Falcone RP#3

 
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So this is a somewhat historic RP (at least in my mind) as a few months after it originally posted in whatever crap e-fed I was involved at the time I used as a template to create a brand new character for another fed which would go on to be my biggest success in the game.

What I remember about the original writing was that I was up against a bunch of guys who were all really horrible writers using really uncreative characters and set-ups. Even though I had never intended Falcone to be a comedy figure, he *was* meant to be a bit of a whitemeat babyface, and given all the thugs, gangsters, and monsters I was up against I figured taking comedic potshots at their lack of originality was my only chance for success. E-wrestling really helped bring out my inner asshole.

 
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[The camera quickly sparks to life, no dramatic fade in. We are met with the image of “Majestic” Jesse Falcone looking not so majestic as he stands with his head down, nervously adjusting and brushing at his clothes. He is dressed in his ring outfit; full length wrestling trunks, maroon in front and black in the back with a dark-brown, feather-like pattern down the outside of each leg; maroon boots; a black leather vest; and maroon elastic chords tied around each arm, just above the biceps. He also wears his signature black cowboy hat, pushed back off his head. He stands on a sidewalk, in front of what is apparently Madison Square Garden, although how we know this is hard to say. Let’s just call it a feeling. As the video continues, occasional passers-by walk behind him. Some stop to look into the camera, maybe making an odd face, or waving to some unknown friend or relative. Jesse is feverishously tending to his appearance, adjusting the chords, running his thumbs around the isnide top of his trunks till they’re snug in all the right places, brushing any lint off the thighs of his trunks. Finally, he looks up at the camera and begins to speak to the cameraman.]

Jesse. So… are we just about ready to go?

Cameraman. We’re rolling.

Jesse. What do you mean we’re rolling?

Cameraman. I mean, the camera is going and you’re being recorded.

Jesse. Oh. So, uh, I should start then, huh?

Cameraman. Not unless you want to stand there all day and look like a moron.

Jesse. Gotcha. [pause] We can go back and edit this part out, right?

Cameraman. Yes, sir.

Jesse. Good. Because if this part airs, I’d look kinda foolish.

Cameraman. You sure would, sir. So, we’re rolling…

Jesse. Right. Rolling. [Jesse looks into the camera and we see his shoulders rise and fall as he blasts a few quick breaths out his mouth in an attempt to calm himself.] You know, I’ve already done a couple of these, but this is the first one where I was, you know, just looking right at the camera and talking. Usually, you guys just sorta start filming. Are you sure this is how they’re done?

Cameraman. Yes, sir. A lot of these promos are shot just like this. It’s pretty standard.

Jesse. Okay, standard. That’s good. Say, let me ask you this. What do you think I should say? I mean, should I talk about how bad I am and how I’m gonna kick everybody’s ass and how they should just bow down to me and my superior ability?

Cameraman. Well, are you trying to make an impression?

Jesse. Well… hell, sure I am.

Cameraman. So are you trying to make an impression that you’re a tough guy?

Jesse. I guess so. [he pauses to think] Well, no, not really. I mean, I consider myself pretty tough inside the ring, but I don’t know if I want act like some generic bully. I know, how about I show how dedicated I am to training. I could get down and do like a whole bunch of military push-ups. You know, the kind where… [the camera pans down as Jesse gets down on his hands and knees and starts doing pushups with his right arm only, his left hand wrapped around and resting on the small of his back] …where they do ’em with one hand like this. Would that be a cool shot?

Cameraman. I suppose. If you wanted people to think you were a discipline freak.

Jesse. [stopping the push-ups and getting back to his feet, again, brushing himself off] Well, my Pop always taught me that discipline was important, but I don’t wanna be a Marine drill sergeant, if that’s what you mean. Alright, I had another idea. I could be a cool partyin’ kind of guy. You know, with all sorts of chicks hanging around me. Here, I’ll show ya.

[He disappears off to the left and returns a few seconds later, dragging a rather obvious and somewhat unattractive looking prostitute. Her hair is a very fake bleach blonde, teased up high with a number of clips holding it in place. Her face is heavily made up with all sorts of odd combinations of color. Bright pink lipstick; deep purple eye-shadow outlined with a sort of lemon-yellow trim; dark red, poorly blended cheek rouge. Her eyebrows have been plucked out and drawn back in in pencil. Two huge earrings dangle from each ear, while a number of silver studs decorate the remainder of her ears. She is dressed in a lime green lace bra, and a hot pink mini-skirt, with torn, white, fishnet stockings. Various rings and bracelets encompass each arm and hand. She snaps her gum loudly and stares rather blankly into the camera. In his other hand, Jesse holds a non-descript brown paper bag, which apparently carries a bottle.]

Cameraman. What’s in the bag?

Jesse. Well, it’s supposed to be a like, what do they call it,…. a forty.

Cameraman. But it isn’t really?

Jesse. Well, no. I mean, I don’t drink. Well, at least not alot. Sure, I drink beer and stuff, but I try and stay away from the hard stuff. Besides, it’s still morning. I might get sick.

Cameraman. So what is it? Really?

Jesse. [pulling a bottle out of the bag] Just apple juice. It was the only thing I could find that had the same shape.

Cameraman. I see.

Hooker. Is this gawna be awn tee-vee? Cuz I gut a rekahd, and I don’t wanna get buhstid agin.

Jesse. [looking at the camera] Lose the girl?

Cameraman. Ah, yeah.

[Jesse disappears off to the left again, dragging the girl with him, who takes a brief second to smile dumbly and wave to the camera as they go. He returns a second later, still carrying the bottle.]

Cameraman. You might wanna lose the bottle too.

Jesse. Oh, yeah. Good thinking.

[As he looks around for a place to put the bottle, a small eight-year old black boy carrying a chocolate ice-cream cone (with sprinkles) appears at Jesse’s side. He takes a few licks of his frosty delight, looks into the camera, then tugs on Jesse’s vest.]

Boy. Hey, mister. Watcha doing?

Jesse. Well hello there, little guy. I’m filming a video.

Boy. I know you. You’re that guy.

Jesse. Oh, so you recognize me. [turning to the camera] These kids, they love a new hero.” [back to the boy] “So, you’re a wrestling fan, huh?

Boy. No. I think wrestling’s stupid. I thought you were the guy from circus that wrestled with the lions. Never mind.

[The boy wanders off screen. Jesse, looking stunned, turns to the camera and shrugs his shoulders.]

Jesse. Kids. Well, let’s see. Where was I? [thinks some more] I got it! I learned this the other day from some guy over on 27th street.

[Jesse disappears off camera for a second then reappears with a few pieces of plain white paper. He holds it up for the camera to see, then hunches over slightly and begins to make a series of slow, awkward folds, leaning on his right thigh as a form of support. His tongue emerges from his mouth and begins to bite down on it, and obvious sign of concentration. This goes on for a few minutes, with Jesse occasionally looking up at the camera and offering a somewhat sheepish grin. Finally, with a flurry, he holds up a rather pathetic and mangled version of an origami bird.]

Jesse. Voila! See, it’s a falcon. [he lamely attempts to make the wings of the demented bird flap] I think the guy called it an ogre… or an orgasm, or… I don’t know, it had some Chinese name. Anyway, this is the kind of thing that’ll show the other wrestlers how patient and focused I can be, right?

Cameraman. If you think so.

Jesse. Oh, this is hopeless. I’m gonna start over. Screw all this tough talkin’ crap. I’m just gonna be myself.

Cameraman. Fine. Only there’s one problem.

Jesse. What’s that?

Cameraman. We’re out of film.

[The screen goes blank as the tape finishes off. The audio continues for a few brief seconds and we hear a voice, presumably Jesse’s, mutter “Aw, hell.”]

 
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