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| Michael Ahriman vs. Jinx | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 27 2009, 08:21 PM (82 Views) | |
| Jacob Smith | Apr 27 2009, 08:21 PM Post #1 |
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Michael Ahriman vs. Jinx Roleplay Limit: 2 Per Person Roleplay Deadline: Tuesday May 5th 2009 at 11:59 PM |
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| Jinx | May 5 2009, 01:12 PM Post #2 |
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Newbie
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‘Sociopath’ is such a cruel word. It leaves a foul taste on the tongue of any unfortunate enough to want to say it, its sting scalds all who are disengaged enough with reality to be called it. It is a bad word, a nasty word. I personally prefer ‘liberator from the evils of humanity’ or even better ‘man hater’. Even from the earliest age, from when the other children at school realized that I was the ‘runt’ of the school, with my semi disfigured face, massive creases and scars running down the left cheek, normal in every other way, they realized that I needed to be bullied. I hated them every day, but now I have made them pay, but the twenty five year old me wants something more, something more fulfilling. I want humanity to bleed for me, to experience the pain that I felt the entirety of my life. I have lived in this city forever. It is despicable, but the unrequited and obvious guilt free society here is perfect to conceal my deeds. I have a new look now, a brighter, more acceptable face. It covers up the majority of the hideousness of my life, and when I wear it, which is always, I feel new. I don’t remember the old face, bullied, alienated, and the new me won’t stand for those atrocities any longer. My transformation was complete when I thrust the corpse of my final bully onto the metal railings of an industrial fence in the city, with its head hanging loosely on the remaining remnants of tendons and skin that once made up his neck. The head swung in the wind, the slow drip, drip of blood onto the pavement, followed by a rip and tear, as the skin gave way and the head falls to the floor. Crunch. They always bullied me for my left cheek, the side of me that is scarred, so to repay the favor I cut off their left cheek completely. I leave the cadaver there on the fence, equaling the skyline with its bleakness of color. I gun the bloody cheek skin to the mask, nails stick through flesh, the plastic and back through. It is finished. Completed. I now wear my aggressor’s faces. Push the nails into my already mutilated face; push it harder, sinking through, slowly, painfully. The mask won’t come off now. I had taken one last look at my old face. Now I have a new face, and it is mine. Deep breathing, pain, no end, growl in agony, metal through my skin, and pierce my flesh. Months later. The pain is bearable now. Leave house, walk into the city. This hive of rotten, sodden, disgusting, hateful, illegal and gray makes me want to vomit. What ever happened to morals, I ask myself. I can tell me where morals went. The paper that they were written on was screwed up into a ball and the remains were burned into a pile of emotionless ash. Which was then stamped into the ground. I can smell the ever growing rot of this city. It smells damp, with no responsibility, no morals, no problem. I wander for several hours, every street with their red lights. The drugs, gangs, prostitutes, murder, rape and guns- yes; remorse- no. Walk past several girls. One at the end approaches me with a seductive smile. "C’mon mate, ill do anything just for a twenty. Anything you like, promise you I do mate." I bring out the butchers knife out from my long green coat’s pocket. I slash quickly, no time for her to scream. I hate these tramps, the wares that they sell. No decency, accelerating the problems that run deep through the grimy veins of the city. Grab her hair, now she screams. Cut quickly, forcefully. Head comes off in my hands. The cadaver falls to its knees, blood continuing its journey, into the still beating heart, through the atrium, out the ventricle, moving with growing velocity upwards, to the chest, and then out of her newly severed neck. Spurts to the ground, stains. The other girls scream, run inside, scramble for safety. Smile behind my mask. I stand over her, slash the breast. Comes off in two, hacks. Pulls away in my hands. Blood covers every surface, ground, me. My coat is covered with a brand new coat of red droplets. I pocket the bloody breast, replace my cleaver and continue my journey through this true hell. - - -
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So, Champ...what are you waiting for? And engraved invitation, perhaps? Shit, son...you're getting the chance of a lifetime, stepping into the ring with the very best wrestler you'll EVER face, and you've got nothing to say about it? Of course not, you're too busy playing head case and drifting to sleep and whatever it is you do, right? Well, let me clue you in on a little something, junior. This isn't some fucking soap opera, it's wrestling. You're not going to go through a couple of 'seasons' or whatever, only to find it at the end of a match, jackass. And let me tell you, motherfucker...the only thing you're going to find at the end of a match with me is pain, humiliation, and a fucking autograph upside that cock holster you call your head. See, Ahriman, one thing people like you don't seem to understand, no matter how many times guys like myself tell you, is that you're simply not on my level. Period. No, not period....Absolutely. Yeah. Absolutely. You just weren't born with the talent or skill to overcome what we are. And what are we, people like myself? I'm a guy who likes to have fun, and because of this I enjoy winning. I do whatever it takes. A fact you'll become infinitely familiar with, no matter how little amount of time it takes me to thoroughly wipe any notion of success against me from your mind, and show the world how insignificant you are in my world. Don't feel bad, there, though. You're in the same boat with every other person in 96, in wrestling, in the world. You're all a bunch of utterly Useless....oh, wait...silly me. I already used that one, didn't I? I have so many, it's hard to keep up, sometimes. Suffice it to say that I exist on a plane the rest of you will never attain. I call it the Top of The Mountain. No matter how high you climb in this business, no matter how you strive, or how far you stretch out your hand, you simply will never have what it takes to walk my hallowed ground. There is, after all, only ONE Jinx. And you simply are no match for me, Michael Ahriman. But don't let that stop you from trying. Maybe if you make me break a sweat, I won't feel like those three minutes that I spent destroying you were totally wasted. If you have anything akin to an "A game", Ahriman....please bring that. It won't avail you, but it's always nice to know I'm getting someone's best effort, no matter how pathetic it really is. But any thoughts you have of being successful, or even actually winning this week.....you might as well check those at the door. And hey, look at the bright side...you're going to get an autograph from everyone's favorite clown that you won't even have to pay money for. I'll see you in Vegas, Ahriman. Until then... ToOtLeS... |
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| Michael Ahriman | May 5 2009, 11:57 PM Post #3 |
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I hear the water drip out of the faucet in the bathroom. I must not have a fully turned it off when I stepped out of the shower a few hours ago. The hotel room is dark around me, so dark that a serial killer could stand right in front of me and but my throat, and I couldn’t see him. I reach over and turn the switch to the lamp on. I pick up the pack of cigarettes Dr. Jacobs gave me today. He said that I deserved a reward for my behavior here as of late. Only problem was that he didn’t give me a lighter. I had to light it off of the stove in the kitchen area of the hotel room. The bed squeaks as I get up of it and walk over to the gas powered stove in the next room. I turn it up on high and let the propane flames light my cancer for me. I inhale the smoke, loving every single second of it. I keep it in my lungs for a few seconds, letting it corrode them slowly. I go back to the bed where I lay back down. There is a knock on the door. Dr. Jacobs: “Michael?” He sees me laying on the bed, smoking my days last cigarette. Dr. Jacobs: “Here Michael, this is Jinx’s promo this week. I figured I would let you see it.” He lays it on the bed and leaves the room quickly. He either is in a hurry for a dinner reservation, or he has a hot prostitute in his room, and with the way he was acting, I would bet on the dinner reservation. I pop the tape into the tape player and lay back and watch it, enjoying another cigarette as it plays. Once it is over, I pick up the remote and pause the tape on his ugly, scarred up face. “Jinx, Jinx, Jinx. I figured you would have said something along these lines this week. You know how I know that? Because you are predictable. Just like every other human being in the world. I have said it before Jinx, and I will say it again. You try to hard to be an outcast, yet you fit in with everyone.” I flip the ashes off of my cigarette. “Lets take a trip down memory lane Jinx. I seem to recall that last week, I defeated you, so exactly how does that make you better than me? In fact, how does that make you the best?” I walk over to the couch where the title lays, and I pick it up. “This is what you want isn’t it Jinx?” I hand it out. “Here, you can have it. Consider it a going away present, because by the time I am done with you this week, you will no longer be here because you will be in a hospital bed for a long, long time. You might even find yourself becoming a paraplegic after this week. Who knows Jinx, I might even snap your neck in two this week. I have no idea what I am going to do, but I promise you that that ugly face of yours will get even uglier, if that is at all possible.” I lay the title back down on the couch. “You and that title have one thing in common Jinx, and that is that you both mean shit to me. You call yourself a mad man Jinx, but I don’t buy it. You say that this isn’t a soap opera, but I see you causing a lot of the drama that is going on here. Ah, wait, did I just catch the hideous clown up in a contradiction? I think I did. That’s right Jinx, you sir, are a POSER!! You always have been, always will be.” I pick up the cigarette pack, but see that it is empty now. I crumble it in my hands. “Maybe in your little fantasy world Jinx, you are the best in the world, but now that I am here in 96, be prepared to always finish second. Everything you, I will do better. Every person you hurt, I will make them suffer worse. Every wise crack you make, mine will be better. Every cut you give someone, I will give them a gash and paint the canvas red with their blood. So, Jinx, just admit it. Admit that you are a basket case and that you do not have what it takes to beat me. So, instead of you giving me your autograph, I will give you mine. It will be a blank white piece of paper with the blood from the gashes I give you as the ink, and it will say ‘This is the beginning of your end’ because I promise you Jinx, just like my wife, just like my child, you will suffer defeat and find your place as fertilizer to the Earth.” I look at the table and see that there is a cigarette that has fallen out of the pack. I pick it up and hold it in my hands. “There is a find line between people like you and me Jinx. The main line is that I so much built up inside of me. Unlike you Jinx, I don’t care if I win every week. It doesn’t phase me in the slightest. The only thing I want to do is hurt people. I thrive off the pain of others Jinx. I look at you, and I have so much empathy Jinx. I really do. I have so much empathy Jinx, and every time I look at you, I cannot help but to think that you would be better off either dead, or as a vegetable, and those two outcomes just might happen this week.” I look at the cigarette very closely. I then look at the stove. “Now, if you would excuse me Jinx, I have something to take care of. Tootles, you pathetic piece of shit.” *Scene shifts to Dr. Jacobs point of view* That dinner tonight was nice. There is nothing having your wife flown out the wherever you are and showing her a great time. Too bad she couldn’t stay. I couldn’t let her stay. It is too dangerous for her here because I never know when Michael just might snap again. I step onto the elevator and hit 9, because we are on the 9th floor. When I get there, I see people running through the halls, to the stairs. I was being bumped into left and right. Then it hit me. “Michael” I ran down the hall and around the corner. I see that Michael’s door to his room is standing wide open. I go to the door and look in and see nothing but smoke. I go to the kitchen where there are two men, must be hotel workers, blowing out the fire with a fire extinguisher. They blow the fire out. “What in the Hell happened?” Worker: “Some stupid ass loosened the gas line to the stove and tried to fix it with a lit cigarette in his mouth.” “Where’s Michael?” Worker: “The room was empty when we got here. Check the lobby.” “You idiots!” I ran into the bathroom, hoping he was in there. When I opened the door, I saw Larry and Steve, the security guards, lying in the bath tub, their throats cut wide open. I look at the wall where Michael left me a note that read: “Do you still think you’re helping me?” My mouth drops. “Oh God! What have I done?” *scene fades* |
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12:51 AM Jul 11