SD 38: 5-Man Tradtional Style Gauntlet

[Ben Jacobs]

Competitors:
- Tony Ruiz
- Lee Jackson
- HERO
- Jonathan Page
- Chris Sinclair

Rules:
2 men start, once one is pinned or submitted, OR gets DQed, another man comes down. This continues until there is only one man left standing. The winner goes on to face Nate Sipes at Hog Heaven: Going Wild for the RCW Natural Championship!

If Chris Sinclair no shows... he's fired!
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Post RPs below.
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We are bringing back the 2 point early rp bonus for each wrestler's first rp which scores above 10 and is posted prior to Thursday April 30st @ 3:30 PM CST.

RP deadline is Tuesday, May 5th @ 11:59 PM CST

Match & segment deadline is Wednesday, May 6th @ 8:30 AM CST.

[High Society]

It was an oppressively warm April day that made his typically elaborate attire seem all the more inappropriate. Dressed in a wool topcoat and jacket, with wool flannel trousers, a button down collar shirt, cashmere V-neck sweater and a silk tie, the only indication of his discomfort was the handkerchief, also silk, he kept reaching for, mopping his brow intermittently.

Although he constantly found himself accused of “overdressing”, a term he dismissed as an anomaly, his choice of clothing on this occasion was not an act of sadomasochism but rather an exercise in forward thinking. Unlike the hordes of American tourists queuing for the flight in Hawaiian shirts and shorts he knew that on arriving in London they would most likely be greeted by the biting winds and torrential downpour of old Blighty welcoming back her prodigal son. He’d always found a rather deviant pleasure in observing their hopeful smiles transform into dejected scowls as the turbulent weather finally took hold and ushered them in as they prepared to land. However, as he stood waiting to board not even this consoling thought could take his mind off the previous night’s events.

When it was announced Chris Sinclair had failed to turn up for their match Page was, unsurprisingly, very pleased with himself. Not only did this mean he wouldn’t have to exert any effort that night, it guaranteed his unbeaten record remained in tact. Even more exciting, Ben Jacobs had promised him a place in a gauntlet match to determine a number one contender to Nate Sipes’ Natural Championship. Could things get any better? It seemed like he’d truly arrived. To be given this opportunity so early on in his RCW career was further proof of the company’s faith in him. It was a moment that would have humbled a more gracious man. Still, he relished the opportunity and was already planning on celebrating the announcement when Tony Ruiz crashed the party.

Page wasn’t familiar with Tony Ruiz, his previous accomplishments in WpW or his relationship with the RCW brass, all he knew was that he was stealing his limelight. If there was one thing Page could not tolerate, bearing in mind that really there were very few things Page COULD tolerate, it was impudence. Ruiz had the effrontery to interrupt Page at a moment that could prove to be pivotal in his professional wrestling career. As if this weren’t enough, he’d had the gall to disrespect Page further by throwing a toothpick at him. Not since he’d signed his RCW contract had Page felt so utterly dishonoured. And how did they reward this cretinous intruder? They gave him a place in the very same gauntlet match Page had been granted just minutes before. It astounded him.

He’d been reliving the events of the show ever since. The celebrations he’d planned seemed totally inappropriate now and he’d gone to bed sober, barely sleeping at all. The next morning he was determined to put an end to his torment. He started drinking; heavily. If he hadn’t been able to sleep the night before he would certainly make use of the long flight over.

And so it was that when he arrived, late and reeking of booze, he found a line at the reservation desk. He fell in behind fifteen or so people, a small blond girl just a few places ahead of him. He pegged her for another tourist but was drawn to her fine figure. He watched her intently, smiling as he felt the whisky course through his veins.

She got her ticket and walked away toward the plane. There were still three people in front of him, a stern looking business man holding a brief case and an elderly couple. The first showed his ticket and moved on but the couple were obstructed by the clerk who refused to let them carry a huge cardboard box onto the plane as hand luggage.

Finally his patience snapped. “What the hell is this!? I have to get on that plane!”

The clerk looked up and ignoring the protestations of the couple in front of him asked Page for his name. He told him, got his ticket and bolted for the gate. Once on the plane he scanned the seats on both sides of the aisle.

Not a blonde head anywhere. He hurried to the front, clinging to the notion that her diminutive stature might prevent him from seeing her over the back of the seats. He resigned himself to the fact that she wasn’t on the plane and decided to sit down before he was stranded without a seat. He took his place and tossed his travelling bag on the seat next to him. Just as the engines whirred into life he spotted her running towards the plane, waving frantically at the stewardess. He spoke up:

“Excuse me! There’s another passenger trying to board.”

He watched until she reached the bottom of the steps, turning round to greet her with his million dollar smile as she strolled down the aisle. He reached for his bag, intending to put it on the floor and bring the empty seat to her attention when an old man saw his opportunity and plonked himself in the vacant spot.

“Sir, this seat is taken,” he began quickly, seizing him by the arm. The man jerked away, muttering profanities under his breath and turning his head to the aisle. Page grabbed him again.

“Sir, I must insist you get up.”

The man started to yell as the object of Page’s attention passed them both, stopping a few feet up the aisle, looking for a seat.

“Here’s one,” Page spluttered, giving the old man another savage thrust. Before she could turn around the stewardess, noticing the commotion leaned over and began pulling at Page’s arm.

“He sat on my bag,” he protested feebly as to his dismay he saw the girl sitting down a few rows in front.

The stewardess patted the old man’s shoulder in a consolatory fashion and eased him back into his seat.

“What kind of bully are you?” she asked, turning to Page. “I should throw you off this flight right now.”

He grumbled and slumped back into his seat.

“You rotten old bastard.”
The old man didn’t react and Page began to slip into an alcohol induced coma as the plane prepared to take off.


It was dawn when he woke. He grimaced as he hoisted himself up in his chair. The alcohol was starting to leave his system and all he was left with now was a splitting headache and a vague memory that made him feel quite ill at ease.

He turned to see the old man was still asleep. His snores reminded Page of the drunken altercation that happened just a few hours before and he slumped back down into his seat as the events unfolded in his mind. He looked out the window the dark blue ocean thousands of feet below him. It had a therapeutic effect, relaxing him momentarily and taking his mind of the dull thud that was going on in his head. The plan started down and the stewardess’ voice came over the speaker system requesting everyone put their seatbelts on.

When they landed Page decided to stay in his seat and wait for the girl to pass at which point he would stand up and accompany her across the runway. However, as the other passengers milled towards the exits, hustling each other like excited cattle the old man jumped to his feet and tried to climb over an astounded Page. Without thinking he slammed the old guy back against the window, causing a sickening thump that caught the attention of the thronging crowd. The man began to gag and tried to scramble past again, shouting hysterically.

“Let me past. I think I’m going to be sick.”

“How dare you!?” Page yelled indignantly, shoving him back with one hand and reaching for his bag with the other. The doors finally opened and people began to file out. The girl came past and Page tried to smile at her whilst maintaining his vice-like grip on the old man, determined to back out into the aisle before releasing him. It was at that moment that the stewardess, the same woman who had reprimanded him earlier on, came to the old man’s rescue yet again, except this time she had the co-pilot in tow.

“Will you stop it? He’s been brutalising this old man ever since we took off. He wants locking up!”

And so it was that Page spent the first few hours of his glorious homecoming detained in the airport detention centre. Once he had managed to convince the security officers that he was neither under the influence of drugs or mentally imbalanced he was released and finally free to reacquaint himself with his beloved England. It was getting dark and the streets were slick with rain. The city was a hive of activity, the busy pedestrians and constant buzz of traffic in stark contrast to the rural idyll of the Arkansas landscape… and yet… he found solace in the noise, the fumes, the damp.

He made a brief visit to his Kensington apartment where he dropped off his luggage and checked through his mail before heading out for that most stalwart of British institutions: the pub. The Churchill had been his local for nigh on fifteen years. It was a cosy Victorian building with alcoves and recesses, a roaring fire and affable staff. More importantly it was horrendously expensive; a feature that ensured only the most venerable of patrons would pass through its doors. The barman recognised him and made polite enquiries. Page answered his questions honestly for the most part, although his responses were vague and elusive when asked about his career prospects. He didn’t like talking about the business with outsiders. He’d grown weary of their condescending smirks and supercilious remarks. More often than not he’d evade the issue, make up some haphazard story about writing articles on British etiquette for American lifestyle magazines.

In truth he’d been living a rather poultry existence, his inheritance the only thing sustaining him. That is until he signed his deal with RCW. It wasn’t a lucrative deal by any stretch of the imagination but, pooled with the money he already had, the weekly wage allowed him to maintain a lifestyle more fitting for a gentleman of his stature. Page needed a steady income to supplement his appetite for fine clothes, fine dining and fine women. Then again Scarlet saw very little of the money he earned. When they first started working together in the UK they had split the money equally. After all she was responsible for most of his bookings, promotion, contract negotiations. At the time he was only too happy to reward her diligence and coupled with the fact that her father owned the promotion he worked in he felt obliged to treat her well. After a number of years working the independent scene in both the UK and the States he became impatient with his lack of mainstream success and disillusioned with the business. He took out his frustrations on her, blaming her for his faltering career.

Still, she stuck by him. And as he felt the burn of the third double whisky hit the back of his throat he thought of her for the first time since leaving Arkansas. Her commitment. Her enthusiasm. Her loyalty. With the alcohol came a rush of sentimentality uncharacteristic in Page. He decided at that moment that he would value her more in the future, show her the respect she deserved. It had been she who had instigated his move to RCW. She had been responsible for putting his career back on track and it was her who suggested he go back to England for some rest and recuperation before the big match on Wednesday. He felt a great debt to her and an overwhelming affection.

Just as these feelings began to take hold he heard the door open behind him. The barman greeted the customer with a familiar smile and, curiosity piqued, Page turned to gaze upon HER.

“My God, I can’t believe it’s you. What are you doing here? Barkeep, this one is on me.”

What a marvellous twist of fate. What a glorious example of destiny blessing them once again. Page took her hand and sat her on the barstool next to him, smiling at her indulgently. She began to speak.

“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

Patting her leg warmly he replied,

“I believe we arrived on the same plane. My name is Jonathan and I’m very much looking forward to getting to know you.”

[Alex Crowe]

- HERO's Destiny

[tonyruiz]

The camera cut to a shot of a sign....the name on the sign says "The Landing Strip".....for those that don't know "The Landing Strip" is the Miami Strip club owned by none other than "The Good Guy" Tony Ruiz....former WpW All-Time champions and after Southern Dynamite the new number one contender for the RCW Natural Title....We then cut to inside the club where we see several attractive ladies on stage doing there thing on the pole....The camera then cuts to the bar where we see The Good Guy himself....Tony Ruiz.....He gulps down a shot of Tequlia and slams it down on the bar....

Tony Ruiz: How bout another Sam.

Same the bartender pours another shot for Tony.....and slides it over to him....

Tony Ruiz: Hey Yo, look what we got here. If it isn't the R to the C to the W, camera guy. So ol Taco Supreme finally tracked me down, to where else, my club. Taco Supreme called me the other day and said he needed me to fill a spot on the roster. ANd you know what, man? It' s been way too long since I've been in the wrestling ring, ringing heads. So I said what the hey. And what do I see when I get there to good ole RCW? Some british panty waste, thinking he's God's gift to wrestling.

Tony takes another shot and grins at the camera....

Tony Ruiz: I'll show that pompus a$$ who the real king of the ring is, when I walk out of that gauntlet match the new number one contender for the RCW Natural Title. And then we got this masked character named Hero. How orginal meng? Hero, couldn't he come up with a better ring name than that? So far the only ones that have spoken out for this match have been a Super Freak and a Pansy from the UK. Great, meng, sounds like a match full of freaks and geeks. But like I said meng, I'm back and looking for gold. Now get out of my bar, I've got work to do.

Tony takes another shot, as he turns to watch the girls in action...

[High Society]

The first thing we see is the rippling tide of the Thames, in the background the strain of orchestral music.

An illuminated manuscript text proclaims a “Jonathan Page Production” before seemingly dissolving in the movement of the waters. As the camera pans round we are treated to a panoramic view of the river, the parliamentary buildings an imposing presence on the other side of the bank, the tower of London an ominous vestige on the horizon. The sunlight reflects off the lens of the camera casting an almost heavenly glow over the film.

The film then cuts to an altogether different scene, a bustling city street lined with designer boutiques, expensive restaurants and bars. Amongst the throng of busy shoppers and tourists is RCW’s Jonathan Page, distinguished from the crowd as ever by his magnificent clothing: purple velvet jacket, silk cravat, black flannel trousers and a pair of Cuban heels. He surveys his surroundings before addressing his audience.

Jonathan Page: They say London swings. It doesn’t. Not even the world famous Carnaby Street, Soho. But here and there amongst the conformist fat cat crowds is a lean cat or two, looking like it might swing given some encouragement. Well, Tony Ruiz, you have given me all the encouragement I need and come Wednesday night you will most definitely see me swing.

The cameras follow Page as he darts into the doorway of one of the boutiques. Inside he acknowledges the owner with a simple nod of the head before rifling through a rack of shirts.

Jonathan Page: Those of you watching at home must forgive me for the rather trite sixties parlance. You must remember that I am addressing a man whose notion of sophistication does not extend much farther than rudimentary dental hygiene. At least I believe that’s why he insists on keeping that toothpick in his mouth. Or maybe it’s just an affectation, eh, Tony?

You see I’ve grown just a little bit weary of your antics Tony. Throwing toothpicks is one thing, but mudslinging, deformation of character? That’s a whole different ball game as you American’s like to say.

This has gone beyond a mere shot at the Natural title; this is about principles, about dignity. I only hope that they put me in that ring first, because I would feel quite aggrieved were I to miss the opportunity to wipe that smug look off your face.

On Wednesday night you and all of the other reprobates in this free-for-all are going to receive a lesson in manners you will never forget.

Fans of Razorback Championship Wrestling, I suggest you bring your cameras because what you are about to witness will be picture perfect.

Scene fades.