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Match Buffalo Jones vs. Dorian Declan - Revival


Shiniest Wizard!
Jun 28, 2010
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Ranked Exhibition

Singles Match
Buffalo Jones vs. "Father" Dorian Declan



Remember that role-plays are to be received no later than 11:59 PM EST on Thursday, Jan 30th, 2020.

Hoss Delgado

Aug 3, 2011
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That last page turned is a perfect excuse to write a whole new book.

The scene opens upon a long dusty road, flanked on both sides by grassy fields closed in with barbed wire fences. Dawn has just broke as the sun peeks up over a range of mountains on the horizon. The sound of footsteps can be heard as the camera pans down from an elevated view. At the bottom right hand corner of the screen, text appears that reads:

Jones Residence
Manassas, Colorado, USA
January 12, 2020

As the camera continues to pan down, we see from the back a man with a long blonde ponytail, wearing a flannel shirt and light blue jeans, walking up the road. We cut to a view of a mailbox, which reads JONES and has a street address on it. A calloused hand opens the mailbox, reaches in and pulls out a stack of envelopes and brochures. He shuffles through the mail, which is mostly junk. He stops on a white envelope which is addressed

XWF Headquarters
516 South Anderson Street
Los Angeles, CA 90033

The camera flashes from the envelope to the face of a man. Buffalo Jones. A 20 year veteran of the wrestling industry who was announced as one of XWF's earliest signings. Despite never competing at a high level in his long and turbulent career, he is a well known name among wrestling circles, particularly due to a series a tragedies he has been linked to or involved in throughout his life and career. He sports a thick mustache with a five o'clock shadow underneath. His face is a bit wrinkled and unmistakably riddled with abrasions and faint scarring. He is stoic as he looks down at the envelope.

Flash to the interior of Jones' home. The camera appears to be sitting on a kitchen table. There's morning light gleaming through the blinds in the kitchen which reveals a dustiness in the air. Footsteps can be heard once again until Buffalo Jones enters the frame, takes a seat at the table with a steaming hot cup of coffee in hand and picks up the pile of mail again. He takes a look at the letter from the XWF, opens it up and begins to read.

Dear Mr. Jones,

We would like to congratulate you on your signing with the XWF.

We have become very familiar with your work and you come highly recommended from our peers in the industry. Though we are aware of your previous brushes with the law in various countries, as well as the rumors surrounding certain incidents, we have done our due diligence and concluded that there is no strong evidence against you that should complicate this working relationship. Going forward, all we ask is that you remain completely open and honest with us, and we will do the same for you. Considering we are taking a calculated risk on you, we hope that you will do right by us.

But enough of that.

This is a fresh start for both you and the XWF. The slate is clean and the future is ours to create!

Our big premiere will be taking place February 20 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and we have decided to match you up against Dorian Declan in one of our marquee matches! It is a great opportunity for the two of you to go out and show what you can do and we have no doubt both of you men will bring your very best! A win in this match up could really open up some doors for you going forward.

We have attached the contract for this fight, with the terms of payment just as we had discussed. If you agree to taking this match, simply sign the contract and send it back to us. We will then arrange for your boarding and travel for the show.

We look forward to working with you and if you have any questions at all, feel free to reach out to us.

All the best,
XWF Management

Jones finishes reading the note when his dog trots up to him. A border collie wearing a blue bandana around his neck. Jones puts the letter down and starts petting his dog who is jumping up in his lap.

Jones: Yep. Looks like it's 'bout time for me to hit the road again, Bruiser.

The dog gently whimpers.

Jones: I know, I know. Well, I think things will be different this time around. This is a clean slate for me, y’know? Not to mention, this is the biggest break I’ve ever been given. Lord knows it’s been a long time coming. Hell, I was starting to think it would never happen.

Jones stands up from the wooden chair and walks over to where the sink is. He looks out the window, holding onto his coffee cup. He takes a sip.

Jones: If only I knew then what I know now…

The camera pans over to look out the window. It’s a large open field with a backdrop of snow capped mountains. Suddenly this scene melts away.

The big wide-open field is replaced by a much smaller backyard. Snow is on the ground but the sun is out. In the background we can see a nice, quaint two story home, painted an almost pastel shade of blue. The house has seen better days but it has a charm about it. There’s a small brown tool shed off to the left, held shut by an axe slid through the door handles. Suddenly we flash to a chunk of wood being split in half by an axe. As it falls down to the damp ground, another log is set up and them promptly split in half just the same. At the bottom left hand corner of the screen reads:

Jones’ Childhood Home
Cripple Creek, Colorado, USA
February 2, 1999

The camera zooms out to show a young Buffalo Jones chopping firewood for his home. He is a much fresher face here. Clean shaven with a buzz cut. No scars or sores on his face. He wears a pair of ragged blue jeans with oil stains on them as well as a Colorado Buffaloes Football hoodie. Sweat is dripping off his hairline as he tirelessly splits the logs in front of him. Not far behind him you can see a four wheeler with a wagon hitched to it, overflowing with wood. Suddenly there’s a voice in the distance.

Voice: Hey now, I know you miss hitting those running backs but those poor logs didn’t do nothing to you.

Jones looks up and it’s his neighbor, Mr. Brooks, shouting to him from over the fence.

Jones: Heh. Yeah, I guess you’re right.

Jones doesn’t seem too interested in making chitchat with his friendly neighbor. Brooks appears to be middle aged with salt and pepper haired gelled into a nice, neat style. He's wearing a Hawaiian button-up shirt, despite it seemingly being near freezing outside. He has the most oblivious smile on his face.

Mr. Brooks: So how is the post-football life treating you, Chris? You miss it?

Jones: Uhhh… yeah.

Mr. Brooks nods as he looks off in the distance for a bit. Jones stands there awkwardly for a minute, expecting Mr. Brooks to continue. After a minute of waiting and no further comments from his neighbor, Jones pulls the axe up over his head. Just at that moment, Mr. Brooks chimes back in cutting Jones off mid-swing.

Mr. Brooks: I know it probably sucks, kid. But it’s a valuable life lesson too. Hate to say it, but life doesn’t always go as you expect. I know mine sure didn’t. But look at me now, you know? I thought I was going to be an astronaut. Or a movie star. Now I sell insurance.

Jones looks at Mr. Brooks with a blank expression. Mr. Brooks again looking very aloof as Jones waits to see if he’s done. Jones again goes to lift the axe up when Mr. Brooks chimes in.

Mr. Brooks: But you know, I love my life. It’s not the life I expected to have but that’s the thing… when I was young, I never knew that one day I would have my beautiful wife. Or my loving kids. I sure wouldn’t be living here in Cripple Creek. I wouldn’t be waking up at 5 in the morning, having a hot cup of coffee and heading to the river to fish. When I was young, I didn’t know that these were the things that would bring me joy. You see what I’m saying?

Jones: Yeah, I think I get the idea. But look, I’m fine. Really.

Mr. Brooks smiles, somewhat cunningly, as he looks at Jones.

Mr. Brooks: Alright, if you say so.

Jones: …Alright.

Jones goes to swing the axe once again, but again… Mr. Brooks interjects.

Mr. Brooks: Listen, Chris. I know how you’re feeling. You say you’re fine and maybe you think you’re fine. But I see you moping around the house. You still haven’t gotten a job. You wear that Buffs jacket every day.

Jones: It’s my only hoodie!

Mr. Brooks: Point being, you’re in a rut. And I know it’s hard for you to admit that because you’ve always been so driven. I remember you were nine years old, out here doing pull ups on that tree. And I’m not saying you don’t have a reason to be deflated. And I’m not saying you need to “snap out of it”. But… what I am saying… is that this isn’t the end of the line for you.

Jones looks bewildered.

Jones: Uh, yeah, I know that.

Mr. Brooks: So football is off the table for you. Big deal. You’re going to bounce back. You’re only 20 years old for God's sake!

Finally, Jones has to raise his voice as his neighbor continues to wear on his nerves.

Jones: I get it! I’m not sad, man! I mean… I’m disappointed, yeah. But it is what it is. I got hurt. My football career is over. I’ll never get it back. You think I don’t know that? I dedicated more than half of my life to being the best football player I could be and now it’s over. I am well aware of this! I’m going to be fine though.

Mr. Brooks throws his hands up, as if he’s a little shocked at the sudden eruption from Jones.

Mr. Brooks: Hey man, I know it’s going to be fine! That’s what I’m telling you.

Jones shakes his head and finally chops a few pieces of wood. Mr. Brooks just stands there for a minute fiddling with a scab on his arm.

Mr. Brooks: So, what are you going to do?

Jones drops the axe and looks at Mr. Brooks, frustrated.

Jones: What!?

Mr. Brooks: I mean, your football career is done. What are you going to do?

Jones: I’m going to move on because I’m really tired of everyone talking about it! I’m sick of people feeling sorry for me and asking about my future. Why is everyone acting like I need to find a career already? I’m 20 years old. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. It’s not the end of the world is it?

Mr. Brooks: No, it’s not. You’re right. But just so you know, the only reason people ask is because they worry about you.

Jones shakes his head and scoffs.

Jones: Worry about me? Why would people be worried about me?

Mr. Brooks: Why would people be worried about you? Chris, we’ve all watched you grow up. We care about you. Hell, I mean, a lot of us knew your dad. He was a great guy. So we just want what’s best for you.

Jones: Oh my God. You know, that’s great. I’m glad that everyone is so concerned about me. I’m especially glad that you all have this vested interest in me because you knew my dad. I don’t even know my fucking dad. And for all intents and purposes, my dad barely knew me. So what’s it really matter?

Mr. Brooks: No need to be so bleek, kid.

Jones: No? Because it seems like I can’t do anything without someone throwing it in my face that my dad is dead. I never had a father. His death was tragic. But I was a week old when it happened so it’s not like I’m traumatized about it or something. It’s like everyone wants me to be sad about it for some reason. I’m not sad though, and I don’t think I should be. Just like with this fucking concussion… I’m not sad about it! It’s just a thing that happened. I’ll be alright.

Mr. Brooks nods.

Mr. Brooks: Well tell me this, Chris… Do you believe your dad was a good man?

Jones: Well, that’s what people tell me. I haven’t heard much bad about him.

Mr. Brooks: Do you think you would have liked to have a relationship with him?

Jones pauses for a bit and sighs.

Jones: I mean… sure. Of course if I had the option, I probably would have liked for him to be around when I was growing up. I know my mom sure would have.

Mr. Brooks: Right. Well, I don’t know how much thought you’ve given it, but have you considered a career in pro wrestling? Personally I think you’re perfectly cut out for it. And in a way, maybe it can be a way for you to get close to your dad, you know?

There’s another silence as Jones looks down, contemplating the suggestion.

Mr. Brooks: Ahhh. I can tell. You want to do it, don’t you?

Jones cracks a small smile.

Jones: It’s not like I haven’t thought about it, I mean… it’s basically in my blood.

Mr. Brooks: That it is.

Jones: But at the same time, I’m not really sure how my mom would feel about it, you know? Then again, she didn’t love the idea of me going to college for football at first either. I think she’s taking my leaving the football team harder than I am.

Mr. Brooks: Well look, there’s a lot of potential for someone as young and hungry as you are in the business. Or at least, that’s what I hear. And even if it doesn’t work out for you, quite frankly, I’d rather have you back hitting the weights and chasing a dream than hanging around your house eating Fritos all day. And you know what they say: as soon as one door closes, another one opens.

This gets a slight chuckle out of Jones. He looks at Mr. Brookes and nods his head. Mr. Brookes points at him with a finger gun and walks back towards his house. Jones nods with a smile on his face, considering the possibility of a wrestling career.

He lugs a log up and lifts the axe. Just as he swings the axe downward, we suddenly flash back to 2020, and Jones is swinging a sledgehammer down onto a big tractor tire.

“Smoke Rising” by Brown Bird plays in the background. He’s dripping in sweat as he repeatedly lifts the hammer and brings it down as hard as he can. He’s wearing a grey Colorado Buffaloes shirt with the sleeves cut off, drenched in sweat. His dog lies in the background, watching him go to work. As the camera zooms in, we can see a pleased smile on the face of Buffalo Jones before the scene quickly cuts to black...


God Save The Queen!
Jun 10, 2019
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The sounds of a man voice can be heard in a whisper barley enough to make a noise the voice gets louder until we open up to a church.

???: Sweet Mother bring to me the flock of the lost your damned, your forgotten children down to me I will baptism in the blood of the martyr the leader of your Salvation and I will make them whole once again.

I will give them a purpose a cause to fight to save to announce your name give me your strength your wisdom so I may speak in your name and do what must be done.

These words spoken echo throughout a old church its pews filled with people in black robes with a creepy logo on the back in blood with arrows pointing to the front of the church the man that was speaking is older looking to be in his late 40's his eyes a cold sinister grey his hair slicked back black with hints of grey ant two scars across his face from either side of his mouth. He steps out from the podium and he begins to speak again with a slight Irish and southern mix as he goes.

Father Declan: Oh yes you can feel it in the air tonight my children, my flock that tonight you will be heard.

You will be given a voice that your pain your suffering you feel will run through me your vessel your martyr as I make amends for the way you have been treated.

Your voices will be heard at XWF for every strike that will come from my hand will be full of the rage the misery that you have been feeling.

I am the right hand of your injustice I will show no mercy.

For my name is Father Dorian Declan and I will have your will done. You see there are very wicked men and women in this world and as many of you know this to be true you watch on the TV you hear on the radio's you see through the web that every day these people do something sinister and every time the punishment is less and less.

No more!

He yells as the flock begin to say Amen.

No more will we sit idly by as they allow you to be held down. This is your time.

You have risen!

Now my flock the first of many of men and women who will fall by your hand is Buffalo Jones!

Buffalo Jones is a man that is being given a second chance when you haven't even be given your first.

Now shall you allow that?

No you will not.

Now you will give me your strength to be that right hand of injustice to play judge, jury and fulfill the last rites as from my hands will be the hands of this flock as we watch the eyes turn white and the body go cold.

Buffalo Jones is a man that as wicked man no mistake about it and his pride will be accounted for like the sins of the fallen city of Babylon like the apple that Eve ate from the Garden of Eden.

You see that pride that is a deadly sin and whose actions must pay the price just as so many have done before one by one they will fall.

They again say Amen as the flock recites the words from the beginning about Sweet Mother. Father Dorian Declan pulls out a blade and one by one they walk up to him he speaks chanting the Sweet Mother song as they cut their hands wiping the blood across his body. He kneels down his eyes closed swaying as the final person in the flock does so.

This is your will. I will make this right by you.


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