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Bum Fights
Topic Started: Jun 10 2008, 03:25 AM (78 Views)
Alex Ross
The Perfect 10
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Kids, paying hobos to fight on the streets is wrong, plain and simple. The author of this promotional roleplay does not in anyway support the abuse of homeless people or anything sharing similarities with this immoral activity. Note that this roleplay was written under the supervision of professionals and should not be attempted by anyone in another roleplay, mainly because that is called being unoriginal. Now, sit back, relax, and enjoy.

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What has society come to? The children of our cities, some only twelve years old, run around flashing gang signs and vandalizing public property. These are things that you can walk through the ghettos and see all day and every day. There is a darker side to today's cities, though. This is a side that few witness themselves, that they only hear stories and watch internet videos of. The topic at hand, of course, is hobo or bum fights. The basic premise is this... Bored middle and upper class citizens travel through the city to find homeless people desperate for money, food, and alcohol. In this desperation, the victims will do almost anything for what they need to survive or forget their shortcomings, including fight another homeless person to the death. These well-off evil-doers put money up and whoever can brutally injure or even kill the opponent first wins the pot.

Why does our society allow such activities? Because they are all sick and twisted in the head. What kind of a person would subject themselves to such material in their everyday lives? Who could stand to watch two men or women beat each other to a bloody pulp and enjoy it?

Alex Fucking Ross, as Mad Max would arrange his name; that is the kind of demented individual who would take joy in someone else's misfortune. Unfortunately, these underground events have never been brought to his attention before. Tonight in Brazil, that is going to change. A friend of Alex Ross's, Talon, will accidentally expose Alex Ross to the dark secret of bum fighting.

A blue-illuminated wall strobes light and dark. Sounds of crashes and screams are audible, one after another. The light flashes more and more and the noises of destruction and pain follow still. On cue with a gunshot is Alex Ross.


Ross: OH SHIT!

The camera pans down from the wall and to a bed below it. Ross sits on top of the white sheets, the rest of the blankets rolled down to the bottom near his feet. The air conditioning is blowing high and directly at him, but sweat is still pouring off of his face. His hair is pulled back, his beard is trimmed, and he's sitting only in his white boxer-shorts to keep the cool, but nothing is working on this hot Brazilian night. So, Ross sits there, miserable, watching a Portuguese action movie on television in his hotel room. Suddenly, the chaotic sounds of the TV are interrupted by a vibration on the nightstand beside him. No, perverts, it's not a dildo. It is, in fact, Alex Ross's cellular device, or phone if you want to be specific. The phone travels from one end of the small table to the other with a buzz before Alex picks it up and answers.

Ross: 'Perfect Ten' Alex Ross speaking, I need a name and what business you have calling me at this hour, please.

Voice: Uhh... Alex, it's...

Ross: I'm sorry, were you going to actually answer to that? Listen buddy, the point is, no one has any business calling me at this hour, so fuck off and goodbye.

Voice: Dude it's Talon.

Ross: Oh, right. What do you want? Did you have another bad dream about me?

Talon: Funny. No, but listen bro... There's a lot to do out here on the town. I know you can't sleep, let's go hang.

Ross: I'm a little busy...

Talon: I didn't see you go in with anyone, so I can't imagine you have all that much to be doing in your room, Ross.

Ross: Alright, you caught me.

A car explodes on the television and Talon hears it in the background.

Talon: Are you watching channel 26?

Ross: Yeah, channel 26 out of 26 channels.

Talon: Me too. There's a delay on the phone, though. I'm hearing your sound effects later than mine.

Ross: Oh. Neat.

Talon: But come on, give this place a chance... We can find something to do.

Ross: Okay, fine. But- I want to be back by midnight. I'm going to need the sleep, cardio tomorrow.

Talon: Cool. Meet me at the front lobby doors.

Alex Ross hangs up his cell phone. He sets it down on the nightstand again and gets up to his feet. His feet make a sticking sound on the floor as he lifts them to walk over to his open suitcase. He throws on a pair of white gym shorts and one of his many identical signature "10/10" t-shirts and grabs his wallet. Ross tucks it into his pocket and heads out of the hotel room. He makes his way into the elevator and the door closes behind him.

Next to him in the elevator stands an American child no older than 10 years old. The 3 or 4 foot something looks up at Alex, double-taking.


Kid: Hey mister, are you... ?

Ross: Yes, I am Alex Ross... And no, I don't sign autographs.

Kid: I don't want your autograph, old man.

Ross: Well, good, because I wouldn't give it to you.

Kid: You got your ass kicked by Psyko Stevo.

Ross: First off, how old are you, using that language? And I'm sorry, what? When?

Kid: I'm old enough... and you know exactly what I'm talking about, mister. He beat you last week.

Ross: I was never pinned, I didn't lose.

Kid: But your partner did.. and my dad says that you like dicks in your mouth.

Ross: Your dad likes dicks in his mouth.

The kid stares at Alex Ross. He shuts up, though. Once they reach the lobby, the doors open and all of the tension built up in the small lift cabin are released. That is, until the boy's father meets them on the way out. The man is a tank, built like a brick wall and towers high above Alex Ross.

Kid: Dad! Look! It's Alex Buttfloss!

Ross: Alex Buttfloss?

Kid: He said that you like dicks in your mouth, dad!

Father: You said what?!

Ross: Hah, kids. They say the darnedest things, right? Oh and tht Bill Cosby... cracks me up!

Father: Dicks in MY mouth?

Ross: Oh what a charming boy you have. The language surprised me a little though... For a kid his age.

Father: Something wrong with the way my boy speaks?

Ross: No... It's um... His accent. I didn't think I'd come across other Americans here in Brazil and... You here for Showdown?

Father: We're here on family vacation. Here for the football tournament.

Ross: Like soccer football? Heh. *nervously* Great! I love soccer!

Father: You're a pussy.

Ross: Excuse me?

Father: My son Mikey here, he could whip your ass. He's working on his bicycle kick.

Ross: I have to get going.

Father: Hey, Mikey. Show him your bicycle kick.

Ross: No, no. I really have to go, I have to meet someone.

Alex Ross steps around the monster of a man and makes his escape to the front of the lobby. As he gets around the father, however, he is met with a swift flying foot to the groin, the jewels, the nuts. Alex Ross drops to his knees and whimpers inside a little.

Father: Good shot, son. You've improved on the upswing of it.

The father laughs as he takes his son by the hand and they walk away. Alex Ross remains on his knees for a moment before he is finally able to breath properly and stands up. As he recovers from the blow, Ross sees several security guards run across the hall as if they were chasing someone. The number one contender for the World Title raises his eyebrow as he realizes that Talon is nowhere to be found in the lobby. He's puzzled, Talon was always on time.

A moment later, Talon appears around the corner of the hallway in which all of the raucous had just occurred. With his cane in hand, rubbing the end of it, Talon looks satisfied.


Ross: What's going on?

Talon: Don't worry about it, I took care of it.

Ross: What?

Talon: That guy. He's been taken care of. I overheard him bragging in the hall about what had happened. I took care of it.

Ross: You're sperratically violent now?

Talon: Only for a friend.

Ross: You're awesome. You should really learn to carry that into your matches, though. That's one of the things I've been meaning to talk to you about, to teach you... To be more aggressive... To really learn to want the win and do anything to get to it.

Talon: I'll consider having you elaborate on that later... For now, let's go. We have to get out of here before they catch up... and I hear there's a club just down the street.

The reunited team of Alex Ross and Talon go on their way, dressed casually, to the city streets of South America in Brazil. They walk without talking much for a minute or so. Suddenly Ross outbursts.

Ross: What did you do to that guy?

Talon: Gave him light tap on the head with my cane is all.

Ross: That's all?

Talon: Well, the boy, too.

Ross: *laughing* What the fuck? Are you serious?

Talon: No, I'm kidding, the boy will learn from his father's example, I'm sure.

Ross: You're going to learn fast, man.

Talon: You keep saying that... What exactly am I going to learn?

Ross: How to be a winner. How to be powerful.

Talon: Hmm...

Talon and Alex Ross stop in front of a purple neon lighted shack that seems to rock back and forth with intense booming bass. They turn to eachother and blink.

Talon: Must be the place.

Ross: I'm not going in there.

They stand in front of the "club" in awe of its poor structure and filthy and unkept look. Cheering and chanting, however, catch their attention from what sounds like behind the shack. Out of curiosity, the two wander over to the alley between buildings and make their way to the back. The shouting gets louder and louder until they find themselves in a damp enclosed area where a circle of men in suits stand holding wads of cash above their heads, jumping up and down.

Talon: Dog fighting?

Ross: I don't think so.

They squeeze in closer to get a peek at what is going on. Over the shoulders of others they get a glimpse of two ragged old men with their fists in front of their faces. One of the men is covered in blood, the other one is better in complexion, but worse in stamina. Both throw themselves at one another in a battle to what looks like the death. Alex Ross turns to one of the shouting men.

Ross: What is this?

Man: You don't belong here, get out.

Talon comes up behind the man and presses his cane against the back of his head.

Man: Heh, okay. This is bum-fighting, Hobo Club.

Ross: Hobo Club?

Man: Shhhh. First rule of Hobo Club, don't talk about Hobo Club.

Talon: I've seen this movie.

Ross: Me too.

Talon: Let's get out of here, Ross. The last thing we need is to be arrested in Brazil for bum-fighting.

Ross: Wait, no. This could be good, Talon.

Talon: NO. BAD.

Ross: No, really. Dude, Mad Max.

Talon: What about him?

Ross: You've wanted to review match tapes for weeks now, Talon... Mad Max, he's my opponent this week. This could give me the upper-hand. Seeing how to take on a homeless person. How to avoid the smell while still getting physical enough to beat 'em down. I could take some tactics back with me.

Talon: Oh God. Look, Ross. Do what you want, I'm leaving. Call me when you come to your senses.

Ross: Well first off, I left my phone back at the hotel, so I can't. Second, my senses are fine, dude. Trust me on this... This could be great. Mad Max wants to get hardcore? What's more hardcore than Hobo Club? Look at these guys, they are monsters.

They look over into the circle where the blood covered hobo lifts a steel barrel above his head and slams it down on the other's head. The strike sends him to the ground and he appears to be out-cold.

Ross: See? This guy is going to do anything within his powers to try and destroy me and my shot at the World Title. He's probably going to have Travis Williams close by, too. That guy is totally jealous of my number one contendership. Him and Cody Williams... Must be a thing about that generic last name.

Talon: Fine, I'll stay... But I don't condone this, man. This is just wrong.

Ross: Now you're playing for Team Ross.

Ross and Talon turn back to the circle. Ross quickly joins the men around him in the shouting and he even takes out his own wad of cash to wave in the air, despite no real intention of donating it to the lucky winner of the hobo-fight. Talon hangs by his side in shame, but sticks with his friend Alex Ross. The crowd is quickly broken up, however, as police sirens sound and the alley lights up with red and blue flashing lights. Everyone scatters, including Alex Ross and Talon. Only the hobos are left in the back of the club, bloodied and bruised, unable to move fast enough.

Alex Ross and Talon get away in time, but barely.

Don't participate in bum-fights, folks. It only leads to trouble and it's inhumane and all of that stuff... So don't do it, not even if it will help you build tactics around your upcoming match against a dirty drunk like Mad Max.
Edited by Alex Ross, Jun 10 2008, 04:06 AM.
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