AMA Sawyer Xavier v. Jean-Louis Gagnon - Flag Match

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Smart Marx

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Flag Match
Sawyer Xavier v. Jean-Louis Gagnon with Bobby Tremblay

Deadlines
Remember that role-plays are to be received no later than 11:59 PM EST on Wednesday, November 10th, 2021.
 

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Once a Punk always a Punk

Old Montreal, Vieux-Port
Sometime in the 00's




The loud horns and eccentric ramblings of Taktika blend in with rolling grind of metal bearing inside of a skateboard wheel gliding on the worn asphalt buzzing like a thousand mosquitoes as fish-eye lens follows a young Johnny Tremblay carving up the streets of the old-port area of Montreal. Cheaply assembled oversized headphones sit over a two-inch lime green brush mohawk, his face mired with a multitude of piercings and his ears are gauged. A sad looking black band shirt hangs off his neck under a cut off denim vest plastered with pins and patches depicting everything from anti-authority propaganda to ironic pop icons with their eyes burnt out. He bends his knees and swivels his hips as he dances rapidly down the road, his white and green Osiris sneakers crisscrossing along the board, cutting in front of cars and bicycles alike while ignoring their shouts and horns and occasionally looking back with a devious grin and flipping them the bird.

Johnny kicks the back of the board and slides his left foot up as he ollies up onto the curb and power slides to stop. He snaps his board up and slides it onto his back behind his backpack and leans on a lampshade, lighting a cigarette. Before long, some young ruffians from the neighborhood walk up to him and we observe an exchange of a few baggies and a stack of bill, which Johnny tucks into his jeans pocket. Some time passes and a few different exchanges happen without a hitch.

“Not a dreadful day so far” he thought, counting the bills he has made in the last few hours selling dimebags of homegrown Mary Jane.

“Hey le trout-de-cul!” (HEY ASSHOLE!) cuts across the corner and breaks his concentration immediately.
“ Jtai dit dpas vendre ici tabarnak!” (I told you never to sell here dammit)

An older, scuzzier looking man in his mid 20s, accosted by 4 other equally repulsive looking thugs are crossing the road and making a b-line for Johnny.

“SHIT!”

Johnny fumbles to put the cash back in his pocket and grabs his skateboard from behind him. The gang members are now running towards him shouting French expletives. He jumps down on his board and take off down a side alley in hopes to get some distance between him and his assailants.

Johnny grins cockily as he gains some speed but his delight is soon turned to despair as the upcoming exit onto the street is suddenly blocked by 3 more men with pipes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

The men blocking the exit laugh together and bang their pipes on their free hand in anticipation. Instead of stopping, however, Johnny gets lower and powers his right legs down to gain even more speed, blasting at breakneck velocity towards them.

“What the hell is that maniac doing?”

One of the men charges him with a pipe wailing high above his head. Johnny winks at the idiot and kicks off his board and launches right into the dude’s potato basket. To add insult to injury, Johnny knees him in the face after kicking off the alley wall and lands casually back on the board, what a guy! The foolish gangster falls to the ground grabbing crotch and face in unison. Johnny continues towards the two remaining jerks blocking his path who know make themselves wider and get ready to strike him.

At the very last moment Johnny once again jumps off his board, this time in a side cross body across both stunned gentlemen. It does not go as well or smooth as he has hoped and he tumbles to the ground with them and his board rolls out of sight.

“Well, guess we’re gonna dance aren’t we boys!”

He superkicks one of them in the face as they try to reach their pipe, but eats a blow to the lower back from behind for his troubles. Johnny does a 180 and barely back steps a follow up swing aimed at his head and trips over the man he just kicked and knocked out.

The remaining gangster swings his pipe down at him now for the finish blow...but Johnny reaches behind a dumpster where his board had rolled off too and bring it in front of his face to block it.

Kip up by Johnny, hits the pipe away to the side as this guy is relentlessly swinging at him now. Another swing but Johnny wraps his arms around his, skateboard still in both of his. He jumps and twists his body and counters with a tornado DDT onto the concrete, knocking him out.

“Idiots” Johnny laughs as he picks their wallet

But this joy lasts but a moment, having already forgotten that the original group of thugs was still on his tail.

----
A few hours later
Johnny’s family’s apartment


Johnny has a black eye as is stirring a giant pot of sauce while a few younger kids run around with the television blaring cartoons. A stack on past due notice bills is on the counter, with Johnny crumpled bills besides it, some now stained in blood. He grunts occasionally stirring as the pain in his shoulder from his earlier beating still stings. On a nearby couch, an older woman is passed out face down on the pillows, with a large empty vodka bottle spilled onto the floor.

A knock at the door breaks him out of the zone.

“They better not be back for more...” he thought.

He makes his way to the door and looks through the peephole with his right hand on a protective baseball bat for these exact conundrums. He doesn’t recognize the sharp dressed man on the other side, but he certainly doesn’t look dangerous. He opens the door.

“Listen man, I don’t want to buy whatever you’re selling. And if you’re looking for the skateboarding pickpocket you have got the wrong guy, check near the pier, I hear the emptied ones go there.”

He goes to close the door but the man puts his arms to block it and walks in anyways.

The man is tall, muscular, and bald, his head so shiny you may think it’s greased. He has a large diamond encrusted gold watch on his hand which is holding a leather briefcase. He adjusts his large pink aviator glasses and smiles ear to ear as he hands out a card with his left hand.

“Bobby Tremblay, Esquire. Kid it looks like you need to make some real money here, look at this dump! And I’ve seen and heard you can handle yourself. How would you like to work for me?”

Johnny scoffs

“I sell what I grow I’m not so desperate to work for cartels, or whatever other sick shit you may be into. Not interested.”

Bobby no sells him and sets the briefcase on the table and opens it, revealing more money that he had ever seen.

“What do you know about professional wrestling?”


---
Current Day
Bobby Tremblay’s Office

Johnny and Bobby cheers as their plan to get Don Marshall back into killer instinct mode is successful. Bobby takes another sip and clears his throat.

“Now there is one more thing we must talk about, you’re going to represent us in a flag match.”

“What’s there to talk about? It’s Sawyer, dude sucks, can't even pick a name!”

Johnny puts his feet up on the desk and laughs. Bobby scoffs and slowly pushes his feet off.

“Johnny, I’m not messing around and I don’t have time for this crap right now. I need this done and I need to know I can count on you. I have a lot of irons in the fire right now, and if we want our plans to come to fruition, if we want to be respected as the TOP faction in AMA, Canada NEEDS to stand tall at Rush Hour.

“Or what, you going to kick me out like those dorks over at the Handjob Agency did to their dead weight? You saying I’m not up to the task Bobby?”

“The Northern Touch is nothing like those delusional ingrates at The Hamad Agency. And you know I value your services above everyone else Johnny, that’s why I’m asking this as a personal favor.”

“Fiiiiiiiiiiine”

Johnny yawns and overexaggerates a stretch

“I’ll make sure I beat the ever-living hell out of that little puke Sawyer and I’ll shove that American flag straight his candy ass! - he looks over at the camera and mouths out DON’T SUE ME DWAYNE

“Sawyer you’re a lazy, skinny-fat, entitled Wal-Mart shopping inbred piece of garbage, and I’m kicking your ass to the curb come Rush Hour. The Northern Touch has made a habit of making an example of you and this time won’t be any different. It doesn’t matter if it’s a flag match, a ladder match, a jabroni on a pole match, NO! At the end of the night, Le Magnifique will plant his flag on your soil and our big beautiful maple leaf will takes it’s rightful place, on top of America."


Johnny is now standing and pretending to fuck America doggy style.

"And just like every Yankee skanks I’ve had the displeasure of slipping into, you’ll all say the same thing they did when they shivered on their back."

Johnny switches to a fake moaning woman's voice, crude...

"OOOOH! OOOOH! OOOH! OOOO CANADA!"

He wipes off imaginary sweat off his brow and pretends to zip up.

"Damn that was spicy, give me some love Bobby!”

Bobby lets out a huge belly laugh and obliges Le Fantastique with The Northern Touch’s patented hand taunt.






-fin
 
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The first shot is that of a scenery shot. A van parked outside of a local BBQ Restaurant in whatever town it was driven to. Living inside of it was none other than our resident flippy boy, Sawyer Xavier. He could be seen leaning back in the driver’s seat, watching something on the little TV he installed into the van. He seems to be rewatching Road To The Gold. Rewatching every little piece of detail from his time on the show.

He rewinded if he felt he missed something. He wanted to make sure everything was the way he thought. On his 30th or so rewatch, he turned the TV Off. He leaned back in the seat, letting the cold air of the AC blast against his face. As the time ticked by, Sawyer turned back on the TV, instead opting to have background noise on.

Sawyer would find himself listening to the sounds of a Shopping Channel as another car drives into the parking lot. After around 20 seconds, Sawyer heard a knock on a van. He perked up into his seat and exited the car, greeting the man who knocked on it.

“Hello Mr. Brilliant.” “Please, just call me George. Mr. is too formal for my liking. Anyways, this is where we’re meeting? I’d expect a bit more “fancy” style.” “I don’t know if you knew this, but I’m from the south. BBQ is one of the best things to bond over.” The pair made their way over to the entrance of the BBQ Restaurant, where the smell of smoked meat and sweet sauce filled the air.

As the pair entered the restaurant, they were greeted by an old woman. She wore an eye patch over her right eye and her posture was poor-ish. “Glenda! How’s Robert?” “He’s fine. Cranky as always, snapped his leg tryna fix a hole in the roof.” “Ouchhh. Anyways, I’d like a table for two. Decided to show my pal George the best there is.”

“Can do sweetheart. The usual for you?” Sawyer nodded his head as George spoke up “I’ll decide in a bit.” Glenda nodded as Sawyer and George entered the building. Playing through the speakers was country music. George looked a bit out of place as Sawyer led him to a table in the corner. “You wanted to talk partnership? At least have some fun! “It’s not my definition of fun. Are all Southern Restaurants like this?” “Depends on where. We have soul food, traditional, all that stuff.”

“Anyways, onto business. What you did out there last week was amazing! Even if you lost your match, the fans went home remembering your name.” “Do you think I sent a message?” “Eh?” “Do you think I made Brandon Roberts and his bandit of Canadian Freaks realize what they’re getting into?” “I’d say so. I mean, think about it. This kid who has never say never energy who won’t stop until he stands tall over his energy. I’m sure your message has been sent.”

“That’s what I thought. I could have done it better though. If only I didn’t let them get into my head, I would have beat Norman!” Sawyer would almost slam his fist into the table, but stopped. “Sorry about that. Got a bit worked up.” “It’s fine, I understand. It’s gotta be frustrating. But don’t let it get to your head.” Sawyer leaned back “Was it stupid of me to say I didn’t need help?” “I’d say so. There’s some things you can’t do alone!” “I guess you’re right.”

Glenda came over to the table with a plate of ribs “Here ya go X. Give me a holler if you need something else.” “Why does she still call you X?” “Kinda what my names been dumbed down to here. She’s a nice lady. I talk to her all the time.” Sawyer took a bite out of a rib.

“So, kiddo. What’s your gameplan for the match. That’s what is important right now.”It’s kinda simple. I’ll go out there, beat Jean-Louis until he can’t stand anymore. I don’t care how much of my body I cripple. I don’t care if I get lashed in the head with a chair, piledrived onto concrete, thrown through glass. I will not quit until I can say I beat Jean-Louis Gagnon.”

“You really hate these guys that much? Canadians aren’t that bad, if I do say so myself.” “I forgot you’re Canadian, but that doesn’t matter. Ever since they arrived in AMA, they’ve made my world a living hell. And I won’t stop at anything until I get my hands on all of them.”That mentality is gonna get you hurt. You should quit before you get too far ahead.”

That word. Quit. A word that sparked something in him. Something that irked him. “Quit? You think I will quit?! If I quit now, all I’ve done up to this point is useless! If I were to quit, they would win. They win when I give up. And If I don’t give up, I can beat them. I can make Brandon Roberts, Don Marshall, and Jean-Louis Gagnon pay for what they’ve done to me and everyone else.”

“Because once I say ‘I Quit’, I’ll be nothing. A soulless carcass. Do you understand what happens to people who quit? They decay away. They become obscure. Nobody remembers a quitter!”
George looked a bit speechless, but nodded in acknowledgement.

“I get where you are coming from. I didn’t know you had that fire in you. But, prove me wrong. I’ll be watching you. And I hope you succeed.” “Yeah. By the way, you should try a rib. Heaven on earth.” Sawyer remarked as the promo ended.