SLAMTRACK 9: Non-Title Match - Ivan Dalkichev (c) v. ?

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MAIN EVENT - Non-Title Match

Roleplaying thread for "The Last Titan" Ivan Dalkichev (c) v. ?

1000-word roleplay limit
No stacking allowed whatsoever

Roleplay deadline is Sunday, April 19 at 11:59pm Red Line time​

 

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The following has been submitted by Ivan Dalkichev's mystery opponent at SLAMTRACK 9.



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Let me start off by telling you who and what I am not.

I am not a small child in a hot pepper outfit with little to no training who was destined to be sent to his doom at the hands of the big bad wolf.

Furthermore, I’m not some stoner-turned-anarchist in a Squirrel mask trying to make a name for himself by grasping at the very brass ring he seems to hate so much.

I’m not some peach-obsessed crazy bitch who can’t decide which accent sounds “more eviler” or how much Joker paint is too much, nor am I an arrogant little girl who fancies herself the second coming of…

...the second coming of what, exactly? She hasn’t accomplished anything here or anywhere else that amounts to drawing ten whole dollars in this business, so I am most assuredly not the second coming of anything. Also, I am not a fucking robot, sexually programmed or otherwise.

Speaking of “sexually programmed,” I am not a dimestore knockoff Rich Mahogany clone with a full blown case of In The Closet, if ya know what I mean, am I right Dick? Oh no, not me, I don’t need a hand full of rohypnol to get a date, and I don’t need a chest full of hair to feel like a man.

Frankly, I’m not anything you’ve ever seen in person. Maybe if that rat-infested hellhole of a third-world country you come from had a Pay-Per-View carrier you’d have seen me win a World Title here and there, and maybe if you were half the man your overachiever of a manager says you are, you’d have met me in person before…

...but you are not. You have not. If it weren’t for a deal I’ve worked out with the Red Line that is quite frankly a lot more beneficial to the promotion than it is to me, you never would. You are a very large fish in a very small pond, Ivan, and I mean that as a fat joke, not to say that you’re too good for Red Line Wrestling.

Mayhap, too big for your britches…

Maybe even too stupid to get the job done, and that’s where Nathan Fear comes in. Yes, well, you won’t be the first man I’ve beaten up who had a manager who thought he was the smartest guy in the room, nor will you be the first guy I’ve beaten up who’s got a hundred and fifty pounds on me. As a matter of substance, the only “first” you’ll be is the first guy I beat up in RLW.

And Ivan, I want you to know, this is all meant for you. I swear to you on whatever potato gods you pray to over in the Motherland that for every word that Nathan Fear says in my direction, I’ll drain a pint of blood from your head. I don’t have the time or patience to deal with small men and their big mouths. I’ve come here to put on an exhibition, and I’ve come here to put on a show, both of which I can do without that idiot flapping his gums about things he has no experience with.

Things like wrestling at a Main Event caliber.

Things like putting asses every eighteen inches.

Things like Television ratings and Pay-Per-View buyrates.

Go ahead, ask him about all that, and listen to him flop and flail.

But me, I take offense to those that would call themselves men and then hide behind the voice of others. You want to prove yourself someone’s better, Ivan, prove yourself to me. It might even be in the best interests of your career and your bank account to do so, because you never do know just who I am…

That is, until the lights drop, the music hits, and it’s already too late.

I’ll see ya soon, Ivan.

Just leave your baggage at the door.

 

[RStrawsma]

Seeing Is Not Believing

(Fade into the high-rise suite of the Crimson Corporation, just outside the office doors of company president Nathan Fear, in the heart of the Crimson Corporation's high-rise suite. The door is closed, but through the patterned glass, we can faintly see two silhouettes. Mussorgsky's "Night on Bald Mountain" can be heard playing in there.)

Nathan Fear
...WHAT?!

Do you have ANY IDEA WHO YOU'RE DEALING WITH, you amateur FILTH!!

(One of the shapes jerks violently, and we can hear the sound of an iPhone 6 shattering on the floor.)

Stephen Waltz
...I guess that was Red Line with bad news?

Nathan Fear
YES, Red Line, you simpleton! And the news is even worse!

The bastards won't budge on this stupid match with the mystery opponent! They say the Red Crown Champion is required to be there at Slamtrack 9, ready to compete... no exceptions, no substitutions… under penalty of being STRIPPED OF HIS TITLE if we don’t comply!

Can you BELIEVE THAT?! What AUTHORITY do those carnie shysters think they have over the Crimson Corporation? Over ME?!

Stephen Waltz
But Boss... aren’t we on the verge of moving up to the big leagues? I mean, wasn't that the point of the meeting we had with those execs a couple weeks ago?

Nathan Fear
Imbecile! Those "execs" were just a few bums I picked up off the street and cleaned up!

(Awkward moment of silence as Fear’s enforcer is no doubt trying to process this with every brain cell available.)

Stephen Waltz
...uh, forgive me for being an imbecile then, Boss, but how was that supposed help us, exactly?

Nathan Fear
Ugh… do you know NOTHING of how this business works? It's called driving up the market value! Help the people to think that there's competitive interest in Ivan, and then the big offers come rolling in!

Stephen Waltz
And we still haven’t ANYTHING? There hasn’t been ANY interest this entire time?

Nathan Fear
Oh, believe me... there's interest. I can think of SEVERAL legitimate federations who would just love to have a seven foot tall Russian on their roster… but here’s the problem I keep running into --

(From inside, we can hear another door open, and Fear hastily cuts himself off.)

Nathan Fear
Well, speak of the devil. We were just talking about you Ivan.

(A third shadow appears in the glass of the door, larger than the others, and moving in time with HEAVY footfalls

Nathan Fear
Why are you so sweaty? Have you been training without my supervision?

(The Russian-born mountain of muscle and bone steadily comes into the room, his expression seemingly indifferent to his manager's agitation. His mind is somewhere else completely...)

Ivan Dalkichev
Tired of waiting on you to conduct business. I must use this time, to be ready... when the time comes to fight.

Nathan Fear
Listen, about that... Red Line has it in their minds that they can pick and choose when and where you compete and in what manner, but clearly it’s a weak attempt for them to draw in a few extra ticket sales. Fortunately, I've got another ace up my sleeve to get us out of this --

Ivan Dalkichev
Won’t be necessary. I will fight the mystery opponent… and I will win. It is my decision.

Nathan Fear
...I admire your confidence, Ivan, but this is a situation we have to approach cautiously. These amateur nits are obviously trying to get into your head… keeping the identity of this opponent a secret. They think they can beat us by giving us no possible way to prepare ourselves.

Ivan Dalkichev
But I will be prepared.

Big, small… old, young… man, woman… it makes little difference. The goal is always the same: To add yet another broken body onto the pile...

Nathan Fear
Of course… but I still don’t like it. I mean, this doesn’t sound like your average hoss in tights, even by indie league standards. A former multiple World Champion, if we’re to believe anything he says. Do you have ANY idea who it could be?

Ivan Dalkichev
...it is of no concern. Nor do I care why they are here. Nor do I care what they have done.

All that matters, in this place, and in this time, is that I am the Champion... and all others are nothing more than insignificant peons, regardless of name or history.

A warrior of many great victories, perhaps… but those victories were apparently not enough to avoid sinking down to the level of Red Line Wrestling. Among the fools and freaks. So strange to see a person of such a high legacy… come to so low of place.

Still… in this small and meager promotion of fools and freaks… I wear the crown. And all who refuse to kneel, will be BROKEN… to remind this city, once again, why it quakes beneath the shadow of the Last Titan...

I will give this city yet another reason to be afraid, when they see what I do to this great and faceless wrestling legend. And I will give this person another reason to hide their face… after it caves in beneath my fist.

Nathan Fear
...and if you’re wrong? If this person proves to be more than even YOU, the Red Crown Champion, can handle?

Ivan Dalkichev
...then it will be a relief… to finally face an opponent with a set of yaytsa.

(Heavy footfalls follow the giant shape’s departure, cut off by the sound of the door opening and closing again.)

Nathan Fear
...Stephen, regarding the other matter we spoke of…

Stephen Waltz
Oh yeah... don’t worry, I'll handle that. She’s history...

(Fade to black.)

 

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Re: Seeing Is Not Believing

Submitted by the mystery opponent:

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It occurs to me that what you and your management guru don’t know about this business could fill several volumes. Not only does the unlearned Mr. “Fear” seem to have an unhealthy obsession with filling your head full of half-truths and flat out lies about how this business works, Ivan, but so far as I can tell he doesn’t have a single marketing bone in his body.

The man has no idea how to help you, only himself.

But what do I know, right?

What I am is probably lying to you too. I mean, a guy has to wonder at how a shitbox of a dog-and-pony-show like Red Line could ever manage to pull booking someone with any weight in the business into one of their bingo-hall shows, am I right?

It’s as if talent-trading on the independent level is a myth.

It’s almost like there’s no way that RLW has anything of any worth to anyone outside of it’s own dusty and creaking hallways. You know, like a dominant champion that they’re proud of to the point of showing off, maybe even helping him to take that step up to the next level. Nah, Red Line Wrestling is garbage, they have no use or worth, and nothing worth even bartering for.

Which begs one to ask, what exactly are you doing here, Ivan? You’re so good, and yet you have failed to take the company on your back and lead them into the next echelon of the business. There are no TV Networks clamoring to put RLW on the air so that you can have the opportunity to shine in front of more than forty-six people. And Pay-Per-View?

Don’t make me laugh.

So, tell me again fatpants, what is it that you bring to the table? You don’t sell tickets, you don’t move merchandise, you don’t drive ratings, and nobody I know has ever heard of you. You’re a big guy in the land of small children, you’ve won the promotion’s top prize by sheer force of size, and you’ve done nothing with it outside of letting your manager talk you into a corner.

Even if I’m full of shit and I’ve never even stepped foot inside of a ring with a World Champion, I’m worth at least something, right? Otherwise we wouldn’t be playing this little game. Think about it, two-ton, what’s the point in making John Johnson or Emelvas Stastias the mystery person when everybody who’s anybody who cares enough to pay attention knows that you’ll just sit on them and win again. By default there must be something worth hiding, or why hide it?

Or maybe your better half is right, Ivan. Maybe I’m just a stunt to sell tickets. That still gives me the pleasure of accomplishing something that you yourself have not, stupid. But don’t mind me, I probably don’t know what I’m talking about. You go on back to the little-kids park and see how much lunch money you can cop off the kid with the Pokemon cards, or whatever kids do these days. Shove a few of them in a locker, if you like, you’ll be more than prepared for whatever I bring to the table come SLAMTRACK, I’m almost sure of it.

But keep this in mind, kid.

Maybe I came from a shithole like this.

Maybe I’ve done what you refuse to do, and taken a shithole like this on my back and carried it to greatness in the past.

Maybe I’ve had the best times of my life in a shithole just like this.

Maybe I know guy in a shithole the next step up the ladder, and I’m here to see if you’ve got the chutzpah to make it on public access or basic cable or youtube or what have you. However, I think I’ve established already that you clearly do not.

Understand that what I do know and what you don’t know is what puts you light years beneath me, even if it turns out that I’m just some poor schmuck who had a cup of coffee in the big leagues, jerking curtains and putting over stars. At the end of the day, you still don’t know.

But you will, and when you do, maybe you’ll understand.

I doubt it, though.

Surprise me, tough guy, I dare you.