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[Surge] Go Go Spectacular vs. The Minstrel


I stalk, because I care
May 2, 2007
Singles match, stipulation TBD!

Normal RP Rules.

The Minstrel

League Member
Mar 6, 2012
Fight Off Your Demons

[The sunlight shines through the window of a kitchen – it looks like a gorgeous day outside. Inside the kitchen though we see Maggie with her auburn hair shining beautifully in the sun – in her hand we see a bottle of beer. She wears a black tank top and pair of jeans, most of the pregnant weight has come off her as her figure looks pretty slim.]

[Across the kitchen island from her sits John, who is nibbling on a bowl of peanuts with a beer also in front of him. His hair is mussed on top of his head, not quite back, but not quite down either. He wears a black t-shirt and pair of cargo shorts.]

[Maggie leans against the fridge and takes a sip of her beer as she eyes John. Once she is satisfied, she moves the beer away from her lips.]

Maggie: So do you think is it?

[John shrugs his shoulders and looks up.]

John: I’m not psychic – I have no idea if they’re going to give me the shot or not. I’ve been hot of late, I think I’m the obvious choice, but I’ve been passed over before.

[Maggie nods and, after a second, smiles.]

Maggie: You’re going to get it – and you’re going to win.

[John rolls his eyes at her overly biased, but encouraging enthusiasm.]

Maggie: I can see it now… My brother, John McDonough, “The Aftermath – World Heavyweight Champion.

[Although he is dying to hit her with sarcasm right now – he cannot help but smile.]

John: Would be something – wouldn’t it?

[He smirks as he grabs his beer and takes a drink as though he could not handle the thought.]

Maggie: Katrina would probably love the idea of being able to tell her friends she’s dating the World Champ.

John: Yeah right, she’d be just as likely to be embarrassed by it. Speaking of significant others, how’s married life with Dan?

[Maggie looks away out the window with a half-smile and takes a drink of her beer.]

John: Uh oh…

[Maggie turns back to her brother while putting on her best face.]

Maggie: No. Not uh oh. We just have been disagreeing over some things…

[She looks down at the ground. John now has a look of concern on his face.]

John: Such as…

[Maggie shakes her head at John’s prodding.]

Maggie: No, you’ll just think I’m crazy. He already does.

John: I lived with you for how long – I already knew you were crazy before he even met you.

[John laughs as he’s saying this, Maggie looks up and shakes her head at him with a smile.]

Maggie: Such a dick.

[John sensing the conversation needs to move forward – refocuses the conversation.]

John: No, really, you can tell me – what’s up?

Maggie: Alright.

[Maggie moves off the refrigerator while taking another drink from her beer. She places it down on the opposite of the island before leaning on the counter.]

Maggie: There’s something going on with the house.

[John looks perplexed. He’s not really understanding.]

John: A little vague.

Maggie: Okay, like, have you ever put your keys down in one place and gone back and they are in a complete other place?

John: Of course.

Maggie: Well, imagine that just happening on an escalating basis over a prolonged period of time.

[John’s eyebrows raise.]

John: What do you mean escalating?

Maggie: Like doors closing behind you, footsteps at night, lights turning on and off!

[Maggie is visibly upset as she says this – there is clear fear in her eyes. John sits there in a state of shock.]

John: Wow, what does Dan say about all this?

Maggie: Bull****.

[She says bluntly with tears in her eyes.]

John: I see. Well, I mean, I’m no expert, but why not get priest over to bless the house while he’s at work one day. Do you think that would make you feel better?

[She unclenches her fist and holds up her hand as to present another problem.]

Maggie: What about Brandon?

John: Katrina and I could take him for the day and have him back before Dan would suspect anything. As much as I like to joke with you about being crazy and things like that, if you believe something is here then you owe to yourself and to your son to handle this.

[Maggie nods in agreement, but there still much concern.]

Maggie: But what if that doesn’t work?

John: Ghostbusters?

[Maggie laughs as she takes a sip of her beer. John joins her sensing that comment eased the tension a bit.]

Maggie: Bill Murray.

[John tilts his head towards the glass doors on his left and rises from his stool.]

John: C’mon, I’ll grab us another couple of beers and we’ll go sit outside. Enjoy the day a bit.

[Maggie nods in agreement and begins to walk towards the glass doors.]

[Fade out.]


[In a ring inside a gymnasium we see young Brandon wrestling with another young man. He has just hit a German suplex and rolled through and delivers another one.]


[The de-facto referee begins to count. Outside the ring we see John McDonough, who has been shouting instructions Brandon’s way.]

[The referee’s hand hits once.]


[The referee’s hand hits a second time. Bradon’s opponent rolls slightly getting his shoulder off the mat.]


[The referee’s hand hits a third time and Brandon’s shoulders are still against the mat. The referee raises the other young man’s hand as Brandon kneels on the mat in obvious disappointment. He rises to his feet after a moment and shakes hands with his opponent.]

Opponent: Good match.

Brandon: Good match, Shane.

[Brandon nods in agreement, but is slow to head toward John, who is steaming outside the ring.]

John: How do you not know to bridge there?!

[Brandon is not even looking at his Uncle.]

Brandon: I knew, I just couldn’t – he had much better position.

[John walks up to Brandon with absolute fire in his blue eyes – looking like the burner on a stove bordering on white hot. He’s almost nose-to-nose with the young man, when he just shakes his head and marches away from him.]

John: Forget it!

[As John is marching away, we follow his path, past the front desk where he grabs a bottle of water and out the front door. Our audio stays off-screen with Brandon.]

Brandon: Oh boy…

Shane: What was that all about?

[John has arrived outside and immediately takes a swig of water before leaning his back against the glass window.]

Brandon: Bad memories. He lost the World title match the same way against Derrick Daliente. That’s why he emphasizes the bridge so much on the German.

Shane: Oh yeah, that’s right – was a sick match.

[After looking aimlessly out at the world outside and watching a couple of people pass. John rubs the temples along the side of his head.]

Brandon: Honestly, sickening is more like it for him. He never accepted that Daliente got the position, much like you… He always believed he could have bridged – still blames himself.

Shane: Heavy.

Brandon: Yeah, he was never the same after that match – could never move on. I think it, along with other things, ended his career.

[John crosses his arms across his chest and leans his head back against the glass. He closes his eyes.]

Brandon: Some people just can’t fight off their demons.


[Outside of a wooden area behind a large fence, a large, but peaceful home sits. The raindrops lightly falling on it and the surrounding areas from the grey skies above – create a sense of calm mixed with melancholy. Another rainy day in Washington…]

[Outside the gates of the home sits a combination of flowers and candles – small in number, but still standing out as unusual. The flowers leak a reddish-pink discharge onto the sidewalk.]

[Given the time of year, the familiarity of the scene – many Seattle residents will automatically know this is the Cobain house.]

[Outside the gate a set of feet emerge wearing black Italian dress shoes – stepping right into the flower’s discharge without regard for its effect. Standing there with a rainbow umbrella in-hand, is the Minstrel. He wears a black suit complete with white shirt underneath. He twirls the umbrella as he begins.]

Here is the site of one of the great tragedies in music history – a young rock star destined to take his place as the voice of a generation – silenced himself. Regardless, of your feelings about his music, the reverberations were undeniable throughout the music and pop culture world.

It served – and still serves – as a testament to the power of one’s demons…

[A heavy breath follows – as he begins to step pass the entrance gate at a deliberately slow pace.]

Throughout their existence, people will face several challenges … From the fundamental - like a baby learning to walk, to the educational – like the standardized testing, to the truly important – the all-you-can-eat wing contest at Joe’s Pub.

[There is a slight chuckle from this man, who has not allowed the somberness of his surroundings affect his knack for absurdity.]

But the greatest challenges are not ingesting a ghastly amount of processed chicken and wing sauce, nor any other trivial challenge, which people might actually consider monumental…

The greatest challenge comes, Go-Go, not from learning to speak English on your own because your parents were immigrant freeloaders… Or from trying to keep a dying heart pumping…

Or from finding a replacement one on sale at your Wal-Mart! Buy a twenty-four pack of Dos Equis and get a free organ transfer of your choosing!

[He laughs almost manically at the sheer thought after saying this way mocking tone, but the laughter subsides after only a moment when he continues as though it never happened at all.]

No, as difficult, traumatic or outright fun!... As those challenges may be, the greatest challenge comes when one must face their own devil and win.

As I’m sure you’ve managed to figure out – I am your demon.


[He waves enthusiastically at the camera before returning to a sterner disposition – walking slowly and deliberately.]

Go-Go, you did face me this past week – face-to-face or mano y chica. And while I was victorious in the wrestling sense, you certainly seemed to win the battle…

[He stops walking – suddenly.]

Or did you?

[He asks inquisitively and answer by shaking his head slowly.]

You failed to rid yourself of me… Now I’m still here, growing stronger by the minute. Twisting and manipulating your every thought.

I have now brought you to a level – where a person of your ideals does not belong. I have brought you to an unfamiliar place, a place I like to call home.

[He holds out his arms – not caring about the rain falling overhead.]

WELCOME! Welcome to a place where unadulterated mania is inflicted by some and enjoyed by all.

I can see you now, Go-Go, getting all red in the face beneath your little mask… If you think your cutesy-wootsy little temper is anything compared to the sheer joy I receive from unmitigated violence – you have not been paying attention and perhaps, I need to try to actually put you through the concrete wall.

You are in my world now. You do not belong here. And you should’ve broken every bone in my body already. Now I’ve seen what you can – and cannot – do. You cannot fight off your demons – you do not have what it takes.

And I will be here…

[He then points to his temple.]

And here…

[And then to his chest.]

Eating away at you.

And after Surge, you will realize all the blood vessels I’m flowing in, all the synapses I am extending across and all the demented memories I’ve invoked inside of you may be better off in an asylum…

[He shrugs casually.]

Or a morgue.

And that… Is no laughing matter.

[Fade out.]

The Minstrel

League Member
Mar 6, 2012

[A young woman with auburn red hair sits on a rocking bench outside of a house. In her right hand she holds her head with her left resting on her leg with a cigarette between her fingers. The gorgeous day outside, complete the sun shining brightly on the grass yard below the back porch, is a paradox to the look across her face. She looks beyond the seen in front of her – zoning out – with a look that can best be described as concerned.]

[This strung-out woman is Maggie. Her face is drawn and her skin is turning from its usual porcelain shine to a duller, sicklier shade. She leans back slightly, her hand is shaking as she brings the cigarette to her lips and takes a pull.]

[The door to her left opens and out walks a man – a priest. He is dressed in traditional black garments with a white shirt and collar. He is an older gentleman around the age of fifty-five with a balding head. He turns to meet her with a look of concern on his face.]


[Maggie breathes the smoke out and turns while forcing a smile onto her face.]

Maggie: Yes, father.

[The priest takes a deep breath.]

Priest: My child, I have blessed the home, but I must tell you…

[Maggie seems completely unperturbed and unfazed by the priest’s somewhat desperate reaction.]

Priest: I think this place is extremely unsafe for a child and recommend you seek an order for obtaining exorcism.

[Maggie leans back eyeing the priest carefully, she takes another pull from her cigarette, her eyes almost seem to ignite with anger.]

Maggie: So this basically did nothing.

[The priest seeing her becoming indignant takes a step forward.]

Priest: You must understand there is only so much I can do here…

[He points to the door.]

Priest: It is spiritual warfare in there!

[Maggie flicks the cigarette down onto the porch and steps on it – all while never shifting her eyes from the man in front of her. She stands up slowly and walks over to him.]

Maggie: You think I do not know this?

[She says this while putting her arms out. The priest sensing the situation becoming volatile encourages her to put her arms down.]

Priest: Please, allow me to put in for an order for you – I will contact the cardinal and we can help you.

[A smile comes across Maggie’s face as tears begin to well up in her eyes.]

Maggie: You…

[She says pointing the finger at the priest.]

Maggie: Them…

[She points off into the distance.]

Maggie: Cannot help me, damnit! Now get the f--- out of here!

[The priest looks shocked, but still stands his ground and attempts to speak again.]

Maggie: GET OUT!

[The priest frightened takes his leave off the steps and around the side of the house. Maggie takes a deep breath once he is out of sight, she walks back to the rocking bench and sits down. She reaches to her right, grabbing her pack of cigarettes and lights another.]

Maggie: Useless…

[She takes another drag and shakes her head. The tears are now streaming down her face, she allows her face to collapse into her hands.]

Maggie: It’s useless…

[Fade out.]

[Inside a tiny kitchen/dining area with a round wooden table, a young man recognized as Brandon sits with a plate in front of him. A salad bowl sits in the middle of table along with a bowl holding baked potatoes. He unfolds his napkin and sits on his lap.]

[From the right, walks his uncle, John, holding a plate with two steaks on it. He walks over to where Brandon sits and places one down on his plate and takes the seat at the opposite end of the table.]

[Brandon commences eating after taking some salad and a baked potato, John sits at the other end of the table in a somewhat uncomfortable silence with his hands folded above his plate.]

[After a moment, Brandon looks up from his dish and sees that John has not started eating, he places his knife and fork down and finishes the last bites of food he took. He looks on inquisitively.]

“What’s wrong?”

[John gives a half-hearted smile before rubbing his hands together and beginning.]

John: I just wanted to apologize for blowing up the other day at the gym.

[Brandon’s eyes shift in thought – pretending to have forgetting and now remember the incident.]

Brandon: With the German?

John: Yes, I should not have blown up that way, it’s just a personal… It triggers rough memories.

[Without hesitation.]

Brandon: The match with Daliente.

[John nods his head almost cringing at the reminder.]

John: Yes.

[Brandon nods.]

Brandon: I figured that.

[John seems content with the direction of the conversation, no necessarily the subject matter, however, he manages grabs his fork and digs in onto his plate, prompting Brandon to do the same.]

John: I just want you take a lesson from that match – you have as much as if not more ability than me and certainly more at the start of your career. You have more talent than Shane, as well.

[Brandon shakes his head with his mouth full. After swallowing, he looks up.]

Brandon: Not what the result says…

John: The more talented guy does not always win – it’s about keeping yourself focused in-ring, that’s where Shane has you. You see Brandon, I was just like you when I was your age. Good talent and work ethic, but I lacked focus because I wanted to take everything wrong and make it right...

[He points down at the table.]

John: Right there, right in the ring. And that is where ability and talent go out the window because you are not focused on beating you opponent, you’re focused on…

Brandon: Defeating what haunts you.

[Brandon finishes John thought, John stops in mid-thought and nods his head. Brandon continues.]

Brandon: You become overcome with motivation to break it all down, to destroy everything and then you can’t overcome the challenge right in front of you.

[John smirks.]

John: Helluva lot more articulate than me too.

Brandon: I can read.

[Brandon says laughing as he looks away back at his plate.]

John: Oh, so I’m illiterate now.

[Brandon speaks with a mouthful.]

Brandon: Not now, you were though.

[John shakes his head, biting his tongue for a second, before continuing.]

John: But you get what I’m saying, right? At the professional level, this sport becomes a mental battle, everyone has the talent. The talent gap is so narrow – any mistake can more than make up for it.

[Brandon nods.]

Brandon: I understand – but you were still illiterate.

[Both of them share a laugh before continuing with their meal.]

[Fade out.]

[A decrypted abandoned building sits smack in the middle of a picturesque background – lines of tree standing behind it with a pink and purple horizon shining just above that tree line. The setting sun would normally be a familiar, but enjoyable sight, but the centerpiece of our visual leads to a somewhat ominous feel.]

[The door to the front of the old building shakes and jolts open with the force that would seem necessary based on the condition of the building. Out through the door, walks a man, who has become infamous throughout these parts, a man wearing a pair of black dress pants and white shirt with a pair of red suspenders… And a mask – the mask of the Greek comedy – none other than the Minstrel.]

[He takes the step down onto the concrete path below, lifts up onto the tips of his toes and takes a deep breath.]

“Ah, what a day!”

[He says with enthusiasm – full of vigor and life even in his raspy tone.]

You know, they just don’t make them like they used to.

[He says this while gesturing with his left hand to display the building behind him.]

Beds with harnesses, chairs for the removal of teeth, cold water shock treatment.

[He shivers as though the thought…]

Gets me all excited!

[…was pleasing to him.]

While taking a tour of this lovely facility, I happened upon a room where two words were written repeatedly on the walls in black ink.

[He tilts his head back and holds his right arm as if he were making the words appear as he says them.]


[And shifting his arm to the left.]


Hands reaching out, praying, begging for assistance. At least, they have hope, they believe in their hearts that they can be helped, be saved.

[He tilts his head slightly back towards the building again.]

Then there are those rooms, which are barren, nothing at all. Just silence – eerie silence…

[As if to reinforce the point, he stands completely still and just breathes for a moment.]

Resignation, giving up. No hope, no chance, not even worth trying.

Like a heart that is slowly in decline once life support has been removed…

[He mocks a tear from the eye of his mask.]

Poor Frankie.

[A sickening giggle follows this reference.]

Alas, Go Go, you have yet to show your beautiful face or the failed third grade art project you call a mask yet.

[He gets down on his knees, intertwining his hand, begging.]

Please, Go Go, come back! I’m begging you – I have no one to torment!

[He laughs as he rises to his feet, carefully dusting himself with both hands two times.]

That is a plea. my friend, I want so badly to torment you right now, but I may have driven you into resignation. Resigned to the fact that you are destined to be nothing but an ant underneath my magnifying glass.

Slowly cooking – slowly being destroyed from the outside in and inside out by a far superior force.

If that is the case, my senorita, I want you to know that I will happily take my time finishing the job of dismantling you at Surge, of taking what’s left of your mind, body and soul and tearing it into itsy bitsy little pieces.

[This last sentence is finished in a annoyingly high pitched voice as he tears little shards of Go Go imaginarily with his hands and tosses them into the air before taking a deep breath.]

And if you’re not resigned – if you’re just hiding amongst the trees – all guerilla warfare style. Just know, it will not change a thing, just increase my satisfaction in taking everything.

See Go Go, if you’re just a shell of your former self – all you are is just deconstructed – a structure that once stood proud that I have taken apart piece by piece and all that’s left is to burn the pieces until they are ashes and the sell them to the resident coke fiend.

Little dinero – yes?

[He rubs his fingers together – symbolizing money.]

But if you’re not just an empty room, if you’re reaching out, grasping for hope. You’ve still got a pulse, a beating dead-undead organ in your chest. It’ll be my pleasure to take the words from your lungs, to remove the hope from his heart and to watch the sound of your voice and screams…

Turn to silence.

Eerie, unimaginable, but, for me, serene silence.

[He stands still breathing heavily – enjoying the picture he has painted in his mind.]

Unfortunately, my friend…

[He turns back towards the building with his arms spread-wide.]

These places are no longer permitted – these methods are frowned upon… Ah, the good ole’ days…

When I’m finally through with you, after Surge, when your mind and body are lost, they’ll give you pills to take the bad thoughts away.

[He turns around again to face the camera, in almost child-like fashion turning his feet first and then his body rapidly following.]

But those bad thoughts will never leave you. It will always be you in a barren room haunted by me.

It’s just a matter of time…

And that’s no laughing matter…

[Fade out.]

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