08-08-12, 12:52 AM




All RPs to go in this thread with NO RP LIMIT!
RP Deadline: Midnight Los Angeles Time - August 26th!

08-12-12, 09:06 PM
(A familiar setting, as Leyenda de Ocho sits on a stool at Shorty's Bar in Seattle, WA. It's another retro game night, yet Ocho is burning a hole through the glass of water placed before him with his eyes. His dirty blonde hair sits like a freshly dropped batch of Pick Up Sticks on his head, his trademark pastel pink hoodie conveying perhaps the least amount of physical motion displayed since its debut.

Pint-sized waitress Kim approaches from behind the mostly-empty bar.)

Kim: "I meant to tell you earlier - way to go, dude!"

Ocho (startled): "Hm?"

Kim: "Winning your big match against Eddie Whisky and Steve Jackson! I remember it so vividly...you were sitting on the other side of the room, so desperate to master playing two arcade games at once..."

Ocho: "Thanks...you really helped me out a bunch that night. Put things in perspective for me." (Ocho continues his vacant stare at the still-full glass of water in the counter in front of him.)

Kim: "You seem...less than excited."

Ocho: "What if I got lucky? What if the only reason I won this thing is because Eddie Whisky smashed into Jackson so hard that a six year old could have pinned him? What if I was just in the right place at the right time?"

Kim: "You were on that pile when Whiskey climbed the ropes...what would you have done if Eddie landed on you?"

Ocho: "Died."

Kim: "Exactly. And you moved your ass. You have good instincts, buddy. Don't short change yourself."

Ocho: "I guess..." (A small sip of water, then back to staring.) "There's three opponents in the next one. They're all really good, Kim."

Kim: "I think YOU'RE really good!" (Kim brushes the hair out of her hair flirtatiously; Ocho seems oblivious to it.)

Ocho: "This is a BIG TIME event. It's the finale of ULTRATITLE! It's a tournament where I couldn't even get out of the second round. And now, I'm supposed to be on the same card as all these legends of our industry. There are sure-fire hall-of-famers that will be there. For a brief window of time, all eyes will be on the Intergalactic Championship match, and I have to tell you - this is starting to get...wayyyy to real." (Ocho looks up from the glass and stares at the back wall behind the bar: Svedka. Jack Daniels. SoCo. Bacardi.)

Kim: "Alright, Ocho, you need to listen to me right here and right now. LOOK AT ME." (Ocho's sight line breaks from the liquor lineup, his bright green eyes focusing all their attention into Kim's baby blues. The connection is palpable.)

"I've seen you in this bar a bunch of times now, and I know it's not just for the games. You keep coming here because you keep looking for enlightenment...whether it's Pac-Man, Space Invaders, whatever, you come in here and you talk to me, and you've got this malaise about you like you're not good enough. YOU'RE GOOD ENOUGH. You're DAMN good enough. You beat down two huge, talented wrestlers in the middle of a ring to get here, and you can do things I've NEVER seen before. STOP. SELLING. YOURSELF. SHORT."

Ocho (after a pause): "...OK. You got it. From now on, the name of the game is self-belief."

Kim (smiling): "Good!"

Ocho: "Maybe I should get a drink. What do you think?"

Kim: "You drink??"

Ocho (lying): "Of course!"

Kim (smirking): "Well, we just got a new beer shipment that you should be familiar with. Take a look." (Kim pulls out a pint can of Tallgrass 8-Bit Pale Ale.)

Ocho: "...Is that??"

Kim: "Your sponsor beer? That's correct." (The can is emblazoned with pixelated imagery. In the weeks following Ocho's Ultratitle exit, it was revealed that Tallgrass had become a sponsor of Leyenda de Ocho.) "I figured if you're going to be a regular here, we might as well get this in here! ...Have you ever actually had it?"

Ocho: "..."

Kim: "This is going to be awesome." (Kim pours the pint into a glass and pushes it in front of Ocho, removing the glass of water. Ocho takes a healthy swig as his eyes open wide.)

Kim (to herself): "...you're going to tell me EVERYTHING."

(Fade to black.)

08-20-12, 12:33 AM
(An unfamiliar apartment. Leyenda de Ocho is painfully woken up from his pretzel-like sleeping position on the floor by a ray of sunlight passing through bedroom blinds across his eyes. His head feels split in two. As he stumbles to his feet, shirtless, he looks around. It is clearly a woman's bedroom, but the bed is unoccupied.)

Ocho: "Hello?"

(no response)

Ocho: "...K."

(Ocho's complete lack of drinking skill is catching up with him; all light is pain. All movement is pain. His mouth feels dry and vaguely metallic. As he stumbles to the hallway, he sees the faint glow of a TV on in what appears to be a living room. A Super Nintendo controller lays across a coffee table, but no sound. He decides to check this later, as the sudden urge to use the toilet overwhelms him.

The troublesome first step of finding the bathroom took a few moments, as he navigated unfamiliar rooms with posters of bands he'd never heard of strewn about. The walls were a chalky purple. It was a big bigger than most apartments he had visited in Seattle, though he wasn't 100% sure whether or not this was an apartment or a house.

He relieved himself in the restroom without turning on the light, for fear of the ensuing headache. Afterwards he stumbled towards the living room. He attempts to scratch an itch on his forehead -

- there is a mask there that wasn't on his head at Shorty's.
He stopped and turned back towards the bathroom. Turning on a light, squinting and adjusting his eyes for a few moments as his forehead yelled at him for this decision, the mask slowly came into view.

Forest green. Golden triforce across the forehead with streaks of golden light emanating from it.)

Ocho: "...what the..."

(Ocho turns the light back off, because ow. Clutching his temples he wanders back to the living room, and sees what is on the television screen. Perhaps the greatest Super Nintendo game of all time...a pantheon game in Nintendo history.

Legend of Zelda: Link to the Past.

He quickly looks over the screen and realizes why there is no sound - someone had muted the television. He recognized the pause screen from this game like the back of his hand - his entire item inventory , his progress from the game's light world [three pendants representing three virtues necessary to acquire the Master Sword], and his progress from the game's dark world [seven crystals representing seven kidnapped maidens who Link must rescue in order to break Ganon's iron grip over the world].

Raising the volume just the slightest amount, Ocho recognized the theme music [B]instantly.

Link was about to fight the final battle against the game's boss, Ganon.

At that moment, something caught his eye - a folded up piece of bright green paper on the coffee table. Ocho picked it up and noticed it was sitting on top of an unlabeled DVD. He opened the hand-written note.)

"Dear Leyenda de Ocho (I know you don't want me to call you by your real name yet, hehe!)

They say that you can learn a lot about a person by the kind of drunk they are. Some people get happy, some get sad, some get angry - and so on. I can say after last night that without a shadow of a doubt, you are one of the most entertaining and bizarre drunks I have ever seen in my entire life.

Last night was an informative one. I recorded something super interesting on the DVD sitting under this note. You may want to take a look at it. I have NEVER seen someone so...well, it's hard to explain. You'll understand what I mean when I see it. One word doesn't do the description justice.

I will see you next time you stop by. And don't worry, I promise I won't touch the Zelda game until after you win the Intergalactic Championship, just like you told me to.

And if you're feeling as hungover as I'm betting, please don't puke on anything. Water and greasy food, my friend. Take my word for it.

Later goofball!

- Kim"

(Ocho picked up the DVD. Turning it over, a title written out in permanent market was written. It reads "When Ocho Became Link". He looks around, finds his keys and wallet, and exits the building with DVD in hand as the camera fades to black.)

08-21-12, 01:42 PM
We find Phil Atken standing in front of a simple IGC logo backdrop. No flash, no excitement, just Phil and a microphone.

Atken: Standing here, right now and knowing what comes next, it almost doesn't seem real. It seem like some kind of vague dreamlike haze. When the IGC was looking for a champion and I threw my name in the hat because hey, might as well give it the old college try. I didn't expect much, I haven't in a long time, retirement has been a thought that often pops into my noggin. I mean seriously, do you know how many people would've bet their house on me being one step away from championship glory? Not a single one. No one expects me to win these days. No one expects to see a championship belt around my ever expanding waist. Maybe I deserve that reputation. I could be simply reaping what I sow.

Phil begins to stroke on a slowly developing neckbeard, possibly as a trigger to remind himself to shave because god damn he looks awful

Atken: And really, that's why I offer you this word of warning Och. You should trust that gut of yours, lil Ocho. You should sell yourself short. For years I stood in front of these little backdrops with a microphone stuffed in front of my face and declared all manner of exciting things. I promised to crush my opponents, I promised to cripple them, I swore up and down I would end careers of some of this industries biggest and brightest. I would threaten people, cojole them, swear at them. I would offend my opponents and the disabled. I enjoyed to swear. I thought it made me look cool. Bad words make you a badass, right? A man who would strike fear in the hearts of anyone who would dare go up against him, surely?

Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong. It brims and bubbles over with wrongocity.

Y'see there's a problem with that line of logic - the bigger I built myself up, the harder I fell. These guys I was going to ruin? They were pinning me for the three, they were making me tap out, they were tossing me around like a rag doll and they loved every minute of it. Where did that leave dear old Phil? With a “loser” stamp on his forehead wherever he found himself. Phil Atken was simply a man who couldn't deliver. He talked a big game but that's all. To be drawn against Phil Atken was to be given the night off. You could sit there and laugh as he ranted and rambled about all the awful things he would do, knowing that in mere moments you would walk through that curtain and humiliate him like dozens had before you and then roll backstage and pick up your winner cheque.

That's the problem with selling yourself, if you can't deliver, your name is mud. It's smart to be the young, humble masked man of mystery who could. People like the underdog, they root for him. The only way your reputation can go is up as you pull out shock win after shock win. No one expects anything of you. The minute you get cocky, that's when then send you flying back down to earth. In a way I feel it is my duty as a responsible veteran to save you from yourself Ocho. Getting smashed out your face, trying to hook up with random waitresses? That's a dangerous game. You have time in this industry, take it. Sure, there's many who try to take the Kurt Cobain route but it's not worth it. Enjoy your youth, slap a few kids hands, get an action figure, visit some Make a Wish kids. Don't get caught up in the pit of despair that is trying to be the best. I feel it is my duty to stop you from crashing and burning. I can only do that if I win.

Who knows what you'll do to yourself if you get your paws on that belt! If I have to be the responsible adult in this little arrangement, I will. Lord knows Matthews or Sabre won't be looking out for your best interests. Trust me, I only want to save you from yourself. I want to make sure your enjoy all the Zeldas you could ever want in the years to come. Winning? That's just the bonus from being the adult in the room. Well, Sabre is a gentleman, which is completely different.

In this IGC final, we all want to carry our respective flags. Troy Matthews, he wants to bring that belt home to DEFIANCE, he wants to make Daddy Dane proud.. Ocho, you clearly want to bring attention to IWF, trying to drag it kicking and screaming on to the national stage. Sabre? I assume you just want something new and shiny to hang in your mansion. Me? I want to say thank you to INFINITE. I want to thank them for giving me the chance to show ACW that I can still go. That ACW can throw monsters in front of me and I'll still find a way to win. Of course I owe a debt of gratitude to Max Hopper for looking out for me in that match. I feel like I should apologise for sneaking up on him to get to this final but we both went in their knowing the stakes, only one of us would get here and I wasn't about to let this chance just slide away from me. I'll stay carry the INFINITE banner though. My journey to this final was one of revenge and vindication. Winning the final? That's gratitude. That is saying thank you to a company who took a chance on me when I was out in the cold. INFINITE deserves to be home of the IGC Champion.

08-21-12, 07:05 PM

08-26-12, 04:31 PM
We find Phil Atken standing once more in front of the IGC Space Invader-esque back drop. He's looking a little bit more groomed this time around. The hair is more kempt, the beard, the neckbeard to be exact is shaved

Atken: Silence? Really? The cat has everyone's tongue? I almost can't believe that. I suppose I can stand here in front of this little camera that the Intergalactic Committee has so generously shoved in front of this beautiful maw, I could stand here and try to convince you fine fans that clearly my opponents are running scared. I mean if they have nothing to say about me, about this match or indeed about performing in front of the biggest crowd they will ever have the honour of standing in a ring in front of, there must be a reason for it. Right? It must be me, I must've scared them off. It's the only rational explanation.

Phil looks down to the ground and shakes his head before returning his attention back to the camera.

Atken: If only that were true, if only I could convince myself that I could carry that kind of reputation. I've been a punchline is this industry for so long, I forget when I was actually of value. I know why Troy Matthews and Sabre haven't even bothered to open their big ole mouths, they don't even think it's worth their time. They think that Phil Atken is a walkover, a man to be sniggered and sneared at behind his back. "Get a load of Atken, trying to be serious, what a joke. If he had a dollar for every one of his losses, he'd be swimming in his own personal Scrooge McDuck vault by now". Don't pretend that's not what you've been thinking, I know it is. It's what everyone thinks. No matter where I end up, whichever contract I sign, wherever I perform I still have the stench and stigma of being a lowly loser. Meaningless in this industry and relic of an era gone by. New blood like Ocho rise through the ranks and hear about men like me as a cautionary tale. Something to be feared. "You don't want to end up like Phil Atken now, do ya kid?". I'm sure Ocho heard that more than once in the locker rooms during his quest for the Ultratitle.

So I could stand here and I could say that I know silence means fear but that'd be dishonest. I'm many things but at this point in my career, there's no point lying to you fans. Silence doesn't mean fear, silence means complacency. Ocho is too busy on a bender to focus on this match, Troy Matthews is camped out over in Defiance because clearly that little endeavor means more to him than this prestigious affair. Sabre? I'm pretty sure he decided to go into retirement. I mean, if I had a brandy waiter in a giant estate, I sure as hell will. I don't though, I have a crappy apartment. Yesterday I walked out of the room to find the landing stained in blood. The sad thing was, this wasn't even a surprising sight. Enough about my life of squalor though...

That's the thing, that's the big problem. They're already on step two, three or four. To each of them, this match is a mere formality. They expect to show up, stand in the ring and just get that belt strapped around their sexy slim waist. Then can't all be winners though, this ain't a primary school sports day, you don't all get a participation ribbon and a pat on the head for a job well done. That's why I hope I'm right, I hope you are all complacent, I hope you are underestimating. I thrive on that shit. The less people believe in me, the better I do, it's the weirdest phenomenon. It's one I quite like though, I really do enjoy it quite a lot. I went to NFW and was told there was no way in a million years I could defeat Dan Ryan. That NFW was only giving me false hope at a possible title shot so they could crush my spirit live on ESEN television. WELL I BEAT DAN RYAN! I PINNED HIM IN THE DAMN MIDDLE OF THE RING. I am the ultimate underdog and I love it. It feeds me. It is my power. So please be silent, please ignore me. Continue to toil away in your own corners of the wrestling universes. Just don't be surprised that when worlds collide, they have unpleasant results.

I relish the opportunity that the Intergalactic Committee has bestowed upon me. Keep in mind, I was the only man who had to win not one but two matches to get here. I had to prove I deserved this spot a damn sight more than you three. It's time for Phil Atken to get something of a career resurgence. To become a meaningful entity in this business again. To be a champion. To have the claim to being the best at something. To lord it over IWF, to lord it over Defiance that their guys couldn't even cut it against a man like me. At Survivalism, I'm walking down to that ring and I'm not leaving until I'm the champion of not just one galaxy but rather ALL the galaxies. The champion of all the god damn galaxies, Phil Atken. We'll see who's the joke in this damn industry after that, won't we?

08-26-12, 09:26 PM
(Leyenda de Ocho sits in his Seattle hotel, laptop open. Games and gaming systems are, as usual, strewn about the floor, though the television is off. In the middle of the floor, his black duffel bag full of masks and ring gear is disheveled, clearly having been ransacked recently. Ocho has a brief memory flash of digging through the bag with a very strong purpose in mind, but in an instant the memory is gone.

He places the DVD from Kim's place in his computer. Collecting himself and doing his best to resolve any nerves, he presses play.)


(Kim is adjusting the screen; this was clearly recorded from some sort of webcam. She is the only one in view, though from what Ocho saw earlier in the day, it was clearly from her house. Muffled, vaguely heroic-sounding music is heard coming from the background, as well as occasional yelps and shouts.)

Kim: "OK, I think this is on. OK. Hi! (Kim waves.) So, i'm debating whether or not this is YouTube-able. This is hysterical.

Leyenda de Ocho, this is for you, because I'm pretty sure you're not going to remember all of this later." (Loud yells can be heard in the background, though there's no clear English being spoken; it is visceral, gutteral.)

Kim: "Brief recap, Ocho: One beer, and you changed. I mean, I've heard of lightweights, but...wow. You downed the 8-Bit Pale Ale and had a bright look in your eyes. You were really really excited, and said you really needed to show me something, then bolted out of the bar!" (Ocho has a memory flash of sprinting down the sidewalk at full speed towards his hotel, before returning to the video.)

"About an hour and a half later, you came back, but you were wearing...well...this:"

(Kim picks up the webcam she is using and slowly brings it around the corner towards the living room. The music rises in volume, and Ocho immediately recognizes it as music from the Dark World in Legend of Zelda: Link to the Past. A figure appears in the background: it's Leyenda de Ocho, shirtless in a forest green mask with a triforce emblazoned on the front, in green wrestling tights and brown boots. Present-day Ocho, watching the video, feels his face go slightly flush.)

Kim: "And then you said you were Link...well, you didn't exactly say it. You were speaking in these sort of punctuated HYAH! and TEKK! sounds. Then I handed you a pen and pencil, and you drew a Triforce and pointed to yourself. You haven't spoken a word of English since then, it's all been grunts or silence. But you had this...strange intensity in your eyes, this burning, wholesome thing like you needed to do something in the biggest way. I asked if there was anything else you wanted to show me, and you held up a Super Nintendo with a Zelda game plugged in. Long story short, I got in my car (fortunately for you my shift was over) and drove back to my place. You sprinted after the car...you kept up pretty good pace too. I could've outdriven you, I guess...but I decided to go slow enough for you to follow me."

(Memories of the night flood into present-day Ocho's mind. He tore the game asunder, getting to the final boss in what had to be record time. But, it was the origin of the night's events that burned like a cattle brand in his frontal lobe: that 8-Bit Pale Ale.

Kim smiles to herself and shakes her head, picking up a whiskey glass that was previously off-screen, and taking a sip of brown liquid.)

Kim: "Don't worry, you haven't touched me or done anything like that. You plugged the game in and you've been playing in an...enthusiastic...way ever since." (Kim looks over her shoulder, playfully shouting.) "Hey! Wrestler boy! You're a NERDY NERD NERD!! Haha-"

(Present-day Ocho presses a key on his laptop and the video stops. He closes the screen and collects his thoughts.

After a brief pause, he speaks.)

Ocho: "I wish I could say I didn't know what got into me. I wish I could sit here and say that this was just me being a silly drunk, and instead of chasing girls when I'm hammered, I play video games.

That's not it. That's not it at all."

(Ocho slowly turns his face towards the camera, the Triforce mask no longer an aberration, but a part of himself. A solemn, stern focus.)

Ocho: "Atken, Sabre, Matthews, there's something you need to know about me. I don't half-commit any part of myself. Maybe it's a problem...I don't know. It's just a part of me.

Fans have seen me wrestle as Pac-Man...Mario...Ness from Earthbound, and Galaga...hell, even a rapper from Def Jam. And they look at me, and they think it's awesome, because they think it's an homage, it's me being just a funny little nerdy guy.

And maybe it is awesome to them."

(Ocho's voice almost sounds like a plea for understanding, but he catches himself, clears his throat, and continues.)

Ocho: "I put everything I have into everything I do. And maybe that's cliche, and Atken, you probably feel the same way about yourself. I admire that. You've climbed so many hills lately, and you're doing everything you can to shed your past as a loser. Dan Ryan...he's a legend, and you pinned him. And I respect the hell out of you for it.

But you need to understand...all the shedding of your past self you're trying to do...I CAN'T shed this. I can't shed the part of myself that becomes so deeply invested in something that it becomes a literal part of me. I can't shed this mental THING about myself.

And you need to know...when I enter that ring, and I'm facing you, Sabre, and Matthews for the Intergalactic Championship...you're not just going to be looking at Leyenda de Ocho. You're going to be looking at Link.

And that sounds silly. I wouldn't blame you for a second if you laughed it off, threw some Ganon jokes at me, maybe even talk about Super Smash Brothering me into oblivion. That's fine, but...

...I may just lose myself in there. I may just become an indomitable force in the ring. And I may just walk out of that ring as the first ever Intergalactic Champion.

(Ocho closes his eyes and raises his head as the camera fades to black.)