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Post by "Cowboy" James Bullet on May 28, 2014 19:19:48 GMT -5
William Rome/Kato Murphy/Phillip Kennedy: Please post your Roleplays here. - Thanks
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Post by Phillip Kennedy on Jun 2, 2014 15:47:18 GMT -5
“I gave up the 2014 WSOP for this?”
Those irritated words belonged to a man who had, just nights earlier on Roulette, proclaimed his arrival into No Limits Wrestling with no small amount of pride.
It was amazing, really, what a few short days could do to change the mood of one Phillip Kennedy.
The semi-pro poker player was at the Rio, alright, but rather than competing in the various and sundry events of the biggest event poker had to offer, he was upstairs in a suite, sprawled out on a king-size bed. His signature black Stetson was on his head, and the expression he wore on his face was equal parts disgust and anger.
“I was all set to go make a run in the World Series of Poker this year.” Kennedy groused. “Had my seed money and everything, but then...the itch struck me. I wanted to get back in the ring. NLW got in touch with me, and from everything I saw? I thought I had myself a fine new home. Should've known better.”
Enough time in poker (and life) had taught Kennedy the painful lesson that most things that looked too good to be true were. Still, Phil had wanted to believe that he was going to become Television Champion on his first night with the company.
And then, well, the rest was history. Cards ARE, as always, subject to change.
“Everything was going fine for a while. No Limits Wrestling had seen fit to give me an opportunity at its Television Championship against five other competitors. Not the greatest debut in the world, but Hell, I was going to walk out of Cox Pavilion with some gold wrapped around my waist. That lasted all of, oh, thirty or so minutes?”
If that. Kennedy's face, surly enough under normal circumstances, had a few days worth of stubble to it that made him look even less like a man you'd want to cross, at a poker table or in the ring.
“Now, I've got a boring old Triple Threat match against two fellow newcomers. Phillip Kennedy comes out of retirement to fight for an upstart hometown promotion, and that's the best the guys in charge of No Limits can do? Makes a guy feel insignificant...and please believe me when I tell you, Mr. Bullet and Mr. Harris, that the last thing you want right now is for Phillip Kennedy to feel insignificant.”
Kennedy wasn't the sort of man to bite the hands that fed him. Actually, no, that was a blatant lie. He absolutely was. Particularly so when there were reasons given for Phillip to use his pristine white chompers, all but one of which had survived wrestling thus far intact.
“I'm a patient man, gentlemen, when it pays for me to be,” the wannabe cowboy drawled, voice smooth as silk. “In poker, I make my money by knowing the right time to strike, the right time to take a man for everything that he's got...but I'm a little different in this sport. I take what I want the second I want it. And right now? The only thing in the way of me and this company's Television Championship is the men in charge deciding to withhold an opportunity from me. Trying to take food off my plate, as it were.”
There were two things that Phillip Kennedy decreed that one not screw with. One was a man's woman. The other? A man's money, of course.
“Let me be 100% crystal clear about matters: I do not need No Limits Wrestling. No Limits Wrestling needs ME.” Phillip nodded firmly. He had enough money in the bank to keep going. He was a fixture at cash games on the Strip, grinding out a solid living for himself.
“It needs one of its hometown sons to provide it with the star power it needs to last longer than a month. You know how many promotions come up and die in Las Vegas alone, never mind the rest of this country? It's no skin off my back if this one joins them. Hell, maybe I could go join your would-be rivals if that happened. I'm sure Sin City Wrestling understands how to treat a talented hometown star.”
Was it a cheap shot? Of course – but as far as Phil was concerned, Bullet was the one who was starting wars on his company's first show – and starting one privately with a proud, arrogant man named Phillip Kennedy. There would be consequences for such things.
Kennedy had been trained well, brought up in the wrestling world by three women who had imparted one simple lesson to him: make GODDAMNED sure that people feared the consequences of their actions.
That would hold true for ANYONE, owner or no owner.
“I'm coming to the Cox Pavilion on June 4th to show you, Bullet, and you, Harris, the gravity of the mistake you are making with me. And when I get there, I have two examples who will be standing across the ring from me. One of them is Kato Murphy, the so-called Children's Keeper. Kato, I know that somewhere you're listening to this right now. Look into my eyes.”
With an almost-weary sweep of his arm, Kennedy removes the black Stetson hat that is something of a trademark, and gazes straight ahead. If eyes are the window to the soul, the stains and wounds on the soul of the self-proclaimed Sin City Savior would be visible even to a child.
“Kato,” Kennedy began, voice deadly serious, “I have seen things in this world that would make even your blood run cold. Things I should never have seen. Things I should never have known. Things that, to this day, leave me wondering every so often if I will live to see the next sunrise. If you think that I will be frightened by your army of children and your parlor tricks, you are sadly fucking mistaken.”
One did not play high-stakes poker in Las Vegas without meeting all manner of interesting people. The adage “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” was gospel far before it was a catchy tourism board advertising campaign.
“What that means, my friend,” Kennedy grinned, “is that you're going to have to get by on wrestling talent. And, in my experience? People who rely on the kind of shit you do don't have a whole Hell of a lot in the way of capability once the bell rings to get the job done. For you, the match is won or lost before the bell rings. For some poor sap who's intimidated by your creepy army of little kids? Yeah, he's easy prey. Me? Not so much, Kato. I've got a lariat or three with your name on them, and when this contest is over, you will understand that the difference between you and I is, well, man versus boys.”
The smile on Kennedy's face was smooth, easy, and confident – much like the man himself.
“Alas, I have been tasked with a second opponent,” Phillip sighed. “Making my night less easy will be a man who I inherently like slightly more than our keeper of children. William Rome, I will give you credit – you haven't come to my town of Las Vegas, Nevada with an army of kids in some misguided attempt to terrify No Limits Wrestling into submission. I appreciate that – this town has enough Kato Murphys walking the Strip every single day. Regardless, though, what that means is that you're here honest to God thinking you can measure up to the Big Stack, Phillip Kennedy.”
He remembered being LIKE William Rome, too, when he started. Full of piss and vinegar, ready to take on the world – and then he too had lost his debut match.
By the end of the year, he'd held two titles and been named Rookie of the Year, though, so perhaps the comparison wasn't ALL bad for young Mister Rome.
“You're a young kid with stars in your eyes. I get it, believe me I do.” Phillip nodded his head. He'd been there before. Everyone had, really. “You're ready to start that climb to the top of the ladder. And you might just make it. After all, this place is full of the dregs of professional wrestling society. We have a man who calls himself “Snot Booger” and believes this is a winning name. We have a disco-lover who is by now temporally displaced by nearly forty-five years. You can win matches here, William. I believe that. I really do.”
Kennedy clapped. Shockingly enough, it wasn't TOTALLY in a mocking fashion, either!
“It just sucks for you that you're not going to win your debut, because it's against me. That's okay, though. This is the sort of experience that builds character. It'll get you good and pissed off for next time out, when you face one of the sadder sacks of this company that you can demolish at will. One day, you'll look back on what's going to happen to you and thank me. Motivation's a powerful drug, Rome.”
Motivation was indeed mighty fuel, and above anything else, it was what was driving the Las Vegas Lariat to the Cox Pavilion. There were two men there whom he wished to prove wrong – two owners of No Limit Wrestling that he wanted to show his wares to.
“But at the end of the day, it isn't even you two that I'm sending a message to at Roulette. It's our beloved owners. I see the NLW Twitter chirping away all day, trying to bring in new competitors! New tag teams! Luring them in with promises of Heavyweight Championship glory, whoring yourselves for the world to see...I would advise you gentlemen to focus on what you have, right here, and not the vast expanses of the world outside your walls.”
Phillip Kennedy was not the sort of man to take a slight, ANY slight. In his mind, he'd been wronged by ownership, and now, his task was simple: make them see what they could miss out on in the event he jumped ship to greener pastures.
“You two can advertise on Twitter all you want,” Phil beamed, “but you don't have to look far to find the first NLW Heavyweight Champion. But you don't have to take my word for it, boys. Just ask Kato Murphy and William Rome when I'm done with them. Because, as always, when Phillip Kennedy steps between the ropes, there's only one hand you can put me on.”
With a cackle and a grin, Kennedy raised his left arm in the air. His dominant arm.
His lariat arm.
“The stone cold nuts.”
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Post by Kato Murphy on Jun 3, 2014 0:50:26 GMT -5
Sirens ring out as the arena begins to pulsate between pitch black and back to brightness, the heavy beat of a drum comes over the siren and Apex Predator By Otep slams hard across the P.A. system. The light begin to explode leading up to the ring and then the whole arena is plunged into darkness. At the same time Otep Shamaya begins to sing a row of candles are lit at the top of the ramp, exposing Kato Murphy dressed in a black suit and black tie. His face is covered with the same mask from the nights before, and in his hand is the same black mic with the bloody rag. From behind him comes the other three men they are dressed in all white tux's that are cover with blood at the pant legs to the thighs. Unlike Kato's their mask are jet black with white markings. They walk to surround him and cross their hands in front of them and look out into the arena. Kato slowly pulls the mic to his lips and the crowd erupts before he can even say a word, all four men cock there heads to one side. Then Kato lightly makes a shhh sound bringing the mic back to his lips.
"My my what a ego we have here, the hilarity of it is beyond me. This is what my message is about look at him he claims he will show me the lariat from hell. That he will teach me a listen that blah blah blah, your simplistic machismo bores me. For the last umpteen years fans have been feed this type of egotistical the world owe mes attitude. Big Stack or should I say Big Mac no see if I say that i know what your come back will be so I'm not even going to set the joke up. Listen to him children he says just what every retirement age wrestler says, I'm a man he's a boy, I'm this I deserve that and oh as the world turns. Enough shut it, it's over played and over rated. You want to be noticed because you've done this and that. Well cowboy lets ride this pony we call entertainment and give the children a show."
The fans erupt with cheer before quiting as Kato brings the mic back to his lips.
"No oh no I am far from done picking you to pieces. You call out the heads and the bigs and that we do have in common, but that's were the commonness ends. You see you go about it in such a or else way; and that is why you will fail. What you do is you use your mouth, you spew every line that has ever went into your below average brain system, you use small words that you think sound big. There is no brain behind that mouth, there is only ogre sense to your thinking. I know you don't get what I'm saying so let me simplify it for you, I big man me smash me no get what I want. Ha this time your meatheadedness has come up slamming face first into a brick wall and right now your sliding down it to take your seat from the pain. I can tell that your hamster is on fumes in your head spinning, there's smoke coming out your ears and your beginning to shut down. Your brains calling systematic errors, this time your in to far over your head, your coloring outside the lines with you old broken crayons. Your wanting to breathe but your not being let to. You want,you want,you want, will boy o you can't have it, because its not for you. Hold on here comes the point to my random lines of words. You just don't have it in you anymore, go back to your playing cards and leave the ring to those who can still walk a mile and not be huffing and puffing at the end of it."
The crowd begins to chant "Old Timer" loudly.
"I totally agree with them your an old timer, a heart attack waiting to happen. Here let me get you a nice chair and a walker, better yet here have a coffin cause that's where you will be after William and I take you out of our match first. When that happens then it will be a real match, you my friend where just added in to pleased. The heads really wanted a match between me and William Rome. I must give him credit were it is do but that's as far as it goes. Him like you are just another way to for me to show these children what is wrong with every federation out there today. The lack of talent. I myself am not amazing but it's not about me, it's about my family the brothers and the sisters, the people who come night after night, and sit for hour after hour. But what do they get a half assed show with old news talent and pathetic announcers who get drunk at the first show. Come on NLW is this the best you got, your answer for the followers and me. Your scared I know but a three way debut match were your hoping a new comer and a old timer will team up against me. We all know whats going on here and I dont have to scream it from the rafter. You want two people who are both going for the company's neck, so why not put them against each other. I totally get what your doing and it's smart, it really is. But you see I really don't care if I have to take these pawns down one by one then so be it. With me its not about what or who you put in my way, it's about giving the answer to the fans. The CURE."
The Fans erupt in cheers, as Kato and the men begin to walk towards the ring.
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