Round 1 roleplay goes here. 2 RP limit.
Round 1: Orphan vs. Space God (j)
- Thread starter Chad
- Start date
Seymour Almasy
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- Joined
- Oct 11, 2004
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(FADEIN)
Guests in a fine Osaka, Japan hotel who happened to be roaming the halls on a Tuesday afternoon came face to face with an unusual sight; namely, a well-dressed man in a suit and tie being followed by a cameraman. The suited man seemed out of breath, and easily excitable. His words were far louder than they should have been, both for the time of day and considering the fact that this was a hotel.
This was his big chance, and he wasn’t planning on screwing it up.
“I’m Evan Reynolds, with Fwrestling.com, and I’ve come here all the way to Osaka, Japan to get a word with one of the competitors in the Ultratitle Tournament, none other than the Spirit of ACW Champion, Orphan. I have it on good authority that he is inside this hotel room, so let’s go on in and see what we can find out, shall we?”
The intrepid young interviewer knocked on the door, loud enough that most of the rest of the hallway could have heard. From within the room came a female’s voice, a cheerful shout of “coming!” leaving the interviewer rubbing his hands.
“Ooh, what sort of scandal have I uncovered here,” he muttered, under his breath, only to have his hopes of an even better story dashed when the door to the hotel room opened with no further incident.
Standing there in the doorway was an admittedly attractive young woman, with long, red hair down past her shoulders and an infectious smile. Contrary, perhaps, to Evan’s hopes, she was also fully clothed, if in pajama pants and a similar shirt.
“You are,” the young woman asked, a little dubiously, sizing up the well-dressed man. “I imagine you’re here to see Seymour?”
“Seymour,” he asked, seemingly not having been clued in on the man’s history. “I’m here to see Orphan.”
“Of course he’s here to see me,” a voice chimed in, from deeper within the room. As Mr. Reynolds looked past the redhead, he could see two more women, similarly clad, perched on the room’s bed, along with a shortish man with platinum hair. “Interviewers like him always are. Unfortunately, I’m a little busy right now.”
Said shortish man with platinum hair could only be Evan’s quarry.
“A little busy,” Evan asked, paling more by the second. He had travelled 5,000 miles, for the subject of his interview to not be willing? Not that he or FWrestling.com had actually asked Orphan if he was willing to be interviewed, but still! “And wait, how’d you know I was an interviewer?”
The long-haired man turned to face Evan, and the interviewer didn’t quite recognize him without the red face paint that had become one of Orphan’s trademarks. Like this, the All-Star Archenemy looked almost human – a far cry from how he appeared to be in All-Star Championship Wrestling as a destroyer of worlds alongside the maniacal Keith Scott Zimmerman.
THIS guy, Evan asked himself, shaking his head, was a self-professed Tournament God? A holder of multiple championships around the world? A veteran of a decade plus?
“Because no one else would dare bother me on Tuesday with everything else that I have on my plate,” Orphan retorted, venom in every syllable. “But yes, I am very busy. I am preparing for my first round match in the Ultratitle Tournament against Space God. I am on a strict regimen of Final Fantasy IX. The end boss of that game was essentially a giant space flea from nowhere. Not QUITE a Space God, but fairly close anyway. But alas, it will take me several dozen hours to get to that epic battle, so, as you can understand, I am quite unable to speak with you at this time.”
That, then, explained why the man who had won dozens of championships around the globe under a multiplicity of personae was bent over a PlayStation Portable, staring at the screen as if it held the secrets to world peace. The women in the room seemed no less enthralled; there was a shortish Asian girl seated behind him, her chin resting on his shoulder as she peered down at the screen. To his other side was a woman Evan could only call “pleasantly plump.” She was more blatant; her head was practically resting in his lap as he played his video game. The redhead was the only one of the three not draped over him, but she could well have been before answering the door.
“I am not, however,” Orphan continued, snapping Reynolds from distraction, “without understanding of your plight. While I am busy, you may have access to my Party.”
“Your what?” It was clear, if nothing else, that Mr. Reynolds hadn’t done that much research on his quarry. “I’m sorry, Seym-“
“Only they may call me that,” Orphan replied, voice cold steel. “You may address me as Orphan. I will accept ignorance as an excuse for your behavior only once. After that…”
The laughter that followed was anything but pleasant, leaving Evan wondering just what the Hell he’d gotten himself into.
“My Party, Mister Interviewer,” Orphan continued, when he was positive Evan was most uncomfortable. “These three young women. My fan club, as it were, but considerably more. They are my best friends and closest confidantes, and sometimes lovers. Though, if you ask them about that, I will ensure that you are sent back to your employers in a manner most unrecognizable…”
Evan swallowed. Hard. From his perch on the bed, Orphan grinned.
“If you accept those terms, you may come in and speak with them. The redhead is Jennifer, the adorable Japanese woman looking over my shoulder is Chihiro, and Julia is the one with her head in my lap. You may ask them anything within reason, though do keep in mind, my standard of reasonabiltiy may differ from yours, and if it does, well, you have a smartphone, do you not?”
Evan nodded, reaching into his pocket to fish it out.
“YouTube what happened to Khristain Keller on Courage 151. Then think carefully before you want to ask any questions that might run afoul of my reasonability standard.”
A few quick punches of keys later, and Evan Reynolds watched in hapless silence as Keller, an ACW legend, was beaten half to death by the combination of Orphan and Keith Scott Zimmerman. The horrific scene was led off by one of the few things Evan DID know about Orphan; a devastating-looking running punt to the temple that Orphan apparently referred to as the “Merciless Judgment.”
“P-perhaps this isn’t such a good idea, after all,” Evan stammered, looking from Orphan’s entirely-too-unsettling smile, to the phone, where Orphan and Zimmerman had just pushed Khristain Keller’s stretcher off of the staging area to the concrete floor. “I’ll leave you all be. It looks like you’re having a nice day of, err, training.”
Reynolds didn’t quite believe that this could POSSIBLY be training, but looking at how serious Orphan was almost changed his mind. Even with two women draped all over him, the Spirit of ACW’s focus was absolute.
He seemed like two different people. Considering that the girls were allowed to call him Seymour, Evan imagined that wasn’t too far off from the truth.
“You really don’t know much about him, do you,” the redhead asked, and Evan nearly jumped out of his shoes. Jennifer chuckled a bit, unable to help her amusement at the interviewer’s obvious unease.
“It’s that obvious, huh,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I’m new. They sent me out here because they didn’t have anyone else. The veterans are covering the big names. The Troy Windhams, the Joey Meltons, et cetera.”
“I’d say that a little less loudly,” Jennifer advised. “Seym—Orphan’s got a bit of a chip on his shoulder being considered a “dark horse” at best in this thing. He also, in addition to everything else, hates wrestling interviewers and reporters. They cost him his marriage, almost eight years ago.”
“Duly noted,” he winced. “No wonder he looked at me like he wanted to kill me.”
A disappointed sigh came from the direction of Orphan, who shook his head from side to side even as his fingers beat out a staccato on the X, O, Triangle, and Square keys of his game system.
“Jennifer, why do you feel the need to warn him of all the mistakes he’s making,” Orphan offered, not even looking up from his PSP. “It’s much less fun if he behaves himself. Because if he behaves himself, I also have to behave myself, and that’s much less fun, really.”
Orphan’s idea of fun was something Evan Reynolds was fairly certain he didn’t want to discover first hand. At all. Not one little bit.
“I am sure that you have a dozen questions, Mr…”
“Reyn-“ Evan began, only to be swiftly cut off.
“Your name is of no concern to me. Do not flatter yourself. Regardless, as I was saying, I am sure that you have questions. How Seymour Almasy became Orphan is likely chief among them. Fortunately for you, I have prepared an answer. I had planned to send this to Fwrestling anyway, but now that I have a convenient messenger, I can have it travel along with you, instead.”
Finally pausing his game of Final Fantasy IX and putting his PSP down, the man known to ACW audiences as one half of its deadliest duo rose from the bed, and began to rummage through a black duffel bag. Quickly emerging with a jewel case, he crossed the room, and handed it over to the hapless interviewer.
“This DVD should give you most of the answers you need. Go talk to your bosses and make sure that it airs on ESEN. It is, I believe, a more than fair primer as to how and why Seymour Almasy has been replaced by Orphan. Now, I have been more than reasonable with you, Evan, considering that this is my day off, and I have a two-night pay-per-view to prepare for. Leave me and my Party be. Jennifer, Julia, escort Mr. Reynolds out?”
The two young women rose from the bed. Neither was particularly intimidating, but the fact that they carried the approval of the man who hd gone right back to playing his video game as if nothing had happened was enough. Evan Reynolds was an interviewer, not a hero.
“Alright, alright, I get the message,” he grumbled, turning to leave with his DVD in tow. If the long haired weirdo was right, he’d at least have gotten something meaningful out of this trans-Pacific flight. Closing the door behind him, Evan disappeared soon after into the hallway, and back into the relative bliss of anonymity.
That, of course, left the fal’Cie and his erstwhile harem to their own devices.
(FADEOUT)
Guests in a fine Osaka, Japan hotel who happened to be roaming the halls on a Tuesday afternoon came face to face with an unusual sight; namely, a well-dressed man in a suit and tie being followed by a cameraman. The suited man seemed out of breath, and easily excitable. His words were far louder than they should have been, both for the time of day and considering the fact that this was a hotel.
This was his big chance, and he wasn’t planning on screwing it up.
“I’m Evan Reynolds, with Fwrestling.com, and I’ve come here all the way to Osaka, Japan to get a word with one of the competitors in the Ultratitle Tournament, none other than the Spirit of ACW Champion, Orphan. I have it on good authority that he is inside this hotel room, so let’s go on in and see what we can find out, shall we?”
The intrepid young interviewer knocked on the door, loud enough that most of the rest of the hallway could have heard. From within the room came a female’s voice, a cheerful shout of “coming!” leaving the interviewer rubbing his hands.
“Ooh, what sort of scandal have I uncovered here,” he muttered, under his breath, only to have his hopes of an even better story dashed when the door to the hotel room opened with no further incident.
Standing there in the doorway was an admittedly attractive young woman, with long, red hair down past her shoulders and an infectious smile. Contrary, perhaps, to Evan’s hopes, she was also fully clothed, if in pajama pants and a similar shirt.
“You are,” the young woman asked, a little dubiously, sizing up the well-dressed man. “I imagine you’re here to see Seymour?”
“Seymour,” he asked, seemingly not having been clued in on the man’s history. “I’m here to see Orphan.”
“Of course he’s here to see me,” a voice chimed in, from deeper within the room. As Mr. Reynolds looked past the redhead, he could see two more women, similarly clad, perched on the room’s bed, along with a shortish man with platinum hair. “Interviewers like him always are. Unfortunately, I’m a little busy right now.”
Said shortish man with platinum hair could only be Evan’s quarry.
“A little busy,” Evan asked, paling more by the second. He had travelled 5,000 miles, for the subject of his interview to not be willing? Not that he or FWrestling.com had actually asked Orphan if he was willing to be interviewed, but still! “And wait, how’d you know I was an interviewer?”
The long-haired man turned to face Evan, and the interviewer didn’t quite recognize him without the red face paint that had become one of Orphan’s trademarks. Like this, the All-Star Archenemy looked almost human – a far cry from how he appeared to be in All-Star Championship Wrestling as a destroyer of worlds alongside the maniacal Keith Scott Zimmerman.
THIS guy, Evan asked himself, shaking his head, was a self-professed Tournament God? A holder of multiple championships around the world? A veteran of a decade plus?
“Because no one else would dare bother me on Tuesday with everything else that I have on my plate,” Orphan retorted, venom in every syllable. “But yes, I am very busy. I am preparing for my first round match in the Ultratitle Tournament against Space God. I am on a strict regimen of Final Fantasy IX. The end boss of that game was essentially a giant space flea from nowhere. Not QUITE a Space God, but fairly close anyway. But alas, it will take me several dozen hours to get to that epic battle, so, as you can understand, I am quite unable to speak with you at this time.”
That, then, explained why the man who had won dozens of championships around the globe under a multiplicity of personae was bent over a PlayStation Portable, staring at the screen as if it held the secrets to world peace. The women in the room seemed no less enthralled; there was a shortish Asian girl seated behind him, her chin resting on his shoulder as she peered down at the screen. To his other side was a woman Evan could only call “pleasantly plump.” She was more blatant; her head was practically resting in his lap as he played his video game. The redhead was the only one of the three not draped over him, but she could well have been before answering the door.
“I am not, however,” Orphan continued, snapping Reynolds from distraction, “without understanding of your plight. While I am busy, you may have access to my Party.”
“Your what?” It was clear, if nothing else, that Mr. Reynolds hadn’t done that much research on his quarry. “I’m sorry, Seym-“
“Only they may call me that,” Orphan replied, voice cold steel. “You may address me as Orphan. I will accept ignorance as an excuse for your behavior only once. After that…”
The laughter that followed was anything but pleasant, leaving Evan wondering just what the Hell he’d gotten himself into.
“My Party, Mister Interviewer,” Orphan continued, when he was positive Evan was most uncomfortable. “These three young women. My fan club, as it were, but considerably more. They are my best friends and closest confidantes, and sometimes lovers. Though, if you ask them about that, I will ensure that you are sent back to your employers in a manner most unrecognizable…”
Evan swallowed. Hard. From his perch on the bed, Orphan grinned.
“If you accept those terms, you may come in and speak with them. The redhead is Jennifer, the adorable Japanese woman looking over my shoulder is Chihiro, and Julia is the one with her head in my lap. You may ask them anything within reason, though do keep in mind, my standard of reasonabiltiy may differ from yours, and if it does, well, you have a smartphone, do you not?”
Evan nodded, reaching into his pocket to fish it out.
“YouTube what happened to Khristain Keller on Courage 151. Then think carefully before you want to ask any questions that might run afoul of my reasonability standard.”
A few quick punches of keys later, and Evan Reynolds watched in hapless silence as Keller, an ACW legend, was beaten half to death by the combination of Orphan and Keith Scott Zimmerman. The horrific scene was led off by one of the few things Evan DID know about Orphan; a devastating-looking running punt to the temple that Orphan apparently referred to as the “Merciless Judgment.”
“P-perhaps this isn’t such a good idea, after all,” Evan stammered, looking from Orphan’s entirely-too-unsettling smile, to the phone, where Orphan and Zimmerman had just pushed Khristain Keller’s stretcher off of the staging area to the concrete floor. “I’ll leave you all be. It looks like you’re having a nice day of, err, training.”
Reynolds didn’t quite believe that this could POSSIBLY be training, but looking at how serious Orphan was almost changed his mind. Even with two women draped all over him, the Spirit of ACW’s focus was absolute.
He seemed like two different people. Considering that the girls were allowed to call him Seymour, Evan imagined that wasn’t too far off from the truth.
“You really don’t know much about him, do you,” the redhead asked, and Evan nearly jumped out of his shoes. Jennifer chuckled a bit, unable to help her amusement at the interviewer’s obvious unease.
“It’s that obvious, huh,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I’m new. They sent me out here because they didn’t have anyone else. The veterans are covering the big names. The Troy Windhams, the Joey Meltons, et cetera.”
“I’d say that a little less loudly,” Jennifer advised. “Seym—Orphan’s got a bit of a chip on his shoulder being considered a “dark horse” at best in this thing. He also, in addition to everything else, hates wrestling interviewers and reporters. They cost him his marriage, almost eight years ago.”
“Duly noted,” he winced. “No wonder he looked at me like he wanted to kill me.”
A disappointed sigh came from the direction of Orphan, who shook his head from side to side even as his fingers beat out a staccato on the X, O, Triangle, and Square keys of his game system.
“Jennifer, why do you feel the need to warn him of all the mistakes he’s making,” Orphan offered, not even looking up from his PSP. “It’s much less fun if he behaves himself. Because if he behaves himself, I also have to behave myself, and that’s much less fun, really.”
Orphan’s idea of fun was something Evan Reynolds was fairly certain he didn’t want to discover first hand. At all. Not one little bit.
“I am sure that you have a dozen questions, Mr…”
“Reyn-“ Evan began, only to be swiftly cut off.
“Your name is of no concern to me. Do not flatter yourself. Regardless, as I was saying, I am sure that you have questions. How Seymour Almasy became Orphan is likely chief among them. Fortunately for you, I have prepared an answer. I had planned to send this to Fwrestling anyway, but now that I have a convenient messenger, I can have it travel along with you, instead.”
Finally pausing his game of Final Fantasy IX and putting his PSP down, the man known to ACW audiences as one half of its deadliest duo rose from the bed, and began to rummage through a black duffel bag. Quickly emerging with a jewel case, he crossed the room, and handed it over to the hapless interviewer.
“This DVD should give you most of the answers you need. Go talk to your bosses and make sure that it airs on ESEN. It is, I believe, a more than fair primer as to how and why Seymour Almasy has been replaced by Orphan. Now, I have been more than reasonable with you, Evan, considering that this is my day off, and I have a two-night pay-per-view to prepare for. Leave me and my Party be. Jennifer, Julia, escort Mr. Reynolds out?”
The two young women rose from the bed. Neither was particularly intimidating, but the fact that they carried the approval of the man who hd gone right back to playing his video game as if nothing had happened was enough. Evan Reynolds was an interviewer, not a hero.
“Alright, alright, I get the message,” he grumbled, turning to leave with his DVD in tow. If the long haired weirdo was right, he’d at least have gotten something meaningful out of this trans-Pacific flight. Closing the door behind him, Evan disappeared soon after into the hallway, and back into the relative bliss of anonymity.
That, of course, left the fal’Cie and his erstwhile harem to their own devices.
(FADEOUT)