SCW Boards
Roleplay Boards => Archived Roleplays => Climax Control Archives => Topic started by: Mr Ringo on December 12, 2013, 11:26:23 PM
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The scene fades into a long pier. The older wood pier looks somewhat picturesque in the warm bathing light of the early morning Miami sun. The waves crash against the old wooden structure sending small splashes of water on to the planks of splintery wood. Two men stand at the end of the pier, staring out to the beautiful ocean horizon. One man, taller is stature stands wearing all white. White pants, white shoes, and white v-neck t-shirt. Around his wrist sits a diamond covered watch which matches almost perfectly with the diamond covered chain around his neck. His eyes are shielded from the Miami sunshine buy his oversized designer sunglasses. The shorter, yet stockier man who stands beside him is almost the exact opposite. He is wearing a black suit and tie, with a white shirt. His black banded wristwatch is barely visible and his sunglasses look like they came out of a supermarket quarter machine. The man in white turns the shorter man and lets out a sigh.
“You know, H-Run, I fucking love Miami.”
H-Run is the nickname of Harold Runner, a prominent private security executive in Miami, Florida.
“I know, Money. The best fucking place on earth.”
Money, of course, is Jimmy “Real Money” Ringo. A local hustler and heir to the Ringo family fortune. The two men turn to each other and smile.
::::6 HOURS EARLIER::::
Miami at night is one of the most exciting cities in the world, let alone the United States. The streets are filled with a mix of ethnicities and cultures that seem to blend together in a way that seems almost operatic. The camera moves through the city streets before it finally stops in front of what looks like a club. Security guards man the velvet ropes as people try to sneak in what clearly looks like a VIP facility. A Maserati pulls up and one of the security guards leans down and opens the passenger door. A long legged blonde woman steps out. Her red heels match the carpet run up directly to the car and her black dress matches the midnight sky. From behind the other side of the car steps the driver who is wearing and all white suit with a white v-neck t-shirt on underneath, Jimmy Ringo smiles to the security before giving him a handshake full of a $100 bill. He walks around the car and locks arms with the gorgeous blonde before walking up the carpet toward the entry of the club. They get to the top of the steps, beyond the crowds, and the woman stops. She pulls out a small trinket from her red Chanel clutch and opens it. She pulls out a small spoonful of Cocaine and snorts it. She offers it to Ringo who declines before closing it back up.
“When are you gonna live a little, Jimmy.”
“My drug ain’t white, bitch. It’s green.”
They push open the door to the club and the loud house music consumes them. The woman begins to dance almost immediately but Ringo seems disinterested. They stand at the top of a long staircase looking down on to the dance floor and the bar area. He looks around the club before spotting a young man wearing a LeBron James jersey and sporting a rather large blowout sitting in a private roped off section.
“This way.”
“I wanna dance, baby.”
“Then go dance woman. Real Money’s got business.”
“Give me some money so I can find some X.”
“Here, bitch.”
Ringo hands her a wad of cash and leaves her standing at the top of the staircase. He heads down onto the dance floor and pushes his way through. A few women try to grab him and pull him in but he shoves them off as if they were men. He gets through the crowd and over to the roped off section and a security officer, as tall as the moon and wearing a dark suit, stops him.
“I’m sorry sir but you can’t come in here.”
“What the fu-“
Before he can finish his sentence, the young man in the LeBron James jersey runs over and interrupts him.
“Yo, yo. This is Jimmy Ringo, bro. He’s allowed in.”
“My apologies Mr. Ringo.”
Jimmy gives him a condescending look as he passes by. He follows the man in the jersey over to one of the couches and they sit down.
“My man Ringo.”
“Frankie. Where’s H-Run?”
Frankie is Franklin Periwitch IV, the heir to the Periwitch family toothpaste fortune and a gambling addict.
“H said he’d be back here in like a little while. He said to have a drink and relax.”
Ringo turns his back to Frankie and with a slight look of disgust, he cocks his head to the side.
“Real Money does not drink, Frankie. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke and he certainly doesn’t waste his time in places like this.”
“I’m sorry, Money. He said-“
“Don’t be sorry, Frankie. Real Money knows you don’t have the mental ability to think bigger than this. He forgives you.”
Frankie raises his drink to Jimmy.
“Thanks, broski!”
Ringo shakes his head.
“So what’s this I hear about you cage fighting?”
“It’s not cage fighting Jimmy it’s professional wrestling and what Real Money does is none of your fucking business.”
“For real, dog? Like Hulk Hogan shit”
“Nah, dog.”
Ringo mocks Frankie.
“This is the real fucking deal, kid. This is Sin City Wrestling. Real Money is taking that shit by storm.”
“That sounds real good, man. Gonna make a name for yourself.”
“A name? I already have a name you idiot. It’s Jimmy ‘Real Money’ Ringo”. It’s the most feared name there is out there, bro. Ya feel me? These cats out there in SCW are already scared ‘a me. Like that limey trash bag Ben Jordan. Wouldn’t ya know I smacked him around on television on Sunday. Boy got real scared real quick, Now he’s telling everyone how sorry he is about mentioning my name.”
“For real?”
“What do you mean for real? I just said it didn’t I? All those big dogs out there ain’t got nothin’ on Real Money. All them women want me kid. They come at me all the time on Twitter, just saying how they can’t wait to get to get there hands on me. How they wish they could. But you know, Real Money’s a bit too good for trash bags like that, kid.”
“I heard that.”
“I know you did ‘cause I said it. These guys out there think they got something special. They think they got world class talent. Let me tell you something, Frankie. They ain’t got shit compared to Real Money. I seen them. I seen them all. Take this Connor Murphy mother-“
“Gentlemen.”
Both men look up to see H-Run standing in front of them.
“Mr. Run.”
“Money.”
H-Run sits down next to Ringo and unbuttons the button on his black suit jacket. He crosses his legs as he pans around the club. His eye catches Ringo’s girl dancing on the dance in a group of women.
“Is that you?”
H points out to her.
“Come on, H. What ya know? Tell me why I’m in this dump.
H smiles.
“I’ve heard about your little venture. You know the one in Vegas.”
“Yeah, and?”
“I want in.”
Money laughs.
“Ya want in what, bro? This is wrestling. It ain’t some book stuff like we’ve done in the passed. That kind of money ain’t there.”
H-Run looks at Ringo and smiles. He gently pushes Ringo on the shoulder, which very obviously annoys Jimmy.
“What?”
“I don’t care about the wrestling kid. I want in on Vegas. You know how much money I guy like me can make out there? Private security business is dead out here. Only people who got money in this town don’t wanna spend it or there moving on, like you.”
“So you want me to hook you up?”
“Just an introduction here and there.”
“And what does this gotta do with Real Money?”
“Ten percent.”
“Fifteen. And you get rid of this problem I’ve got.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“This little bitch named…”
::::To Be Continued::::
The camera kicks on in a large, over priced hotel suite. The floor, the walls, and probably the ceiling are all made of marble. There are several marble columns that are reminiscent of Greek architecture spotted throughout the suite. A loud knock is heard at the door. After a moment there is another knock., and then another, another, another, and again. Finally after the near tenth knock Jimmy “Real Money” Ringo walks out of the suites bedroom. He is wearing nothing but a black silk rob and a pair of chrome sunglasses. The robe is nearly untied with his waxed chest sticking out of the front. He gets near the front door of the suite, checks his hair in a mirror by the door, and opens the front door. In front of him stands Ms. Rocky Mountains in tight blue dress that looks like it’s about to pop in front. Behind her is a SCW Cameraman with his camera locked, loaded, and filming.
”Ms. Mountains….come in.”
Rocky pushes passed him and admires the over priced suite for a moment before turning back to Ringo.
“Jimmy, I-“
“Mr. Ringo.”
“Excuse me?”
“You will refer to me as Mr. Ringo when you’re looking to ask me a question.”
“Umm”
“Are we clear?”
“Umm…sure.”
“Now, you may proceed.
“Well I just I wanted to ask you a few questions about-“
“I always wanted to be a professional wrestler…”
She rolls her eyes.
“I’ve always admired the conquerors of the squared circle. The men who have done battle inside SCW’s six sided ring are some of the most admirable of men to have stepped inside of the ring. Ya with me so far?”
“You men and women. SCW is known for their deep and impressive Bombshell roster.”
“Nah, actually. I just meant the men. Now where was I? Oh yeah, word. Real Money always knew that one day he would join these men in these games and that one day he will be their champion.”
“Champion? Pretty bold talk for someone who hasn’t had a match yet here in SCW. Especially since the one time you were actually in a SCW ring you thrown out of it by Ben Jordan.”
“Listen, bitch. Ringo doesn’t take lip from a second class citizen like yourself. You’re here because I want you to be. Ya only exist in my world because someone needs to come here and take notes of my story, to spread to the world the word of Real Money. To let all the trash bags of Las Vegas know that he has arrived. Finally their hero is here.”
“What makes you think that you’re their hero? Looked like it to me that they were telling you that you suck.”
Ringo gets right in the face of Rocky Mountains and it startles her a bit, forcing her to take a step back.
“Quiet you insignificant woman! I am the future of this company. There is no one who can touch me. No one in this disgusting little city who is even in the league beneath me let alone my league. I am what the Gods envisioned when they designed the perfect man. Do ya really believe that a few losers in the stands really have an effect on Real Money? That they even matter?”
“I guess they don’t. Not to you anyway.”
“Finally a woman says something that isn’t completely full of crap and useless.”
“But what about Sunday? You have to start somewhere don’t you? What about Connor Murphy?”
Ringo lets out a loud belly laugh.
“Connor Murphy? When I told these bros Christian and Mark I was coming down to ya house here in Vegas to make some noise I told them to put ya best competitor in the ring in front of me. Ya heard? To show what’s up when I got here. And what do they do? They book me with Connor Murphy? That’s a damn insult. Ya feel me? I might as well go back to Miami and bang some ho. It woulda been a better use of my time.”
“What makes you so sure that Connor will be a breeze? He’s making his debut too, you know?”
Ringo takes his sunglasses off and places them down on a table in the center of the suite.
“Did you know he ain’t even Irish? Bro walks around like he’s the second coming of Mickey Carroll and he ain’t even Irish. He’s Canadian!”
Ringo belts out more laughter in almost feigned, obnoxious way. Rocky looks at her cameraman and they both seem a bit confused as if they don’t get the joke.
“What’s so funny?”
“Didn’t you hear me? He’s Canadian!”
Ringo laughs even harder.
“The only thing worse than a Canadian is a Canadian who pretends to be an Irishman.”
“You’re laughing at him because of his nationality.”
“Well, yeah. But for real, this kid’s a whack and a hack and half ‘a joke. He can talk all the Veritas and Aequitas that he wants to spew out of his nasty ass cigarette smoking face but the real veritas of the matter is…see what I just did there?...the real truth is this kid ain’t nothing more than a punk who’s stepping in to the ring at the wrong time against the wrong G fella.”
“Why’s that?”
“Hello? I’m Jimmy ‘Real Money’ Ringo. This is my debut match. I’m gonna take this poor little boy to the bank. He’s gonna have to pay this bad piper and he ain’t gonna have the paper to do it. I hope he drinks all the beer he can out of that little red solo cup ‘a his ‘cause on Sunday….bitch is going down. I hope his little boyfriend Devlin comes to watch and I hope his sister Vixen joins ‘em. I should send out tickets to the whole Murphy family so the whole crew can see what a lame ass wannabe loser their little boy has become. I’m a take Mama Murphy for a little Money Ride and I’m a take an express train to Grandma Murphy’s piggy bank. Ya feel money. I’m a own this little man and it’s all ‘cause Christian and Mark booked him against Real Money.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right. I hope this kid don’t blame it on me when he’s lying down on that mat wondering what the fuck just happened to him. Trying to think of why his ass is on that mat and why Real Money is raising his arms ten feet away. The kid ain’t got shit on me, Rocky. Now if ya excuse me, I got some shit to do.”
“I just have one more question, Mr. Ringo.”
“Arite, fine but I’m a have to start billing ya ass for my time.”
“What do you plan on doing about Ben Jordan?”
“What do I plan? The Cockney Trash King is gonna pay, bitch. I told him to keep his mouth shut. I warned his Union Jack loving ass. He didn’t listen and when it’s all said and done he’s gonna have no one to blame but himself. Now get out.”
Jimmy forces Rocky Mountains and her cameraman out the door and the scene starts to fade out.
::::FADE 2 BLACK::::