Outsiders Battle Royal Roleplay Thread

[Marcus Welsh]

Entrants for Zybala's Outsider's Battle Royal!

Post your roleplays as a reply to this stickied thread.

It's 1 rp

500 word cap

Good Luck!

[Fanny]

Hi I am Fanny Gilbertson. And at Access Denied, I am one of the few to try and earn a OCW contract. That is Online Championship Wrestling. Not the Outsiders one. Heck, anyone can get an Outsiders contract. Wasn't one of their champions a bum who sells used jewellery near the Key West bus stop? Barry. Yeah. Barry is his name. I think I dated him once. Left me sore in a few places. But not the places you are thinking of.*



*If you are thinking my Vagina and Butt hole than your not as stupid as you smell, fellow Outsider.



We have a few opponents* in this battle royal for a OCW Pay Per View match and possible contract.



*More like knuckle heads if you ask me.



Speaking of Knuckles. El Knuckle is one of them. The only mystery he has going into this battle royal is when and by who he will be eliminated. And then we have Meghan Strader... Strader? How many Strader's are there running around this business.*



*Too Many.



Meghan, you're gorgeous girl. You should be modeling instead of wrestling in Outsiders for a meal and Zybala's loose change. But since you are a 'Strader' I guess that means you think it's in your blood to be on the OCW roster. Well bad news girl, if blood win matches. Fanny does too. And I got all lots of blood. I got a nasty scab on my shoulder*. I'll pick it and show you how much blood I got. Just tell me when.



*Skiing accident. Not from my bra wire or anything. Skiiiiiii.



Dadbod and Max Rotten? Now these boys are the real challengers for me. Rotten doesn't look like a wrestler. He looks like one of those guys who can eat the huge steak under 20 minutes. Or someone who doesn't leave the all eat buffet until they close. Or a fan of donuts. What I am saying is he is a hefty man. Nothing wrong with that. Some people call me skin flint. Or twiggy arms.*



*Both compliments for my sexy body and sexy muscles. Surely, right? Right, and why did I call you Shirley?**

** I don't know how to tell jokes.



But Rotten can be a maniac when push comes to shove. So with him, I need to go all out. Give him everything I got. If i need to use a steel chair. Soooooo be it. You're going down, Max Rotten. And Dadbod. A fan. I am. I only seen him wrestle on and off. But he knows how to work it in the ring. Just as long as Mombod doesn't get involved and spoil things for him. Dadbod? Mombod? I guess I am... BABEbod? Haha*



*Don't laugh.



I also saw a number 12 on the list. No idea what that means. But I know why 5 was afraid of 6... because 7-8-9. And raped it too.*



*Joke skills improving.



Basically... what BABEbod is saying. I will win. Period.*

*#FANNY4OCW

OOC>I posted it here  because i have zero patience and didn't wanna wait until the other thread was unlocked to reply in. It can be moved or I can post it again in the proper spot later. Sorry.

[Max Rotten]

We cut to a run down bar on the outside. The type of bar that you definitely would not take a date to. Suddenly a bar stool crashes through the window. Fun times, no? We head inside the bar where we see a bar fight taking place between Max Rotten and numerous patrons. Max sends one patron through a nearby pool table before breaking a pool stick over another patron’s back. A third patron is then sent across the bar by Max before he breaks a glass into the face of a fourth. It’s then and only then that Max Rotten notices the camera with a smirk.

Max Rotten: Oh, hey. The name’s Maxwell Christopher Jack Rotten - but you, you can just call me Max Rotten. And if my surname is familiar to you, well it should be. My older brothers love to fight too. Not that they know I exist. I do what I do to get their attention.

He puts up his hands like he’s going to fight the camera man and walks towards it, still smiling. From this angle we see that his wrists are taped and within the wrist tape there’s shards of glass.

Max: I’ve been invited to take part in the Outsiders Battle Royal at OCW’s next event - Access Denied. That’s cool. As you might have seen, I like to fight. I live for the fight, for the brawl - and backyard wrestlin’? Well that’s just my bag, now ain’t it? The taipei death match was a favourite for my brothers, and at Access Denied I’m gonna bring the death match to the backyard!

Another patron sneaks up behind Max as he talks but Max notices him out of the corner of his eye.

Max: Scuse me a sec.

In a flash, Max swivels round smacking the patron in the head with his glass covered hand. The patron goes down immediately. Max turns back to the camera.

Max: So then, who have we got in this battle royal? 12? Never heard of ya. But by the looks of ya, you like baseball right? Make sure you bring your bat and I’ll turn ya into a popsickle. Fanny? What the fuck kinda name is Fanny?! You don’t have trainin’? Good job you’re headin’ into Outsiders then ain’t it? But you make fat jokes at my expense in the battle royal and I’ll pop your head right off your shoulders. Ghost hunters…. Fuck off…

Max smiles.

Max: Dadbod and Meghan Strader. OK! Now you two I know… but Meghan, honey… you really think a backyard fed is for someone as hot as you? If you think you can dance the fuckin’ dance with me sweetheart then go right ahead and try - that goes for you too, Dadbod. I’m enterin’ this battle royal to hurt, maim and crush everyone in that ring. But I want a good fight. Make no mistake Strader and Fanny I’m fully intendin’ to fuck your pretty faces up. And I’m gonna enjoy it.

[zybala]

: Zybala sits on his recliner and critiques the rps, judging everyone. :

[12]

The crack of a bat sending a four seamed fastball tearing through chilly winter air opens our scene. A chiseled athlete stuck in a picturesque pose pauses, watching the fruits of his labor as the ball continues to soar, eventually vanishing over the deepest part of the outfield fence. He arrogantly flips the bat and begins to walk the bases, staring down the middle aged man on the mound.



Excellence cannot be taught. It cannot be trained. Excellence is bred. Its with you the moment you are conceived and never leaves. It only fades, if left untapped.



He stomps on first base before turning and marching toward second. The infielder roll their eyes and place their hands (gloved and bare) on their hips. It’s obvious this guy has a reputation and he’s making the most of it.



I was bred to be a genetic freak. Anything less was never in the cards. While most parents forge the age of their kids to make the appear younger, so they can play better, my foster parents forged my age up, to give the kids I was competing against a better chance.



His casual stroll makes its way around second, taking a slight turn toward third base.



Didn’t work. I still dominated. College scouts were all over my jock before I turned 13. My foster parents dealt with more scholarship offers than they did debt collectors. My talent was undeniable. It had been recognized. Greatness was inevitable.



He hits third and pauses, eyeing an irate third basemen. A moment of tension passes when the third basemen turns his head, unwilling to escalate the tension further. Our narrator smirks and heads for home.



As you can see, I fulfilled every hope and dream of those who recruited me. I am the very thing scouts and coaches seek. The truth. And, amid a sea of lies and fabrications, I stand tall as the unshakable fact that excellence, no matter the era, cannot be suppressed.



Finally, he reaches home. He stares at the catcher, who is blocking the plate. With more than a hint of defeat, the catcher lowers his head and backs away. Our narrator looks down at home plate.



The time has come for me to fulfill my legacy. My past always remained a mystery. Despite my foster parents best efforts, I knew there was more to my origins. Excellence such as myself could not have been created by a couple of middling americans. My heritage had to be spectacular.



He lifts his right foot up. It’s shadow looms over home plate.



I am the son of legend. I am the spawn of OCW royalty. And, at Access Denied, I enter a pro wrestling ring for the first time to continue what my father started. On January 30th, the chosen one, OCW royalty returns home.



His right foot stomps, emphatically on home plate. The fans go wild. He heads for his dugout. The back of his jersey displays the number 12.

[Tamika Strader]

Meghan Strader felt uneasy down in Florida by herself. Her whole career she had her baby sister Tamika Strader with her, but they retired back before OCW had purged the roster, on top of the wrestling world as Revolution1 Wrestling Tag Team Champions.

Meghan had been settling into the role of manager for Victoria Strader-Knox and all was good.

It definitely wasn’t.

Meghan sat waiting for some guy named Emilio to show her the setup of Outsiders Championship Wrestling that took place between 3 backyards. The company, if you could even call it that, definitely fell under the same category as back alley vasectomies and abortions where the doctor is a Shop-Vac with a clothes hanger as its assistant.

All of this was happening because Meghan’s daughter, the current Trans-Atlantic Champion Veronica Strader, had been taken over by an affliction that ran through the blood of Matthew Knox. OCW wasn’t new to that affliction as Supreme Machine was an undefeated legend in these parts but Veronica was making her own mark.

Harold, Veronica’s personal cameraperson, made the request to film Meghan’s small promo for old times sake. He hugged Meghan when he met her outback of Emilio’s houses that comprised the dirty setup of the Outsiders. She gives him a kiss on the forehead making him blush.

“It’s good to see you Mrs. Kelser, it’s been a long time since I filmed a promo for you,” he remarked with his pearly white denture smile. He used to be a meth head, and it had taken his originals.

“You too, Harold. It’s not gonna be your typical promo. We better get rolling, don’t want your boss to get too mad at you,” she said to him, even though Veronica was quite fond of the opiate-addicted hooker aficionado.

Harold nods and starts to film his former employer who was dressed in black boots, black leather pants and sporting a purple tank top that has her daughter’s name across the chest. Wearing official OCW merchandise.

“I retired from the sport that has given me so much a few months ago back in 2021. Retired on top, as a tag team champion with my baby sister, and found a new profession in the sport I hold dear as my daughter Victoria’s manager. I had started to notice a change in her but everyone told me to relax but I should’ve listened to my gut.”

“I’m not looking to win a contract. I just want to talk to my firstborn. To reach inside Veronica and find Victoria again. My sweetness, I love you. I will do whatever it takes to reach you, even if it means walking into a disgusting backyard, in a ring that couldn’t hold the weight of Supreme Machine. I have done everything I ever wanted to do in life, but I can’t do it without you. Come back to me, to your family. I love you, Victoria Strader.”

She doesn’t even sneer, she just places her right hand over her heart.

[Outcast]

*A voice is heard with a tone that could only be described as "if Blue Steel was a tone instead of a look.*


Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the most Marvelous of them all?


*"It is you Mike Mason '', replies a voice that is clearly the same person who has just changed his octave as to seem it were someone else. The shot opens to The Marvelous One standing completely nude, except for a footlong black censor-bar over his crotch. Triple M gazes into the mirror in the otherwise dark room admiring his massive pecks. *


These popping pecks that Flat-Chested Fanny would love to have to fill out her A-cup. A basic two who if she breast fed her child the poor thing would die of starvation. I thought her crotch was Max Rotten, but it turns out that is the name of some fat slob in this match.


*3M flexes his abs and runs his hand up and down them, if he had cheese he could grade it on those abs. *


Speaking of fat slobs, the Dadbod has entered this battle royal. How disgusting his body is, I'd comment on how his tits are bigger than Fanny's and Meghan's, but I eat chicken breast on a daily basis that those two would be jealous of. No, David you disgust and offend me in my core as a man. When I look at you David I am reminded of the quote from Socrates, "No man has the right to be an amateur in the matter of physical training. It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.".


You are shams to the word and gender of man. I will take great pleasure in humiliating you and showing you the strength of what my beautiful body is capable of.


*Triple M turns to admire his flexed glutes in the mirror. Not a single pimple or dingleberry on his toned, tanned cheeks. *


Just look at those cheeks, the same cheeks you all can kiss once I finish throwing everyone out of this battle royal like your dad should have thrown you out onto the sheets before you wastes of flesh were even conceived.


Speaking of Dads who should've finished on the sheets, Meghan Strader will bring her flat cheeks into this battle royal and get dropped faster than her sister's dress on prom night.


Prom dresses had a way of doing that around me.


*3M turns back to the mirror and looks down at the large censor-bar. *


12, the wrestler named after my length. Poor guy will last as long in this match as El Knuckle would with Whisper Mendoza. Call him El uno momento.


*The Mecca of Manhood hits a front double bicep and the room lights up. The room is full of mirrors all reflecting his perfectly sculpted physique. *


At Access Denied I'm more than a man among boys, I am a God among dweebs.

[dadbod]

Rising up, back on the streets
Did my time, took my chances
Went the distance, now I’m back on my feet
Just a man and his will to survive


Quinn Barker waits at the top of the stairs, staring at her wrist and tapping her foot. She checks the stairs once more. Nothing. She then sees her dad’s curly hair pop into sight and he rides the escalator to meet her.

Quinn: You were supposed to take the stairs!

David: Yeah but... our parking spot was so far from the door, that makes up for some of it, right?

“Dadbod” wipes a little sweat from his brow and stands next to his daughter. They stand outside the mall’s sporting goods store. Quinn leads the way through the store.

David: Well, here we are. Remind me, why are we here?

Quinn: Because, dad. You need to look cool. The other wrestlers look cooler than you. That’s why you lost.

A six-year-old wise beyond her years. Dress for the job you want.


So many times it happens too fast
You trade your passion for glory
Don’t lose your grip on the dreams of the past
You must fight just to keep them alive


They approach at a rack of wrestling singlets. Quinn grabs a handful of them and sets them down next to her dad.

Quinn: What about that one?

She points to the top one on the pile. David holds it up in front of him. It’s got fake muscles printed on it.

Quinn: Tough!

David: I don’t know, don’t you think it’s a little… off-brand?

Quinn: Brand? What brand?

Dadbod pats his stomach, proudly. Quinn rolls her eyes like only a child can.

Quinn: Fine. Try the next one.

Dadbod holds up a bright, lime green singlet.

David: Oh, I don’t know… This needs to be earned! I’m not the greatest champion of all-time.

Quinn: And with that attitude, you never will be!

David: Well, I feel like I’ve got potentia-

Quinn: Next!

Dadbod holds up the next singlet. Quinn’s eyes widen. A smile forms on David’s face. They are in agreement. The tiger print it is. Eyes along the chest, mouth wide open, fangs going down the side.

Quinn: We have a winner!... Hopefully. Hopefully you win.

David: I will, Quinn. I will.

Dadbod stands in front of the mirror. He imagines himself in the ring, crowd going wild, impressed by his tiger singlet as much as his wrestling ability. A drunk aunt and uncle? They make a cute couple, but don’t concern a man possessed by the power of a TIGER. A baseball player? Wrong game, pal. A wannabe Meyhu? HA! You’ll need the real deal to bring down… DADBOD!

David: ROAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!

It’s as ferocious in person as it was in text. Take that how you will. But Quinn was more concerned with her dad’s sanity, not her life.


IT’S EYE OF THE TIGER, IT’S THE THRILL OF THE FIGHT
RISING UP TO THE CHALLENGE OF OUR RIVAL!

[Marcus Welsh]

Outside of a Home Depot in Arizona. Marcus Welsh pulls up to what are presumably illegal aliens. Not outer space aliens but Mexicans who jumped the border. Marcus sees a man of intrigue he's wearing full-legged baby blue spandex with red spots over his knees, a matching luchador mask, and of course a red cape without a shirt.

You there.

The luchador points to himself and cracks a shit-eating grin.

Yes, you. Have you ever wrestled?

The luchador nods his head yes. At this time all the other Mexicans who are surrounding Welsh start walking away, all except this luchador.

Do you speak English?

The luchador nods his head yes and makes the international sight for a little with this thumb and pointer finger.

Yo quiero taco nacho.

Uh-huh. Like I was saying there is no pay but if you win. You can be on OCW's next Pay-Per-View. That does pay and well I might add.

The luchador smiles.

The people you'll be facing in the Battle Royal are Dadbod-

The luchador rubs his own pretty large belly.

Alright, Fanny-

The luchador rolls his eyes.

Pinch-a-poota.

Welsh doesn't seem amused but continues anyway.

Meghan and Veronica Strader-

The luchador immediately starts laughing.

Max Rotten...

Welsh was expecting a reaction of some sort but he doesn't get one.

Well, What do you think? Are you interested?

Cee. Burrito habanero jalapeno poor flavor. Undalay undalay areba areba.

Welsh looks at this luchador with a cocked eye.

What's your name?

The luchador takes an overly long time to answer.

El...

El...

El Knuckle?

Welsh pauses for a second before buying it, much to EK's chagrin.

There's no time better than the present to cut a promo on these guys. Show me what you got kid!

Umm... Tortilla tequila sombrero-

I thought you said you can speak English?

Fine! For fucks sake! People don't hire good English-speaking gardeners for work. I just figured you wanted the authentic Lucha experience, Mother Fucker!

That's pretty good English.

Cee. I'm not too goddamn worried about the competition. You have a fan girl who actually made he own fans to cool off whatever fucking momentum she would have had. A guy whose fucking body type is worse than mine and prides himself on it. The fucking Strader bitches who's about as worthless as tits on fighting cock. Max Rotten, talk about a fucking guy who wishes he was badass. We have a name for that in Mexico.

You do?

Yeah, Omega. You either get it or you don't I could give a fuck less. Then you got whatever useless sperm that only happened to be first place once when they made it to a goddamn egg. Doesn't matter line'em up I'll knock'em down, hombre, or at least throw some bitches over the top rope. So, are we fucking good?

Welsh nods his head and feels like he's got a good competitor for the event.