NWL Combat: Poseidon vs. Rapier
- Thread starter AUMedina
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aodhan
League Member
[SHOT: a small poorly lit room. Plaster is torn away from the unfinished walls, exposing the framework. Poseidon sits in a ragged and taped together office chair. A thin, unknown man sits closeby, preparing something on the table.]
[CUT TO: a closeup of Poseidon's face. He licks his lip furiously, tilts his head in a loud crack that nearly reverberates through the walls, and then sags into a somewhat relaxed state. He breathes deeply, in and out, in and out. The unknown man comes in and out of view as he continues to prepare whatever is laid upon the tabletop. A muddy mass of tattoo's dance on his body, originating from his wrist, and continuing up and around his neck in a twist.]
Poseidon [between breaths]: This is a big week for me, you know? [exhales] My first night in the ring, and against you, Rapier. [inhales] I've seen you around, walking tall, like you just might own this place. [exhales - shifts in seat] You've got some moves, I'll give you that. But have you ever gone against a man who can not, will not lose? If you think i'm down, I'll stand right back up. If i'm bleeding from my head, then I'll make sure so are you...[inhales] I've got one thing that not you - not anybody - in this whole federation has going for them. Emotion.
[CUT TO: unknown man's tabletop. A plastic cup containing a piece of jewelry and thick liquid, a metal clamp, a long needle, and various antiseptic items lay on a paper mat. The man begins putting on black latex gloves.]
[CUT TO: Poseidon, a look of anticipation on his face. He licks his lip.]
Poseidon [inhaling]: I don't mean that I'm going to break down in a sob whenever I see a flower blossoming. I mean, you get in my way, and you stay there, my heart takes over. I dance to it's beat. I don't care what my odds are - I don't gamble. [exhales] You can't take me out, because the only way I go down is if you cut my heart from my chest.
[CUT TO: unknown man, taking the cup in his hand and cracking it over a waste basket. The thick liquid trickles down, and patters against the lining. From his various cleaning appliances, he picks a small tube that contains a hard wax-like substance. He scrubs hard on Poseidon's lower mouth. He snatches up the clamp, and applies it to Poseidon's lower lip. With a dexterity unseen previously, the man take the needle, pinpoints a location on the left side of Poseidon's lower lip, straightens it, and then thrusts upward. The needle slices through cleanly, and the man works the jewelry from the cup onto the end. With another quick thrust the needle falls to the ground, and Poseidon wears a ring through his lip. Using some jewelry pliers, the man works the ring closed, and applies a ball. With that, he slaps Poseidon on the shoulder. Poseidon turns towards the camera.]
Poseidon [licking the jewelry]: My name is Aodhan Lorigan. Rapier, you will know me as the Fist of Poseidon. [a careful chuckle escapes his wounded mouth] Just be careful, Rapier, or you'll get stuck like a pig. My trident is no joke...Secrets Whisper to Thee - Legends, Gods, and Mystery...
[FADE TO: a black screen. Blue letters dissolve into view at the same time. 'Poseidon' appears, with a golden trident horizontally fixed in the middle of the word.]
[CUT TO: a closeup of Poseidon's face. He licks his lip furiously, tilts his head in a loud crack that nearly reverberates through the walls, and then sags into a somewhat relaxed state. He breathes deeply, in and out, in and out. The unknown man comes in and out of view as he continues to prepare whatever is laid upon the tabletop. A muddy mass of tattoo's dance on his body, originating from his wrist, and continuing up and around his neck in a twist.]
Poseidon [between breaths]: This is a big week for me, you know? [exhales] My first night in the ring, and against you, Rapier. [inhales] I've seen you around, walking tall, like you just might own this place. [exhales - shifts in seat] You've got some moves, I'll give you that. But have you ever gone against a man who can not, will not lose? If you think i'm down, I'll stand right back up. If i'm bleeding from my head, then I'll make sure so are you...[inhales] I've got one thing that not you - not anybody - in this whole federation has going for them. Emotion.
[CUT TO: unknown man's tabletop. A plastic cup containing a piece of jewelry and thick liquid, a metal clamp, a long needle, and various antiseptic items lay on a paper mat. The man begins putting on black latex gloves.]
[CUT TO: Poseidon, a look of anticipation on his face. He licks his lip.]
Poseidon [inhaling]: I don't mean that I'm going to break down in a sob whenever I see a flower blossoming. I mean, you get in my way, and you stay there, my heart takes over. I dance to it's beat. I don't care what my odds are - I don't gamble. [exhales] You can't take me out, because the only way I go down is if you cut my heart from my chest.
[CUT TO: unknown man, taking the cup in his hand and cracking it over a waste basket. The thick liquid trickles down, and patters against the lining. From his various cleaning appliances, he picks a small tube that contains a hard wax-like substance. He scrubs hard on Poseidon's lower mouth. He snatches up the clamp, and applies it to Poseidon's lower lip. With a dexterity unseen previously, the man take the needle, pinpoints a location on the left side of Poseidon's lower lip, straightens it, and then thrusts upward. The needle slices through cleanly, and the man works the jewelry from the cup onto the end. With another quick thrust the needle falls to the ground, and Poseidon wears a ring through his lip. Using some jewelry pliers, the man works the ring closed, and applies a ball. With that, he slaps Poseidon on the shoulder. Poseidon turns towards the camera.]
Poseidon [licking the jewelry]: My name is Aodhan Lorigan. Rapier, you will know me as the Fist of Poseidon. [a careful chuckle escapes his wounded mouth] Just be careful, Rapier, or you'll get stuck like a pig. My trident is no joke...Secrets Whisper to Thee - Legends, Gods, and Mystery...
[FADE TO: a black screen. Blue letters dissolve into view at the same time. 'Poseidon' appears, with a golden trident horizontally fixed in the middle of the word.]
R
rapier
Guest
If you could please, try to put RPs on the forums themselves. It is very hard to read your RP in that small little window. Is it possible that you could just post the text on here? I judge RPs based on quality, not graphics or anything. I apologize.
Andrew Ulysis Medina
NWL Owner and President
Andrew Ulysis Medina
NWL Owner and President
aodhan
League Member
don't play
[CUT TO: Poseidon, flipping glossy pages in a folder. He stands in a tattoo parlor. He flips a few more leafs, and then stops, pointing a scarred finger at an unknown image. He nods his head quickly, and turns toward the camera]
POSEIDON [in a thick brogue]: Well den, rapier. you've got yer tin' 'eadin'. you're de "gothic mercenary," an' yer play dat card well. but oi ain't naw mercenary. oi don't 'av any formal trainin' in any big 'government youth' program. sounds ter me more loike de 'itler youth than anythin' else. proobably tuk any aspect av free thinkin' roi from yer narrow-ass mind. yer claim ter 'av roamed de mingin' streets av new york city? Since you're wan ter research yer foe, let me gie a brief - pure brief - 'istory lesson on rapiers. oi don't care aboyt yer dat much. turns oyt, only rich folk can afford ter use a rapier, an' if yer are trained loike a rapier, as yer name implies, den underneath al' dat makeup an' 'ardcore attitude, you're really jist a rich fella tryin' ter make it on yer own. so why don't yer save al' dat 'ard 'ittin' attitude aboyt 'oy oi canny possibly be de rayle poseidon, an' brin' it? can yer? or yer need de consent av yer al' knowin' ole dad?
[CUT TO: Poseidon's finger pointing at an image in the folder]
[CUT TO: a tattoo artist, nodding in agreement]
[PAN TO: a small room, numerous punk band flyers pinned to the dirty red walls. An old and tattered chair leaned close to a table, with a tattoo apparatus nearby. Finally, the artist prepares inks and equipment for the applying of a tatoo]
[CUT TO: Poseidon, moving towards the small room. He tears off his shirt, sits in the chair, and leans over the apparatus, resting his well muscled chest across it. Initial marks are made on Poseidon's upper back/right shoulder by the artist]
[PAN TO: Poseidon's face]
POSEIDON [restless on the apparatus, trying to get comfortable]: Cos whether yer are or are not truly a gothic mercenary, oi can truly trident yer arse into oblivion. so if yer really are so gothic, yer must surely nu 'oy ter scrap mingin'? can yer 'andle a banjaxed bottle smashed over yer noggin? 'oy aboyt barbed wire wrapped aboyt yer wrist, an' den me boot grindin' it ter de mat? if yer tink yer can punk dat, den let's 'av a go. oi don't want any auld bout witcha, lad. oi challenge yer ter a 'ardcore match, an' if yer don't accept de challenge, den yer ain't as tough as yer really pretend ter be, ar' ye?
[CUT TO: tattoo artist, his inks ready, lining up his needle to begin tatooing Poseidon's back. He begins the outline of the image slowly, but soon afterward he works furiously toward his goal]
[CUT TO: Poseidon, ignoring the pain. He winces slightly as the needle digs under his skin]
POSEIDON: If yer can pick yer barguckers up an' take me on in dat rin', 'ardcore, we'll nu who exactly is tellin' de truth, won't we? rapier, I am a legend, I am a God, an' I am a mystery, so don't git yer 'opes up whaen oi dash yer into 'istory...
[FADE TO: black]
[CUT TO: Poseidon, flipping glossy pages in a folder. He stands in a tattoo parlor. He flips a few more leafs, and then stops, pointing a scarred finger at an unknown image. He nods his head quickly, and turns toward the camera]
POSEIDON [in a thick brogue]: Well den, rapier. you've got yer tin' 'eadin'. you're de "gothic mercenary," an' yer play dat card well. but oi ain't naw mercenary. oi don't 'av any formal trainin' in any big 'government youth' program. sounds ter me more loike de 'itler youth than anythin' else. proobably tuk any aspect av free thinkin' roi from yer narrow-ass mind. yer claim ter 'av roamed de mingin' streets av new york city? Since you're wan ter research yer foe, let me gie a brief - pure brief - 'istory lesson on rapiers. oi don't care aboyt yer dat much. turns oyt, only rich folk can afford ter use a rapier, an' if yer are trained loike a rapier, as yer name implies, den underneath al' dat makeup an' 'ardcore attitude, you're really jist a rich fella tryin' ter make it on yer own. so why don't yer save al' dat 'ard 'ittin' attitude aboyt 'oy oi canny possibly be de rayle poseidon, an' brin' it? can yer? or yer need de consent av yer al' knowin' ole dad?
[CUT TO: Poseidon's finger pointing at an image in the folder]
[CUT TO: a tattoo artist, nodding in agreement]
[PAN TO: a small room, numerous punk band flyers pinned to the dirty red walls. An old and tattered chair leaned close to a table, with a tattoo apparatus nearby. Finally, the artist prepares inks and equipment for the applying of a tatoo]
[CUT TO: Poseidon, moving towards the small room. He tears off his shirt, sits in the chair, and leans over the apparatus, resting his well muscled chest across it. Initial marks are made on Poseidon's upper back/right shoulder by the artist]
[PAN TO: Poseidon's face]
POSEIDON [restless on the apparatus, trying to get comfortable]: Cos whether yer are or are not truly a gothic mercenary, oi can truly trident yer arse into oblivion. so if yer really are so gothic, yer must surely nu 'oy ter scrap mingin'? can yer 'andle a banjaxed bottle smashed over yer noggin? 'oy aboyt barbed wire wrapped aboyt yer wrist, an' den me boot grindin' it ter de mat? if yer tink yer can punk dat, den let's 'av a go. oi don't want any auld bout witcha, lad. oi challenge yer ter a 'ardcore match, an' if yer don't accept de challenge, den yer ain't as tough as yer really pretend ter be, ar' ye?
[CUT TO: tattoo artist, his inks ready, lining up his needle to begin tatooing Poseidon's back. He begins the outline of the image slowly, but soon afterward he works furiously toward his goal]
[CUT TO: Poseidon, ignoring the pain. He winces slightly as the needle digs under his skin]
POSEIDON: If yer can pick yer barguckers up an' take me on in dat rin', 'ardcore, we'll nu who exactly is tellin' de truth, won't we? rapier, I am a legend, I am a God, an' I am a mystery, so don't git yer 'opes up whaen oi dash yer into 'istory...
[FADE TO: black]
R
rapier
Guest
aodhan
League Member
[FADE IN: POSEIDON, pumping reps on the bench press, military style. Sweat
trickles down smooth, pale, creamy peach skin. His brow crumples as he huffs in deep
swallows of air. Dropping the weights with a hollow CLUNK! he grabs a towel from a rack
and wipes his forehead dry. Flicking the towel across his shoulder, he looks at the
camera]
POSEIDON: Listen, rapier. oi'm gettin' jaded av al' dis ned
you're tryin' ter clod at me. who ye tryin' ter eejit, paddy? yer are a boke an' twisted
fool. yer are a damned pawn in de game av dis world, an' you're gonna git smacked aff
this chessboard. oi gotta say, paddy, oi enjoy yer. oi couldn't lay me thumb roi on it,
but i've got it figured oyt. yer are - in de purest sense av de ward - entertainment. oi
mean, luk at you; yer owl lad tinks yer he is a mystic, 'e's been sloshed aroun' mental
wards al' 'is life - de guys a classic nut. dat is entertainment. an' yer - are a well
chiseled sculpture. yer are strong, well trained, an' 'av got dis edge ter yer. yer
pretty much scare de kiddies away. oi respect yer, an' oi 'av noticed yer don't respect
me. [POSEIDON's face transforms quick as lightning bolts, from a
cheerful, albeit tired smile, to purely pissed] Yer gie me naw
respect. we are both newcomers in dis major league federashun. for whatever call, we have
both been 'ired, an' we are gonna square aff, cos our employer says so. damnit, 'owever
unorthodox yer are, yer are rapid at waaat yer chucker. i'd loike ter tink oi 'av been
'ired for somethin' other than de fact yer canny understan' a ward oi
utter. [POSEIDON's countenance slowly has begun to transmogrify
from a stoneset frown into a more calm and expressionless face]
Yer don't gie me much credit, an' oi allerge dat. but oi respect yer as a wrestler, an'
oi wanted ter congratulate yer for yer 'irin'. wi' dat, rapid luk on combat. if oi can
chucker waaat oi claim ter chucker, you're gonna need it.
[FADE TO: black - wait - before the camera fades fully, Lorigan launches a claw at it,
stares the lens straight on, and clearly throws the words "I AM LEGEND, I AM GOD, AND I
AM MYSTERY!" - FADE TO: black]
trickles down smooth, pale, creamy peach skin. His brow crumples as he huffs in deep
swallows of air. Dropping the weights with a hollow CLUNK! he grabs a towel from a rack
and wipes his forehead dry. Flicking the towel across his shoulder, he looks at the
camera]
POSEIDON: Listen, rapier. oi'm gettin' jaded av al' dis ned
you're tryin' ter clod at me. who ye tryin' ter eejit, paddy? yer are a boke an' twisted
fool. yer are a damned pawn in de game av dis world, an' you're gonna git smacked aff
this chessboard. oi gotta say, paddy, oi enjoy yer. oi couldn't lay me thumb roi on it,
but i've got it figured oyt. yer are - in de purest sense av de ward - entertainment. oi
mean, luk at you; yer owl lad tinks yer he is a mystic, 'e's been sloshed aroun' mental
wards al' 'is life - de guys a classic nut. dat is entertainment. an' yer - are a well
chiseled sculpture. yer are strong, well trained, an' 'av got dis edge ter yer. yer
pretty much scare de kiddies away. oi respect yer, an' oi 'av noticed yer don't respect
me. [POSEIDON's face transforms quick as lightning bolts, from a
cheerful, albeit tired smile, to purely pissed] Yer gie me naw
respect. we are both newcomers in dis major league federashun. for whatever call, we have
both been 'ired, an' we are gonna square aff, cos our employer says so. damnit, 'owever
unorthodox yer are, yer are rapid at waaat yer chucker. i'd loike ter tink oi 'av been
'ired for somethin' other than de fact yer canny understan' a ward oi
utter. [POSEIDON's countenance slowly has begun to transmogrify
from a stoneset frown into a more calm and expressionless face]
Yer don't gie me much credit, an' oi allerge dat. but oi respect yer as a wrestler, an'
oi wanted ter congratulate yer for yer 'irin'. wi' dat, rapid luk on combat. if oi can
chucker waaat oi claim ter chucker, you're gonna need it.
[FADE TO: black - wait - before the camera fades fully, Lorigan launches a claw at it,
stares the lens straight on, and clearly throws the words "I AM LEGEND, I AM GOD, AND I
AM MYSTERY!" - FADE TO: black]
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