One Shot at Glory (PPV): MASON v. BENSON

[John Doe]

This fight is three five minute rounds. The RP Deadline is February 13th at 11:50 CST. All RP's must be in this thread. Have fun!

 

[<[K]>]

FADE IN. It was the wee hours of the morning at some random hotel room in San Jose, California. Alexander Benson, the man who was laying spread eagle in his bed with only his boxers on, scratched his pelvic area like there was a burning itch. Clearly, he was a champion of his industry. With the rest of the room in a right mess, it was surprising that there weren't any flies or rodents buzzing around the room. Not that Benson would have noticed, considering he was half-asleep and saliva was drooling out of his mouth like a running tap. There was a sudden knock at the door, which Alexander replied to with a loud semi-conscious grunt. The door opened, and in stepped a pretty young thing dressed simply in a white tee-shirt and black hipster jeans.

ALEXIS: Oh, CHRIST! Alex-ander! Wake the hell up and put some clothes on!

ALEXANDER: Guh? Uhh, brak. Oh, hey sister. Meh, that was some party last night. Hey, where's the girl I banged?

Alexis, the younger sister of the man-child that was still scratching his junk like there was no tomorrow, folded her arms and leaned against the hotel room door. She was too afraid to venture any further, as the rest of the room looked as if it'd been the host to a underage drinking party of sorts.

By this time, Alexander had dragged himself out of bed and grabbed the clock that lay on the floor. In the process, he had to bend over. Alexis, already sickened many times over in the short time she was in the room, quickly turned away and fought the urge to vomit. Looking at her brother's ass attempting to burst out of the tight boxers he'd donned was not a pretty sight.

ALEXIS: Ugh, can you please quickly just throw a robe on or something? And that barely-legal piece of trash you brought back last night left after you vomited all over her face. I'm pretty sure that's not the kind of facial she had in mind.

ALEXANDER: Oh, yeah, haha! And hey, look at you! You made a joke! Aw, you've got some hidden talent, sister!

Anywho, what are you doing here? It's only five in the morning. We only gotta leave for whatever the hell we gotta leave for by eight, right?

Alexis rolled her eyes, still not daring to turn and face her brother. Thankfully, Alexander had managed to locate his robe (it had been stuffed under the bed and had stains all over it) and put it on, not caring how un-sanitary it was.

ALEXIS: We're supposed to be meeting Dad for training, just so you know. But you're right, it is a little early.

I just figured I should tell you that SWIFT MMA responded to your... erm, very interesting application for a spot on the roster. For some reason that escapes me, they've decided to hire you.

And to prove that they're completely insanse, you've been included on the upcoming pay-per-view which is entitled ONE SHOT AT GLORY. You have a fight, against another newcomer by the name of Kevin Mason. So, there you go.

Alexander, who was using his right foot to sift through the garbage on the carpeted floor looking for something to munch on, stopped and cocked his head sideways to meet Alexis' gaze. She'd decided to face him to gather his reaction to her news, considering he'd been out of work for a while.

Truth be told, Alexis was sort of hoping her brother would get rejected by SWIFT MMA. It'd speed up the process of him buggering off, which would allow her to continue with her life and stop being the unofficial babysitter for her screw-up of a sibling.

Alas, somebody had decided Alexander was worth investing in. Oh, how they would regret it. Alexander raised his arms in the air, obviously elated at the news.

ALEXANDER: YES, AH! Victory is mine! Kevin Morgan--

ALEXIS: --Mason, actually.

ALEXANDER: Whatever! Kevin Whatever is going down! The return of Alexander 'Journeyman' Benson will be spectacular! Women will throw their soiled panties at me, men will throw themselves in the river because of me! I'ma be the World Champion in no time!

Alexis shook her head in despair. Her brother was a proper idiot of the highest calibre.

ALEXIS: You haven't had a fight in two years, but sure, World Champion is what you'll become. Right. Anyway, I'm out of here.

But by then, Alexander was not listening. In fact, he was doing random pelvic thrusts targetted at the alarm clock that had now returned to its rightful place on the bedside table. Alexis threw her hands up in exasperation and quickly left the room. There was only so much foolishness she could take in the morning.

ALEXANDER: World Champion, hicks and shemales! Kevin Whatever is going to get hammered like it's 1995! Whoooo!

And to prove his credentials, Alexander Benson promptly passed out. Perhaps the violent thrusting had worn him out. Surely, he'd not make the same mistake in his fight against Kevin Mason.

... Surely. FADE OUT.

 

[kmason]

Everything seemed so abnormal to me today. The sun was out, but for whatever reason my mood didn't allow me to smile that day. I needed something to do, so I went fr a walk. A walk with society. I had always been the loner type. And regardless as to how socially superb I really was. The charm. The charisma. I always felt alone. Not emo, upset at the world, slit my ****ing wrists alone. Just alone. My story wasn't the type that would make a good E True Hollywood story. My life simply... wasn't that interesting. In my opinion anyways. Broken home, college drop out, military and now back to school. I didn't fight with demons like the majority of America. I just didn't allow things to get to me in that way. I thought it was foolish to allow another person to have that type of control. Bleh, **** it. I'm rambling. Anyway, I went on a walk. The birds were chirping and the kids were about. I didn't venture outside much anymore because I hated the attention. Or what I convinced myself people thought of me.

I hated being known.

And as I walked down the sidewalk with my blue jeans and black collared shirt on I noticed a few mothers eyeing me. Sluts. I kept walking as a group of douche bags played frisbee. Suddenly, from the rear, I hear a set of heels trotting. The sound grows closer so I turn around to see Alison Retty. Whoever the **** that is.

Alison: Kevin, Kevin Mason? Is that you?

Kevin: Who wants to know?

I could already tell she was some sort of sponsor or affiliated with a business of some sort. It was the corporate stench.

Alison: Hi, I'm Alison Retty, interviewer for SWIFT... mind if I have a word with you?

I hadn't forgotten about my match with Alexander Benson. Forgetting what pays the bills isn't something I do willingly. And to be honest, if Benson took his head out of his ass for two seconds and let some fresh air get ahold of him... he'd probably come to terms with the stupidity of his past actions, too.

Spread eagle on a bed... in ONLY his boxers... and talking to his sister is if over bacon and eggs?

Whatever works for you, Alexander, but in my opinion... that's a bit iffy. Incest much? Then you brag to her about ****ing some tramp that when combined with you intellectually.... rivals that of a ball point pen. It's rather funny to me, Alexander... how you operate. How you come across. How you see yourself.

How much you ****ing suck. I finally responded.

Kevin: Yeah, I suppose I got a minute. Just enjoying the weather. Shoot.

Alison: SWIFT MMA's pay per view... One Shot at Glory is coming up... any words for your opponent, Alexander Benson?

I reluctantly paused and grew annoyed. I hated how this publicity **** worked. Hype, hype and more hype. Not my style. At all.

Kevin: Not really, Alison, I'm just going to go out there and do what I do best. And thats exploit the opposition. Benson strikes me as a person who's prone to make mistakes. It can be seen for miles. My boxing should end the fight rather quickly.

I continued as she nodded up and down. I stared her right in the eyes.

Kevin: I'm not a man who talks alot, Alison. I'd rather have my actions do the talking. Something a lot of people these days seem to forget. Especially in this sport. This isn't boxing... this is mixed martial arts and if your planning, preperation or execution is off to the slightest degree.... next is your head.

I smiled at her and she did the same. Whether Alexander Benson wanted to take his job seriously or not... wasn't my issue. My plan was to eat him like a Ceasar salad. And go **** yourself if you're unaware as to what I'm saying. Not literally, people. Think for a second.

Kevin: I'm sorry, Alison, but I'm going to have to cut this short. I want to be comfortable for the Kansas/Texas game later on and unfortunately, I have a few errands to run.

I was sincere and she knew it.

Alison: Alright, well, you take care and I appreciate your services.

Kevin: Trust me, the pleasure was all mine.

I grabbed her hand and kissed it - a polite gesture. I dipped my hands back in my pockets as I turned my back to her. I slowly walked off. I didn't know what to think about Alison even though I wanted to. My focus was entirely on Alexander Benson, no matter how cool he thought he was.

Rant or not, the man needed help. Therapy. Hm. Try head butting a knife, Benson, your journey ends here. And suddenly, the sun I openly ignored began to shine a bit brighter as we fade out.

 

[<[K]>]

FADE IN. It was late at night at some dingy pub in the heart of San Jose, California. How late was it? Late enough that it was almost the next day. Alexis Benson was seated at the bar, having just walked in moments ago. Normally, she'd be out with a friend or two, and dressed with a little more desire to attract attention. A pub like she was in, however, was not the ideal place to show skin -- the characters were dodgy, unappealing and downright dreadful. The bartender, unsurprisingly of Hispanic descent, was quick to notice Alexis despite her being covered up with a long black trenchcoat and a black hoodie covering most of her head.

BARTENDER: Hola! What can I get you?

ALEXIS: Um, hi. Yeah, vodka neat. Any vodka will do. In fact, line up a few of them, would you?

BARTENDER: Certainly! Anything for you.

The bartender flashed a genuine smile before turning around to prepare the vodka. Alexis smiled back, thinking that the bartender was not too bad looking. If he'd tried to flirt with her, she wouldn't be adverse to it. Still, she shook her head and went back to worrying. Why was she worrying?

Because just as the bartender turned around and placed five glass of vodka neat on the counter for Alexis, the door to the pub swung open. Alexis shook her head and buried her face in her hands.

BARTENDER: What's wrong?

ALEXIS: Nothing. Just that my brother's walked in, and about to make a complete arse of himself. Which means in about two minutes, I'm going to have to clean up his mess. Again.

BARTENDER: Mess? What's your brother going to do?

ALEXIS: Oh, nothing much. Nothing that the amount of money in my purse won't be able to cover, at least. I hope.

Alexander Benson, ladies and gentlemen. He'd strutted into the pub, walking with legs spread wide apart as if he had gigantic watermelons for balls. In fact, Alexander was of the opinion that he had the biggest balls of anyone he knew. Looking absolutely ****faced, Alexander burped loudly before scanning the rest of the patrons in the pub.

His eyes finally settled on one table in the corner, which were occupied by three guys who were the sorriest looking bunch in the world. All three were just sitting there, enjoying their lagers and looking at each other wondering just how sad their lives had turned out to be. Alexander smiled to himself for some reason, which led to Alexis -- who'd by then turned around to watch her brother -- picking up her first glass of vodka and downing it in one simple gulp. Needless to say, the bartender was both impressed with Alexis and curious by Alexander who'd walked over to his target table.

The three men at the table hadn't noticed Alexander, who burped again before scratching his crotch. He seemed to like to do that, eh?

ALEXANDER: Oi! You! Yes, you, young lady!

RANDOM STRANGER #1: Huh? I'm a dude.

ALEXANDER: Hush, I'll be the judge of that. Anyways, you look like ****e. I suggest you find some rich wanker to ride you roughly tonight.

RANDOM STRANGER #1: ... What?

ALEXANDER: Now, you! Young man!

Alexander now diverted his attention to the second of the three strangers. At the bar, Alexis consumed her second shot of vodka, treating it like water. The hispanic bartender folded his arms, clearly taken by Alexis.

ALEXANDER: What's your name, young man?

RANDOM STRANGER #2: Jeremy. What do you want?

ALEXANDER: Well, Jeremy. Firstly, I doubt that's your real name. You look like a batty boy, and therefore I think your name is Clint. Secondly, I want you to tell your lady friend here to find some rich wanker to ride her roughly tonight. Or maybe you could do her a solid and give her the shagging of her life. I know, it'll conflict with you being a queer and all, but you oughta really help her out.

RANDOM STRANGER #1: Hey, I already said I'm a dude! What the hell are you talking about?

RANDOM STRANGER #2: Yeah, and I'm not gay! Who the heck are you?

ALEXANDER: I'M HAZARDOUS, *****~!

Alexis, almost afraid to watch what was unfolding but obligated to do so nonetheless, shook her head again. She swivelled in her seat, and downed her third vokda in succession. Again, she did it like a champion. Looking up, Alexis saw the bartender watching her with great interest and managed a half-smile at him.

RANDOM STRANGER #1: What?

ALEXANDER: I said, I'M HAZARDOUS. *****! RUAAAAAAAAH!

Alexander raised his arms up and struck a bodybuilding pose, which illicted even more bewilderment from the two men he was harrassing. Without warning, Alexander suddenly *****-slapped both men in the face, which saw Alexis consumed the fourth glass of vodka. The bartender's gaze on Alexis was diverted to the sight of the two men that Alexander *****slapped bawling their hearts out.

The third man at the table, who was so drunk he didn't even notice what was occuring around him, took another gulp of his lager. Alexander, satisfied with his *****-slapping, turned his attention to that last man.

ALEXANDER: And finally, you remain. I've got a present for you, sir.

RANDOM STRANGER #3: Yeahshnflsink! Mooooooaaaaaaaar buzuutittays.

ALEXANDER: Quiet, you. Okay, ahem. I've got to time this just right... five, four, three, two, one.

Annnnd, here we go.

TWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!

The high-pitched squeal of one of the most offensive words in the English vernacular was enough to garner everybody's attention, lest of all Alexis who quickly swallowed her fifth and final shot of vodka. The man that Alexander screamed at covered his ears and yelped, only to have Alexander knock him out with another *****-slap.

ALEXANDER: Ahhh, that was brilliant. Okay, Alexis, we can go now! My twat-ting manuever works like a charm!

That incorrigible Kevin Morgan--

ALEXIS: --Mason. It's Mason that you're fighting.

ALEXANDER: Yeah, Kevin Wilkinson is so going to get twat-ted when we do the dance of death!

Come on, let's go find me some *****es to bang! Whooooooooo!

Alexander dusted his hands off and marched out of the pub, with everyone else looking on incredulously. The three random men he'd harrassed? Let's just say they lay in a heap on the floor, sobbing at the abuse they'd just received.

Alexis Benson was close to crying herself, as she saw the bartender watch on with mouth hanging wide open. Shaking her head, Alexis dug into the purse she'd carried in her left hand.

ALEXIS: That was my brother. He's a fighter, of sorts, and he has this fight coming up. To finish his preparations, he figured that he'd come in and try out a move that he calls... well, it's a bloody dirty word, but you heard it say it. For some reason, my brother is under the assumption that screaming out an offensive term like that followed by a slap to the face is what he'll need to do to win the fight.

Here's a couple of hundred of dollars. I hope it's sufficient to cover everything.

Alexis slammed down the dollar bills on the counter, nodded at the bartender, and jumped off the bar-stool, making a quick exit. Thankfully, her brother didn't do anything else that would have warranted her digging a hole in the ground and escaping by that way.

Outside the pub, Alexander Benson struck another bodybuilding pose, which drew a crowd of puzzled onlookers. Grinning widely, Alexander figured he had his first professional fight in two years already won.

... On what basis? Only Alexander knew. FADE OUT.

 

[kmason]

No matter how ignorant the opponent seemed, I knew I had to keep my demeanor. From flashing his sibling to a generic bar scene.... typical. I'm not impressed, buddy. I'm not moved by the impression you think you've left behind like the stench of ***** a starving dog wouldn't eat. Benson's aired his own weaknesses like individuals openly participating in meetings for Alcoholics Anonymous. It's hilarity to me how funny you truly think you are. You fall short in that department, Benson, not to mention the overzealous image you're attempting to portray leaves you open like a drive thru.

One Shot at Glory -- defeat will greet you in the form of Kevin Mason. No overused moniker to promote ticket sales. No unplanned rhetoric that I couldnt possibly back up for approval. It's going to be just you and I, Benson. Man on man. Pitbull on poodle, rather. So while you sit there and let another persona tell YOUR failing story, it tells me one massive thing.

Alone, you can't handle the pressure.

Alone, you can't hold your own.

Alone, you're just like Alexis - a *****.

Tampons, aisle five.

You're going to get your feelings hurt, Benson. And for your unwarranted ego, its going to be an issue that doesn't go away like global warming.

Insert Kevin Mason in a gym like setting. Random people are in the same area doing their own thing on various machines. Free weights are available, etc etc. If you've not been to the gym and are unable to visualize this, you should shoot yourself. He finally comes to a stop after running a few miles. Dripping sweat with his headphones in, he's approached by one of his trainers.

Trainer: Kev, man, thats enough working out. You should probably rest before your debut.

I didn't like when people interrupted my work outs, especially with Drake in the ear.

Kevin: I understand where you're coming from, but I had to burn off some steam, man. Benson's antics have really annoyed me.

Trainer: Annoyed you? How so? The guys a douche, Kev.

Kevin: The kid thinks this is a game. It's not a game to me. It's not a shot of Jaeger and a busty ***** lifestyle either, and for whatever reason... he feels as though those practices will help him. His mind's not where it needs to be to succeed. And its obvious.

Trainer: Well, at the pay per view, take him out.

I quickly thought about it and adjusted.

Kevin: **** that, I'm going to knock his teeth down his throat.

Trainer: Understood. Well since you put it that way, how about we run some hand drills on the bag.

He understood where I was coming from.

Kevin: Now you're speaking my language.

We walked from the treadmill I was on towards the heavy bag area. A random conglomerate of individuals were already on them. We walked to a free one and I punched the bag a couple of times.

Kevin: How am I supposed to take this guy seriously, man?

Trainer: ....

Kevin: What's wrong with the kids these days?

Trainer: ....

Kevin: In a filthy bar with a fight coming up? Drinking, too?

Trainer: .... yeah, stupid.

Kevin: .. as hell.

I continued to vent and hit the bag. My trainer just listened from this point forward. He saw that I was determined and failure wasn't an option at this point. He knew how I worked... and more importantly, knew when to shut the hell up.

Kevin: ... yeah, we'll see how well his jaw holds up at the pay per view. We'll see if he can understand the name in front of him then, as I knock the taste out of his mouth.

It stayed this way for quite some time. I vented for a while, trying my best not to lose sight of the goal at hand. Benson is going to get his head knocked off like a bad weave. I'll give him a reason to go on Tyra. Hopefully give his sister a reason to wear black. Funerals own. Fix yourself, Alexander, your approach won't get you where you want to be. However, it will get you were you need to be.

On a failed audition tape for the Real World.

On the Jersey Shore... trust, you'd fit in.

Again, your focus is lacking for the second time in a row, Alexander.

Now come get your loss, its been calling you all week like a ****ing telemarketer.

Catch up.