Wheeler versus Orton

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Lady Munin
Administrator

Posts: 267

Wheeler versus Orton Apr 8, 2016 2:08:39 GMT

Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 2:08:39 GMT

RP Max: 2
RP #1 Deadline: Thursday, January 14, 2016 at 11:59 p.m. EST
RP #2 Deadline: Wednesday, January 20, 2016 at 11:59 p.m. EST
Start and Segment Deadline: Thursday, January 21, 2016 at 7:59 a.m. EST

If you do not meet roleplay deadline #1 with your first roleplay, you can only post one. Reply, to compete on WICKED #2.

Lady Munin
Administrator

Posts: 267

Wheeler versus Orton Apr 8, 2016 2:09:09 GMT

Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 2:09:09 GMT

The Inherent Perils of a Lack of Match Relevance

INT. PURE AMUSEMENT THEME PARK - GAMING AREA - AFTERNOON 

The place is Pure Amusement, the gaming area to be specific, where guests flock to various booths and stands, trying to pop balloons, knock down milk jugs, or put darts in the center of circles-- all in an effort to win a prize.

Two stoners wander aimlessly among the guests . They are newly signed P.A.W. prospect JAMIE WHEELER, and his side kick CHECKERS. They are both clearly baked.

JAMIE WHEELER

I call shenanigans. What you're

spewing is sheer conjecture.

CHECKERS

You can call shenanigans all

you want, mofo-- I am telling

you, there is some connection.

JAMIE WHEELER

Between the Mario Brothers

and the Ninja Turtles? Get

the fuck out of here.

CHECKERS

Yo, I'm telling you. Check it

out-- you got four turtles of

Italian descent. Michaelangelo.

Donatello. Rafael. Leonardo.

You don't get any more Italian

than that, okay? Four pizza-

lovin' turles. And where do they

live? The motherfuckin' sewer.

Jamie swats at the air dismissively.

JAMIE WHEELER

It means nothing.

CHECKERS

Hold on a second. Now on the other

side of the equation, you've got to

Italian Brothers. Mario. Luigi-- all

about the pizza, okay. And what's

their trade? They're motherfucking

plumbers, yo. They deal with sewers

all the time, constantly jumping down

pipes and shit.

As they continue to walk, it starts to resonate with a baked Wheeler.

JAMIE WHEELER

Now that you mention it, Mario and Luigi

are constantly jumping on those turtles--

Checkers snaps his fingers and points at Jamie.

CHECKERS

The motherfucking Koopa Troopa's.

That's what I'm talking about. There

is some kind of turf war going on, and--

Jamie is sidetracked by the sight of a nearby gaming booth-- actually, he is sidetracked by the sight of the familiar face working the booth.

Jamie's newfound friend ALLISON is working the DART GUN game. She looks bored out of her skull. Jamie turns to Checkers.

JAMIE

Yo, hang out here for a sec.

CHECKERS

What do you mean, hang out here for

a second-- I'm in the middle of unfolding

this grand theory, ready to unveil the "a-ha"

moment, and you're gonna take us to a

commercial break at a cliffhanger?

JAMIE

Yo, just be cool.

CHECKERS

Yeah, yeah, go do you're thing.

Checkers spots a nearby "Let Me Guess Your Age" booth. He rubs his hands together.

CHECKERS

I'm gonna go fuck with some

people and win some loot.

Jamie makes his way over to Allison's dart gun booth, and catches her off guard, plunking a five dollar bill down. He grabs her attention, with comes with a smile.

ALLISON

Well, well, well, if it isn't the

proprietor of the Wheelhouse

himself. What are you doing

out here? Shouldn't you be

training?

JAMIE

Training for what?

ALLISON

Hello? For Jake Orton?

Jamie squints, shrugs. He is at a loss for words.

JAMIE

Who?

ALLISON

Your opponent for next Thursday

night, you clown. You do know

you have a match next Thurday

night, don't you. I don't get you.

JAMIE

Oh yeah, what is it you don't get?

ALLISON

I don't know, you don't seem the

least bit interested in professional

wrestling.

JAMIE

That's because I'm not.

This causes Allison to chuckle.

ALLISON

Then what are you doing here?

JAMIE

It's a long story. Involves a judge,

some indiscretions, and some whacky

probation. Let me take you out, and

I'll tell you all about it/

ALLISON

I'm flattered, but I don't date pro

wrestlers.

Jamie is examining the dart gun in his hand.

JAMIE

Well, then I quit.

ALLISON

You can't quit-- you have me too intrigued.

JAMIE

Intrigued?

Allison nods.

ALLISON

Oh yeah. Big time. I mean, wrestling

is pretty big around here-- yo should

here how the people who come by

this booth are talking up your match

with Orton. So I'm left to wonder, what

kind of guy attracts enough attention to

warrant a contract with a pro wrestling

promotion who has no interest in the

sport?

JAMIE

A fantastic question-- one I would be

happy to answer over a couple beers.

ALLISON

And yet I still don't date pro wrestlers.

Jamie takes a moment to assess the specifics of the game that Allison is running. There are a multitude of paper targets set up about twenty feet behind the booth. Above the booth hang a variety of stuffed animals of different shapes and sizes.

JAMIE

How do you play?

ALLISON

Five bucks. Three shots.

You get three bullseyes,

and you get your choice.

JAMIE

I'll tell you what? I win,

I get to take you out.

ALLISON

And if I win?

JAMIE

Name it.

ALLISON

If I win, then I want video footage

of you actually training for your

match next week. Real training?

JAMIE

Real training? That sounds horrible.

ALLISON

I know.

JAMIE

You better be a good date, that's

all I have to say. We got a deal?

Allison thinks about it-- or, at least pretends to think about it-- when in reality, given his persistence and charm, she has already made up her mind. She nods.

ALLISON

Alright, you're o--

POP!

Before she can even finish accepting the offer, Jamie has fired off his first dart, sending it piercing through the center of the target.

Allison looks impressed.

ALLISON

What the hell was that!?!

JAMIE

My pop taught me how to

shoot when I was a kid.

ALLISON

Really?

JAMIE

Nah, I'm just fucking with

you-- my pop didn't do shit

with me. But I've always had

a fascination with shooting shit.

He fires off a second shot. Bullseye.

ALLISON

Boo! I'm being hustled over here by

a ringer. I feel so taken advantage of.

JAMIE

Wait until our date.

Jamie is carefully eyeing up his target for his third shot, when he is distracted by the sound of a familiar voice in the background. He turns to see that Checkers is nearby, getting harassed by KIP CALHOUN, CHAZZ LANDRY, and OREGON DAVE. Dave is holding a giant stuffed bong far above Checkers's reach, as Checkers jumps up to try to snatch it. The other stand by laughing.

CHECKERS (in the distance)

Yo, give me my stuffed bong,

bitch, I won that shit!

OREGON DAVE (in the distance)

You want it, then take it, Short Round.

Jamie sighs. He turns to Allison.

JAMIE

Maybe another time.

Jamie turns toward his sidekick, aims the dart gun, and pulls the trigger, sending a dart cutting through the air and finding a home in the left ass cheek of Oregon Dave, who screams in pain, dropping the stuffed bong.

All eyes turn to Jamie. He looks to Allison.

JAMIE

See you around.

Jamie takes off, as Kip and Landry give chase.

Allison calls out after Jamie.

ALLISON

You owe me a workout!

FADE TO BLACK

Lady Munin
Administrator

Posts: 267

Wheeler versus Orton Apr 8, 2016 2:09:48 GMT

Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 2:09:48 GMT

WHAT COBWEBS?
INT. PURPLE HAYES GYM - RIDGEWOOD, NEW JERSEY - MONDAY MORNING

We open up inside of Purple Hayes-- the gym owned by the recently retired amateur turned pro superstar CARTER HAYES and his father-in-law, MORT GOODMAN. The gym is busy this morning, the weight room, heavy bags, and cardio area all occupied. There's a high intensity level throughout.

Inside the ring, we find Mort, whistle around his neck, coaching two kids in their teens as they circle.

MORT 

Look, look, look, look 

look! There it is, There  

it is, it's there, shoot! 

The student doesn't see it, but he shoots anyway, trying to force the takedown, and of course he pays for a sloppy shot with a picturesque sprawl and a pancake from his opponent.

Mort waves his student up. Mort then squares up with his student's training partner.

MORT 

It was right there, but  

you gotta see it. And to  

see it, you've gotta be  

looking for it the whole  

time. Check it out.  

Mort locks up with the training partner while dishing out instructions.

MORT 

You control the head.  

Wherever the head goes, 

the feet will follow--  

remember that.  

Mort pulls his opponent's head forward, forcing his opponent to take a step forward; as he does, Mort scoops in and takes him down with an ankle pick.

It's at this moment that newly signed P.A.W. rookie JAMIE WHEELER enters the gym, CHECKERS, his counterpart, at his side as always, holding a video camera pointed in Jamie's direction.

The moment he enters the gym, the atmosphere changes, as the attention of many turn in his direction. There is no doubt that it is a big deal that he is present.

Mort spots him from inside the ring, Jamie and Checkers head in his direction.

MORT

Jamie Wheeler. To what 

do we owe the pleasure?

Shouldn't you be down in

Louisiana, getting high or 

hitting on some groupies?

JAMIE

I'm here to train.

MORT

Is that so?

JAMIE

Yes it is. Put me in
 coach, I'm ready to play.

Wheeler and Checkers enter the ring with Mort, who casts a gaze upon Wheeler with skepticism, trying to get a read on him.

MORT

What's your angle, Wheeler?

JAMIE

No angle. I just want to make

sure I'm match ready for 

Wednesday night--

Checkers leans in toward Jamie, whispers.

JAMIE

Thursday night-- I wanna make

sure I'm ready for Thursday night.

After a moment's hesitation, Mort nods-- as if Mort hadn't made up his mind to train the kid the moment he stepped foot in the gym.

MORT

Alright, you wanna do this? We

do this my way, understood? 

This here, this is my house. 

JAMIE

Your house. Got it. So, what 

do we do? You gonna show 

me how to do a pile driver,

neck breaker, shit like that?

Mort chuckles.

MORT

In three days? You gotta 

be kidding me. You can't 

learn pro wrestling in 

three days, son. 

JAMIE

I'm a fast learner.

MORT

You ain't that fast. Pro 

wrestling, it takes a 

lifetime to master. I'll

tell you what, since I

have yet to see these

great mat wrestling 

fundamentals that I 

keep hearing about, 

why don't we start 

there, and we'll take

it from there, okay?

Jamie nods in agreement.  Mort turns in the general direction of the open gym, and ups his voice to  take command of the room.

MORT

Alright, listen up! I want

everyone's attention. We 

have a special guest with

us today. Now we all know

who Jamie Wheeler is, at 

least by reputation. He's the

one who the Bergen Record,

the Star Ledger, and New 

Jersey Network dubbed  the

"Second Coming of Carter

Hayes" in the New Jersey 

wrestling scene. And seeing

that this is our house, I wanna

test those accolades. So I 

want to see all mat wrestlers

in the ring in five, so we can 

see what Jamie Wheeler is 

all about. Let's go!

Within moments, the ring is filled with about two dozen amateur wrestlers, ranging in age and size, circled around the interior perimeter of the ring. Mort, with whistle in hand, stands next to Wheeler in the center of the ring. Checkers is seated on one of the top turnbuckles, the camera in his chunky little fingers is rolling. 

MORT

Alright, we're gonna start off

with take downs, one and  dones,

got me? Let's make him, work, 

fellas-- Chambers, get is started.

Mort claps his hands, trying to spark some enthusiasm from the lot. Jamie is bouncing up and down lightly, warming up. Mort looks to him.

MORT

You ready to shake those cobwebs?

Jamie nods. There is something fascination about the look in Jamie's eyes-- something we have not seen in him since he has arrived in our lives-- a sense of focus, like deep down, past all of the goofiness and fucking around, he is in his element.

Mort blows the whistle. The music in the gym gets turned up-- AC/DC's Thunderstruck pumps through Purple Hayes-- and Justin Chambers, mid 20's stocky and built, wearing a red singlet and headgear-- he's at least two weight classes above the lankier Wheeler-- steps forward. The two lock up, and the moment they do, Wheeler slips behind him with a duck under and takes his back, using a tight waist lock to suplex the massive grappler to the mat.

Jamie pops up, Mort blows the whistle.

Calvin Harris, black, late teens, closer to Wheeler in size steps forward. He's jittery, quick. The two circle, looking for an opening. Harris taps and shoots, Wheeler sprawls and grabs a front face lock. A scramble ensues, as Wheeler, holding onto the front face lock, tries circling to the left in an effort to spin around Harris, who circles with Wheeler to keep Jamie in front of him. At the right moment, Wheeler throws Harris's head to the left, and switches his own rotation to the right, taking Harris's back and breaking him down.

Jamie pops up, and Mort blows the whistle.

One by one, wrestlers step forward-- big, powerful muscular wrestlers, and smaller, quicker wrestlers; wrestlers with different focuses and skill sets, such as speed, strength, technique, balance, aggression. Each one presents a different puzzle, and one by one Jamie finds a way to solve them.

We finally, arrive to a final wrestler, a late arrival who pushes through the crowd to take to the center of the ring.

It's Carter Hayes.

Things get quiet. Everyone in the gym is aware of the magnitude of the moment-- of these two squaring off, even if it is just a drill. Jamie, sweaty and exhausted, slaps hands with the fresh Carter out of mutual respect, and the two circle one another. Carter sees and opening, and shoots in for a single, scooping up Jamie's right leg. Jamie throws in a whizzer, and balances on his left leg while Carter fights to finish the take down. Carter pushes, rotates, tugs-- but Jamie's balance and savvy keeps him vertical.

Then out of nowhere, with Carter still having one of Wheeler's legs locked up, Wheeler grabs hold of the back of Carter's head with both hand, pushes off of his stationary leg, and jumps in the air, doing a 360 that frees him from Carter's grip, and in one motion, taking the Crybaby to the mat with a headlock.

CHECKERS

That's what I'm mother-

fucking talking about, son!

Both wrestlers, squatted down, exchange handshakes. Mort does his best to mask how impressed he is. He addresses the room in general.

MORT

Alright, let's take five minutes,

and we're gonna move to some

mat scrambles!

As the wrestlers disperse from the ring, Mort turns to Jamie.

MORT

So much for shaking 

out the cobwebs.

FADE TO BLACK

Lady Munin
Administrator

Posts: 267

Wheeler versus Orton Apr 8, 2016 2:10:39 GMT

Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 2:10:39 GMT

#np: "falling away from me" by korn
warning: strong language and my real life is used
extra: not my bets but it's a story and it is written this way to show a part of Jake never seen, one with his daughter, thinking on his past. I call it a flashback story. Don't like it? Fuck off!"

The day is January 8th of 2016. The company is Pure Pro and the newest signing is Jake Orton. Now he's had his ups and downs in the wrestling business. Mostly as the nineteen time world champion and seven time hall of famer would say, "that's how it fucking goes" so when he was billed for the next Wicked DVD taping, he didn't hesitate. He had lived in Louisiana as a youngster when he was bouncing around foster homes around the world, not fitting in anywhere. It wasn't his fault that most of the homes looked at him as a fuck up. He was just himself and that was all that had to be known for the world to fit so when he was in his studio apartment on Perkins Rowe, in Baton Rouge, he had to sigh as he was waking up, stretching his arms out, waking up to a killer hangover as he had gotten a text message from his new boss Munin reminding him that he was to be at the DVD taping or else he was gonna be on thin ice. "Great" he thought. Someone else trying to dictate what the fuck he was supposed to be doing. He didn't really like bosses too much at all. He was an anarchist after all.

So he got up out of bed as he noticed he could hear his TV playing in the living room which meant his daughter was up as he walked in and Tricia was watching the replay of WWH Showdown when he won the World Tag Titles for the second time as she smiled to him. He smiled back at her as he looked at the replay that was happening after the match as he sighs again before walking off, feeling the bruises of fourteen years on him as his daughter looked on and spoke

Tricia:"Daddy?"

Jake:"Yes hun"

Tricia:"Why do you wrestle when it is obviously kicking your ass? I mean, I've watched the matches, the shit you've put yourself through. Why?"

Jake thought on it, as he didn't really know the answer at all to be honest.

Jake:"You know I have wondered that very same shit for the last fourteen years. I still have no answer either. I mean maybe I just liked that adrenaline rush of having shit broken over my body, me breaking body parts on people. I don't know how to answer that sweetie."

Tricia looked on as Jake was heading towards the kitchen as he asked her

Jake:"So, what do you want? You want some lasagna?"

Tricia nodded her approval to the idea as Jake smiled and looked in the pantry but saw no fixtures.

Jake:"Fuck"

He said it under his breath as he looked on at his daughter, who had apparently heard him saying it as she sighed

Tricia:"You've always been wanting to go see one of your foster families. They're in Prairieville, just a thirty minute drive away. They have a Sammy's Restaurant there. We can get lasagna there or steak or fish. What ya say Daddy?"

Jake smiled as he put his hand on his daughter's head who was a little shorter than he

Jake:"Smart ass, when did you get to be so brainy and hungry all of a sudden?"

Tricia:"After watching your matches on WWH Network. Don't you have a match for PAW as well daddy?"

Jake nodded

Jake:"Yea, against Jamie Wheeler."

Tricia:"Who?"

Jake:"Some nobody talent"

Tricia looked at her father as she smiled to him, that all knowing German-American cocky smile that was half his and half his ex-wife's as he started walking towards his bedroom as she followed him, humming "Collect Call (Adventure Club Dubstep Mix)" by Metric as he chuckled and smiled, heading for his closet as he had to pack for the PAW show, he was listening to her talk about school and such until he noticed that she had the remote for the iPlayer in her hands that went throughout the apartment and he smirked

Jake:"And what's your plan? Your gonna put some weird American music on huh?"

She nodded in a goofy childish way as she put it on and then put the song of choice on with her phone as it was "Better Off Alone" by Alice DeeJay as he laughs a bit and extends his hand to his daughter only to be met with her dancing as he did his best impression of dancing

Jake:"How the fuck do you know about this? I was a young fuck when this song came out"

Tricia:"Mummy told me about prom"

Jake:"Remind me to kick your mother's ass next time I see Jacelyn"

It was a rare moment of happiness in the Orton household as the song came to an end and Jake sighs only for his daughter to catch it

Jake:"You know we're gonna go see my old foster parents then we're gonna start driving for the fairgrounds for PAW right?"

Tricia nods her understanding

Jake:"You realize your gonna be on the road alot with me, and that this apartment is our new home here in America right?"

Again, she nods

Jake:"Good, now go get ready. We got WWH shit to do then we're doing press then we come back here for PAW so I can exterminate Jamie fucking Wheeler from existence"

Tricia:"Daddy?"

Jake:"Yes sweetheart?"

Tricia:"Is it gonna be a funeral?"

Jake laughs as she had been watching too much of his old matches when he used to say it was gonna be his opposition's funeral

Jake:"A goddamn bloody funeral. One for the ages of masscaration. Now go get ready. We leave in zehn (ten)"

Wheeler versus Orton

Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 2:08:39 GMT

Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 2:09:09 GMT

Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 2:09:48 GMT

Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 2:10:39 GMT

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