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Guv'nor and Johnny Knuckles
Topic Started: Feb 10 2013, 01:12 PM (170 Views)
Bobbie Hearst
Administrator
One Rp per team member.

Tournament Deadline: Thursday, February 28th, 2013
 
Jules

(OOC: First and foremost I need to apologise to everyone involved: organisers, participants and especially my partner, Johnny Knuckles/Reaver. This week has been a bit of a disaster for me in terms of time management so what I'm posting is inadequate and falls way short of what I expect of myself.

Won't tire you with details, but in short Thursday was my day off this week, the day I have earmarked for all my e-fed stuff, and it got hijacked. I'm doing a crappy late Friday/early Saturday shift, plus my wife is dragging me to some social function so I don't have any more time before deadline.

What I'm posting is really the notes I made for this RP a couple of weeks ago, and one extended scene that may not even have made the final cut. But I didn't want to no-show, so thought posting something at least avoids that.

Again, I'm sorry and good luck to everyone.)

*

Who was The Guv’nor? To many he was an incomprehensible thug, who somehow made it up from the streets of London’s tired, downtrodden and fractious East End to the status of global celebrity. To others he was a wrestling legend in his own right, whose success in Hollywood, and his turbulent private lives of quick-fire marriages, and even quicker drawn divorce settlements, gave him later the nickname ‘The Business’ because wherever he want and whatever he did there was business to be done, money to be made.

But at the bottom of it all The Guv’nor was just a man, just like you and me. Outside the ring his name was Lenny Lansbury, and all he ever wanted was to make good his life, to live the dream. I’ll let the historians among you decide whether Lenny Lansbury was a product of circumstance, but he wouldn’t have seen it like that. All he ever did was done in order to make a few coins; no more, no less. Any other factors Lenny would’ve told you he ‘couldn’t give a fuck about’.

That he chose a path that for much of his life before wrestling that was on the other side of the fence was neither here nor there to Lenny. In fact if you asked Lenny now he’d probably say that every law he broke, every chance he took, every mug he ripped off, and every gangster he chinned, was all worth it because it led him to wrestling, which eventually allowed him to go legit; well, about as legit as a man like Lenny Lansbury, raised on the streets of Hackney, could go.

But before the championships, the babes, the drugs, the immortality through celluloid, there was a struggle to be had. Yeah, believe it or not, Lenny had to work his way up from rock bottom, kind of like he did all his life. Nobody ever gave Lenny a free lunch; well not unless there was some minding to be done, or some slaggy prick to be ‘sorted’. Every scrap Lenny was tossed was earned by the efforts of his flesh and bone.

At the time of this story Lenny found himself knee deep in the brown stuff. It wasn’t exactly public information back then, but Lenny had got himself into a spot of bovver over some plastic slag he’d chinned because of an unsettled debt. Lenny always paid his debts, so he wasn’t going to excuse any fucker who tried to mug him off, no matter who they were.

Well as it transpired this particular tight-arsed slag had a father who was well in with some of the top blokes in the London underworld; seems he didn’t take too kindly to his son having his card marked by some nobody from Hackney borough, one of Frank Friday’s (Lenny’s guv’nor) boys or not.

A price was settled, but Lenny couldn’t pay. Six figure sums were not the sort of thing he could lay his hands on at that time, but here’s the rub: the debt always gets paid; be it in hard cash or otherwise.

Packed off to Spain by his boss, Lenny knew it was only a matter of time before the bullet with his name on found its way right into the middle of his skull. He needed an out. That’s when this dodgy outfit calling themselves ‘Touchstone’ intervened. They offered to bankroll Lenny’s escape from the London mobsters on his tail, but in turn he would have to repay the debt as ‘Touchstone’s’ pet project in the U.S. wrestling industry.

Like all good businessmen, they knew how to get blood from a stone, so they had no qualms bleeding The Guv’nor dry. First a contract with Action Packed Wrestling; now this: entered into the Clash of The Titans tag team tournament backed by Visionary Wrestling Inc.

Blood fucking marvellous, Lenny thought at the time.

*

February 2013

The ink was barely dry on Lenny Lansbury’s APW contract when Mr. Black, the suit fronting the ‘Touchstone’ organisation Lenny was bound to, called him in for a meeting. Lenny used to hate these little conferences, in which that rug-wearing lawyer would condescend and try to mug off The Guv’nor. He knew plenty of this greasy type from London; he’d chinned more than a few for impertinence, and when the day finally arrived when Lenny put his hands around this dodgy little plastic gangster’s throat it was very satisfying indeed.

“Ah, Mr. Lansbury,” Mr. Black looked up as Lenny stepped over the threshold of the lawyer’s plush office. “Take a seat.”

Mr. Black finished up whatever it was he was doing (no doubt mugging somebody off, thought Lenny), and looked up. Lenny didn’t miss the dilated pupils, and the flecks of white at the corners of Mr. Black’s nostrils were unmissable. Now that he really looked, Lenny could see on the shiny desk the remnants of a bit of Colombian courage.

“How are you finding the City? Everything okay with the apartment? Cher, it is Cher, right? She’s settled in well?” ‘Touchstone’ had set Lenny and his fiancé, Cher, in a tidy little Manhattan apartment. All expenses paid. They were really putting a shine on this one; but a turd was a turd no matter how you dressed it up.

“Lovely jubbly! Right top gaff you’ve given us, bruv,” Lenny replied, feigning gratitude. “Now what’s this all about? I’m sure you didn’t call me here to discuss home fucking decorations, and the whether I like the colour of the upholstery and whatnot.”

“No, you’re quite right. We need you to sign a contract.”

“Another one? What’s this one, you’re giving my cobblers and all my little soldiers to the highest bidders. Don’t you think you’ve got enough from me without me having to sign any further guarantees.”

“Oh, we’re not worried about your guarantees, Mr. Lansbury. My client has more than enough resources to settle any ‘expenses’ incurred by any breach of contract.”

There it was, another one of those threats this Mr. Black dressed up in polite language and legal diction. What he was basically saying, fuck with us, sunshine, and we’ll make sure we cut your balls off.

“This one is a release form,” Mr. Black explained.

“For what?”

“It says APW are happy to rent you out to Visionary Wrestling Incorporated.”

“Rent me out? What am I now – a piece of fucking cattle? Anyway, who the fuck is Vision-”

“Visionary Wrestling Incorporated,” Mr. Black interrupted. “They are an inter-promotional organisation, and they are hosting a tournament called Clash of The Titans. You are going to be a part of it.”

Lenny chuckled, then leaning on the table he began.

“And I suppose I don’t get a say in this?”

“No,” Mr. Black replied, tossing the contract across the desk. “Basically,” he continued, “it’s a tag team tournament involving wrestlers from a range of different companies. It’s international, therefore it brings great exposure to you. With that exposure, we can pump your brand into new markets. In short, you’re our product, and we want it selling on as many shelves as possible.”

“Well, blow me down, don’t I feel like a valued employee of your organisation. Why don’t you just drop your strides now, sunshine, and I’ll blow that cock right here and now. Come on now, don’t spare the fucking rod.”

“Mr. Lansbury, you understand the terms of our contract. But if you’re not happy, I can make a phone call that I am sure will make your friends in London very happy.”

Lenny’s heart sank, but his heart pounded, and he could feel the rage building. Here was the bottom line: the price of his and Cher’s life was to answer to this organisation’s beck and call; freedom from the mob meant servitude under this colossal prick. At the time Lenny worried sick about the power these people had over his life, and he had the marks of weariness around the eyes to prove it. At the same time he hated himself for putting himself in this position. It’s why the ring was such a release; it was the one place he knew he had total control over his destiny. He calmed himself, fought by the urge to strangle this bald cunt right there and then.

“What if I said I don’t play so well with others,” Lenny replied.

“Then I’d say you must try harder. Would it make the pill easier to swallow if I told you there was a Championship belt waiting for the winners of the Clash of The Titans tournament?”

Suddenly Lenny pricked up his ears; it didn’t go unnoticed by Mr. Black.

“Listen Mr. Lansbury,” he reclined and tried to speak in as friendly tones as he could muster, “my clients are not totally unreasonable; they expect you to compete in this tournament under the terms of your contract, but they are willing to go as far as to allow you to hand pick your partner.”

“Oh well, that’s fucking generous. What if I say I want it to be you? Then I can feed you to the dogs, sit in comfy chair there and count the coins.”

Mr. Black faked a smile.

“Come on, mate; I see the way you look down on me. Fancy you can take The Guv’nor, bruv? Think you can step into the ring with a couple of these animals I’ll be fighting and last even two minutes? You want to move the pieces around in my life like you’re playing some kind of game, well what if I insist on you standing in my corner at this Clash of The Titans?”

Mr. Black shifted nervously; Lenny gave out a mean chuckle.

“You couldn’t pay me enough to stand next you out there; besides, I doubt you got the bottle. Anyone can be an hard cunt when they’ve got a poxy corporation to hide behind, but don’t let your position as go-between lead you into thinking I won’t rip your balls out and shove them up your arse.”

Lenny had stood up during this tirade and leaned over the desk, his eyes, full of fire, as he glared at the lawyer. Out of the corner of his eye, Lenny could see the lawyer’s right hand was positioned under the desk. So Lenny though, he’s got a shooter. Lenny relaxed, let a smile creep across his face, and took a seat again.

“I’m just having a crack with you, chief; no need to twist your cobblers like that.”

Mr. Black didn’t take his eyes off Lenny.

“I can assure you, Mr. Lansbury, my ‘cobblers’ are all fine. Now, I know you’re a dangerous man, my client would never have hired you otherwise; but you have to understand something: they do not take kindly to threats, and it would be a real shame if Miss Underwood (Lenny’s fiancé) were suddenly to find her visa revoked, and was sent back to London alone.”

Lenny froze; his eyes were fixed on Mr. Black, but the lawyer was good at this game; he was ice cold. Lenny knew the verbals weren’t going to work here. The time would come when this lawyer would get his, but it would come when Lenny knew Cher was safe from any reprisals.

Lenny signed the release form and tossed back at the lawyer.

“You can count on me for Clash of The Titans.”

“And what about a partner?”

Lenny was already halfway out the door when he replied: “I’ll be in touch.”

*

February 2013

Several days later Lenny was relaxing in the Manhattan that was now ‘home’, laying low with Mickey, a New Yorker of Irish descent, who Lenny had become friends with since his arrival in the Big Apple. With APW’s Asylum show on the telly in the background, Lenny ran his friend through the latest developments.

“So they’ve got you lined up for this big global, inter-fed event,” Mickey summed up, “and all you got to do is find a partner?”

“That’s pretty much it, bruv.”

“I say go for it, man. What’ve you got to lose, eh?”

“You’re missing the bleeding point, Mickey my old son. This is all a little power game on their part: fix me up here, set me up there. They’re trying to squeeze my balls, find out how far they can push me before I break.”

“Bro, in you’re in bed with the Devil; last I heard he don’t fuck sweet and tender.”

“If I had it my way, he won’t fuck at all.”

“Then don’t let ‘em. You got to think about this logically; how can you turn this into a good situation. Here you have a big tournament, with some of the world’s best wrestlers. Surely, this is your opportunity like the Survive & Conquer match was.”

“Right, and look how well that turned out, bruv. Besides, I don’t think I can play nice with a tag team partner. I’m The Guv’nor, you know; I can’t have some mug hanging onto my side, cramping my style.”

“Thanks, bro.”

“Nah, you know what I mean. Even when I was grafting in London, I always preferred to work alone. The problem with a partner is you’re always watching his back, and I’ve always been pretty anxious about my own, without looking out for some mug who I can’t be sure can handle himself. All these wrestlers are schemers, they got plans, ambitions, they’re always thinking about themselves. I couldn’t trust a single one of them as far as I could throw them. I learnt that lesson a long time ago. There’s only one geezer you can rely on to have your back in this business, and it’s number-fucking-one.”

“What I need to find is a lunatic.”

“Someone completely unhinged, someone who just doesn’t give a monkeys.”

“Got anyone in mind?”

“Not really, trouble with the wrestling world, too many plastics playing the lunatic, but few have the follow-through.”

“What about this guy?”

We see footage of Jason Kash bashing Johnny Knuckles about with a chair.

“That lunatic enough for you?”

“This fucker looks tasty, looks like a right nutty cunt. Chuck me the old bone.”

Mickey looked nonplussed.

“The fucking phone, you simple twat!”

“Yeah, Mr. Black, it’s Lenny. Drop the niceties sunshine, I got me a partner. Turn to the Food Network. You seeing what I’m saying? Yeah, I want that crazy bastard in my corner for Clash of The Titans. No, not Jason Kash, you simpleton. The other mad bastard....the one who is taking the beating. Johnny Knuckles, yeah that’s him. Give that mental case a call.”

*

February 2013

Opening is a scene between Lenny and Cher, having a date in a shake bar(?). The phone rings.

“What is it Mr. Black?”

“What do you mean he’s slipped into a coma?”

“I know what a fucking coma is you simple prick! What I want to know is what you’re going to do about it.”

“You’re the fucking lawyer, sort it out!”

“Leave it out, the soft git, I ain’t no agony aunt.”

Hangs up.

“Johnny Knuckles has gone into a coma.”

“What you going to do?”

“Hope, pray, bloody Hell if I know. Not like I’m bulging with medical knowledge is it. My specialism is putting them into comas, not getting them out.”

“Where does it leave you for CoTT?”

“On my Jack Jones by the looks of it.”

“No, this won’t do. I need to sort this out. Maybe I should go and pay him a visit, give the soppy git a inspirational chat or something.”

“Really Lenny?”

“Leave it out, Cher! I can’t exactly sit on my thumb now; you know how these doctors are, it’s all softly softly. Maybe they need The Guv’nor’s approach on this one. I could go down there, slapping him about a bit, knock some sense back into him.”

“He’s unconscious, in a hospital.”

“Didn’t seem to do any harm for old ?, when I bashed him awake a bit to find out where he’d hid those diamonds.”

“He died two days later.”

“Yeah cause some horrible cunt put a pillow over his head while he was sleeping; completely unrelated.”

“I’ve made my mind up; I’m going to the hospital, pay my new partner a visit, see what a bit of encouragement can do for the poor soul.”

*

Getting a visitor’s pass wasn’t difficult once Lenny had got Mr. Black on the case. The difficulty lay in what Lenny would do when he got to the hospital. But arrive he did, with a nice brown bag bulging with white grapes. He looked down at the unconscious Johnny Knuckles and thought to himself how fragile and pathetic he looked. It crossed Lenny’s mind that some soppy twits would no doubt find themselves getting all philosophical and whatnot, but he thought that was a load of tripe. What Johnny Knuckles needed was a reminder that he was man, not some soggy twat lying hopelessly in a hospital bed.

“Awright, Johnny. How’s it hanging there, bruv?”

Lenny winced.

“Listen mate, we don’t know each other; in fact we’ve never met. But here’s the thing, we got this big tag team tournament we’ve got to do. Not sure if you know that, but you’re not doing anyone any favours lying here like a dying pensioner.”

Lenny gives the bed a shake.

“Looks like you’re right sparko, bruv. How about the old smelling salts? That was always good for the old clash of heads.”

“Wake up Johnny, mate. I’ll level with you, bruv, I thought I could do this on my own. I hand-picked you because you’re a fucking maniac, son, and the only people I’ve ever been able to trust in this life are of the nutty persuasion. I looked at the competition and I thought, I’ll go at this like a lone ranger, and one by one I’ll pick apart all these mugs who think they can just roll over The Guv’nor.”

Promo-esque speech to the unconscious Knuckles. Frustration for Guv’nor. Starts using some physical ‘leverage’, dox and nurses jump in and drag him out. Guv’nor shouting for Johnny to wake up, wake up, wake up!

*

And that body did wake up. Except it wasn’t the mind of Johnny Knuckles that woke up with it.

*

Hype promo piece.
 
Knuckles

Reported Feb 19, 2013

"APW.com is happy to report that as of yesterday, Feb 18th 2013, the charges against "Johnny Knuckles" in the allegations of identity theft have been dropped.

This came about after the blood analysis was done proving "Johnny Knuckles" was indeed; in fact, one Johnathan Sorrentino. Blood work was done after Knuckles suffered a brutal attack at the hands of Jason Kash following last weeks Asylum. Kash attacked Knuckles and bludgeoned Knuckles in the head with a steel chair over ten times sending him to the hospital during a tour of Vancouver, Canada.

Also included in this attack was an attempted murder on Knuckles' life as it was reported that the man who accused him of identity theft, Christopher Kealey and associates, were identified as the attackers. They were captured and arrested while trying to flee Canada back into the United States and are currently being held for trial. It is not sure whether they will face charges in Canada or the US as of yet but are scheduled for a hearing to determine that later this week.

President Jeff and Reginald Smith were not available for comment at the moment but expect to hear something from them in the near future. As of right now, Knuckles is still being held in Vancouver General hospital for observations as he has woken up from unconsciousness last week due to the attempted murder. There is no update on his condition just yet but stay tuned to APW.com for more details as they come."

??: "HEHEHEHE HAHAHAHAHAH"

*Licking his lips, he can't help but think of the irony*

??: "Oh the tangled webs we weave, now it is time for me to reave'......

The irony astounds even the likes of lil' ole' me. Two men who thought that had me beat, only to have failed though the blindness of their shear greed. Jason Kash, the man who put me in the hospital in the first place. Should I thank you? Should I be grateful that blood work was drawn all because of you? Should I be grateful that you have awoken something deep inside me that's been laying dormant? The ONLY thing I will say about this Jason, is that it gave me the edge over you.

HEHEHEHAHAHAHAHA.........

Just when you thought that my career was ended, just when you thought that our seven year feud came to an end, I came back and kept the promise I made to you so many years ago. Do ya' even remember Kashy baby? “I don't care how much stronger than me you are Jason, mark my words....I WILL WIN THIS FIGHT!!” Remember that? It took me seven long years, it took 26 loses to do it, but finally it came to an end the very second I pinned your punk ass to the mat and took back MY Dark Match Championship....1-2-3! At your highest of highs, I did what I said I was gonna' do and you will NEVER be able to take that away from me. Nobody cares about me losing to you....but you losing to me? EARTH SHATTERING! Nobody expected it, nobody saw it coming. Remember that lil' quip about me; that you threw in my face?

“That cheer you but they bet on me.....”

Even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then Jason, and that nut was the mother of ALL nuts. NO HOMO. That high horse you sat for so long on is now gone. The tension is no more and I no longer have a purpose for you any more. How do THAT make you feel Mr. Influence? Knowing that a bitch like me finally finished you off and got what he has worked so hard for. What can I do now?”







Reported Feb 24, 2013

APW.com has just recently reported that Johnathan Sorrentino, better known as “Johnny Knuckles” has been missing from Vancouver General Hospital for the past two days. The Doctors and Nurses weren't available for comment but rumor has it that just shortly after the attempted murder on his life, he went berserk.

Doctors, Orderlies, Nurses tried to restrain him but managed to escape regardless. Knuckles, who was being treated for multiple concussions to the cranium, managed to knock down a small crowd of people and leave wearing nothing but a hospital gown and some medications he stole from the Nurses station outside his door.

It isn't clear where he is at the moment but upon fleeing, he managed to write a note on the wall of his room using the blood of his stitched wound.

”Gimme' your fake and proud. I shall Reave' them all”

It is not clear as to what this means but stay tuned to APW.com for more info as it's reported.


??: “I was awakened with a new sense of purpose, a new.......violent purpose. The Doctors tried some very......different.....methods of trying to regain my memory but I refused to let them have it under any circumstance. The beatings, the electroshock therapy, the water boarding.......they failed. I left my mark and went on my merry little way.

HEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHA........

I bet you're asking yourself, “Why do anything for charity?” Ulterior motives. I got the opportunity to meet Mark Mania in a street fight. What could be better than that? What could be better than taking the current Overdrive Champion; and dropping his ass down a few pegs? I could care LESS about a charity. The chance to show the world of how much better Asylum is to Overdrive makes it all that much more worth while. What now? “

*he continues to lick his lips as if he couldn't control himself. Like a compulsive habit of sorts.*

This is the same man who goes around claiming that him and CJ Gates are the underdogs of this tournament. Two huge names in the sport calling themselves underdogs? That's like the Redsocks calling themselves the underdogs. Its a sham! The new dynasty, a team to watch out for. If sad really; when a guy that disillusioned can make a claim he can't back up. How could Gates ever replace Blade for.....wrestling impotence? How long did it take you to get up this high Mark? How could it have come to this?

Then there's the likes of TJ and The Gooch. Sounds like a bad sitcom right? THE SOOOOUUUUUULLLL of meh whatever and “IF YA SMEEEELLLLL!!!” I look forward to putting TJ in his place come Rasslemania. The only person to THINK'S he is the most violent person on Asylum, the most dangerous without a SINGLE SHRED OF EVIDENCE to back that claim. Way to pick them Gooch. And with a name like that, you MUST sound like a dick every single time right? Don't you have a cousin or two to fuck?

Make no mistake TJ, when I set you ablaze, then you will know first hand EXACTLY who the most violent on Asylum really is. Now why would you choose to come into this with dickhead rather then your own team “Pillar” partner Keaton Saint? AWWWEEE did he join without you? Guess he knows the truth about how weak the soul of TJ really is. That's when the south will “rise” again when Gooch bends you over and eats you like his mother's own peach pie. (HA, get the incest reference?) Just remember to bring the retard strength boys. You'll need it. What will happen now?


*he licks his lips with such passion and eagerness that it's astounding.*

??: Then we have the four men who seem to be at the top of the pile in a circle jerk so wrong and upsetting that even Sally Talfourd wouldn't pay her $3.99 a minute web cam money to see it. And she does some FUCKED UP SHIT let me tell ya. I've bought her show before trust me. Bed posts and farretts.....fogetaboutit'.

Anyways, these four men, Level One, Terry Marvin, Kurt Noble, and Doug E. Fresh. Four guys who everybody will look to in the finals of this whole sha-bang. Riddle me this gentlemen, who will be the REAL underdog team that will sneak up and fuck all of your shit up? ME! ME, MYSELF, and NOBODY! OH! And Gov' will be there too....I suppose. While the greed in all of your eyes are real and clear, the blood lust in mine is straight forward. That is my purpose here. To Reave' the fake and proud remember?

I've faced legends, I've faced beasts of the mat, high flyers, dick suckers, you name it. Each and every one of you is guilty of being one thing. FAKE! I don't pretend to be proud of what I do because of the celebrity status I may or may not have. I don't pretend to be anybody other than me. A violent sociopath who joys himself in the squirting of blood from others. Is that too much to ask?

I do what I do out of the lust for blood, whether yours or my own. It gives me a raging hard-on to see others suffer. I don't fight for the glory like these men because it has no meaning. There's no passion, no desire behind such lame motives. This is why I was chosen. I didn't show up with some random guy, I was offered a spot by a man looking to make a name for himself and saw that I was the only person who could be trusted.

Gov' knows I will do one simple thing. FUCK PEOPLE'S SHIT UP!! I am very straight forward, direct and blunt. There's nothing to hide from, HEHEHE HAHAHAHAHA!! I come out and just do it with or with out anybodies permission. So it's nice to see people looking at me and falling for the trap that I continue to lay out over and over again. That obvious trap of looking at me and laughing. That trap of overlooking me. That trap of not seeing a threat.......


*he smiles and licks his lips again as his eyes begin to glow*

Gov' will keep his end of the bargain and keep up while I go on my murderous rampage. It is THIS that makes me more valuable as an ally then the rest of you. Kinda' like shooting off a truck load of C4 explosives and watching the fun. Can I trust him? Who cares? My ambitions are clear.

So what can I do now?


What now?


What will happen now?

Who knows to be honest. And THAT'S the best part kids. Isn't it fun going in blind? Everybody here has talent, it's a matter of finding a way to use that talent wisely and effectively that will win. Unpredictability is the fruit of the gods and I LOVE shoving that shit down my throat, rolling the dice and seeing what happens next. I'm going to straight up “LLEEEEEERRRRROOOOYYYYY JJJEEEENNNKKIIIINNNNSSSS” this mother fucker and go for blood. Probably not the best strategy, but hey....



...at least I'll have chicken!!


HEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”


*he grins and licks his lips some more as the scene fades to black.*
 
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