BRAWL 55: BRISTOL

[jediPREZ]

RP DEADLINE: 9/7(11:59:59PM Astral Standard Time)
IN-STORY DATE: 8/19
RP NOTES: TWO RP LIMIT!

NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING PRESENTS:
SUPERSUNDAY BRAWL
LIVE FROM BRISTOL MOTOR SPEEDWAY!

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

GRAND PRIX ROUND 1 QUALIFIERS
Open Invitational to all wrestlers 235 pounds or less!

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Card Subject to Change...​

'PREZ' NOTES: While the RP DEADLINE is TIGHT -- We're looking for any and ALL BRAWLAPALOOZA REACTIONS... AND, AND AND!

This is the first qualifier night for the NFW GRAND PRIX! THE NFW GRAND PRIX is open to the WORLD this year! ...meaning, if you have a character 235 pounds or less that wants in... DROP A LINE!

The lineup will be built as the RP drops in this thread, so keep checking it! COME ONE, COME ALL!

 

[fugginVOSS]

[FADE IN: on a backdrop which is purple. The text is pink. It reads “I WRESTLE BEARS*” in bold text. There is text beneath the bold lettering in smaller lettering. It reads: “* facts may differ from bears to people”. Standing before said purple and pink backdrop is a man with bleached white hair and a white handlebar moustache. His hands on his hips, dressed ready to wrestle. He wears pink speedo wrestling briefs with a purple star on it. There are black stars tattooed on each collar bone. Two more on each hip. One on the inside of each wrist. He is smiling like a moron at the camera.]

[He is IKAN JOBTAYOO.]

IKAN JOBTAYOO:
“Hello Frontier of New Wrestling. I are Ikan Jobtayoo with special announcement zat makes youse happy inside your trouser snakes.

“I are annunciating the entrance of my name, zee Prince of Pinfall, Ikan Jobtayoo, in zee Prix of Grandness. Yes. After mine brilliant showing in zee ULTRATITLE I are enterancing into zis Grand Prix to be the best wrestler of cruising in the Southern Hemisphere.”

[He points to one of the star tattoos on his hips.]

IKAN JOBTAYOO:
“Seeing zis? I have zee tattoos. Tattoos make you tough, yah?

“Not so yah. I are not zee greatest wrestler of all times. I are perhaps not even what you ‘mericans call zee mediocre. I are closer to how you say bags of shit? Are I getting zee Engrish right? Yah?

“Seriously, zee people wrestlers we be facing in zee Prix of Grandness are much more talented. I are knowing zis because I are first person to shout at camera. Well, speaking at camera.

“I have nothink to offer this tournament. I are seriously bad wrestler. I once botch zee DDT on August Monday’s daughter. A DEE DEE TEE for Christ’s baby Jeebus’ sakeses here people. Who botches zee DDT?

“Babies. Babies botching zee DDT. That is because they are not standing yet. And have boobies in zee mouth. You can see zat I have not zee boobies in mine mouth, yah?

“No boobies for Ikan.”

[IKAN sighs whole heartedly before perking up again.]

IKAN JOBTAYOO:
“But seriousnesslying, folkses. I are terrible at the wrestle. I will bow out of zee tournament of Prix round one. Someone will pin me in zee middle of zee ring and Ikan be lucky to last five minutes!”

[Holds up four fingers.]

IKAN JOBTAYOO:
“You are being embarrassed for Ikan he is zat bad. I are embarrassed for Ikan.

“Competitors of zee Prix of Grandness...

“Ikan Jobtayoo...

“But can you job ta me?”

[He shrugs his shoulders and we FADE to BLACK!]

 

[Rook Black]

Dear Jack and Nova,

First and foremost, congratulations on an incredible victory. You guys really achieved something great last night, and I wanted you to know that. I think that you both have enough respect for me, and that you both know that I have enough respect for you two, that you can tell that I’m not bullshitting you when I say that you’ve made history. Quite seriously, it’s big. I don’t think you can see how big it was, what with being on the inside of each twist and turn that played out in that tournament. But as someone outside of it, a perspective that we don’t often get an opportunity to make use of while we’re working, it’s genuinely that big.

You have a good team going, with really good give and take between the two of you. That’s also something that’s pretty rare, particularly since you both had seemed to pick this connection up without much effort. As other successful teams are suddenly fragmenting, a casual cooperation seems to be a significant part of what sets you apart.

Try to keep it sane and sober though. At least a little. It’ll pay off in the long run.

The other significant factor from watching this from the outside, is that the two of you absolutely must watch your step now. In addition to the known antagonists, a lot of egos got bruised in this tournament’s course. Folks who had no issue with either of you are now looking at you like you’ve stolen something that was rightfully theirs. Retaliation is inevitable, and unfortunately, some folks are feeling a little more desperate, perhaps a little more unhinged, than usual, and this could mean some severe consequences.

I don’t expect you guys to suddenly take a turn for the diplomatic. In fact, I expect more of the same “fuck all y’all” attitude, which is great. But I do strongly suggest being wary. I do strongly suggest keeping in mind all the people who might be motivated to bring either or both of you harm to further their own goals. Things are getting much more violent of late, and this will likely continue to escalate for the near future.

Lastly, this document will self-immolate in approximately 4 minutes from being removed from its envelope. If well timed, you could perhaps light a cigarette with it.

Your mindful associate,
Rook Black

P.S. Do NOT casually mention Craig Miles in the next few weeks if you can help it. No good can come of it.

 

[User Poets]

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

No, there's no crawl.

But there is a mask.

Once upon a time, there was a mask.

And a clown, in his face paint, sad pants, and clown shoes.

Once upon a time, I wore a mask to shield my identity from the wrestling business. I've been accused of milking my training grounds for unearned political points, but the point of anonymity was twofold. One: it allowed my skills to take center stage. Two: it allowed my skills to take center stage instead of receiving undeserved accolades or attacks solely based on where I cut my teeth.

The very fact that it was brought up at all means I was right to do so. The name Impulse remained completely unconnected to Randall Knox and company until I held NFW gold around my waist the first time.

First and last. So far.

Who says you can't come home again?

I should be focusing my attention on the Five Way Stairway to Hell match at Reloaded. I should be keeping my directive on my four opponents and the title shot I can earn with a victory over Eric Dane, Rook Black, Legion, and Blaine Hollywood.

But I'm also the Marathon Man, and I'm never truly happy unless I'm moving. All the time.

The point of the Grand Prix was a simple one: to reward the talented cruiserweights who might otherwise be lost in the shuffle. Last year, Legion took the honors. The year before? Dr. Curiosity overcame a draw with Felix Red to take the win in a triangle match featuring everyone.

On one hand, there's the World Title shot.

On the other, there's the chance to shine in the Grand Prix.

Third time's the charm?

Last time pays for all.

 

[Nova]

Of False Alarms and Velcro Waistbands

(CUTIN: Black screen. The words “BRAWLAPALOOZA – AFTER THE SEMIS” fade in and out. FADEIN: Backstage at Hershey Arena, where JACK HARMEN is slumped back against a locker, a bandage over one eye, his skin caked with the combination of blood and red mist courtesy of one former Dangerman. His eyes are tightly shut, and between long moans he spits out into the middle of the room.)

JACK HARMEN: “Ohhhhhh…ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…”

(SFX: Door opening and shutting as NOVA limps into the shot, himself resembling a giant pink gremlin from the odd mixture of blood and MIKE RANDALLS’ white war-paint.)

JACK HARMEN: (Spitting, then turning his head) “Nov? Is that you? It’s getting worse, man. This red mist shit is VIRAL. Are my eyes on fire? Are you gonna have to pee on my face? You’d do that for me, right?”

NOVA: (Leaning against a set of lockers) “It’s me. And I’m gonna forget you just asked me that.”

(HARMEN gets up, blindly flailing with his arms, and stumbles in the direction of NOVA’s voice. He finally reaches his partner, and after awkwardly patting down NOVA’s face JACK grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him into an embrace.)

NOVA: “What are you doing?”

(HARMEN pulls back, eyes still squeezed shut, and a broad grin crosses his haggard face.)

JACK HARMEN: “We did it, Nov. You and me. We set out to conquer the tag division and we fucking DID IT. Against ALL of ‘em. In the end, we defeated Mikoy Windalls.”

(HARMEN’s lip trembles, and he nods slowly.)

JACK HARMEN: “We’re the fucking CHAMPS.”

NOVA: “No, we’re not.”

(JACK’s one uncovered bloodshot eye shoots open immediately.)

JACK HARMEN: “Yes we are.”

NOVA: “No, we’re not. That was just the Semis. We still have the Finals.”

(HARMEN’s face drops in horror, and he takes a few steps back before slumping onto a bench.)

JACK HARMEN: (Staring down) “No.”

NOVA: “Yes.”

JACK HARMEN: “NO.”

NOVA: (Lighting a cigarette) “Yes, dude. For real.”

(A stage tech pokes his head in the door.)

STAGE TECH: “You’re not allowed to smoke here. Or anywhere in this building.”

NOVA: “Why do people keep saying that?”

STAGE TECH: “Or even anywhere within city limits, I think. Final warning.” (Ducks out)

JACK HARMEN: “Nov…I CAN’T. I hurt, man. I hurt in strange places…”

(The EAGLEstar gestures to his face with his free hand.)

NOVA: “Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit, who you tellin’? I’ve stitched up my own face with dental floss and a plastic toothpick like five times…TONIGHT.”

(There’s a moment of silence as HARMEN shakes his head.)

JACK HARMEN: “It was only the f*cking Semis.”

NOVA: “That’s right.”

JACK HARMEN: “Shit.”

NOVA: “Still got the Finals…”

JACK HARMEN: “Goddammit.”

NOVA: “…starting in about twenty minutes.”

JACK HARMEN: (Throwing up his hands) “FUCK ME!’

NOVA: “But it’s gonna be okay.”

JACK HARMEN: “Why?” (Gleefully) ”They forfeited?! Family emergency? Cancer?”

NOVA: “No, I got us matching tights.”

(HARMEN frowns. NOVA reaches down with a grunt and rips open the top of a box at his feet, removing a pair of long royal blue and white trim ring pants with the word “SUPERFLY” emblazoned down the leg in rainbow bubble letters and tossing them to his partner. HARMEN stares down at the garment for several seconds before offering a shrug.)

JACK HARMEN: “Eh…these are pretty dope.”

NOVA: (Taking a drag, grinning) “Right?”

(FADETOBLACK.)

-------------*~*~*-------------​

(FADEIN: The SUPERFLY EXPRESS stand in front of the two emerald-encrusted CLARET JUGS awarded to them for ultimate victory at BRAWLAPALOOZA. They both have on the royal blue and white tights showcased during the Main Event, and the EVERETTE MEMORIAL TRADITION Tag Team Championship belts strapped around their waists. HARMEN is shirtless, and NOVA has on a sleeveless black tee with the Little Engine That Could logo under the words “BRAWLAPALOOZA – ALL ABOARD!”)

(NOVA holds up ROOK BLACK’s document, which is actually an iPad and is actually on fire, and lights his cigarette with it before tossing it over his shoulder. It explodes into a flurry of glittery particles and HARMEN pumps a fist in the air approvingly.)

NOVA: “Thanks for the kind words, Rook. Ya know, when I joined PRIME in 2004 and the program I was brought in to run completely floundered after only a week or two, I was trying to figure out who I wanted to be, and I looked around and saw you and the run you had had in tSC and I thought, ‘Man, I’d love to do something like that guy is doing.’ So it runs both ways.”

JACK HARMEN: “Hey, easy on the Lovefest with Nerdopotamus there.”

NOVA: (Nodding) “You’re right.” (Taking a drag) “Dammit, Harmen, you co-EMT Champion, you…you’re right. Tonight isn’t about me reciprocating my long-held respect for Snoop Rooky Rook. It’s about my BIG ANNOUNCEMENT.”

(CUTTO: HARMEN sitting in the corner at a desk. He nudges a pair of reading glasses up his nose and shuffles through a stack of paperwork.)

JACK HARMEN: “Mmmmm, I don’t see anything here about a BIG ANNOUNCEMENT, Nov.” (Cocking an eyebrow) “How many cupcakes have you had today?”

NOVA: “None. Five. Not the point. The point is, we just won The Big One. For Tag Teams. For what we do, we just won The Big One, might be a better way of putting that. That means we’re rolling. That means we’re HOT. And what do you do when you’re HOT?”

JACK HARMEN: “You drink some water.”

NOVA: “No.”

JACK HARMEN: “You take a shower.”

NOVA: “Not...” (Shaking head) “…no.”

JACK HARMEN: “Sprinkler fight.”

NOVA: “I’m going in a different direction with this. When you’re HOT…you let it ride. And I’m letting it ride, Jack…ALL THE WAY TO THE GRAND PRIX!”

(JACK coughs into his hand and averts his eyes.)

NOVA: “I said…ALL THE WAY TO-”

JACK HARMEN: “I heard you.”

NOVA: (Taking a drag) “Well what the hell, man? No-selling my BIG ANNOUNCEMENT is ice-cold in the face of our epic win and tighter-knit-than-ever-yet-still-budding-friendship-and-professional-partnership.”

JACK HARMEN: “No, it’s just…nevermind.”

NOVA: “What?”

JACK HARMEN: “Hmmm, how do I put this delicately? You’re too fat for the Grand Prix. You’re a big fat fatty.”

NOVA: “While I appreciate your tact, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

(CUTTO: JACK HARMEN standing in the dimly-lit corner of a medieval castle watchtower next to a skull with a candle dripping wax down the sides. He’s dressed in purple robes with a sweet wizard hat, and a live-action map of the cosmos swirls overhead. He unravels a scroll and reads from it.)

JACK HARMEN: “The Grand Prix tournament is for competitors who weigh 235 lbs. or less.”

(CUTTO: Claret jugs, tag belts, normalcy.)

NOVA: “So? I’ve always been around there, kinda…”

JACK HARMEN: “Pffft! Before Obama was elected, maybe! Dude, trust me on this, I can utilize the same skill that allows me to guess jellybeans in a jar to tell you that you are NOWHERE NEAR 235. Fuck, man, you’ve gotta be 305, 307...”

NOVA: (Blushing) “Well, I had some mesclun for lunch…”

JACK HARMEN: “Lettuce? Well, that’s a start…”

NOVA: “No, I mean actual mescaline. I’m tripping the fuck OUT right now.”

JACK HARMEN: “Don’t get me wrong, you wear it well. But you’d need a research laboratory to split yourself in two and compete under different monikers if you wanted any shot at coming in under the weight limit for this thing. So let’s just focus on defending these shiny new belts and continuing to validate our otherwise vapid, meaningless lives, aight?”

NOVA: “If you say so. I’m just gonna need a minute to absorb all this.”

JACK HARMEN: “Take all the time you need.”

(HARMEN exits the shot, and NOVA pulls over a folding chair. He plops down with a sigh, and stares at his reflection in one of the claret jugs, his hopes of Grand Prix glory dashed by all that early-30s weight gain he’s enjoyed over the last two years.)

(FADETOBLACK.)

 

[Biron]

Tha' Gettysburg Address


(FADEIN: Gettysburg National Military Park; To ‘Fabulous’ FRANKIE FARGO, wearing a dirty, tattered, and torn Confederate Army uniform, standing along side six bronze statues of Confederate soldiers at the Virginia Monument - a statue of General Robert E. Lee and his horse Traveller are high above on a granite pedestal. Fargo, his beard chaw-stained, hair wildly unkempt, has a sabre in his right hand that he’s holding up, tapping the flat side against his shoulder.)

FRANKIE FARGO: It’s tahm, lahk mah kin ba’fore me, to draw tha’ line in tha’ sand. ‘cause we’ve been gittin’ boned lahk a cheerleader under tha’ damn bleachers sahnce we returned ta’ tha’ NFW. Cahlvin screwed us once an’ he dun it a’gin at BRAWL-A-PALOOZA. Ah’m sick an’ tahred a’ buncha’ good-fer-nothin’ sons’a’guns holdin’ us down! Jus’ lahk when me an’ tha’ Stud was rulin’ tha’ South, winnin’ Tag Championships over an’ over a’gin, stickin’ all tha’ beauts from Georgia ta’ Tennessee (eyes widen) BUT THEN (spits tobacco juice into the grass) Ah spent three, long years n’ a Macon State Prison cell fer crahms ah did not commit! They dun stole years a’ mah lahf … put tha’ damn brakes on mah blossomin’ career. An’ now, they’s doin’ ta’ me a’gin. Well, listen up REAL GOOD, ‘cause “Fabulous” Frankie Fargo is DUN gettin’ jewed! Ah dun had it!

(FRANKIE stabs the sabre into the ground.)

FARGO: Sahnce every one a’ our opportunites been STOLEN AWAY, been PISSED ON by tha’ brass, Ah’m gonna’ STRUT on ‘nta tha’ GRAND PRIX lahk tha’ BIG COCK Ah am an’ Ah’m gonna’ git me an’ tha’ Stud a FAIR, WELL-DESERVED shot at them EMT Tahtles! It ain’t gonna’ be easy! Ah reckon it’s gonna’ be lot lahk it was ta’ finally git Sister Sara from tha’ convent uptown ta’ spread them legs an’ let lil’ Frankie pop! But Ah’ve dun HARD TIME an’, with nothin’, but a damn chick’n bone whittled ‘nta a shank, Ah survived! Well, Ah got mah whittlin’ knahf out, boys! Ah’m gittin’ what’s mine so ya’ll either CLEAR OUT ‘er pull them britches up an’ git ready fer a faht!

(FRANKIE sends a stream of tobacco juice flyin’.)

FARGO: Now, Ah’m gonna go ‘head an’ address tha’ oppasition. Ikan Jobtayoo, if yer thinkin’ ya’ can walk yer Commie-ass ‘nta America, join tha’ Grand Prix, an’ become a star … yer dumber than you look! Ah’m gonna’ git ya’ n’ that ring, slap tha’ shit outta’ ya’, an’ send ya’ back where you come from! Tha’ fella Ah really need ta’ be lookin’ at is that boy scout that’s been gettin’ pounded like an ugly gal, backdoor, fer a good tahm now. Ah know yer intentions is good, boy scout, but Ah don’t give a hoot! ‘cause it’s all ‘bout Frankie! This is mah tahm, boy! Do yerself a solid an’ stay tha’ hell outta’ mah way. ‘cause yer little honor system don’t apply ta’ this fella! Jus’ when ya’ think that yer gonna’ walk outta’ that Grand Prix, prouder than a PEACOCK, Ah flip tha’ script an’ stick a chick’nbone n’ yer jugular! Then Ah’m tha’ winner! Ah leave tha’ Grand Prix with a shot at tha’ EMTs! Maybe Ah take yer lil’ girlie, show her what a REAL man is lahk! Put a lil’ a Frankie’s Special Frosting on HER CUPCAKE! How’s that sound, boy? That’s what happens when ya’ get b’tween Frankie Fargo an’ a shot at tha’ EMTs! BAD SHIT HAPPENS!

(FTB as FARGO, tobacco juice dripping from his mouth into his beard, gives his crazy eyes!)

 

[SpookyDoom]

The ghost in the night get's his spotlight.

White, empty, brightly illuminated room. No features, no shadows, no spots. There's the floor, a backdrop and the ceiling is within camera view. Footsteps approach. Someone draws near. It is entirely possible that the New Frontier Grand Prix might never be the same again.

"Sup bitches, I'm Spooky Doom."

And with such words hitting like bombshells, all other aspirants to the superbrawl must now revise their plans for glory. There is Doom in this endeavor after all...

Spooky Doom, if you've not yet been acquainted with the fellow, is a short but powerful little luchador wearing the hood of the Reaper. Although his white bodysuit is hard to distinguish against the floodlit background, the raven black mask tinted with lime green filigree comes out unequivocally. There's also the black ghost across his chest, lime-green crescents at shoulder level...and if absolutely nothing else, his words come out loud and clear from within the deserted white room.

"And if I made the trip all the way to jolly ol' England, it's because I love lucha libre more than anyone else. Where there's an open invitation for cruiserweights, I'll be there to show you how it's done right. Now I'm sure you've heard all the stories 'bout me before: nephew of this big time supernatural giant zombie wrestler yadda yadda, saw him re-die as a child, wanted to avenge his memory, he got better, meanwhile I had found the devil and he turned me into this lil' Grim Reaper thingy... Like I told ya, it's lucha libre; what you gonna do? Well what's past is prologue and the future is here doing kick-ass Eeriecanranas."

"See, rag on cruisers all you want but we hit hard and make this shit look good too. I got where I am on the back of serious unearthly talent rather than through any prize of genetics. It means I fought harder than anyone to become the wrestler that I am today. What comes next is the greatest show of your life, from somebody who transcended his humanity to become what just might be the best high-flying talent NFW will ever encounter."

"Flying on the wings of departed spirits, waking up dead crowds, haunting those who'd do this business harm... Oh, and if all that weren't enough; I also come down hard like a friggin' tombstone dropped on your neck. Funeral services just got funky."

Arms crossed in front of chest.

"And while I'm standing here discoursing 'pon the subject of cruiserweights and the various disciplines therein, allow me to inquire whereupon all this scorn towards flippiness originated. Don't be fooled by the fancy vocab, you know what I'm talking about: people throwing the term "flippy shit" like it's a pejorative..."

"Well I flip. I flip shamelessly. I understand and even admire the respect given to technical holds by those in my division but I'm not stepping inside that ring unless I intend for the absolutely incredible happens. People have forgotten what it means to go beyond the expected, they let their sense of "what should be" limit themselves... Well that's the difference between me and all other challengers to the throne: I'm not afraid of going beyond belief in everything that I accomplish. You'll get to see it too; I'm the greatest wrestler that ever lived and I rose from the grave to set the bar even higher."

The formerly empty room has now been entirely suffused with monster quantities of undead swag. Presence, from a fearless little luchador pacing about the room, throwing provocations at every step yet giving no fucks at all. Defiance, and that's not just the name of an impotent wrestling organization, that's something found in a challenger who drops unannounced into a freestyle competition so as to take on all comers.

"Tell you what; in deference to my old maestro of lucha libre I'll meet the tecnico enthusiasts halfway through and flip before or as I lock you in a proper submission maneuver. Just don't expect that to happen much: I made my bones in the wrestling business breaking bones; ULTRATITLE? Hardest hitting force in the world ring a bell much? Flip out to build momentum whenever I dive, flip forwards or backwards to better angle that blow to the head, running like the wind to strike like a hurricane; that's how the Spooky Doom brings fear into his foes."

"So is this all getting through to you? You, the prospective wrestler who wishes to enter this tournament and test his mettle against the Deadkid? Because I'm ready to take over. And that's just the start, isn't it? Because remember, winner gets his own title shot. Wouldn't it be a scream if some masked dude came over from some regional promotional and suddenly became NFW's top player? But that's how I work; I'm a testament to the inconceivable, keeping you glued to your TV so you don't miss a moment of what happens next."

Close-up.

"My name's Spooky Doom. I'm a luchador, a very talented one but I don't stop at that. I'm a lil' Grim Reaper thingy, I'm the hardest hitting force in the world, I'm Batman (long story) and I'm like this miniature version of my very famous uncle except I'm actually cool. I love wrestling because it allows me to be all these things at once, and I tie it all in a neat little narrative to boot. I am so amazingly invincible. Look upon me, and realize how grey and colorless your lives are. Or dare to be extraordinary."

"Hey, regardless of what you choose to do, you gotta admit that I'm the spooks that just made the Super Sunday Brawl interesting!"

The multitudes of lights previously illuminating the room abruptly shut-off simultaneously, plunging the viewer into darkness.

"BOOO!"

 

[User Poets]

Few things, Biff.

"Tell me something, Spooky."

"Do you have a famous uncle?"

"Because something about your promo tells me you have a famous uncle. Can you tell us more about him?"

"Seriously."

"We're all terribly interested."

(FADEIN...

A photograph. It's framed.

There are four people in the photograph. There's yours truly, Randall Knox. There's my girlfriend, Rosalyn Callasantos. There's my mom, and there's her brother, my uncle, Charlie.

We were on the pier at Coney for the Mermaid parade. Yeah, my mom's pretty cool. Anyways...)

"My uncle Charlie worked for the sanitation department, Spooky. He was some kind of district supervisor, and he worked long hours for way too little pay. Yeah, government employee, good benefits, lots of job security, etc, but he was always on call, he was always trying to save the city money, and he had earned the respect and loyalty of every single person that ever worked for him."

"I'm bringing this up for two reasons, Spooky Doom. First, my uncle is considered a legend in his field. I like and respect him, and comparatively speaking, I know I can never work as hard in my field as he did in his. Nobody can."

"Second, having a famous and hardworking uncle - or any relative, for that matter - whose existence you're using to try and ingratiate yourself to the New Frontier, will simply make you a laughingstock."

"Ask Biff Busey."

"I'm not trying to say you're a laughingstock overall, or that you've got nothing to offer this company, or that you have no chance to win the Grand Prix."

Well, I am saying that last part. But that has less to do with you, and more to do with me.

"What I'm saying is that your entire spiel is the reason why luchadors have never been able to earn the full and unqualified respect of the industry as a whole: because you tell us stories about being part Grim Reaper and part Batman and knowingly wink at the cameraman shooting the thing like you're saying 'I know I'm ridiculous, but what are you gonna do?'"

"Does Castor Strife need a ridiculously supernatural backstory to sell tickets? Of course not."

"Do I?"

"No. But the fact that my size puts me in the same category as you and the other Cruiserweights like you means that it's expected of me. Kid from New York that's better at this than you is apparently not good enough, which means I have to work twice as hard."

"I don't mind the hard work. What I mind is people asking me where my mask is."

"My hope, Spooky Doom, is that you realize sooner than later, that you'll be taken a lot more seriously if you can let your work tell the story as opposed to whatever history you think makes you unique."

"All it does is put you on the same level as the weekend LARPers who have never been on a second date."

FADE

 

[jediPREZ]

Your horizon is funked

(SFX: An echoing tribal drum beat...)

AKITA HOSHI (V/O): "A name that shall not be spoken..."

RAYNE: (V/O) "No regret..."

(The beat continues... and nothing but a BLACK SCREEN to describe.)

HOSHI (V/O): "Dishonored..."

RAYNE: (V/O) "We will not forget..."

(STATIC CUTTO: AKITA HOSHI blasting JACK HARMEN in the face with his napalm pepper red mist! The picture quickly returns to the BLACK SCREEN, the echoing tribal drum beat continuing...)

HOSHI: (V/O) "I REMEMBER PAIN! PAIN I WILL GIVE TO YOU!"

RAYNE: (V/O) "...and we will not so easily forgive."

(SLO-FADEIN: RAYNE and AKITA HOSHI standing in a room dimily lit by a large wax candle. HOSHI has a drum strapped around his body that he's beating with his bare hand, while staring intently into the flame. He's barefoot and shirtless, but at least wearing frayed cargo shorts. RAYNE's hair is bunned up and held together by crisscrossing wooden sticks. She's also wearing a long, flowing Japaense silk robe with artwork depicting a wild thunderstorm. She kneels by the candle, waving her hand delicately over it while HOSHI continues his repeating drumbeat...)

RAYNE: "An opportunity to fight for our family...an opportunity to fight for our NAME."

HOSHI: (slamming his palm against the drum!) "HO-OHHHH-OHHHHH-OHHHHHHSHIIIIIIIIIIIII!"

(...FADETOBLACK.)

(MUSIC-UP: 'SEVEN NATION ARMY' by The White Stripes with AKITA' shouts "HO-OHHHH-OHHHHH-OHHHHHHSHIIIIIIIIIIIII! HOOOOO-OH-OH-OHOHOHHHHHHHSHIIIIIII!", while he slams his hand against the drum...)

 

[Steve]

Re: Few things, Biff.

(FADEIN: Jason Murray and Bronte Lakes in front of a NFW BRAWL backdrop. Murray's dressed in black pants tights and a sleeveless white John Lennon shirt. Lakes has a black mini skirt, green cami and a jeans jacket. her black hair pulled into pigtails.)

JASON MURRAY: The thing about change is it never happens when everyone’s ready. Change happens everyday to the unwilling, the unprepared, the unwanted. A gunman walks onto a college campus and opens fire. And a kid whose biggest worry was telling his new girlfriend he was a virgin just had his life change forever.

The NFW lost its heart and soul and doesn’t want you to know it.

They’re not ready for true change.

But its coming.

I’m the ground floor.

I’m the movement.

I’m the superstar who’s been viewed thousands of times on youtube by kids all over the world. The NFW carefully crafts its image imported overseas. They negotiate deals and market and sell the story they want to tell to the foreign masses.

Jason Murray doesn’t want to spoon feed the people a lie.

I PERFORM the truth in ring and upload to my following!

Eric and I have been met with resistance backstage. We’re a couple of kids who haven’t earned it. We’re not playing the cards we were dealt. But, I’m not here to climb a ladder or meet the wives and mistresses at company picnics. I’m here for the revolution.

And make no mistake, we are the revolution. We are the POINT OF VIEW the NFW needs to regain the clarity they had years before it was lost to a quest for giant trophies championed by other promotions, and magic dildos.

The NFW doesn’t believe in the creativity that made it a hot lunch.

I know the following is ready for a revolution. I hear the whispers, I know what the people are begging for. They’re tired of being asked to buy the 90s repackaged and sold. They’re tired of having their champion leashed and collared.

The NFW fears what it doesn’t know. I can’t blame them. The first time I jumped out of my father’s bedroom window and landed on my neck, heard the CRACK, and laid motionless on the mat staring a moon visible in the daylight and smelling Mr. Porter’s smoker roasting a pork shoulder next door, I wondered if I’d made a mistake. I wondered if I’d spend the rest of my life afraid, being spoon fed dinner and told I was special.

I wondered if I’d be like the NFW masses.

Too dumb to know better, just happy to be alive and be seen.

But, five minutes later my eyes came around and I was able to get my ass off the mat. I had a choice to go back to community college and admit my mistakes, or throw away the notion of fear.

That day I bought into the revolution.

I have no fear.

But I see the fearful in NFW.

And you should be afraid.

We are young, we are experienced, but we were prevail.

It’s our time to be hated.

We will shape NFW into our image, we will take the company from the ghosts it holds dear and embrace the future.

Windham is the fast food chain in wrestling. It’s quick and easy and a sure bet to bring home a profit, but the NFW can do so much better. Those of us who bought in to a dream when the doors opened deserve change.

BRONTE LAKES: We’ve been told to reconsider story arcs and take a meeting with marketing. The truth is, if I wore my skirt a little higher, if I whored myself around the locker room like every other girl here, the process would move a little faster. But, POINT OF VIEW doesn’t play the game. We play OUR game. I don’t give a damn about sex appeal. I’ve seen what the business does to woman, but I know when Jason and Eric change it, when WE are the ones making policy in NFW you’ll see a company that respects women, and everything we bring to the table.

Every day in the gym, and my boys get better.

Every opportunity lost is another day closer to the end game.

I know what I offer to this business and if you don’t see it now, you’ll see it when my heels are digging into your throat!

JASON MURRAY: Sometimes change is just a pebble throw across a pond, but the ripple effect is beautiful in its own way. After I win the GRAND PRIX, they’ll be talking about the ripple effect for years.

You don’t have to be ready for change.

I am.

And it only takes one.

(FTB)

 

[SpookyDoom]

Qui audet adipiscitur

"Okay, we ready to do this? Let's do this."

Spooky Doom...

"You want to know more about my uncle? Here's his story: once upon a time there was a tall awkward-looking ginger kid. Enters the wrestling business and they tell him: you gonna be a supernatural undead zombie grave keeper. They flat-out tell him to take the souls of his opponents and stuff 'em inside a tiny little urn. Does he tell 'em: "Fuck you, that's stupid"? Does he tell 'em: "Sure, but you realize how ridiculous that sounds"? Hell no, he says "That's friggin' awesome!!!" and owns that shit until he's the only fightin' Grim Reaper worth a damn anywhere!"

Is the most amazing luchador in existence...

"Your uncle... is considerably less awesome. Hard work is it's own reward but wrestling demands both courage and ambition. And courage means stepping off the beaten path to create something truly incredible. Your uncle, for all his qualities, didn't do that. More damning, you don't do that. Face it Impy, my supernatural presence here is the only thing keeping this tourny interesting and you owe it all to a lil' Grim Reaper thingy's courage in challenging the unknown!"

A fearless force inside and outside the ring.

"Wrestling muddafukka, do you even understand what it represents? This is a place where you can be anything and you chose to be a decent kid from New York City that's merely talented at his job. Talent, as if anybody less than six foot tall could survive in this business without it... My dreams are huge! I wish I could teleport in darkness, shoot lightning bolts from my fingertips or be allowed to take thirteen minutes for my entrance..."

His story is tragic...

"But because nobody could ever be as awesome as my uncle, I can only push the boundaries of the impossible while I'm inside the ring. So I hit harder, flip a little more, try to think up new mind-blowing lucha techniques... Of course I don't want to do the same exact things as my uncle; there's no point in repetition! But I hope that one day, someone finds ME awesome enough to dare- not being ridiculous, to be unreal."

But his optimism is boundless.

"Because wrestling is not ridiculous! Wrestling is beautiful! And yes, what I do, everything that I do here, is part of the greater whole of professional wrestling!"

He has stumbled...

"Actually, that's not entirely true. Ultimately, wrestling is only what you make of it. Real easy to see it your way: contest of skill, neat moves, hard work and talent, yadda yadda... And yet, all it takes to make this sport earnestly special is for someone to take a leap of faith. My uncle did so and became the superstar he is today. I saw this and molded my life accordingly. Otherwise.... everything we do remains just a sport."

This lil' Grim Reaper often opened his heart for the masses...

"I like to call wrestling the loudest and most talkative sport in existence. I mean seriously, you see the Lakers jabber on like we do before each game? Film segments where they hang out smoking a doobie? Look at Jack and Nova; they're not wrestlers, they're reality show contestants with better bodies! They can be funny and zany... zany like a TV sitcom. Zany is pretty ordinary when you think about it, all you need is a cool friend with a sense of humor. This mask which I wear? That's when I transcend the sport, don the offices of the Spooky Doom and start hunting for the souls of the soulless!"

But he can stand proud, for his battles have never been in vain.

"You're worse than boring, Impulse; you're the guy who didn't try. As soulless as they come, a man born without dreams with a vision of wrestling that's downright myopic. That's not a wacky little mask on my head worn for the sake of entertainment: Spooky Doom's real, what more he's goddamn necessary! Do you even realize how much fear rules over your life? Fear of standing out, fear of feeling ridiculous; more relevant is the fear that I'm gonna tear your life apart if I win the Super Sunday Brawl! Let's be honest, that's what's forcing you to react!"

He is the modern day Warrior-Philosopher of professional wrestling.

"I realize now that the ULTRATITLE was never ready for someone like me. I've nothing to be ashamed of, the problem is you. Not merely you Impulse personally, but people unable to accept me or the totality of what this industry represents. You think you're so talented, as if that meant anything. Fact check: my uncle won't be remembered for how talented or athletic he was, he'll be remembered for the sheer burning intensity he brought to the ring! I'm proud of my unmatched devil-given talent, but I'll never forget what's really important: the fearlessness to always go one step further and forever battle the point beyond."

He is an unflinching competitor who cannot accept to sit or lie down while there's still fighting to be done.

"It all sounds very fancy, but at the heart of it lies the maxim that you only acquire skill by pushing yourself. Those ruled by fear were never truly talented to begin with, merely delusional because they vanquished everyone that they could. Not the same. And now you understand why I'm beyond talented. Super Sunday Brawl will be remembered as the story of my triumph, of this I have no doubt."

Monstrous swag, incredible confidence, a determination that beggars belief...

"Some idiot was talking about change. Here's a quote for him: be the change you want to see in the world! I'm entering the Super Sunday Brawl not to dominate New Frontier, but to inspire it. Oh I'm gonna be normal alright; after everyone is as wild and beautiful as I am now. Or surprise me: dare go further than I could ever imagine. I'd welcome a friend anytime..."

If it weren't rooted in the mightiest heart found anywhere, ever.

"Whatever happens, I'm glad I got this off my chest. You wanna talk back, get the last word in or whatever? Be my guest; it's your show, I'm just here to make it interesting. Who am I? I'm not defined by my relatives, but they did teach me about all the greatness there is to this crazy madcap world. I'm Spooky Doom, and you'll never find a man, zombie, creature living or dead more passionate about this business than I. Now enjoy the rest of your life, creep."

Spooky Doom is gonna knock your socks off!

 

[Steve]

Re: Qui audet adipiscitur

(FADEIN: Jason Murray and Bronte Lakes in front of an NFW Brawl backdrop.)

JASON MURRAY: I call for change in the NFW and they’re importing crazy from across the Atlantic. This is a promotion that once gave away signed dildos to the first three thousand fans in attendance for tv tapings Spooky, nobody gives a shit about your past life as a bottom for the devil. Your idea of colorful is queer and funky, I get that.

The NFW’s idea of color is a bit more abrasive.

You wear a mask? Great.

You’ve got some lucha skills? Fantastic.

I’m more concerned over the fact that I’ve been drug tested twice since we signed our contracts and apparently they’re letting you walk in high as a fucking kite.

If you want to daydream about shooting lightning out of your fingertips and dance around the ring like a fairy from a New York stage production, go right ahead. You’re exactly the kind of shit we’re trying to rage against. The idea that you have to put on a mask and take a personality test before visiting hair and wardrobe offends me and flat out dooms the future of this business.

You’re an entity Spooky. You’ve got a song and dance and somewhere stuck up your ass is probably a string, which if pulled would recite an unbearable number of boring tales about your life. Frankly I’d just prefer to read the back of your wrestling buddy’s box. Lil spooky just wants to be an undead wrestling mystery and before and after the show push a host of merchandise.

This is a marketing opportunity for you. You’re going to go back home and tell everyone how Spooky’s claiming souls here and you know, in general, make yourself seem like a gawd damn hero.

But you’re dead on arrival here if you think this crowd is ready to do anything put burn your career on a stake, or throw salt in your eyes, or whatever they do to kill over produced and scripted luchadores in England.

Your Uncle never told you, he hated his gimmick and wanted desperately to be his fucking self. I hope he left you a few thousands bucks before he died, because if not all he left you was a horrible sense of direction in the wrestling world.

But this isn’t about you.

It’s about change.

It’s about a kid who found inspiration within himself and trained ON HIS OWN to make it this far. Your fantasy is a bit of a joke, really. That’s cool, we all like to laugh Spooky. But, my fantasy was built in my father’s back yard and I lived it every day for hours. Working, training, building.

On a scale, my backyard promotion was nothing. When your friends are the workers and you’re selling programs to church groups and seniors, you realize there’s a very limited future in what you’re doing. But I worked as hard on my craft as anyone here. Because what you don’t realize is you’re not trying to sell them on being a wrestler, you’re selling yourself.

And every time I went over the top rope and nearly broke my neck falling into my dad’s apple tree, or powerbombed one of the Wilson twins from my bedroom window, I was creating a reality I could buy into, certainly more or so than your own.

And now I have THOUSANDS of people following me on my youtube channel! I’ve created a ground movement to return the sport to its roots.

No bullshit.

No stories daytime TV would be afraid to tell.

Just combat.

Just the dream.

I realized I couldn’t change the business from my backyard. But I’ll never forget the origins of NFW’s new POINT OF VIEW.

I’m green.

I’m naked.

But I’ve got passion and talent. I don’t fear mistakes. I don’t fear losing. Because whether I win the Grand Prix or not, I’ve already set in motion the events for NFW’s reckoning that can’t be undone.

To succeed in NFW they want you to choke on misdirection and past, but this is the start of something big for Bronte and myself.

Nova, Jack Harmen, Impulse…these are the names the legends in today’s business.

And I relish the opportunity to show everyone I belong.

Keep your masks and rules of engagement. Whether you’re selling cupcakes or grim reaper bobble heads, it’s all a joke to me.

This isn’t a bake sale. It’s a dance and I look forward to leading!

This is when I win the Grand Prix.

This is when I win my choice of major title shots.

And this will be remembered as the day when Jason Murray saved the NFW from the retreads and ghosts of Christmas pasts and finally gave them something original to recall their own.

 

[Ford]

Re: Qui audet adipiscitur

JACK HARMEN (O.S.): Nova got me thinking.

(JACK HARMEN is slumped in the corner of the ring. His Everette Memorial title slung over his limp shoulder. He blinks twice, and shakes his head to clear the cob webs. His eyes are still stained from Akita Hoshi's mist.)

JACK HARMEN: I saw the fire in Nova's eyes. He wanted to win the Grand Prix, even in the condition he's in... It's admirable.

(Harmen blinks.)

JACK HARMEN: I threw my hat into the last two Grand Prix's. I said before I'd do this third, to win a championship opportunity for Superfly Express.

(Jack looks down at the tag strap laying across his chest.)

JACK HARMEN: Now I wonder what's the point? I've been beaten, bloodied, decimated from all corners of the NFW. Any sane man would say no more, rest his body and count his blessings.

(PAUSE.

CUTTO: XCU on Harmen's lips as he smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: I am no sane man.

(CUTTO: Wide shot, as the camera dollies away.)

JACK HARMEN: Let it ride...

(MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC. NFW LOGO. FADE OUT.)

 

[fugginVOSS]

Re: Qui audet adipiscitur

[FADE IN: on IKAN JOBTAYOO watching a monitor before his “I WRESTLE BEARS*” backdrop. On the monitor is FRANKIE FARGO shooting his mouth.]

FARGO: Now, Ah’m gonna go ‘head an’ address tha’ oppasition. Ikan Jobtayoo, if yer thinkin’ ya’ can walk yer Commie-ass ‘nta America, join tha’ Grand Prix, an’ become a star … yer dumber than you look! Ah’m gonna’ git ya’ n’ that ring, slap tha’ shit outta’ ya’, an’ send ya’ back where you come from!

[IKAN’s eye widen and he quickly, in panic, turns the monitor off. He spins around to address the camera.]

IKAN JOBTAYOO:
“Mister Fargo. Ikan no like zee youse is talking about him. Back where I came from? My mother not so pleased about me making track back into vaginal ducts! Especial with you sending Ikan there. Mother not so pleased not all!

“I don’t wish to upsetting you, sir. Ikan no wanting zee trouble with wrestler who is ‘complished and with zee talent like you. I hope we don’t go in zee ring with each other because Ikan want to last MORE than zee two minutes.

“You would squash Ikan like zee bug under boot heel, Frankie. You just staying right where art thou, Frankie. No come near Ikan unless it is for cuddles. And Ikan no think you cuddling kinda man, yah?

“Frankie, I am not worthing of your oxygen. I am but door mat for wrestler like you, Frankie. And I don’t even having famous uncle.”

[Shrug.]

IKAN JOBTAYOO:
“Ikan Jobtayoo, Frankie. But zee question is...

“Can you job ta me?”

[FADE to BLACK!]

 

[brusch]

Re: Qui audet adipiscitur

"Jason Murray...Impulse...no offense to either of you, but get in line. Spooky Doom is mine."

(Leyenda de Ocho stares hard into the camera lens as it opens. He stands on top of a Chicago high rise rooftop overlooking Lake Michigan; he is wearing his traditional Little Mac pastel pink hoodie, hood up. Strangely, a dark mask seems to be worn underneath the hood, but with the lighting it's difficult to make out what is on it.)

Ocho: "I truly mean no offense to either of you, because the fact is, I completely understand your animosity towards Spooky. I feel the fire burn inside of me too. There's just...SOMETHING...about him that sparks the furor and ire in all of us fellow cruiserweights.

I say get in line, because whether you two know it or not...I called dibs on him first."

(Ocho looks out towards the lake, back towards the camera, as the sun begins to set.)

Ocho: "Spooky and I have a little history between us. It hasn't been shown on NFW screens, but that doesn't mean the animosity is any less real. We're all fighters in the little-federation-that-could where we coexist - we're all real, and we're all doing our damndest week in and week out. Murray and Impulse, maybe you can appreciate that as well...for all the successes you've both found in your careers up to now, everyone starts from somewhere. I'm making my start wherever I can, and hell, maybe I'll make a name for myself sooner rather than later.

A while back, I called Spooky Doom out - not because of anything he or I did, but because I needed to KNOW something. I needed to KNOW if I had what it took to hang with the established cruiserweights in this business. We even had a chance to hash it out over in the IWF - but unfortunately, there hasn't been any resolution...and I think he likes that. He's thrown all sorts of lines and jibber jabber my way that can basically be summed up like this:

I'm the greatest force in the world, and maybe you'll get there one day kid."

(Ocho turns toward the camera with a rarely-seen anger flashing in his eyes.)

Ocho: "You condescending ass. We fought, and it was spectacular...but the fact of the matter is you haven't beaten me yet. And what's even more infuriating to me than all the talk of your uncle and your soul-harvesting and all the rest of that stupid nonsense is that I haven't beaten you either. And the way you flippantly cast me aside, like I was some 2-bit chump trying to hack my 8-bit lifestyle...this whole matter has changed entirely.

It's no longer about me needing to KNOW if I can hang with the veteran cruisers. It's about KNOWING that I'm never going to rest in peace until I finally have my triumph over you. If that has to happen in Bristol against a field of some of the most well-respected and accomplished flyers in our sport...so be it.

Impulse, Murray...maybe our paths will cross soon. I look forward to that time, and best of luck to you in the Grand Prix. Until then...

the chump is mine."

(Fade to black)

 

[Colin]

We find ourselves as we can sometimes do on accident in the company of one Phil Atken, looking slightly haggered with his sunken eyes and hunched over back. He appears to be on his famed mobular communication device on a phone call of some description.

Atken: Look... Teddy! Teddy, Teddy! Teddy, please, Teddy, please stop yelling. Please. How many times do I need to apologise? I'm really sorry. I know, it was my fault, I wasn't where I needed to be. Please just... no... no I don't want my head there, I quite like my head in its current position... No that wasn't snark. Honest. Teddy, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I'm going to fix this. I'm going to put it right.

Phil hangs up the phone and tosses it to the ground in frustration. He stares up to the ceiling to try and figure out a solution to all his problems, instead some weird brown liquid drips down on his face. He wipes it off and continues to go about his business.

Atken: What do I do? The last thing I need in my life right now is an irate Teddy Alexander trying to add my head to his new bowling bag collection. You'd think the guy had enough heads already after that trip to the graveyard but nooooooooo...

Phil slaps himself in the forehead a few times.

Atken: Fix this, I need to fix this. How do I fix this? I need to fix this! If I just keep talking... talking... talking something will come to me. Something needs to come to me. WHY WON'T SOMETHING COME TO ME!

A cameraman subtly slides a sheet of paper advertising the Grand Prix in front of Phil, carefully highlighting the "Tag Team Title Shot" portion of the winners purse.

Atken: What the hell is... oh... oh... I see. I see it now! I get it! This is how I do it! This is how I win the big guy back over. I've got to enter this thing, I've got to save our relationship... such as it is. I have to save my life. Just think how happy Teddy will be if I win us some Tag Title shots! He'll be all smile and hugs. It'll be happy times! That's it, I've decided! I'm doing this, I'm doing it for us!

Phil scribbles his name down on the list of competitors and tosses it back to the production staff.

Atken: So who has entered this Grand Pricks thing... Grand Pricks? Is that right? Are we finding the biggest prick? Maybe I should withdraw my entry...

...

There is some murmuring off camera.

Atken: Pri? Pee? Whatever, I don't have time to start trying to understand words. So who's in this thang?

A second sheet of paper listing some of the participants finds its way towards Phil.

Atken: I'm a bowling ball.