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Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 3:58:17 GMT
Two (2) Role Plays Max
First Role Play Deadline: THURSDAY February 11th, 2016 @10:59 PM CST
Final Role Play Deadline: Wednesday February 17th, 2016 @ 10:59 PM CST
Segment Deadline: February 18th @ 7:00 AM CST
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Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 3:58:46 GMT
The cameras open up to the familiar living room of the modernist apartment, where Tyler Keenan is sat facing the camera with his legs up on the table, the white soles of his high-top converse trainers showing at the bottom of the camera. Dressed in a navy denim jacket, a long, white button-up shirt, black skinny jeans and a brown beanie hat to boot, Tyler Keenan has the look of a proper 21st Century hipster. In his mouth is the white stick of a lollipop, which he takes out of his mouth to reveal a red sphere at the end. He smiles and examines the lollipop head, before grinning and putting it back between his teeth.
TYLER KEENAN: Well…That didn’t necessarily go as planned, did it?
Tyler sighs and rolls his eyes, before focusing them back on the camera. He then scratches the back of his neck and chuckles uncomfortably.
TYLER KEENAN: I expected him to be on his ass after that beat down, but in fact it was the polar opposite and he caught me unprepared. That’ll teach me for playing down the fact that Johnny Raike is a damn good wrestler, won’t it? Nevertheless, you can’t deny that I had the look of winning the match throughout, no matter what the lovely commentary of Constance Church might tell you. Oh well, I lost and now I’m out of the running. That’s the end.
Tyler folds his arms and leans back on his sofa.
TYLER KEENAN: I can’t say that I’m not disappointed, but I’m also not averse to saying that Johnny Raike was the better man in that bout. But I’m also not afraid to say that I feel that I should have won that match. I should be the one that was standing over the broken, bloodied Johnny Raike, the one pointing his middle finger towards Constance Church with a smug, shit-faced grin on my lips. But, once again, that didn’t happen and I’ve been resigned to facing the people like Tapanga Britt, the woman who was defeated by the man that I should be facing instead of my former opponent.
Taking his legs from the coffee table, Tyler sits cross-legged on the sofa places his hands behind his head with his usual shit-faced grin plastered upon his face once more. He removes the lollipop from his mouth and twirls it between his fingers.
TYLER KEENAN: Tapanga Britt. Let’s talk about you for a bit, yeah? Although the point is that we’ll probably end up talking about me, but that’s you all over, isn’t it? You are quite literally what would happen if some retarded scientist took me and a pretty girl, copied my personality into their brain and then let us both go into the wilderness as some kind of freak experiment. I’m saying that it’s probably fate that’s brought me and you to face each other in the same ring, The Former Model turned Wrestler, Mr. Millions-of-Dollars, the Modern-Day Wordsmith, whatever you want to call me versus the SuperStarlet, The Broadway Bombshell, Miss NYC, whatever you like to be called. It’s a very clever booking opportunity by Sam, Munin or the monkey, whichever one thought it was a bright idea to plaster a carbon copy in front of me and order me to knock it down. Must make good television in their eyes.
Tyler chuckles and places his lollipop back into his mouth, holding it between his teeth as he sits up and cracks his knuckles.
TYLER KEENAN: But I’m not joking when I say that you’re a lot like me, Miss. Britt. You’ve got the attitude. You’re conceited, you’re malicious and baby, you’re downright ruthless. If I wasn’t happily in love with my girl and you happily in love with your Iceman, I think we’d make a great couple, hmm? Hell, if this was a different situation, I think we’d make a great team. Furthermore, I have the feeling that you’re a lot like my girlfriend. You’re very confident in your body, you flaunt and flourish it like the asset it truly is, and you’re not averse to using it in order to get yourself into the big leagues. Good for you. But truly, it is a shame that we have to fight. That’s not me saying that I don’t want to fight you, though, don’t take that little mouthful as a way of tripping me up and saying that I’m a coward. Trust me, if you’re put in front of me I will not show you any remorse whatsoever. We’ve got to play the dance of death, you and I, and it’s definitely gonna be the good ol’ TK that’s walking out of the Xayarena with his head held firm and high in the sky.
Tyler grins once more and bites down on his lollipop, crushing it with a loud crack. His eyes flare up and he rubs his hands together, before standing up and sighing loudly.
TYLER KEENAN: But let’s move onto the best part of this show, huh? How can I beat you? Well, I want to bring up the fact that you’re a lot like me once more. You’ve held a lot of titles in your career, something that I have not done but definitely plan to do, which shows that you have experience and the will and tenacity to succeed. You might think that we’re different because of this staple fact, but instead I want to tell you that I was trained by one of the best wrestlers that I have ever seen wrestle in the world. Jeffry Mason, the Saviour of Death himself. To be trained by a man with two decades of experience in the ring, to have the time and the patience to stand there in a ring, in front of a man that is intimidating and downright terrifying, and be told that you’re bad and need to improve multiple times throughout no matter how much you do definitely hones you into the killer wrestler that you need to be in order to be one of the best in the world. How many people can say that? Can you, Tapanga?
Tyler cocks his head to the left a little and grins once more, before sitting back down and folding his legs once more.
TYLER KEENAN: You can use all of the cunning and the speed in the world, but it doesn’t get you past the ability to read an opponent’s next move and catch them into a submission hold. You can use all of the ring awareness that you need but it does not match up to the fact that I will knee you in the head and proceed to lock you into a deadly submission hold that will give you a serious compound fracture if you do not have the sense to submit. I’m game for whatever you want, Tapanga, and even your little boy toy Ryan has been cancelled out by something else I have up my sleeve. You’re gonna have to cook something up deadly serious if you want to try and take me out, because you make one little mistake, allow me to spot one little chink in your armour and I will take you down before you can say your own surname.
Tyler sighs and smiles.
TYLER KEENAN: Boy, I can’t wait for February 18th. To show the world that Johnny Raike has a fluke win over me and prove that I should be in that quarter final and not him, but to also prove that even a former model can take down someone who believes that they are A-List. I mean, seriously? I live in Hollywood, I’ve seen A-List, and Tapanga Britt is not someone I would call an A-List Celebrity. You’re nothing but a joke, baby, I piece of cruel irony that you don’t seem to understand. No matter how many bikini shoots you do or how many autographs you sign, it does not make you A-List. You see, to become a Celebrity you have to have done something of note. People like Sam, he’s famous because he managed to open a promotion inside of an amusement park. I don’t know anyone that’s ever done that before. But you, Tapanga? What have you ever done that’s worthy of note, besides win a few forgotten relics of titles that nobody will care about for a millennia. You’d best step up to me, because by the time you’ll step in with me, you’ll leave knowing that you’re nothing but a B+ who thought that they could make it to the big time.
Tyler tries to keep a straight face, but ends up laughing maniacally.
TYLER KEENAN: Am I in your head yet? Haha, we’ll see, won’t we?
Tyler rubs his hands together and grins, turning his head to the right a little before straightening his beanie and flicking the white stick that is still in his mouth. He smiles and waves at the camera, before turning his head away as the feed fades to black. |
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Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 3:59:18 GMT
 #PUTTINGTHEPINPAW
O.O.C. MESSAGE: Number one! Sorry it took so long to get this up. I've been totally stressed out with work and problems with my neck lately. Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this one. Best of luck to my opponent. Hope you all enjoy reading it. Please keep in mind that Tapanga is a royal bitch, even I don't like her 
★★★★★★★★
So, as Ryan McCollum touched upon, things didn't go exactly as planned for Tapanga Britt at Wicked #3. Tapanga the hard-working Texas wrestler knew it was best for the course of things in Pure Amusement. Stevie Harris is a big draw and it looked really good having a seasoned veteran like herself put him over. He was such a vile heel that the crowd was behind her, which reminded her a lot of herself when she first made her turn from country bumpkin to stuck up A-Lister. She would play it off as the SuperStarlet on-camera in a different way, though. After all, that is what wrestlers do. They're actors and actresses as well as they are athletes and even sometimes, philanthropists. They say alcohol just amplifies who you really are, like a part of you that isn't as expressed sober, but for Tapanga, her wrestling persona is the same way. She can be a mean person sometimes, but the character is mean all the time. Like, do you really think the real Tapanga would make fun of those who identify as transgender? ...well, yeah, she probably would but Tapanga makes fun of everyone but deep down, knows tolerance is the best way and can poke fun at herself sometimes. Tapanga the Broadway Bombshell, however...not so much. She hates everyone but herself and her Ice Man and thinks she should come out on top all the time. Being this cocky, over-the-top kind of character provides an interesting challenge when you have taken a loss after talking up the match so well, and so we find ourselves here.
"It's been like a day and I am already sick of this hellhole!!!"
Well, almost. We're still off-camera, but we're getting there.
Tapanga stands up on a kitchen table chair in nothing but a pair of purple panties and a black tank top, holding a frying pan, obviously in an attempt to evade something. Yeah, sometimes she cooks. Every man and woman should know how to cook if they want to live. From Tapanga: take your woman in the kitchen jokes and shove it up your painfully single asshole.
Ryan comes into the kitchen from the living room, his hair a mess in just a pair of lounge pants. He stretches and lets out a yawn before grinning at his lady love.
"What are you doing up there, dear?"
Tapanga sneers and slowly turns her angry gaze towards Ryan. "What the fuck do you think? I'm having a God-damn pantsless pots and pans party! There's a fucking mouse in here."
Ryan chuckles. "Baby, the traps have been set. I thought we got rid of them all."
"Apparently not, Sherlocke! They made more! It's called breeding. Somethin' you'll never get again if this shit keeps happening!"
Ryan sighs and walks over. Not in the mood, Tapanga scooted to the edge of her chair but that didn't stop him. He knew exactly how to handle her. He reached up, wrapping his arms around her small waist and hoisting her up.
"Put me down or you'll be eating this pan for breakfast!!!"
"Just relax, baby." He slings her over his shoulder and smacks her on the butt playfully as he rushes over to the living room, plopping her down gently on the couch. Tapanga has the pan at the ready. He reaches out his hand. "Pan, please?"
She rolls her eyes. "Fiiineee." She hands the pan over and crosses her arms angrily. "You're cooking and killing the damn mouse. You better have a damn good reason for trying to manhandle me like that. I told you, you're only in control in the bedroom. When I say so."
Ryan smiles. "Yes, my reason for breathing." He sets the pan down on the coffee table and sits down on the couch beside her. "Look, you're obviously stressed out. I know I threw a lot on you when I decided to get this apartment and we've been going through a lot of change making the move and getting into a new company. It's a whole new game for us both. You're sore, you're a little...uh, cranky."
"Watch it, mister."
"Yes, baby." He kisses her on the cheek. "So, there's a spa a couple blocks from here. Why don't you go? Treat yourself since you're always such a treat for me, my reason for breathing."
Tapanga unfolded her arms and softly smiled at Ryan. It did sound like a great idea. She could get out of the apartment and take a break, even if it probably would be only a couple hours. She didn't say anything but reached out, wrapping her arms around Ryan's neck and yanking him over, kissing him on the top of the head and roughing up his already messy hair. She releases him and holds out her hand, as if expecting something to be placed in her hand.
"...well?"
Ryan smiled. "Yes, dear." He reached forward, grabbing his wallet and starting to fish out his credit card.
"You're the best, Baby Bear."
★★★★★★★★
At last, we go on-camera. The scene is set in - you guessed it - a spa located somewhere in Louisiana, probably close to Purity, since that is where the next taping of Wicked will be held, right in the Xayarena in the home of Pure Amusement Wrestling. Right away, we see the pampered face of the Pure F'N Goddess herself, Tapanga Britt. She is in the smallest of terry cloth robes with her long, luxurious hair pulled up in a messy bun a top her head. She is relaxing in a high-backed, expensive-looking upholstered chair, with her feet being soaked in some sort of post-pedicure mixture. Some relaxing music is playing in her background and behind her, we see a set up with lots of potted plants, soft beige-painted walls, wooden floors, and a flattering, dim lighting that just created the relaxation aura about the place. I mean, duh, it is a spa or whatever.
Finally, Miss N.Y.C. speaks in her infamous accent. "So, show of hands, who was surprised that Stevie Harris won our match?"
Tapanga's eyes are still closed. Her head is gently tilted back, resting on a rolled up towel that has been placed behind her head. There's nothing but silence for a moment.
"No one was. Because it was a set-up. Me, the best damn thing to happen to Pure Amusement Wrestling...besides Baby Bear, of course, the most beautiful woman on the roster, the one making them the most money they've ever made with just one flawless poster...I was merely fed to Harris." Tapanga opens her well-rested eyes finally, looking at the camera. "They wasted me. I should be on the road to a shot at the Pure Championship, I should be in the tournament, but instead, I've been wasted and overlooked. I'm heading into facing some fucking tool, with my Baby Bear being the last hope to have someone decent holding the Pure gold. It's an outrage! I received what I like to call the Spoiler Alert treatment, my beloved followers."
Tapanga nods. In the distance, we see a short, balding man enter the room, holding various spa-like supplies, like oils and stuff to do nails with. Tapanga doesn't even acknowledge his presence.
"Before my match was even underway, Raike and Harris were already talking like their match was set in stone. It wasn't just cockiness. It was because it was already set. That one little moment at Wicked #3 exposed the heinous plan. No matter how wonderful of a match I put on, no matter how badly I beat Harris, I was destined to lose. Not because of any shortcomings on my end. God no. I'm fucking flawless. No, it was planned all along. The Powers That Be just wanted to make it look like Harris supposedly earned his spot. I mean, c'mon, it was a big win for him to beat someone as decorated and seasoned and fucking wonderful as me." She sighs, batting her eye lashes and gesturing to herself. The man kneels before her, lifting her feet up and removing the mixture. She doesn't even look at him, still.
"You ask 'why?'" Tapanga puts on a melodramatic tone. We all know she is just a whiny heel, of course she's not going to admit someone beat her. "'Why would they screw over the lovely Tapanga Britt?' Well, my dear obsessors, it's simple. The answer lies in one word and one word only: patriarchy." Tapanga nods. "When I arrived, spreading the word of #OneBeltOneQueen, the entire male roster, save for my Baby Bear, became so intimidated they got confusing boners. Even the Powers That Be were afraid. They weren't used to strong, empowered women. I mean, look at what we've got around here for women. They all suck except for me. Genesis gave into their victimization garbage and ran off. Lola is okay with just being objectified as some whore who cares nothing about trying to fuck around with my man. The others don't even fucking speak. Even Constance is a fucking airhead and Unreal jumped ship to right onto Keenan's dick as soon as he proved he could form multi-syllable words. You all are worried about who a girl is sleeping with more than what she does professionally. Everyone around here buys into this notion that women are supposed to appear weak. They are supposed to shut up and look pretty. Well, bitches, I'll look pretty but I'll never shut the fuck up. I refuse to be a victim. I refuse to let Patriachy be the 'P' in PAW." Tapanga shakes her head. "Pure Amusement Wrestling needs a real woman to step up to the fucking plate and by God, that's me." Tapanga licks her lips.
She looks down, turning up her nose. We see the guy must be a massage therapist, as he has taken to working on her feet. "Not too hard, loser. I'd threaten to smack you, but I'd much rather tell my boyfriend on you."
He nods nervously and continues a slow, soothing massage. Tapanga sighs. "That's the way Momma likes it." She looks back at the camera. "Anyway, it's clear that no matter how amazing I am, there'll probably be some crooked referee or some paid off loser in a cloak to come along and fuck my night up. So, I might as well just sit here, drink some wine and get my feet rubbed. I'm used to the establishment trying to hold me down because they are intimidated by my greatness." She shrugs. "And here I thought I was supposed to be the bad guy." Tapanga snaps her fingers. "Where's my wine?"
"Uh, we don't serve wine here, miss."
Our Wicked Kitten sneers. "Well, you're going to start unless you want your intestines to be yanked out, dried, and made into necklace for me." She snaps her fingers again. "Go."
He gets up and scurries away. "I'll see what I can do."
Tapanga grins evilly. "With all of that in mind, let's look at my upcoming match against Tyler Keenan." She claps her hands together. "Congratulations, sweetheart. You did something my last opponent could not...you did a little homework on me. But the problem is, you think what you think you 'know' about me is gonna hand you over the fucking match." She sighs. "Sadly, the match is probably already handed to you. But if you win, it's not going to be because you actually beat me. It's going to be because you're a man and I'm basically the most hated person in this company. That's it." She shrugs. "But hey, I get the heat you wish you could get. You'd have to murder someone to get the kinda envy I do." Cue the wink.
"So, yeah, you did some homework. Good for you, Suzy Q, but you are making a profound mistake, the same that everyone in the PAW-triarchy makes. You forget that I am an experienced professional wrestler. You think you're just stepping into the ring with some conceited bitch. Yeah, you spend a little time mocking my ring awareness and how I wrestle, but that's just fucking talk. Grrr, me big bad guy to catch you and make you cry. Fucking Neanderthal. Please, better material next time?" Tapanga scoffs and sighs. "You're not even thinking about the actual match and what is gonna happen. You think just by doing some homework, I'm going to be easy to handle once the bell rings. I might be screwed before the match even begins, but I'm not gonna make it fucking easy for you, fuck-face." Tapanga shakes her head.
"'Cause here's the fucking truth that no profile on the website or Google search is gonna tell you, Ty-Ty: you've never faced a wrestler like me. I fight tooth and fucking nail, in case you haven't noticed. I might be a royal fucking cunt-bag, but I fight with all my God-damn heart. I always give it my all, in every damn match, and my all? Well, it's pretty fucking fantastic, even if I'm doomed to lose from the start. I give it everything I got, because no matter what the outcome, my performance speaks volumes about me as a wrestler. And I'm a damn good one, bitch." She smirks. "You don't think I know what the fuck I am doing and it is going to come and bite you right in the ass. Sure, you try to patronize me with that 'will and tenacity' to succeed garbage, but then you turn right around and contradict yourself by basically saying all I do is sign autographs and shoot photos in bikinis. Flip meet flop." Tapanga rolls her eyes.
"But Tyler, you're right about something, I want more." She nods. "It drives me insane that I have not held gold or been on top in so damn long. It burns inside my soul. It is always in the back of my mind. But you see it as a weakness. I do not. It doesn't bring me down that you underestimate me and you don't think I'm worthy. No, it fucking catapults me. The Patriachy trying to victimize me doesn't deter me. It fucking attracts me to prove them and everyone else wrong in this company. You all have no idea what I am truly capable of, yet. I've yet to truly be unleashed and at Wicked #4, I'm laying it all out on the line. I will give you the fucking fight of your life, Tyler and I will make this company feel foolish for overlooking me. I will fucking humble you, baby. Win or lose, I am going to make a God-damn statement. I am a fucking Celebrity, Ty, and I'm about to be the star of the feel-good movie of the year."
The Broadway Bombshell licks her lips and suddenly snaps away from the camera. "Where the fuck is that tool with my shit?"
Back at the camera, she looks. "And as far as us making a good couple...Tyler, baby. It'd never work out between us." She shakes her head. "You see, I have this thing...it's called standards. Bye bitch."
Tapanga laughs obnoxiously. "And there's this incredible guy who actually treats me like the queen I am." Tapanga smiles. "Speaking of which, where the fuck is he? I need him to stomp on the face of that fuck that's depriving his reason for breathing of her wine."
Tapanga goes to get up from her seat. "Oh, and one more thing, Ty: watch with envy."
She blows a mocking kiss in his direction before finally standing up in her pursuit of the fearful massage therapist. From here, the scene fades to black.
★★★★★★★★
After finally getting the rest of her spa treatment and running to the nearest liquor store to soothe her craving for White Zinfadel (Ryan's treat, he just doesn't know about it, yet), Tapanga returned to St. Mary's Court, feeling a little more relaxed, but not really looking forward to what was behind the door. She knew Ryan met well and perhaps, deep down she did 'l' word him, but she missed her old place. It didn't come with pests or Mexican't property managers. She finally got up the last flight of stairs, brown bag in tote, and opened the door. Much to her surprise, she found the apartment looking much, much better. It was fucking clean. Everything was in its own place and it didn't smell like old socks. It actually had a home-y feeling to it. Tapanga walked in, placing her bag on the kitchen counter and entered the living room, finding Ryan sitting on the couch with their yappy little dog bouncing off the couch to greet her.
She knelt down, petting him. "I missed you too, Jacky boy." She looked up at Ryan. "What the hell did you do to the place?" She stands back up.
Ryan got off the couch, walking over to her. "You like it?"
She grinned. "It's a lot better. How'd you get rid of that smell?"
"There's this thing called a tart warmer. You wouldn't believe the different smells you can find in there. I know you're a fan of smells."
Tapanga laughs and walks over, kissing him softly. "You smell good. Wanna fuck?" She starts to yank at the button on her jeans.
Ryan grinned. "I'm cleaning the house more often."
End.
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Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 3:59:55 GMT
The camera opens up once more to the garage of Tyler Keenan, a nice and large white room that is filled with different types of cars, from sports to muscle cars. The camera pans from the left to the right and shows Tyler Keenan sat upon the bonnet of a 2015 Dodge Charger SRT Hellcat, dressed in a black leather jacket with a white vest underneath, navy skinny jeans and black hitchhiking boots. He has abandoned the grey beanie to instead wear a black snapback cap, which he wears backwards with a happy, shit-faced grin.
TYLER KEENAN: You weren’t what I was expecting, Tapanga. You really weren’t. I’ve seen the matches, I’ve watched the videos, but I was not expecting you to be such a bitch when you talked to me. To be honest, and I’m not honest very often, I was expecting you to be a whole lot more mellow yellow than you were, but that’s foolish Tyler Keenan coming through the mouth of the Modern-Day Wordsmith once again. I also wasn’t expecting you to be such a poor and unsporting loser than you actually are. Sure, everyone hates losing. I hate it too, I spent a quarter of my career doing nothing but trying to climb out of the dirt, but that does not mean that I let it get to me. No, I let myself get better, I learned from my mistakes and I broke the wheel that I was constantly spinning on, the wheel that I was trapped on for a good four months with no sign of stopping. But you? You, Tapanga? You lost to Stevie Harris and do nothing but complain about how you thought that your match was rigged and a complete set-up. It shows that you’re small-minded, that you’re someone who believes that the entire solar system revolves around, but you need to know that things don’t work like that.
Tyler swings his legs back and forth, occasionally hitting his heels together as he folds his arms and furrows his brow towards the camera.
TYLER KEENAN: I think you need to learn that although you may be the most beautiful person of the Pure Amusement Wrestling, the company does not revolve around you whatsoever. Sure, you may bring in decent sales on merchandise because the fans like looking at you, but truthfully there is nothing else that makes you better. Stevie Harris beat you because Stevie Harris is the better athlete, the better wrestler. Stevie Harris is rightfully in the next round of the tournament because he managed to beat you, a stuck-up little girl who thinks she can make it big-time because of her body. Newsflash, you’re living in your own little fantasy realm, Tapanga, because in this day and age hard work and dedication to your craft is something that gets people where they want to go. I worked hard to get where I am today. Since 2012 I have worked my ass off in different companies, moving around the entire North America to hone my craft and show all of the stupid fans and pathetic wrestlers like you that a former model can make it to the big time of professional wrestling. And you know what, Tapanga? I didn’t become a main eventer and a former Tag Team Champion simply because I moaned and whined about the matches that I lost. I dusted myself off and continued to be a dick about the things I needed to be a dick about, because my loss to Johnny Raike is over and done with for now and does not need to be brought up until the next time the two of us face off in the middle of the ring that we are about to face off in. If someone tries to bring up the loss to Raike, they’ll be grasping at straws.
Jumping from the hood of the car to the floor, Tyler runs his hand along the bonnet of his Hellcat before moving down the gap between the red 2010 Maserati Granturismo on his left and the grey Aston Martin DBS V12. As he runs both hands along the bonnets of those cars, Tyler’s face seems to change from a grinning one to a frustrated one.
TYLER KEENAN: I’m not a fucking tool, baby doll. You may be delusional, filled with dreams of pride and grandeur, but you made the mistake of not taking me as serious as you should do. I’m Tyler Keenan, bitch, you should know this by now. You say that you’ve done your homework on me, but I’m gonna guess that you’ve not done enough. So, without further ado, let me show you why exactly I’m not some fucking tool in a shed. My name is Tyler Keenan, son of entrepreneur and former New York stockbroker Vernon Keenan and influential lawyer Alicia Keenan. I grew up with as much money as I could dream of, one of the best childhoods in the land and all of the help and leniency in education as you could want. I’ve been a dickhead from day one, when I realized that perhaps being rich was meaning you were better than other people. I left education with a business degree from UCLA Marshall School of Business and worked two years at my Father’s firm to cement my own reputation as someone that could get things done. By the time I was twenty I left the business career to become a model, using my body and my looks in order to get my face wherever it could reach. I succeeded in that, becoming a model for some of the best companies in the world. Type my name into Google and I bet my picture comes up.
Tyler grins and leans back on his Aston Martin.
TYLER KEENAN: But I decided to follow my own dream after a single year in that business, because I have always been a big fan of wrestling. So what I did was I trained and trained and I trained, I worked with professional MMA Coaches and retired professional wrestlers in order to make sure that what I was doing was perfect. Sooner or later I became a great technical wrestlers, but as far as I knew my wrestling was taught by sportsmen. So when I got my big break in the wrestling world, I met the man named Jeffry Mason. You’ve probably never heard of him, Tapanga, but that’s probably because you’ve got your head in the clouds or up the ass of your ‘Baby Bear’. Jeffry Mason used his two decades of in-ring experience to teach me how to be better, using his skills in the ring to show me that doing flips and high risk manoeuvres shouldn’t be all that I use. Under his tutelage I became a fluent submission machine, able to break your arm in four different places perfectly and precisely.
Continuing to walk towards the front of his garage, Tyler passes the cameraman and walks in front this time, moving backwards as he passes a Mercedes-Benz CL65 AMG.
TYLER KEENAN: You’re probably gonna roll your eyes and say that I’m doing nothing but being a loser and hyping myself up, but that’s me. We’re all our different people, for example you do nothing but be a whiny bitch that complains about patriarchy. You’re telling me you got screwed out of an opportunity of winning a title because this place is filled with men? Please, bitch, that’s one of the lamest excuses I’ve ever heard in my entire life. It’s no shocker tha the majority of PAW is men, but that’s not because the high-ups have something against women wrestlers? You’re just trying to make up excuses to better yourself, you’ll probably make more to try and convince yourself that you are better than me, but in all honestly it won’t make a difference. I don’t think what I know about you is going to allow me to win, Tapanga, I think what I know about wrestling is going to allow me to win.
Tyler sighs and jumps onto the bonnet of his CL65, folding his arms.
TYLER KEENAN: I’m not surprised that you want more, sweetie, because you’ve simply got so many delusions of grandeur up inside your tiny head that it’s weighing you down. You have the fixed, false belief that you possess superior qualities than other people, in your case fame and wealth. But you see, you can also be a little bitch, which tells me that my theory about your little mental state is correct. You see, I did a little bit of research about my theory towards you and I found some interesting things. I bet you did not know that having delusions of grandeur is a common symptom of schizophrenia, but can also be found in psychotic and bipolar disorders. Now, I have no idea which one of these three you could possibly have, but I have to judge by your reaction. You see, I don’t know how you’ll respond to what I’m saying, but that’s a huge possibility it could be anger-induced, which shows me that you’ve got a psychotic disorder.
Climbing off the car and opening the door, Tyler leans on the top with his arms.
TYLER KEENAN: There’s also the possibility that you could be a serious megalomaniac, which to be honest is also a firm candidate. We’ll have to see.
Sitting down in his car, Tyler smirks at the camera.
TYLER KEENAN: By the way, I have a girlfriend. If there’s anything I’m gonna watch with envy, it’s her walking around, not you. But to be honest, if you feel you have standards because you’re with McCollum and not me…well, delusions of grandeur. See you in the ring, Britt.
Tyler chuckles maniacally and slams his door, before putting the keys in the engine and starting the car. He winks at the camera and begins to drive out of the garage, the doors lifting up to show him the fine Hollywood skyline as the camera fades to black. |
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Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 4:00:33 GMT
 O.O.C. MESSAGE: My final for this match. I tried a little something different for this match, so fingers crossed that it works, lol. Best of luck to my opponent, this has been so much fun.
★★★★★★★★
Today, our scene opens up immediately in some sort of smaller hall or theater type of building, with a stage at the forefront of the room. The lighting is scarce and dim, with only one large, brilliant spotlight being cast upon a podium in the middle of the stage. We hear some whispers and people talking among themselves, although we cannot fully see them. The way the stage is set up, you would imagine it is a political rally for a presidential candidate or something to that affect. However, that is only a partially correct assumption. This is a rally; a revolutionary meeting with the wrestling industry's own Tapanga Britt - the boldest in the business.
Tapanga walks out onto the stage and suddenly the crowd erupts. She's the bad guy, of course, and this is a promo, so one would think it's a little unusual to have her be cheered for, but lately, it was hard not to like Tapanga somewhat. Not only is the Broadway Bombshell a household name and a veteran that a lot of people have watched on television for years now, but her stance in Pure Amusement Wrestling at the moment has her holding a favorable position, especially among young women who are a huge demographic. And of course, the men love her, too, but often for more superficial reasons.
Butt you can't blame them. See what I did there?
Anyway, Tapanga Britt's look is a little different tonight. Naturally, she's still drop-dead gorgeous and her make-up is flawless, her hair is amazing and all that shit, but instead of her ample cleavage being on display and her ass right in view, she's wearing a stylish, classy little black dress that any important woman would be grateful to be in, and a pair of her favorite pink Christian Louboutin heels. She stops on her way to the podium, placing her hands on her hips and looking over the crowd, shifting her weight in her hips to one side in a super-sassy manner as she offers that trademark crooked smirk of hers. She struts confidently towards the podium with one arm swaying at her side while the other remains on her hip. Once behind the podium, she tucks her long hair out of her face and soaks up being where she truly belongs, under the spotlight. After awhile, she encourages the crowd to simmer down with a slight waving of her well-toned arms before she begins to speak coolly, calmly, and with extreme elegant composure. That New York accent is still prominent but it is controlled and classy.
"Thank you, thank you, my adoring public!" She gestures to the crowd excitedly. "Welcome to the start of a revolution, with yours truly, Tapanga fucking Britt!"
Tapanga extends her arms proudly as the crowd cheers for her. Being the cocky bitch that she is, she just bathes in the encouragement. She drops her arms to her side.
"This is just the beginning, people. I am here tonight to spread the awareness and end the ignorance. I am here to further expose the patriarchy and for me, personally, the PAW-triarchy! A place where female wrestlers and other female employees are overlooked and objectified."
The crowd boo's. She nods. "I know, right? It's some real shit. I suppose I could give up and run away with my fine tail tucked between my even finer legs, but what good would that do? It would just let those people think it's okay to treat a qualified, talented woman such as myself like garbage. Oh, I'm not going anywhere, babies!"
The crowd pops and Tapanga grins proudly. "My very next step is at Wicked #4. Our very next step. I will be taking on Tyler Keenan, another misogynistic, chauvinistic, sexist, slobbering pig."
The crowd boos and screams obscenities at the mention of his name. Tapanga nods. "I couldn't agree more, loves. I will face him one-on-one but while I'm in the ring, there's things you can be doing, as well. Make those signs, take to social media, be at the event, fight the PAW-triarchy! Take a stand with me and spread the message! They want me to lose. They want the 'weak' female to give in to the 'strong' male. It's very, very possible that I won't be able to overcome every crooked little charade that is going to be pulled in the Xayarena to keep me from winning like I should." the crowd boos again. "But, you can bet your fuckin' asses, I'm a god-damn opportunist. I'm gonna be on my toes and the very second I see an opening, I'm taking it and I'm gonna exploit the fuck out of it and win!"
The crowd cheers loudly as Tapanga tilts her head to the side, smiling wide and looking very pleased with herself. Once they calm down again, she speaks.
"Mr. Keenan has said I wasn't what he was expecting." She shrugs and looks at the camera ahead of her. "Huh, you know what I say to that? Get used to it, babes, 'cause I'm full of motherfucking surprises."
The audience pops as Tapanga continues. She leans against the podium, lacing her fingers together. "I do have a question for you, though, Tyler, before we go any further. How does it feel being up Stevie Harris's ass?" The people in attendance laugh. "I mean, you're like his biggest fan, because you've borrowed all his ideologies and logic. No one likes a copycat, sweetie." She winks.
There are people still laughing loudly. "Tyler, you're totally like mind-blown and obsessed with my being confident in myself and sticking up for myself in this patriarchy fiasco. Honestly, sugar, it just makes you look insecure." She clears her throat. "Allow me to make this clear," she speaks clearly and calmly. "I am a God damn human being and I have every fucking right to complain about what I feel is unjust." The audience pops. She shrugs. "You don’t like it? Cry about it. I’ll call the fucking waaaah-mbulance for you." She laughs. "You’re supposed to be this cocky, brash asshole kinda guy, so what the fuck do you care that I am a strong, opinionated woman who just happens to be a little bit of an asshole, too? Why is it a problem for you suddenly? Double-fucking-standard. Does a strong woman threaten you, Tyler?" The crowd boos. "Well, good, ya ignorant fuck, because I’ll enjoy watching you tremble with fear at Wicked #4."
The audience continues to cheer in support and clap for her.
"Let's make something else clear, Ty-Ty, I have never claimed to have done any in-depth homework on you. You cannot put words in my mouth, just like how you imagine me getting all angry and screaming at the camera. Just because I speak passionately doesn't mean I'm angry." Miss N.Y.C. laughs. "So, why do I not spend time reading you up, Googling you and crunching the numbers and shit? Because who your mommy and daddy were mean nothing to me. I don’t give a fuck about your history. It has nothing to do with what you're gonna be like in the ring on this particular night coming up. Training is more effective, in my opinion. I mean, the homework you’ve done on me is proving to be useless already, isn't it? I’m already shaping up to be like a billion times more than you can handle and the bell hasn't even rung yet." She grins. "I do admit, though, it’s amusing that you’re a spoiled product of nepotism who has had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Talk about white male privilege." The audience boos. "I’m a self-made woman, baby. I was never handed a fucking thing. I've had to fight tooth and nail and work my fine ass off to get what I have." The crowd cheers for this idea. The people eat this shit up. "Perhaps that’s why you’re throwing such a little baby fit after I wouldn’t give in to your stupidity, hm? You're used to having everything your way all the time. Well, too bad, bitch. I’m not some brainless, plausible blow-up doll like I’m sure most 'women' you’re used to dealing with."
Tapanga grins while the audience laughs again. "Thanks for the history lesson, though, Tyler. It was almost cute that you think it all matters to me. Like in the way a one-eyed puppy dog with only one leg is cute. But you know why else I don’t give a fuck about your shit? Because once I opened my mouth and stuck up for myself, you immediately started to write me off. You went from saying I’ve got 'tenacity' and this shit to ‘you’re just a little girl’ in the blink of an eye, all because I did not roll over and kiss your ass." Tapanga shakes her head while the crowd boos. "You’re just as big a chauvinistic, misogynistic pig as the rest of the tools around PAW. You don’t think I know shit about the sport, you don’t think I have any talent, and you don’t think I’m anything more than a pretty face…all because I’m a woman. And what’s even worse is that when I point that shit out, you ignore it just because I am a woman saying it." Tapanga rolls her eyes. "You dismiss it as me being crazy." She sighs and laughs shortly. "Want some real history, Ty? For a long time, any time a woman was displeased with how she was treated, she got locked up and told she was hysterical and crazy. She was subjected to cruel torture, inadequate living conditions, and all kinds of bullshit just because she wasn’t fucking happy and she had a god damn vagina." She points at the camera, presumably in Tyler's direction. "You’re basically employing the same tired, dated logic, Keenan. You're condoning it." The crowd's boo's are deafening. "Therefore, you’re fucking scum and you deserve to drop dead. You and a lot of the other men in PAW weren’t taught to respect women as fellow human beings and at Wicked, I’m going to shut up and put up and walk the fucking walk and MAKE you respect me, little boy."
The audience is going nuts for Tapanga, throwing their hands in the air and cheering for her. Tapanga looks over the audience, grinning ear-to-ear. After taking a moment to soak it all in, she ends her pause.
"Kiddo, I do not think I am superior just because I’m wealthy and famous. I think I’m superior in this profession because I’ve earned the fucking right to feel that way. I don't have to justify it to you. I’m not going to sit here and go through my resume or explain all the shit I been through, even though it’d be a LOT more entertaining than Keenan 101." She laughs.
"I’m sick and fucking tired of you hogs looking down on me because I don’t have a fucking kickstand, because I’ve got an innie, not an outie, or maybe it’s because you guys are jealous you’ll never have a chance with me?" Tapanga shrugs. "I know that's the case with Tyler. I hear-tell that his supposed girlfriend looks exactly like me." The crowd laughs. "Yeah, ya know, babe, Ryan's a hottie and you’re well…a nottie. You dress like a Jersey Shore douche-bag and you have a bod like a string-bean. Sorry, not sorry."
Tapanga snickers. "Win or lose, I’m not going to stop." Her grins forms again while the crowd simply claps with respect. "I don’t care if people don’t like me. I don't care if they don't like what I have to say. They can keep victories and the title away from me, but they won’t be able to keep my mouth from the microphone, they can't stop me from voicing the truth, and they can't keep my talented skills out of the ring!"
With passion and conviction as she delivered those last lines, Tapanga stood there, enjoying the reaction from he audience as she looked at the camera.
"Watch with envy, my people, and FIGHT THE PAW-TRIARCHY!!!!"
She stepped away from the podium, walking in front of it and waving to the noisy crowd, as camera flashes go off. She strikes several low-key poses with her hands on her hips, smirking and looking just as she should: strong, empowered, and already victorious.
★★★★★★★★
Moments after the wrap-up of the promo, Tapanga was backstage at the Rumpert Theater just a block or so away from St. Mary's Court, where she called home now with her boyfriend, Ryan. She had finished thanking all of the people who volunteered to act as the crowd for her promo/political rally stunt. Most of them were members of her official fan club, with a few traveling hours just to be a part of an official Tapanga Britt promotional and even staying around to visit the Xayarena and see both her and Ryan in action at the Wicked taping coming up. It was a fun time for Tapanga, getting to meet with some of her fans and show that other side of herself. But now, the day is drawing to a close and it is time to head home, which Tapanga is now looking forward to. She had ditched her dress and heels for some yoga pants, sneakers, and a sweatshirt, with her straightened hair thrown up in a messy gun. She and Ryan were heading towards the exit, hand-in-hand.
"So what did you think?" Tapanga asked. "I was really tryin' to go for that whole crooked politician thing while still being a raunchy bitch."
Ryan chuckled. "You did great, baby. It was something different and with it being an election year here in this country, it works. That is why they have all those weird ads, right?"
Tapanga snickered. "I keep forgetting you're an import. My sexy Irish creme. Say something in Irish."
"Uhhhh baby, I speak English."
"Oh, well. Y'know, I think we're both extremely fuckin' brilliant if I don't say so myself."
They have made their way though the exit, with Ryan of course holding the door open for her. It is both because of chivalry and the fact that he loves her and he gets a good view of her ass in yoga pants. They start towards the car. Ryan is a little red in the face.
"I dunno about that."
"Oh, don't fuck with me, baby. That last promo of yours was amazing. And now we've got some time before the taping andddd you know what tomorrow is?"
They stop at the car and Tapanga finds her place hanging onto Ryan with her arms around his neck, grinning at him.
"Of course, my love."
"We're going to relax and unwind. I've uhhh got a surprise for you."
"Really? Tell meeeee."
Tapanga shook her head, tapping him on the tip of his nose playfully. "It wouldn't be a surprise if I did, would it?"
End. |
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