I am so interested. Gonna go for Batman, playing him in the vein of Adam West's version.
Looking forward to it.
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Looking forward to it.
Haha I'm curious to see your approach to a more campy version of Hellblazer.
But we're also going to need more players for this thing to work.
But we're also going to need more players for this thing to work.
THE BRAVE AND THE BOLD!
BIFF! BAM! POW! Welcome to the Silver Age of Comic Books! The age of the Camp Crusader and the Big Blue Boy Scout. A simpler time, when heroes were heroes and villains were villains. A time long gone...
OR SO IT WAS THOUGHT!
The goal of this RP is to capture the fun, over-the-top, tongue-in-cheek tone of the Silver Age. Players will take on the roles of planet Earth's bravest and boldest superheroes, joining forces to create the mightiest team ever assembled, THE JUSTICE LEAGUE OF AMERICA! As members of the JLA it's your mission to stand up against vile villains from across the universe!
These doers of dastardly devilish deeds must be defeated!
Ideally we're looking for a total of around seven players, just like the classic Justice League lineup. We also want to make sure the roles of the most iconic characters are definitely filled. So that means Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman will need players. I'm probably going to play as Flash or Green Lantern, leaving the big three open for others to take on. This RP is all about the spirit of DC's Silver Age, but that doesn't mean you're limited only to characters from that era. Feel free to play as any superhero from the DC Universe, just make sure they're appropriately adapted to fit the campy tone.
Stories are going to be done in more of a standalone fashion, with a series of one-off adventures rather than a long, drawn-out overarching story. This will allow players to rotate characters between adventures and play as different heroes. Once an adventure has been completed, I'll archive it here.
If you're interested, the character sheet outline is provided below. Complete the CS and post it here in the OOC section first. Once I've read it over and give you the green light you can go ahead and post it in the Char tab. Please try to stick to the outline as much as possible, it just helps with organization.
I don't really know the silver age well (like at all).
Would silver age be similar to Batman the Brave and the Bold cartoon?
100%. That cartoon was an homage to DC's silver age and the old Adam West Batman show. And it's great.
What kinda dc characters are going to be allowed here? Only the Silver age ones or maybe all of them, edited to fit the setting and the mood? Prehaps the JSA could be involved?
Yeah it's all about the spirit of the Silver Age. You can still be characters created at a different time, just re-imagined to fit the tone. Just like what was done with more modern villains in the Batman '66 comic book.
Did you have a particular JSA member you wanted to play?
THE BRAVE AND THE BOLD!
BIFF! BAM! POW! Welcome to the Silver Age of Comic Books! The age of the Camp Crusader and the Big Blue Boy Scout. A simpler time, when heroes were heroes and villains were villains. A time long gone...
OR SO IT WAS THOUGHT!
The goal of this RP is to capture the fun, over-the-top, tongue-in-cheek tone of the Silver Age. Players will take on the roles of planet Earth's bravest and boldest superheroes, joining forces to create the mightiest team ever assembled, THE JUSTICE LEAGUE OF AMERICA! As members of the JLA it's your mission to stand up against vile villains from across the universe. These doers of dastardly devilish deeds must be defeated!
Let me know if this is something you'd be interested in, and once we have enough players I'll go ahead and post the the official RP thread. Ideally we're looking for a total of around seven players, just like the classic Justice League lineup. We also want to make sure the roles of the most iconic characters are definitely filled. So that means Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman will need players. I'm probably going to play as Flash or Green Lantern, leaving the big three open for others to take on.
Stories are going to be done in more of a standalone fashion, with a series of one-off adventures rather than a long, drawn-out overarching story. This will allow players to rotate characters between adventures and play as different heroes.
Definitely interested
Segment 1: Sexton P.S. Love In-Ring Promo
Sexton Love's music hit, but it was impossible to tell. The sound was completely overpowered by the thunderous chorus of boos eminating from the San Jose crowd. Sexton was still backstage in the gorilla position, and despite receiving the producer's go signal he took some time before making his entrance. It was all about about milking the crowd response. Although he might've phrased the analogy in slightly different terms.
"You gotta stroke it daddeh," said the Lovely One, finally stepping through the curtain.
There it was.
The noise in the arena multiplied upon Sexton's appearance, and continued to grow as he arrogantly sauntered down to the ring. Feeling as though the heat-seeking sports jerseys had run their course over the last couple of weeks, Tyrannosaurus Sex had instead settled on wearing his electrifying new "$EX SELL$" gimmick tee-shirt. Naturally the sleeves had been cut off. Bicep flexing was cruical.
"You see that daddeh?" yelled Bodzilla, directly into the camera. "I am the man with the largest arm. The man that causes harm. The real deal, sex appeal, man of STEEL..."
For a long time, Sexton had been fundamentally against the idea of selling merchandise as a heel. That was until he had received his first royalty cheque in the mail. Somehow money had made things slightly more palletable. It was a business after all.
"SEX SELLS darlin'..." he said, pointing at the slogan across the front of his shirt. "...nobody does it better..."
As the Love Doctor climbed into the ring, the camera panned around and was able to get a shot of his back. Written across the flip side of the shirt were the words "Gimme the f#%kin' mic!", and the ring announcer complied as soon as Sexton stepped between the ropes.
Sexton banged on the top of the microphone, obnoxiously checking to make sure it was on.
"I TOLD YA DADDEH," he began, already being interrupted by jeers from the audience. "I told ya I was a man's man, a ladies' man... and a BAD, BAD MAN!"
The San Jose crowd certainly seemed to think so, as Sexton lowered the mic and allowed the audience reaction to play itself out.
"Last week, LIVE on Shock N' Awe, the whole world got a reminder. A reminder of just how bad I am daddeh. They got a reminder when they saw their hero...The Man Called Thunderbird... bloodied, feathered, and LAID OUT AT MY FEET! ...I didn't think he could GET more red daddeh, until I saw him busted WIDE open!"
He was probably going to catch a lot of flack for that last line. But it was worth it.
"...Oh yes indeed... he had that HEAVY FLOW darlin'..." said Sexton, stopping momentarily as his gaze caught the eye of an overweight woman in the front row. "You know exactly what I'm talkin' about you big ol' nasty bitch!"
A hell of a way to talk to the woman that drove you to the arena.
"But it's not enough daddeh," he continued, getting back on point. "It's not enough for Sexton P.S. Love to show that he's a bad man. He needs to show that he's the BETTER man. I need to beat Thunderbird in the middle of this ring, 1... 2... 3. You heard that right darlin'. The Man They Call Love needs to put DOWN The Man They Call Bird. Down for the three count daddeh.
The challenge had been made, and just like selling those electrifying tee-shirts it was time to sell some pay-per-views. It was time to "talk 'em into the building" as they say, and a sell a wrestling match.
And nobody was a better salesman than Sexton Love.
"...THAT'S why I did what I did last week darlin'. Thunderbird got lucky in our first match. He got lucky when he knocked Sexton Love out of the World's Title Tournament, and denied this company the CHAMPION it deserves. Thunderbird got lucky, so Sexton Love got even. That's right daddeh. Sexton Love needs to be the FACE of American Wrestling Entertainment. He needs to be the FACE... the BODY... the MIND... and the BALLS of this company! He needs to be the World's Heavyweight Champion! We can't have a man like Thunderbird as the World's Champion. That just doesn't fly daddeh. Thunderbird can't be the face of anything, he HIDES his face behind a mask...
So Birdy baby, here's what I want. I want The Man They Call Love vs. The Man They Call Bird... September 18th... Las Vegas, Nevada... LIVE on pay-per-view... AT SIN CITY SHOWDOWN! That's right daddeh, a SHOWDOWN in the wild west. The City of SIN will become the City of LOVE, and I will paint the town RED with your blood. I will prove that I am a MAN'S MAN, A LADIES'S MAN....and the BETTER MAN!
Because SEX......... SE--
His catchphrase was cut-off by the sound of Thunderbird's music, and the sound of the SAP Center erupting. Thunderbird was here. Fans were on their feet, and chanting the mighty Bird's name. This was the confrontation they wanted to see. This confrontation they had paid to see.
Thunderbird stepped out onto the ramp, his eyes fixed on Sexton Love standing down in the ring. He had a bandage still covering the gash across his hairline, just above the top of his blue mask. It was clear that Thunderbird was still the worse for wear, clear that he was still feeling the effects of last week's vicious attack. Clear to everyone except for Thunderbird.
The proud warrior stood defiant, a microphone in his hand. This was a somewhat strange sight, given the fact that the Bird was a man of few words. He did his talking in the ring, from bell to bell. Last week he was doing just that. He had come so close to advancing in the World Championship Tournament, until Sexton Love got himself involved, along with a steel chair, and screwed him out of the match. The Love Doctor proceeded to perform surgery on Thunderbird's head, with the steel chair has his instrument. Thunderbird had come to San Jose for payback. Indeed he held a microphone in his hand, but he was not here to talk.
He was here to fight.
"Why wait until September 18th?" said Thunderbird, walking towards the ring with ruthless intentions. "If you want a showdown, I'm right HERE."
Sexton readied himself in the ring, dropping his own microphone and raising his fights. The Sexecllence of Sexecution seemed just as ready to square off in San Jose.
"You ain't man enough darlin'," yealled Sexton, hands still raised. "You ain't man enough!"
The Love Doctor was a highly intelligent man, but in this case he turned out to be wrong. Without hesitation, Thunderbird rushed the ring, and without hesitation, Sexton love bailed out on the other side.
"Boooooooooo!"
Thunderbird stood tall in the middle of the ring, ready to fight, but Sexton circled around the perimeter shaking his head. Not tonight. Definitely not tonight.
"PAY-PER-VIEW daddeh... Pay. Per. View." said Sexton, with the camera clearly picking up on his words. "I'll see you in Vegas Birdy..."
Sexton continued to circle around the side of the ring, passing by the same large woman he had insulted a few minutes earlier. Enraged, the hefty fan reached out over the barricade attempting to grab the retreating villain, scratching and clawing at his sleeveless shirt and mullet. Sexton immediately yanked himself away and scampered up the ramp.
"Get your hands off me you funky bitch!"
Segment 2: Sexton P.S. Love Post-Match Promo
Like a piece of plywood, Thunderbird got screwed. Zachary Wake was advancing in the tournament.
Sexton Love climbed back into the ring, the same steel chair in his hands and the same Lakers jersey on his back. The jersey was simulataneously a cheap shot at the Sacramento fans, while at the same time a complete contradiction to Sexton's promo last week in L.A. He didn't plan to mention anything about the jersey, but it's presence just added that nice little extra layer of "fuck you" that the Love Doctor was looking for. But by the time the night was over, he was going to be a "fuck you" tiramisu.
CRACK!
The Lovely One lined up Thunderbird again, tattooing his forehead with a vile chairshot. He turned and started aggressively yelling at the fans, chair still in hand, while the Bird lay face down on the mat. As the proud warrior attempted to somehow push himself up off the canvas it was obvious he was busted open, a long cut at the top of his hairline, just above the mask. Blood was dripping down on the mat as Thunderbird tried to stand. Sexton wheeled around immediately brought the chair crashing down again.
SMACK!
The King of the Road threw down the chair, as the King of the Sky lay motionless from the attack. Sexton climbed on top of his adversary and began raining down short, piston-like punches as the boos from the crowd grew louder and louder. The gash on Thunderbird's head was a bullseye, and the Sexcellence of Sexecution was determined to hit his mark. Blood continued to pour from the wound, running down Thunderbird's mask to his chest. His hair was soaked in crimson red as Sexton finally relented his barrage of blows.
"Gimme a fuckin' mic!" said Sexton, hoping this would not become a trademark phrase. He ripped the microphone from the announcer's hand at ringside, and rolled back into the ring.
"I TOLD YA DADDEH!" yelled Sexton, pausing for a moment as the crowd voiced their displeasure. "I told ya that I needed the gold. I told ya that I NEEDED the World's Heavyweight Title!"
"Boooooooooo!"
He kicked Thunderbird in the head again as the Bird began to sitr.
"I am the Sexcellence of Sexecution!"
Kick.
"The King of the Ring--"
Kick.
"And the KING OF THE ROAD!"
Kick.
"The Sexiest There Is! Sexiest There Was! And SEXIEST THERE EVER WILL BE!"
Kick. Kick. Kick.
At this point the blood was really flowing, and Thunderbird's entire chest was drenched. He looked like he had undergone some sort of bizarre baptismal ritual. Sexton couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. The Bird's outfit wasn't doing him any favors either.
"...But you STOLE it from me darlin'. You stole the World's Heavyweight Championship belt when you stole that match last week. You're a THIEF daddeh, and I can't let that crime go unpunished. No, no, no. NO WAY darlin'."
Sexton paused for a moment, relishing in the heat of the moment.
"I'm the PIPER WITH THE PIPE..." said Sexton, pointing to his crotch. "...And EVERYBODY PAYS."
"Booooooooo! Fuck you Sexton! Get the fuck outta here!"
"...I'm the man with the plan, the man with the POWER, too sweet to be sour, too hot to handle, and too COLD TO HOLD. I am the judge... jury... and SEXECUTIONER!"
In truth, Sexton didn't expect Thunderbird to be bleeding so badly, but there wasn't much that could be done about it now. Besides, it had given him an idea. A pretty messed up idea.
He walked over to the corner and picked up Thunderbird's Native American headdress. Last week, he had tore up one of the Bird's headdresses in their match, to great effect, and he had something similar in mind for tonight.
"Birdy baby, I bet you thought when you stole that match last week, you were heading UP in the world. I bet you thought you were FLYIN' straight to the top darlin'. Straight to the Tournament Finals, and straight to the World's Heavyweight Title..."
He tore off a single feather from the headdress, and threw it down on Thunderbird's limp and lifeless body.
"Well daddeh I just clipped you're wings and brought you crashing down to Earth... And mark my words, when it's all said and done, I will put you SIX FEET UNDER!"
Again Sexton tore at Thunderbird's ceremonial garb, ripping off more feathers and throwing them down as his adversary, repeatedly kicking Thunderbird's carcas as he did so. Some fans in the crowd had stopped their relentless booing and jeering, and as the camera panned around the arena they could be seen with their hands over their mouths, looking on almost in shock at what was transpiring. Sexton Love was known for his over-the-top gimmick and promo style, but fans had seemingly forgotten just how vicious he could be. The level of violence and disrespect being shown towards Thunderbird, a legitimate hero as far as professional wrestlers were concerned, served as a reminder.
"I am a man's man and a ladies' man...but make no mistake about it, I'm a BAD MAN darlin'. A bad, bad man. And after I'm done with you, after your price has been paid, I'm taking the World's Heavyweight Title. Because SEX....... SELLS!"
The Man They Call Love stood tall over The Man They Call Bird, as the torn up feathers from Thunderbird's head dress were now stuck to the blood all over his body. Blood that had been spilled by Sexton P.S. Love.
Thunderbird had been tarred and feathered, with his own blood as the tar.
Sexton P.S. Love
The Man They Call Love walked through the doors of the Golden 1 Center in Sacramento. He didn't enter through the front doors of course, but rather through the back (as was his specialty), where some marks had already started hanging around hoping to catch a glimpse of the wrestlers. As The Lovely One arrived, a few of the fans started yelling at him for autographs but Sexton politely flipped them off while continuing to knaw on an old piece of cajun chicken form the night before. Ragin' cajun chicken. In a few hours he would probably have the hot shits. Hopefully not while he was out in the ring.
Nobody wanted to see that again.
Last week, Sexton had main evented the show in a tournamnet match against Thunderbird. Originally, the ol' Birdie was gonna beat him with his finisher clean in the middle, but after evaluating the tournament bracket Sexton had lobbied for the roll-up finish they went with instead. It wasn't that Sexton had a problem putting over T-Bird's big move, it was that he wanted to do it at the right time. When it really meant something. He saw that Thunderbird was scheduled to be eliminated from the tournament in the next round, and this presented an opportunity.
Rather than simply having two talented wrestlers languishing without direction, The Love Machine pitched an angle to the head office for a long term feud between himself and the Bird. It seemed like a natural fit and would give both characters a clear direction. Sexton simply refused to go through the same motions week after week, and as a result was consistently involved in storylines and feuds. Sexton had no doubt in his mind that even with the ongoing World Title tournament, he could turn this feud with Thunderbird into the hottest thing on the show.
Things were really going to heat up tonight, as Sexton was going to cost Thunderbird his next tournament match and cut a scathing promo afterwards. He knew he didn't require that much TV time in order to be effective, but on this night he was particularly glad he wouldn't be out in the ring for a prolonged period due to the aforementioned cajun chicken currently gestating in his murky depths.
Sexton made his wall through the halls backstage, saying hello to some of the crew. On his way to the locker room he bumped into Owen Sparks, a young up-and-coming wrestler he had taken a liking to.
@JamesMuddy
"Sparky baby!" said Sexton, clapping the young wrestler on his shoulder. "I saw your match last week at TV daddeh, and my heart damn near stopped! You were high spottin', hot shottin', elbow droppin', you did it ALL daddeh!"
In fairness, Owen's match probably had very little to do with any kind of cadiac problems Sexton may or may not have experienced. Nevertheless, he continued.
"You had a couple of close calls darlin', but by God you're one hell off an athlete. Glad to see they gave you the nod."
It was true, Sexton was pleased to see Owen Sparks get the win, if only because it meant they might be pushing a new babyface for the Sexcellence of Sexecution to eventually work with down the line.
"Just remember daddeh, you don't need to do too much out there. Save all that crazy stuff for the right moment, and make it feel special. If you do it at the right time, it'll mean so much more. Remember, it's just like kickin' it with a fat broad..."
Sexton took another bite off his chicken.
"...She might was to get all crazy, want you to throw her around. And by God daddeh, you might WANT to do it too. You might even be ABLE to do it. You just can't do it ALL THE TIME. It's dangerous. Your body can't take it. Eventually you'll crash and burn, daddeh. Even worse, you do it too damn much and she'll get bored of it, ya feel me? Make it a special occassion, darlin'. Make it special. Then when you put that big bitch in the air at the right moment...woooooo daddeh, then you know you did it right."
Satisfied with the wisdom of his analogy, Sexton clapped Owen on the shoulder again. He then noticed another wrestler down at the end of the hall. It was Oscar O'Sullivan, the "One and Only." Oscar also had a match last week.
@Silver Carrot
"Oscar baby!," Sexton yelled, getting the Canadian's attention. "Saw your match last week too. That's a great finisher you got there, daddeh. That crucifix cutter..."
Sexton turned and began to walk away.
"Can't wait to kick out of it."
He started laughing to himself, and nearly choked to death on a piece of chicken.
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