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Post by Admin on Aug 2, 2018 12:19:16 GMT -6
Skrabz vs Rock N' Roll God Roleplay Limit: 1 Roleplay Deadline: Thursday, August 9, 2018 @ 2AM Central Time
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Post by Skrabz on Aug 7, 2018 5:03:21 GMT -6
Location: Skrabal's motel room, Denver, Colorado. Date: 7th August 2018 Time: 3:15AM
Skrabal sits in his motel room, planted in that same old shitty chair. The same old battered, wobbly and well worn table sits in front of him and once again it is littered with empty beer bottles. Skrabal places a half full bottle of beer on the table before setting up his phone, propping it up on the table as he taps at the screen to start the recording.
"So it finally happen."
Skrabal leans forward, picking up the open beer he had just put on the table.
"Man's shoulders pinned to that mat."
He takes a drink from the bottle, finishing what's left of the beer it contains and sits poised on the edge of his chair.
"One... two... three..."
Without warning he throws the bottle out of shot, the sound of it smashing against a wall shatters the air like the glass itself. He stares coldly in to the camera.
"So I guess I should be congratulatin' Bullet, givin' her props and biggin' her up or suttin?"
He leans forward reaching behind the camera before returning to the shot with a joint in his mouth which he lights and takes a few deep, therapeutic tokes on as he leans back in the chair.
"But see if I'm a do that then I'm a have to big up every single one of them Shield Maiden's on they victory coz the shit was six on one from the start. The ting is though victory be a lot like butter fam, it ain't taste too good when it spread so thin, ya get me?"
Skrabal takes a deep, relaxing draw on his joint while leaning down the left side of the chair. He brings his hand back up holding another bottle of beer.
"Funny ting is ya all heard me ask the gyal, right there in the ring, if she really need all them ratchets with her before we even get down to scrapin' and she ain't ain't say nuttin back, kept it zipped on some no comment shit. Actions speak louder than words though blud and her Maiden's snitch on her still, exposin' they lack a faith in Bullet... jumpin' the gun and gettin' involved in the shit before the trigger even pulled."
Having removed the cap from the bottle while speaking Skrabal lifts his bottle of beer to his mouth and drinks just over half of the bottle.
"So what my loss prove then?"
He takes another swig of beer, emptying the bottle and casually throwing it to the side where it lands out of shot with a clink and thud.
"Everything' I done said last week."
He relights his joint, taking a few quick tokes and exhales smoke as he speaks.
"I know watchu all thinkin' though, ya thinkin' how did me gettin' pinned for the first time in Mile High prove me right. Shit, you already know... levels fam, innit"
A few more tokes and the joint is tossed in to the ash tray and as he leans back another bottle of beer is retrieved from beside his chair.
"Did Bullet prove she on mine coz she got that dub? It's what she wanted innit. It's what she thinks, prolly. She do it though? Nah, never. Only ting they all proved is Bullet on that 'can't do it alone' tip, on some 'bring backup' shit and she not the only one a them on that shit either. But I'm sure ya done give a small confidence boost to everyone out here still, shown 'em all that man like Skrabz can be pinned... all ya gotta do is come six deep, have a couple running distractions and another on interference and ya might just steal that dub from me too."
He opens the beer and holds it firmly in his left hand and looks smugly in to the camera.
"That's the level the six a yet set for me. That's what you showed 'em...that it take an entire clique to beat man."
He leans forward, reaching behind the cameras view point once again. Skrabal leans back in to the shot with a lit joint in his mouth and his bottle of beer still in his left hand.
"But Ace Indigo ain't run with no clique though so what chance he got?... It's a rhetorical question fam, the shit ain't need answerin'. Truth is Ace, man like Skrabz ain't religious so I got about as much faith in a Rock and Roll God as the Maidens had in Bullet beatin' me on her ones."
He leans forward toking on his joint and speaks smugly.
"None."
He leans back in the chair again smirking arrogantly.
"But I heard the word of God though, trust. Man has heard him talkin' about winnin' that there Throwdown strap and tradin' it in for a shot at man like Skrabz. On a jokes ting innit, but it ain't funny fam, nah. They way you think like that blud... it's kinda offensive to be real witchu. Man is a lil insulted so I'm a ask ya one time, on the level."
He leans forward with his eyes locked on the camera.
"Are you dizzy blud?"
He leans back, shaking his head as he hits his joint..
"Ya nah when man like Skrabz can point at ya and say ya ego outta control then your ego outta control bredrin, big time. On the real, coz ya frame and name in these ends ain't as big as that game ya been talkin' over days and weeks passed and man already done felt to slap you just for ya bein' so arrogant with fuck all to be arrogant about."
He shakes his head and kisses his teeth before continuing.
"I mean man has seen ya runnin' your mouth from day, talkin' this and that about titles and I ain't blame ya coz a done did that same shit... it's jus' a shame for you that sayin' it ain't make it true, nah. Ya gottato back that shit in the ring to make it count fam and so far ya been found lackin' 'gainst The Lost Child and ya got thrown out a that Throwdown ting. Stood in front a that four person firin' squad with ya self made title for a blindfold and got shot down but it's like ya said blud, you put ya back against that wall so I'm a guess that's why you ain't see the writin' on it."
He glares dismissively while puffing on his joint.
"I mean manor man was aready low-key vexxed at you to begin with bredrin for that nonsense and foolishness ya been chattin' but now man is just vexed in general, screw faced, trust. So ya 'bout to catch what man was already fixin' to throw atcha but ya-nah ya gonna cop the flack for that Sheildmaidens business on top too. Man is comin' in aggy off some fuckery right now, ya feel me? I nah you saw that bullshit last week and guess what?"
He leans forward and sneers with venom.
"That's your fault!"
Leaning back again he finishes his beer and smirks.
"Not really fam... but there ain't no difference bredda coz on the level I'm a fight you like it is anyway. There be differences between the two a us though innit, they be big too fam, too deep to explain but I'm a take 'em to school do the math and put it out there in simple English for 'em, one time."
He looks confidently in to the camera, puffin on his joint again.
"Man like Skrabz won the Mile High Wrestling Championship fair and square, on my ones."
He shakes his head again, laughing slightly as he brings the beer back to his mouth and finishes the bottle.
"Man like Rock make his own belt."
He finishes his beer and drops the bottle on the floor. Leaning down to his left side he returns to the shot with the Mile High Wrestling Championship title in hand and holds it out towards the camera.
"I earned this strap."
A look of disgust flashes across his face as he snarls with anger.
"You bought yours."
He shakes his head, looking in to the camera.
"What that tell ya 'bout Ace Indigo-nowhere?"
He places his championship belt in his lap, propped up against his body.
"I nah ya done seen me tell Candy Bratton, when this strap was still hers, that her elevator don't reach my floor but yours is stuck in the basement blud, major malfunction, no movin'. Never that, nah. You ain't got no cables for man to cut."
He pauses and takes another couple of tokes on his joint.
"But you prolly think a match with the champ is an opportunity for ya, but it's not that fam, trust. This is a dangerous situation for ya blud, so the best ya can hope for is man like Skrabz endin' the match and puttin' you out a ya misery as quickly as ya lost that respect ya came in with. Yeah I heard the talk that ya name shined bright and carried a lil' weight out there but in here blud, shit the way ya been carryin' yaself with ya fake titles and Photoshop, all that talkin' on twitter back after ya first match 'bout how you'd usually dip out after a loss... To me fam it gotchu lookin' like light work... So come Thursday I'm a catch that dub, bounce you off every surface and make ya scatter coz that's how light work"
He takes a deep long toke on his joint then leans forward while speaking.
"Standard!"
Smirking arrogantly he opens another bottle of beer and takes a mouthful then leans forward placing the bottle on the table. He re-lights his joint and takes a couple of hits while looking of the side. His gaze returns to the camera as he continues.
"Ya not no rock n' roll god, ya don't mosh or go hard - ya a flop n' go soft mister shop n' go floss... I ain't say all this justa bust ya chops, nah it's fuck you Ace, your fake belt and ya photoshops.... So fuck you Ace! I'm a pull ya card, why ya fuckin' with the King when ya got no chance... And yeah, I'd stand that on my belt - Ya not an Ace; you a Queen... 'bout to get Jacked and slammed to the deck with this hand that I dealt"
He takes a deep long toke on his joint then leans forward exhaling smoke as he taps at his phone ending the recording.
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