around, as if examining a rock from Mars; meanwhile, Brandon Bray stands there impatiently,<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
“Look kid,” he says snatching the tape away form him to gather his attention again. “It’s not a porno, it’s just a message I need to deliver via vee-ach-ess. Can ya cover that one simple task, amigo? If not, I know some monkeys who c-“<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
“Nah, Mister Bray, I got this.” The young man walks into the lobby and past the reception desk, out toward the dining room area. Outside, Brandon Bray can be seen rushing into his fire engine red Ferrari F430 and slamming the doors, speeding off into the distance.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
<st1:date Year="2007" Day="1" Month="8">August 1<SUP>st</SUP>, 2007</st1:date>. Hilton Head Country Club. <st1:time Minute="43" Hour="16">4:43pm</st1:time><o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
“Excuse me, Miss Price?” The young man leans in toward the gorgeous brunette. She smiles and raises her hand of her chest, nodding. “Mister Brandon Bray has left this for you. He said it was urgent.”<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
The entire table of nine turns to Lacey Price, a young graduate from Georgia Tech who has been dating <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> for over three months now. She looks at the VHS and then around the table, shrugging somewhat.<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
“There’s a television and video player in the back room, miss. If you’d like I could let you use it.” The young doorman extends his long finger toward the back room as Lacey goes running off with most of the table quickly behind. Some of the older men stagger along.<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
Lacey reaches the VHS player as the entire group stands around. They watch in anticipation as soon as the screen flicks on to life to find <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>’s dazzling face:<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
“Uh, is this thing- Oh, it is? Cool.”<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
“Well, alright. So here we are Lacey, our three month anniversary. It’s been an amazing time so far; the laughs, your smile, all those ways you can move your legs just really makes the moments I’m sitting around this dump seem decent.”<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
Lacey turns around, faking a smile and trying to figure out where this jock is going with this monologue.<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
“Really I’m just sick of waiting around for my next tryout, either. I mean the Jaguars didn’t want me, the Panthers – nobody wants what they haven’t seen. So, I’ve fixed that. Which, I’m sorry to say is going to have to cancel this whole relationship situation. So-” [cue Lacey yelling] –rry, kiddo, this just wasn’t meant to be.”<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
“In fact, I’m going to <st1:City><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:City>. I know, I know; surprising isn’t it? Well really it’s more than you think – it’s to begin my wrestling career. You know the one you said I’d be an idiot for pursuing? Well guess what, Lacey babe? I am pursuing it and I’m leaving you’re bi[BLEEEP]ch a[BLEEE]ss broke and in the gutter, too! Hope its been fun, Lacey, but nobody puts down the Georgia STAR, not even the flavor of the week like you.”<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
<st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> waves and blows a kiss to the camera before the feed cuts out.<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
Lacey stands in place, jaw stuck to her chest, and seemingly blown over by the Georgia STAR’s farewell kiss. Closing her eyes, Lacey turns around and opens them to find – nobody there. She looks at the table, spotting the last few scattering to their food long before Lacey could even make a noise to them. She stomps her foot, throwing the remote on the ground and leaving Brandon Bray’s face froze on the TV.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
<st1:date Year="2007" Day="3" Month="8">August 3<SUP>rd</SUP>, 2007</st1:date>. <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> Air Flight 7692, <st1:City><st1:place>Atlanta</st1:place></st1:City> to <st1:City><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:City>. <st1:time Minute="17" Hour="9">9:17am</st1:time>.
<o:p> </o:p>
Bandon sits in his seat on the flight to <st1:City><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:City>, he also happens to be next to a young boy (about 10 or 11) and his attractive (yet older) mother. The young boy is staring at <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>. <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> glances down, casually at the boy, who jerks his head and looks straight ahead, staring at Bray out of the corner of his eye.
<o:p> </o:p>
<st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> smirks, glancing up at the boy’s mother who is reading a copy of Smith & Street’s Pro Football Season Preview. Bray thinks for a second of what kind of woman, let alone mother, reads Smith & Street magazines. Remembering that staring was impolite, <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> moves his eyes to the window and the passing clouds. The boy looks back at Bray, staring up at him.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Got ya!” Bray barks, spinning around and pointing his big finger at the youngster. “What’s wrong kid, got a starin’ problem?”
<o:p> </o:p>
The child cowers back into his mother who puts her books down and glares at <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Sorry,” <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> says sitting back. “You’re son keeps staring at me and, well, to be honest, I wish he’d just say something!”
<o:p> </o:p>
The boy sits up. “You’re Brandon Bray aren’t you?” Bray nods. “You used to play football for <st1:State><st1:place>Kentucky</st1:place></st1:State>.” Again, Bray nods, but adds a short sigh of disappointment. “You got kicked off almost very team you ever played for, dude! You suck!”
<o:p> </o:p>
<st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> sits back, taking in everything this kid has said to him, and grins. “Well, yeah. But how many centerfolds have you nailed, punk?”
<o:p> </o:p>
The mother wraps her arm around her son, glaring even harder at Bray.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Point is kid, yeah. I screwed up. But not really because I was a bad apple, just wasn’t my scene. That whole college with rules scene was just one big cover up for stealing money from whoever they wanted and pumping it out into recruiting incentives. I’m a real, down-to-Earth guy, ya know? I’m not into blackball.”
<o:p> </o:p>
<st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> looks out the window and then back at the boy, flicking his thumb to the sky and world below. “That’s what it’s all about, kid, not the endorsement deals you’re gonna get after you get a degree – if you get a degree – based all on how far or fast you can throw a ball. Life is about what’s out there to see and to do, to conquer and to accomplish – the world is your proving ground to become a true champion. In life, not just the sporting arenas.”
<o:p> </o:p>
The mother and child stare at Bray, who is taking large drinks of his Rum and Coke. The young boy who looks up at his mother who wears a look of confusion on her face as well.
<o:p> </o:p>
“That’s why I signed with New ERA of Wrestling.”
<o:p> </o:p>
“You WHAT!?” The boy leapt out of his seat.
<o:p> </o:p>
“What, kid? Never heard of it? Well it just so happens that they’re the tops in the industroy and one of the flagship promotions for FWrestling. In fact, they have some of the biggest and baddest names in the business – Jason Payne, Daymon, Larry Tact, and the one who makes them look like school girls – ‘the Georgia STAR’ Brandon Bray” The kid tilts his head, confusion painted in his eyes. “Me, kid. That’s me.”<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
<st1:date Year="2007" Day="3" Month="8">August 3<SUP>rd</SUP>, 2007</st1:date>. <st1:City><st1:place>Logan</st1:place></st1:City> International Luggage Claim. <st1:time Minute="39" Hour="12">12:39pm</st1:time>.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Yeah no problem,” <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> says to Marcie, the mother of 12-year old Jeff (the two from the plane). “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do before I’m settled but how’s Thusday sound?”
<o:p> </o:p>
“Sounds good, <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>.” Marcie looks down at Jeff who is dragging his giant suitcase behind him. Her eyes move to <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>’s and then to the floor. “Well, I guess this is it.”
<o:p> </o:p>
“Don’t confuse the kid, Marcie.” Marcie’s head snaps up from the ground to find <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>’s eyes locked on hers, giving her a look to clarify his intentions. “I’ll see you Thursday.”
<o:p> </o:p>
<st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> slips a piece of paper with his number on it into Marcie’s back pocket and then walks toward the baggage claim. Marcie and little Jeffrey head out the automatic doors and into a cab. Bray stands there waiting for the luggage to come out, hoping that he’s not one of the millions that lose their stuff every time they fly. A man steps up next to <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>.
<o:p> </o:p>
“You know, <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>,” the older man chimes in with his raspy voice. “I remember watching you against Atlanta Christian and you were down <st1:time Minute="44" Hour="18">16 to 7</st1:time> going into the 4<SUP>th</SUP> quarter. You made a few passes, broke that sack for a 40-yard gain, and then launched the game winning pass with :04 seconds left on the clock to seal the <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Georgia</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceName>State</st1:PlaceName></st1:place> title.”
<o:p> </o:p>
<st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> didn’t look at the old man until he said <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Georgia</st1:PlaceName><st1:PlaceName>State</st1:PlaceName></st1:place> title. His eyes scanned the weathered face of the stranger. He smirks, looking at the brown slacks and blue button-up shirt the man is wearing. “And who are you, old man? Another writer?”
<o:p> </o:p>
“Actually I am Rick Tandena. I was the coach at Atlanta Christian. I lost my job after that game.” Tandena stares at Bray who has nothing but sympathy in his eyes for this poor man. “Don’t worry, son. It’s not your fault. My time was done, time to move on to bigger and better things. I coach at <st1:place>Southwestern Vermont</st1:place> now, a small D-3 school.”
<o:p> </o:p>
“Well, sir, it was an honor to whoop you’re ass and get you fired all at the same time, sir.” Bray smiles sarcastically as he pats his former enemy leader on the back. The old man laughs and shakes <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>’s hand.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Oh, I’ve heard rumors you were a wild one. No lie, no lie. Har har har.” The old man and Brandon share another laugh as a buzzer sounds off three times and a red light begins to flash around the luggage pick-up carousel.” What’re you doing now, Mr. three-time All-American QB? Playing with them Baylor Bears, still?”
<o:p> </o:p>
<st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> scratches the back of his head as the bags begin to come down the ramp and crash into the steel oval that is the baggage claim. “Actually, sir, that was a short-lived experience. All of my big time football experiences were short-lived, to be honest. I ended up playing at <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Mercer</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>College</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>, though, in <st1:country-region><st1:place>Georgia</st1:place></st1:country-region> for my last season.”
<o:p> </o:p>
“Didn’t you take Baylor to that bowl game, son?” Rick asks watching the bags go around and around. “I watched you pass for 400-some yards in the Fiesta Bowl, I thought?”
<o:p> </o:p>
“Yeah but after that game I got into another fight,” says <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> as the old man nods his head and finally understands. “I’m actually moving to <st1:City><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:City> to pursue my wrestling career, sir. New ERA of Wrestling. Heard of it?”
<o:p> </o:p>
The old man gives <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> a look up and down, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you’re big enough to do it; you should be alright. I’ve watched it a few times before.”
<o:p> </o:p>
“Alright? Sir, I’ll be fine, so you can save your concern for somebody else like your Atlanta Christian players because, clearly, I’m doing well enough to get a deal to wrestle – in fact I’ve already-“
<o:p> </o:p>
“Sorry, kid.” The old man says leaning in to swoop his bag off of the metal conveyer belt. “Gotta scram. Sox game at <st1:time Minute="0" Hour="15">3pm</st1:time>. You take care and good luck with that… whatever you’re doing.”
<o:p> </o:p>
The old man scatters off as <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>’s brow furrows deep over his eyes as he watches for his bag. “Whatever I’m doing… fck you, old man. I beat you once in States and I’m gonna beat that stupid opinion of yours just the same.”<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
[B]August 3<SUP>rd</SUP>, the NEW Headquarters. <st1:time Minute="42" Hour="13">1:42pm</st1:time>.<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
Brandon Bray steps out of the cab in front of the New ERA of Wrestling headquarters in downtown <st1:City><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:City>. The cab driver hands him his luggage and then <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> flips him a $50.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Keep the change, guy.” Bray takes the suitcase and looks up at the towering structure that was his new place of employment, his new home; his fresh start. He looks at a few of the women in skirtsuits walking by him into the black glass building. Entering the door, Bray spots the receptionist.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Afternoon, miss,” Bray says walking up to the desk and catching the attention of the stunning blonde behind the counter. “Where can I find Juliet Marceau.”
<o:p> </o:p>
“Umm… you’ll need an appointment for that,” she says with a stunned look on her face.
<o:p> </o:p>
“What about Marcus Laroque? Is he available?” Bray holds the question face for a few seconds to emphasize he was going to see somebody. “Because you see, sweetheart; I’m Brandon Bray, the Georgia STAR. I was told to be here as soon as I could to sign the papers. That way, you people can get started on building the gold statue you’ll want of me in about, oh I don’t know, three to four pay-per-views from now.”
<o:p> </o:p>
“Can I ask what this might be concerning?” The blonde asks with a chipper smile.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Yeah,” <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> says, leaning against the counter with both hands. “A World Championship.”
<o:p> </o:p>
The blonde picks up the phone with a fake smile and then looks away from <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>’s direction. “Yes, Mr. Laroque? I have Brandon Bray here to see you. He says that you… well, yes sir, I didn’t think you- Okay, sir. Of course. I’m sorry; I’ll send him up right away.”
<o:p> </o:p>
The blonde hangs up the phone and smiles at <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>. He nods and tosses a piece of paper at the woman that has his number on it, again. She smirks in acknowledgement and then goes back to her daily routine.
<o:p> </o:p>
Bray heads for the elevators, spotting one that was on its way down and just about to be at the first floor. It dings and out steps a team of men in black suits, all headed for the reception desk it seems to Bray as he watches the four walk past him and to the blonde.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Stephanie Peters?” The first black suit says as he is walking up to her desk. The blonde nods, knowing this cannot be good for her career with NEW. “Let’s g-“
<o:p> </o:p>
“Stephanie! Finally, there you are. Right, Mr. Laroque said you should accompany me upstairs to his office.” <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> was nudging his way into the mix. Then, acting surprised to see them, <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> looked over at one of the suits. “Who are you guys?”
<o:p> </o:p>
“NEW Security. Who are you?” The group all sent stinging glares into Bray’s forehead as he smiles and takes Stephanie by the wrist.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Brandon Bray, the <st1:country-region><st1:place>Georgia</st1:place></st1:country-region> STAR.” He dashes off to the elevators with the blonde giggling in his arms. “You’ll need to remember that if you want to get anywhere in this company!”
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
August 3<SUP>rd</SUP>, the NEW Residence of <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> Bray. <st1:time Minute="54" Hour="17">5:54pm</st1:time>.
<o:p> </o:p>
<st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> swings in to the driveway of a two-story Colonial house on the outskirts of <st1:City><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:City>. He turns off his brand new yellow Jeep Wrangler and hops out, still gawking at the sight in front of him. He pulls out a set of keys and walks to the front door, unlocking it within seconds.
<o:p> </o:p>
“No way,” <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>’s mouth drops out as he steps into the house; revealing all the furniture and décor that the house holds. Bray walks up the stairs, failing to turn on any lights whatsoever, and walks through two gigantic oak doors – to the master bed room.
<o:p> </o:p>
<st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> walks over to the large oak dresser, picks up a note he found, and ginrs as he reads it out loud: “<st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>, hope you like the place. It was such short notice, sorry the location isn’t better. By the way, you have a match at NEW’s BANNED in the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> pay-per-view on August 12<SUP>th,</SUP> against Tina Davis. Good luck, <st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City>. Be safe. Rachel Ross.”
<o:p> </o:p>
<st1:City><st1:place>Brandon</st1:place></st1:City> flicks the light switch off after reading the note and crawls into the king size bed. His head hits the pillow and after a few seconds, the Georgia STAR is out like a light. His eyes roll around under their lids as his dreams repeat one message, over and over…

<o:p> </o:p>
Winners never quit...<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
...quitters never win.<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
Failure is accepted by the weak; losing is shunned by the strong.<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I am a winner...<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
...I am strong.<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I will become a World champion...<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
...the future burns bright.<o:p></o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I am Brandon Bray.
<o:p> </o:p>
I am the <st1:country-region><st1:place>Georgia</st1:place></st1:country-region> STAR.<o:p></o:p>