Author Topic: Trent Steel vs. Brian Crucifix vs. Amber Ryan  (Read 93 times)

Offline Joe

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Trent Steel vs. Brian Crucifix vs. Amber Ryan
« on: December 27, 2017, 10:17:37 AM »
Standard Match!
Winner chooses tag title match stipulation at Act of Defiance

1 RP Limit
4000 Word Limit

Please check your word count

Deadline: Saturday, January 6, 2018 at 11:59pm Eastern

Good Luck!

Offline Distorted Angel

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« Reply #1 on: January 06, 2018, 08:00:02 PM »
“But remember, there are two ways to dehumanize someone: by dismissing them, and by idolizing them.”
― David Wong

Baltimore Airport
Baltimore, MD

Two weeks and four days.

Counting the hours though made her itch.

In her head, she sounded like an alcoholic, someone struggling with consumption or the lack thereof especially during the holidays. Those were the hardest and this year she’d negated her yearly tradition of spending the whole time black out and written off- instead she’d spent it cooped up in her apartment playing ‘I spy’ with the shadows and staring contests with the walls.

Trying to ignore the unopened bottle of Fireball she’d stored away for the occasion.

She’d quit smoking, well mostly as she allowed the smouldering cigarette butt to fall between her motorcycle boots and into the snow with a faint hiss before crushing it with a less than satisfying crunch. Something to keep her remotely sane, keep her grounded as the world turned on its head with overt capitalism and family oriented everything- she probably could have stayed with Jack, it had crossed her mind briefly however since the Thanksgiving… incident… she still hadn’t felt comfortable.

If she ever had to begin with.

A third wheel on a functioning family dynamic, an extra cog that did nothing except disrupt.

They were happy to have her around while she sought to simply disappear.

Now Amber had volunteered to pick up his daughter from the airport.

Great fucking job at disappearing, she lamented whilst pulling in her jacket a little tighter. She’d have to eventually, that's how these things always went- she’d create enough damage that slipping somewhere into her own wake would be easy. Quick and painless like an emotional band aid, after all anticipation only ever made these things worse.

Maybe she still had time- Amber never wore a watch, she found they got in the way too much and her phone was buried in one of the pockets she didn’t already have her hands stuffed in. It wouldn’t be hard- just vanish. She’d done it before, on more occasions than she dared to recall, nudging her helmet as it hung lazily from the handlebars.
They’d never find her. Not if she didn’t want them to.


Too late. Emerging from behind two overweight tourists complaining bitterly about the cold, Amber Michaels struggled to hide the surprise in her smile- a fact not lost upon a certain redhead leaning against her beat up Hayabusa.

“Didn’t realize you were-”

Amber Michaels paused, self-correcting before the words fell out, trying to veer her tone away from the almost nervous tone it had been drifting towards however the older woman quickly picked up the conversation in an effort to put them both at ease.

“Yeah, your Dad’s busy so I volunteered- you know, save you a cab fare at least.”

A forced chuckle followed from the former Carnage World champion. It was mostly true, Jack was a PR machine and constantly talking to someone about something supposedly important- Amber however found all of that kind of stuff tedious and banal, she’d never quite understood the appeal of forced appearances to promote things she didn’t believe in and speak to people who’d already made up their mind about who she was and what she did.
Former carny and deathmatch expert with a flair for the macabre and a hair trigger hurricane raging just beneath her skin- how could that possibly be misconstrued in the public eye?

No, she’d leave that kind of stuff to Jack. He hated it, but be damned if he wasn’t fucking good at it.

“He doesn’t know you brought the bike, does he?”

A knowing smile crossed the lips of the younger girl, mischievous perhaps. Even Amber Ryan couldn’t stop it spreading to her own as she pictured the response Jack Michaels might have had, should he find out what she was doing. Of course he wouldn’t do anything, a lecture perhaps and even a little bit of the cold shoulder for awhile… It’d blow over and they’d still be the soon-to-be Carnage Tag Team champions.
She saw a little bit of Amber Michaels in herself, well her younger self, Amber lamented quietly- perhaps that was why she’d volunteered, why she hadn’t simply disappeared when presented the perfect opportunity.


Fuck, she was growing attached to them. Caring about them.

It made her crave a drink more than ever.

“He never asked.”

Truth. She could already picture his expression and it brought her amusement than dread.

“He’d kill you if he found out.”

Strapping the suitcase to the back of the bike, Amber Ryan couldn’t force the wry grin from her face.

“Not till after we've won the tag titles, so I figure I got a little time left to live…”

It was supposed to be a light hearted joke that hit harder than it should.

Handing the younger girl the helmet, Amber couldn’t help but find herself thoroughly amused by the confused expression- no doubt she was looking for a second helmet as the redhead readjusted her high ponytail.
Safety first, she mused, digging through her pants pockets. A black bandana tied around the bottom of her face and a pair of sunglasses- cause there were few things in the world worse than eating bugs and black ice. Throwing a leg over the Hayabusa, Amber brought it roaring to life merrily whilst the younger girl hesitantly wrapped her hands around the redheads waist.

“When we get back, can I ask you something?”

Questions required answers. Answers were the prompt of uncomfortable conversation.

Fuck, she needed a drink.


“When you start talking ‘three-ways’ people are supposed to get excited.

Fucking perverts you all are.

Maybe I should be more excited, I dunno though cause I initially heard that I was main eventing in a triple threat and the heavens opened and started singing- and then I heard it was against Crucifix and Steel and suddenly all that's coming out from those heavens is rain.

Not even real rain, like a fucking mist that makes everyone moist and not in the pleasurable sense.

Before you all get on your damn high horses though, this isn’t fear or apprehension that you’re reading from this- it's straight up boredom. It's high-ho-hum, run of the mill inevitability with a built in applause prompter.
Seriously, got my hopes up that I might be doing something exciting and yet I’m thrown under the bus against two guys who can’t fucking win matches without someone telling them just how long a three count is.

Of course, I should be looking forward to getting my hands on that dirty little mongrel Crucifix. I should be daydreaming about all the ways I’m gonna use the remainder of his teeth to complete tedious chores around my apartment. I should be imagining just how sweet it's going to be to cripple him just how he tried- and hilariously failed- to do so to me.

Thing is, at this point of time- it's just not that important to me.

I mean we still have the tag title match, there’s no escaping this. There’s no running away, no tucking tails, no cheapshots and team sabotage cause egos are getting trodden into the ground.
You don’t get to walk away and pretend like it's just some bad dream.

And when it comes down to the brass tacks- there really is no greater revenge than to take what means the most to someone.

Don’t think I haven’t already pictured what that title is gonna look like on my shoulder.

Though beyond that, you haven’t exactly got much to hang your hat on Brian, so once we take your title… I really don’t have to do anything else to you. I mean I will because I can and frankly because you’re a piece of shit, but that's beside the point.
I mean, you’re not a great wrestler and you aren’t exactly a standout deathmatch fighter either. All the personality on your tag team is cause your partner is a fruit loop, you’re just kinda taking up space- I mean a coat rack could do the exact same job you’ve been doing and it’d probably have defended that title against some of the teams you already beat as well.

Fuck, the coat rack would probably be more well liked as well.

You suck up to Bridges like he’s gonna be in charge much longer- and even HE doesn’t like you. Seriously, you could take in all three inches and he’d still be lukewarm on CON.

It's a sad state of affairs when you think about it Brian, the way you’ve devolved since the first time I kicked your ass in a Carnage ring- oh, thought I’d forgotten?
I might have been hit pretty hard in the head more than once, but I’ll never forget the way that bat broke over your stupid head and the brain damage that has clearly followed. Just a shame really, a real shame I didn’t have a second bat to finish the fucking job when I had the opportunity- but you know what?

It’s okay.


See we’ve still got time, we’ve got motive and we’ve got opportunity.

So no, I won’t be ‘out to get you’ this match. There is no conspiracy theory out to mess with you nor a secret squirrel plan with the Rogues to screw CON out of another match they had no hope of winning. There is just you, Trent Steel and yours truly- two very superior fighters and some degenerate nobody that the industry hopes will be scraped off it's shoe sometime soon.

Fact is, I don’t need to end this now- cause let's face it, kinda ruins the fun.

After all, what's the point of getting to pick a stipulation if you kill the guy before you have a chance to take advantage right?

At this point of time- I don’t need to kill you, just humiliate you enough so you’re reminded that seeing me across the ring from you sends you into cold sweats and hot flashes, that you live through loss after loss to me every time you close your eyes.
I want you to see my name and question whether it's preferable to just sacrifice yourself to the monsters under your bed than have to fight me one more time- problem is, the monsters know better than to interfere with such things.

This time, you’ll live.

I mean you won’t have your dignity, your pride or the ability to piss straight… But you’ll live.

Come Act Of Defiance?

Well, that's a very different story."


Undisclosed Diner
Baltimore, MD

“So my Dad, you know, he trusts you alot in the ring. He has always been weird with trusting people to fight with… it takes the right person to have his back.”

Between mouthfuls of pancake, Amber Michaels had broken the silence. With a faint chuckle, the redhead across from her, with bandana now pulled down and messily rustled around her neck, couldn’t help but internally wonder- the right person.
Man, was she barking up the wrong tree.

Loyalty was something, reliability was something else entirely.

Amber Ryan hadn’t done anything to negate that trust, give it time though, she lamented quietly. It’ll happen.

She’d let them all down eventually.

“Why does this feel suddenly kinda morbid?”

Coffee was a brief respite, it wasn’t good coffee but it went down easier than the small talk.

“What? No... It's nothing like that. It's just…”

Genty putting down her fork with the remnant of pancake still caught between the prongs, Amber Michaels sighed softly trying to piece together the thought she was trying to convey.

“I've grown up the daughter of one of the greatest wrestlers of all time... And honestly it's not always easy. I mean I didn't see my Dad for a long time because of my Mom and the travel and.... Well I just didn't. understand what he was trying to do with his life. As I have gotten older though, I think I am starting to get it.”

Fiddling with her napkin, the younger girl took a moment to allow the words to hit a spot in the redhead that hadn’t existed in a long time.

“Do you think my Dad is right? I mean about... Wrestling? About life?”

How could she tell the 18 year old that her father wasn’t right. That his views on honor and respect in the industry were archaic and that the dreams he was set upon chasing would only lead to heartbreak and disappointment. Amber couldn’t tell his daughter that, she believed in the same way he did- something in her eyes still flashed hope and determination.

How could you tell someone that their hope was wrong?

“Bit of a loaded question. Life? Shit, you might be barking up the wrong tree on that one.”

Amber Ryan chuckled, trying to ease the tension she’d unknowingly allowed to build.

“Wrestling, well I guess your Dad and I have a slight... difference of opinion I suppose.”

She’d hoped that might be enough for the younger girl, that she wouldn’t have to say what she really felt. That chasing hope was a fools journey and that she’d tagge along cause she had nowhere left to go- why not chase, it's not as though she had anything to lose.
However the younger Michaels stared through her, seeking elaboration on something the older woman didn’t feel comfortable discussing- she was just like her damn father.

“Look, your Dad came up in a different place in a different time- and he’ll sure as hell never admit it but he never did remove those rose-coloured glasses of nostalgia.
He’s never stopped believing in the potential of this industry despite the fact it has little lft to offer him- all this leaving the place better than you found it? Wishful thinking.”

Pausing for effect, the redhead took a long swig of coffee- burning her tongue in the process.

“He thinks that people can be better than what they are- me included. Are there people who defy rhyme and reason? Sure- and he knows it just as well as I do, but he’s never stopped believing in something that I never did. Honor and respect in this industry died with the last of his peers retirement.”

Neither woman said anything for a moment- even the diner around them had somehow fallen into their silence.

“Then why… Why do you follow his dream if you don’t believe in it?”

It was more complicated than that but putting it into words was more difficult again, belief was subjective and while Jack’s quest was noble- it was also foolish. Amber had never been one for honor, not as a woman trying to come up through the ultraviolence vein, but something about what Jack was trying to accomplish… it made the world seem a little less terrible.

Jack’s dream was to make the world a better place, Amber’s was just to make sure it didn’t get any worse.

With a chuckle and a slight shake of the head, the redhead continued.

“Cause I'm not the almighty Jack Michaels who still has his heart set on there being honor and dignity in this industry, I'm not a veteran of a time where respect wasn't just a clickbait word thrown around to preface insulting someone. He’s still under the impression that this industry can be fixed darl, that it can be saved.
That people can be saved. Some people though, they’re perfectly okay being broken.”

A smile and a knowing laugh, not quite the reaction Amber Ryan had expected from her younger counterpart.

“Dad was right about you.”

He wasn’t. He liked to think he was, but in reality even the great Jack Michaels was a little off centre.

“How so.”

“Dad says you are his biggest critic but also his biggest strength. He thinks you would... Well... He thinks highly of you.”

It was a blow, an intended compliment that struck a place rubbed raw and angry over time.

“He’s wrong, but who am I to tell him otherwise.”

In that moment, Amber Michaels looked more like her father than ever. Eyes trying to tear through the layers and walls the redhead had built- only one day they’d finally get to the centre and realize there was nothing left to find.

“You'd do anything to protect him, wouldn't you?”

Another loaded question the redhead didn’t have an answer for. She’d have loved to have told the younger girl that the world, their industry, didn’t work like that. Her tone was so hopeful seeking a correct answer to a question that could only be asked in the heat of a moment, she wanted the Painted Hurricane to tell the truth without realizing she might not want to hear it.

“Amber... I want to become a wrestler too.”

With that, the world stopped and Amber Ryan could only wish she’d brought a damn flask.


"Trent motherfucking Steel right?

Proverbial wildcard and all round piece of work. Those are compliments by the way, or well they used to be when you actually were those things.
I guess playing Redemptions lapdog softened you up around the edges, or was it ‘The Answer’ making you his precious little side project like a knight trying to save a damsel who just wants to be home watching Netflix.

It's kinda sad if I’m honest- the Trent Steel that I recall when I started and the way he was touted as one of the guys to beat in Monarchy Of Anarchy- and truth is, I believed them. I believed that Trent Steel on any given night could beat anyone…
In the end though, he didn’t. In the end he failed to stop AJS on her way to getting her ass kicked by yours truly at the tournaments climax.

In the end, Trent Steel was an urban legend.

Carnage’s Boogeyman almost, until the schtick just didn’t seem to work anymore and the world wised up to the fact that even the mythical Trent Steel was human, flesh and blood. A real boy to be made into a marionette.

Problem is, you don’t even fight it anymore. You don’t pretend that you’re still that guy who tore through the hearts and minds of the Carnage faithful, decimating people without question or apprehension- now you’re just another guy looking to do right. Or wrong. Those things aren’t really that different when you consider it.

You tried at War Games, remind me how that ended?

I guess I was too busy doing more, being more. Crucifix may have his laugh about it now, but I’ve heard it's real difficult to muster a chortle when your teeth are stuck in your voice box.
Rumor, although I’d love to see if it's true.

So yeah, you stood up on Team Kyra, and yeah you might have stood for something. Another attempt at being better, another L on the board. I guess coming within proximity of me in a ring just isn’t that good for your career is it?
Nothing really is, but you’re like me. There’s no retirement until they’re putting the box in the ground- whether you’re dead at the time happens to be irrelevant I’ve found.

Now you’re reviving the Rogues as if that horse hadn’t already been flogged to the bone- JC got it in his mind that maybe he’s more suited to the tag division cause there's no more Redemption to chase. Most competitive division in Carnage since Paragon decided they wanted in- meanwhile CON are shitting their pants cause their snowball's chance just melted in their hands.
From no competition to all- and I’ll give the Rogues their due. They could whoop CON any night they desired, instead JC the ever present hero cashes his points and declares that he wants to be a tag guy.

Yeah well a lot of people want to be President and somehow an Oompa Loompa with a bad combover got the job. Guess that doesn’t leave a lot of hope for you either- although at least Zodiacs combover is a minor improvement if only cause once again Crucifix let the fucking team down. Again.

I suppose this is the point where I start asking which Trent Steel is showing up- but fact is, there's only one left and it's the only one that hasn’t quite… got it. He tries and he tries ever so hard to be what's expected, cause lacing the bar is a further handicap to his abilities.
If Trent Steel is really showing up then I’ll be happy to wait, although we all know what the response will be- ‘you’ll see the real Trent Steel at Act Of Defiance’ and the crowd groans cause the most unpredictable man they know said exactly he was predicted to.

Which reminds me that a few people owe me some fucking money from that one.

When it comes down to it Trent, I wanna like you and I wanna respect you for what you’ve done in this industry but you step into that ring night after night bastardizing your legacy like JC makes a living doing. You took your ‘prime’ and threw it out a fucking window, you took opportunities and promptly wasted them, you fought for a cause you didn’t believe in and still wonder why you lost.

Don’t stand by and tell me you want this.

You want a reason to fight, someone to lead you along like a misbehaving pup. Crucifix wants someone to take him seriously even though he's never given anyone a reason to.

You both want something I simply cannot give- a win against me.

See boys, when it really comes down to it- the only difference between all of us is that a win against me still means something.”


4CW: 9-6-0
Carnage: 11-1-0
Life: 0-1-0

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Offline TagChampCruci

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... As the world burns ...
« Reply #3 on: January 07, 2018, 12:20:21 AM »
(NOTE: I apologize for this RP not being thrown together. I just haven't really been 100% lately. I wouldn't even say 25%, but those are my problems. Anyways, here's my RP. I hope you enjoy it for what it is.)

Dear Mister Cruz,

   We regret to inform you that you have been evicted from this apartment complex and will no longer be able to occupy the premises. It may come as a surprise, but keep in mind that you are more than a month overdue with your rent, and we have zero tolerance for missed payments. Your things have been placed in bags – a single bag, you don’t have many things – and are outside of your apartment. Please get rid of them, we don’t want them.

Spitefully yours,
   Jeremy Lerae, manager of Forest Lakes Apartments.

There’s no greater pain than getting the news that your life as you know it has been destroyed. It’s almost like sitting on the porch and watching the world burn. There’s nothing you can do. Everything you once loved is all done and gone, and there’s no one there to pick you up when you hit the ground.

That was a week ago, and ever since that moment, I’d been in a gym, busting my ass off for any opportunity that could be thrown my way. I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into getting back to the top, but there was nothing for me here in this world. No one wanted to help the man that took shortcuts in life, and I don’t blame them. If I were them, I would’a ended the misery of the sad son of a bitch that’s come to be known as Brian Crucifix. What would someone else think if they saw me now? Would they look at the scars on my body and see it as a cry of attention, or a twisted work of art?

They wouldn’t see it as anything. All they’d see is a walking corpse, living out his last days amongst the living with a hole in his heart. They’d laugh at me, throw change at me … I’d probably deserve it. After-all, I’m a monster, and the only good monster is a dead one.

“Another one, Mac.”

Ziggy’s. A good place to come on a Friday night when you had nothing left in the world. Well, that wasn’t completely true, I had TJ … somehow. He sat next to me at the counter, sipping away at a Mountain Dew as I drowned myself in booze. His company was as needed as breathing at this point. If you don’t breathe, you die. If you don’t have anyone … well, you die in both scenarios. At least I had someone to be taken down with me.

“You should probably cool it with the beer, Brian.”

“You’re probably right. One more.”

“No. No more. You’re barely sober.”

“No, I’m one-hundred percent …” a fake hiccup “… sober. You’re just mad that you’re …” a second, even less realistic, hiccup “… straight-edge.”

“Look, you’ve got a match in a few days against Amber Ryan and Trent Steel. We’ve gotta get back home so you can train for that big triple threat.”

“Man, you just want me to train so you can swoop in and save Amber after I drop her on her head and look like a hero.”

“No –“

“Don’t lie to me, pal! You’re lying to everyone in Carnage, man. You’re not a hero. You weren’t as Lobo, and you never will be.”

“I never said I was a hero, Brian. I just don’t want to be at the bottom of the pile with you.”

His words shot through me, ripping me apart at the seams. He was right. I was worse than even Redemption when it came to this villainy thing. At least Redemption was feared. I was nothing more than another name on the list of people in the insane asylum, and it wasn’t right. It just wasn’t.

I stood, turning to the door. TJ stood as well, attempting to stop me from leaving, but a quick jolt and the thrust of my elbow sent him reeling into the bar. Kicking the doors to the bar open, I turned to the car, TJ’s keys in hand, and hopped in, leaving my last friend behind. Looks like I wasn’t going to be taking anyone else down after-all.

You want to know why we’re in this situation?

Have you ever asked a prisoner why he was where he was? Or ask a soldier why he was fighting someone else’s war?

They’d probably tell you that it was because of a higher power, and that it was out of their control, and if they were Brian Crucifix, they’d be wrong. You see, this little war we find ourselves in … it doesn’t have anything to do with Amber Ryan and Paragon, no. It has everything to do with Trent Steel and Brian Crucifix. This match should’ve been a one on one, fuck the stipulation. Every time that I think I can finally get my hands on you in a singles match, some asshole at the front desk has to throw in another fucking opponent!

Look at Shock and Terror 2016. I wanted to face you, Trent. I asked for a one on one match with you, and what do I get? A fucking triple threat with you and … The Shadow Dancer. You wanna talk about the OWF never using me to my full potential as some kind of joke, but that’s far from the truth, bud.

But, we’re not here to dwell on the past. We’re here to look at the future. We’re here to look at the former Carnage World Champion that has nothing left in her career but to fight for THE most sought-after championships in the professional wrestling world today, CON’s Tag Team Championships.

How does it feel to be an afterthought, Amber? You must’ve faced that before, seeing as you’re the least talented out of the PARAGON bunch. I’m sure that James Ceno guy wouldn’t have any trouble ripping you limb from limb, propping you up on his wall like the little trophy you are.

That’s why Jack keeps you lying around, isn’t it? You’re just arm candy to feed his ego. People supposedly adore you, Amber. I don’t know why anyone would be so fascinated in a bitch like you, but hey, people are weird, and I guess there are many people like that in the world, because so many people have claimed you. They’ve all used you, abused you, beaten you down until there was nothing left.

How does that make you feel, because it doesn’t make you special.

You’re the same copy and paste story as everyone that steps through those doors, and even those people have some character! You’re just here, wasting space in this promotion while so many people are dying to get a chance to enter. You’re not even relevant without your little belt, Amber.

Speaking of belts, whatever happened to “Nothing you’ve done outside of here matters”, huh? I came into Carnage as just another Joe Schmoe, but you step in and everyone’s screaming “OH MY GOD LOOK AT AMBER AND HER 4CW BELTS! SHE’S SO HOOOOOOOT!!!”, but when I’m done beating the ever-loving shit out of you this week, they’ll be screaming “OH MY GOD LOOK AT AMBER! SOMEONE GET HER AN AMBULANCE!”

Now, back to the actual challenge of this match. Trent, you want to “wake me up”, because you’re not planning on going solo, or whatever. I want you to wake me up, Trent. I want you to beat some sense into me, I want you to prove to the world that you’ve still got what it takes to teach someone something, because you sure as Hell missed the mark in the OWF. Besides, I’m going to need some help fighting off Michaels and his lackeys.