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Round 1: Black vs. Alias


The Godfather
Staff member
Mar 17, 1988
Roleplay period starts on Monday, April 23 and ends Sunday, April 29. 2 roleplay max in this round.


New member
Jan 25, 2010
A New York City street in soft focus, the early morning light illuminating the concrete canyons. From the left a man enters the screen, he’s in sharp focus, and the camera now stays centered on him throughout. The focus isn’t the only thing sharp about the man. Dressed in a fine black suit, and what once was a crisp white tuxedo shirt the night before, an un-tied bow-tie hangs around the Original Pulp Hero’s neck.

Alias doesn’t look out of place in a unkempt tuxedo, but that’s only because after what must have been one HELL of a night, the suit is finally starting to catch up with his battered boxers mug.

Patting himself down, he realizes something: Outta cigarettes.


Grumbling for a moment, Alias starts walking forward and the camera keeps centered in front of him. The Original Pulp Hero raises scarred hands and spreads out his fingers with a devil-ish grin.

“Fade to black. Black out. We start with an entirely black screen.” Rubbing his hands together, Alias can only simply shrug.

“Thought I'd start with a couple a clichés, since that seems to be the kind a man I'm dealing with. And I'll give ya two more.

Alias wins this round of the Ultratitle.

No show.” Grinning for a moment, the man known to some as Christopher Sheffield shakes his head, but stops for a moment and with a grin adds, “I will say this though, more people showed then I suspected in a field as big as it was.”

“See, it'd be a shame if you didn't show up for a tournament such as this, with the kind of prestige and potential it holds for all involved.” As he takes a corner down the city street, Sheffield shields his eyes from the sun, and then reaching into the inside of his tuxedo jacket pulls out a pair of aviator glasses, that prove quite useful in shielding the sun.

“Hell, I ain't the only old salt coming out of retirement, but that don't mean I don’t plan on testing just how much rust this Tin Angel still might hold.” Stopping at a crosswalk, there’s still surprisingly few people out at this time of day, as the camera comes in closer on his battle-tested mug.

“See they USE to call me the Tin Angel, I've had a lot of names and that's why I have the name I have now, but they used to call me the Tin Angel because I used to make the in-ring **** angelic... It just lacked heart. Sure it was a name with back handed nickname as some are Black Out, but I deserved it when I was young...” Not okay to walk, but to hell with it, this is New York City and jay-walking is part of navigating the streets so the shot zooms back out to a cowboy shot of the Pulp Hero. He cracks his knuckles.

“And I own it now that I'm old and graying.

'Cept now there's nothing that I do that's pretty. I don't even quote poetics like I used to. I step into the ring, I dig in my heels and then I dig into heels. I dig into the faces to, though if a person deserves my respect I'll keep this ugly business... simply business and not personal.” He rounds into a convenience store, but the camera keeps centered on where he once stood outside and stays there… taking in the mood of the New York City street for a moment.

For a moment, and then Alias walks back out with a pack of smokes in hand. He deftly procures a cancer stick, and once it is lit he also takes the chance to remove the untied bow-tie from around his neck and wrap it around his fist.

“I've won my fair share of Championship titles before,” Alias continues, cigarette dangling from his lips, his black tied hand gently jabbing at the space in front of him, “But I ain't here to post a resume. Hell, I've even been given a few titles in my time.

Like one by the name of the Black title.”

Sub-consciously, with the cig removed from his lips, his hands lower and rub the scars under his shirt, scars left behind by the Black title.

“Though it was more of a death sentence then a Championship, mind. Guess that only proves, that even when it comes to Black... I've broken worth then you.” The Pulp Hero’s growl is unmistakable.

“Suppose that's why they say I wear the white hat too. I've saved companies, supported the next generation... and though in the end I'm in this tournament for myself… well, we all are. You show me a man or woman that says they aren't, and I'll show you an early exit.”

Inhale on the coffin nail, exhale.

“I've got nothing else to say to the man in Black, but then again what can I say? In an unfamiliar environment it's easy to lose site of the prize, let alone the unknown assailant that stands between you and the next round. We will meet in the ring and I will prevail, Black. No two bits about it. It won’t be surgical, it’ll be a wrecking ball to the finer points of your body. I will do so not because of anything you didn’t bring to the floor, or because I wear the white hat while you wear the black. No, I prevail because I'm the Original Pulp Hero.” Alias points two fingers holding a cigarette, at the camera.

“I fight.”

“I win.” He holds his arms out.

“For them.” Before bringing them back to point at every fan watching on the other side of the film.

“For when I win the ULTRATITLE and I do more with it, then has ever been done.”

Once the final growl emanates from the Original Pulp Hero, the camera continues to track him for a few more feet before it stops and allows him to pass it by… and as he walks away with smoke in hand, he has a lift in his step. Long night out or not, the Pulp Hero is ready for the world.

Fade to... WHITE.

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