Latest Roleplays
Pre-production
The door to the studio opens, and Brian Bare stands up from his chair immediately to greet the entrants.
MJF: Keep your seat, dude. What’s the haps?
Former LSD Champion MJ Flair walks in, bag over her shoulder, taller, skinnier, bearded man behind her. She shakes Brian’s hand and looks at the setup – it’s a High Octane Wrestling: March to Glory banner, a single camera, and a boom mic attached to the ceiling out of view.
MJF: So… we’re here ta do a hype spot for the L-B-I and Refueled, yeah?
Brian Bare: You got it, Ms. Flair. Whenever you’re ready.
MJ drops her bag. She takes off her jacket and hands it to the man behind her, revealing a sleeveless ‘HIGH OCTANE FLAIR’ T-Shirt and muscular arms.
MJF: You need me in my gear, or am I good?
Beyond the acceptable shirt, MJ is wearing a knee – length flowing skirt and purple Chuck Taylor low tops. Brian looks her over and weighs things out in his mind.
Brian Bare: Well… Mr. Woodson requested everyone be filmed in their ring gear. It might be best if you were in gear, but in reality you’re likely not going to be filmed below the waist so you should be fine. My only request is that you tape your wrists like you do in the ring.
Even as he dismisses his request, MJ waves him off.
MJF: Naah man, you’re good. You need gear, you get gear.
Brian looks at her one-man-entourage, and he seems lost for words as MJ drops to her knees to pull her gear out of her bag. She looks up, and she laughs.
MJF: Dude, don’t sweat. This is my boyfriend, Kevin. He’s my ride, he’s my dude, he’s promised to keep his mouth shut once the camera’s rollin’.
Kevin laughs. Brian Bare looks skeptical at MJ, but shares a hearty handshake with the bearded man. All the while, MJ produces a pair of thick, dark leggings, knee pads, and an unmarked spray bottle.
Kevin: What’s the spray?
MJF: Febreeze.
Kevin: Oh?
MJF: That’s right, man, you don’t do sports. Trust me, no matter how often you wash your shit it’s not enough, and you’ll need to get a spray. My tights ain’t too bad but my knee pads and elbow pads occasionally smell like Fritos.
Beat.
Kevin: Oh.
Beat.
Kevin: Well.
Beat.
Kevin: That’s horrifying.
Brian Bare: Whenever you’re ready, we’re ready.
Take One
FADEIN on MJ Flair, hands and wrists taped, ‘HIGH OCTANE FLAIR’ shirt prominently displayed, standing in front of the HOW March to Glory banner. Do you really need more details?
“Hi, I’m MJ Flair and you’re watching High Octane Television. Don’t touch that dial, coming up next is Refueled Sixteen, featuring the continuation of the Lee Best Invitational – twenty of your favorites fighting for a shot at Cecilworth Farthington. This week, your main event of the night is gonna see me step into the ring with High Octane’s favorite son, eight-time former World Champion Mike Best.”
She smirks.
“This is a match that’s been built up and hyped for well over a year on social media, ended up on everyone’s radar when I joined up for War Games, on the tip’a everyone’s tongue when Mike stepped back into the ring…”
Pause.
“And it’ll be a reality at Refueled Sixteen.”
MJ winks at the camera.
“High Octane Wrestling. Feel the burn.”
FADE TO BLACK
Post-Production
Brian Bare: Great stuff, Ms. Flair. One more.
MJ stands in front of the banner, deadpan face towards Bare.
MJF: One more of the what now?
Brian Bare: I’d like another take.
MJF: Did I miss something?
Brian Bare: I don’t believe so.
MJF: Flub a line?
Brian Bare: Nope.
MJF: Boogers hangin’ outta my nose?
Kevin laughs at this, Brian just looks confused.
Brian Bare: Mr. Woodson just wants a second take is all, so he can choose his favorite.
MJ closes her eyes, focused on her breathing.
Kevin: Dude. Cut the losses.
Brian locks eyes with him.
Brian Bare: I seem to remember you were here to drive and keep your mouth shut?
That does it. Kevin holds up his hands and steps back, while MJ shakes her head quietly.
MJF: Fine, man. You want another take, start it up. Let’s do this shit.
Take 2
FADEIN on MJ Flair, hands and wrists taped, ‘HIGH OCTANE FLAIR’ shirt prominently displayed, standing in front of the HOW March to Glory banner. She’s holding her phone in her hands.
“Hi, I’m Mariella Sue Flair, so named by Mike Best to give me proper motivation to kick the shit outta him at High Octane Wrestling Refueled Sixteen. You might be wondering, what is a Mary Sue?”
She glances at her phone.
“Urban Dictionary says, essentially, a fictional character that warps the world around her to display her perfection, nothing is real except for her, and any character flaws are just stale traits.”
MJ holds her phone to her chest, affection a faux-emotional look on her face.
“Mike! I never knew you found me so perfect that the world warps around me. It’s almost like I created a title and gave it to myself to feel less inferior to my partners! Wait–”
Click the phone.
“It’s almost like I had another company CGI me into a championship win as a final ‘fuck you’ to a former employee.”
She holds it up to the camera, showing a grainy but legible still from CWF Summer Games 2018, the moment Eric Dane rolled MJ Flair up to win the vacant CWF World Title, only Mike Best’s face is badly photoshopped over Dane’s. Dropping the phone, she tilts her head and regards the camera with a look that seems equal parts concerned and disappointed parent.
“I mean, you’ve been biting off Eric Dane’s career for the past decade, it makes sense you’d go full cosplay sooner or later–”
Take 3
FADEIN on MJ Flair, hands and wrists taped, ‘HIGH OCTANE FLAIR’ shirt prominently displayed, standing in front of the HOW March to Glory banner. She’s holding an unlabeled aerosol can.
“High Octane Wrestling, Refueled Sixteen is is sponsored in part by…”
And she holds it up, prominently displaying the can.
“Mike’s Best Disinfectant Spray. It’s presented in four unique scents: Nepotism, Ego, Regret, and Shame.”
Pause.
“Shame is currently on back-order.”
She gives the camera a million dollar smile.
“Mike’s Best Disinfectant: For when you just can’t get that Fartypants odor off ya face.”
Take 4
“Seriously, Mike. Is that a goatee or a shitstain?”
Take 5
“Do you have metal chafe marks on your ass, too?”
Take 6
FADEIN on MJ Flair, hands and wrists taped, ‘HIGH OCTANE FLAIR’ shirt prominently displayed, standing in front of the HOW March To Glory banner.
“It’s been a bumpy ride back so far, but I ain’t worried. If the LBI ain’t my jam this year, there’s always next. I know very well that next year ain’t promised to any of us, but compared to Mike, Ryan, Harmen, and LT, I’m at the opposite end’a my career. One of all’a them are retired this time next year, it’ll be surprising but not shocking.”
“Me? Who retires at twenty one?”
“Is there tension right now with me and the others? Sure. But it happens. And it’s healthy ta have at times. I don’t regret feelin’ the way I did about my guys, but I certainly didn’t wanna hurt anyone’s feelings.”
“Sorry, Ryan.”
“So what do we do then? Take it out on Mike, obvs.”
“And maybe you’ll get lucky, Mike. Maybe I’ll lose control of myself and get disqualified.”
She smirks.
“Somehow I don’t think you’ll refer to that as you ‘not really winning’ the match.”
Take 7
FADEIN on MJ Flair, hands and wrists taped, ‘HIGH OCTANE FLAIR’ shirt prominently displayed, standing in front of the HOW March To Glory banner.
“Hi, I’m MJ Flair.”
She steps out of frame and pulls a tall, skinny, bearded man in with her.
“This is my boyfriend, Kevin.”
Kevin waves nervously at the camera, and as soon as MJ lets go of him, he discreetly steps off camera.
“He puts up with my crap and is somehow still with me despite the fact that I clearly don’t love him as much as someone else here in High Octane.”
“Somehow, despite not appearing on television, I’m pretty sure Mike Best has said his name more times in the past six months than I have.”
She arches an eyebrow.
“You can’t have him, Mike. I mean, I get it – he’s cute and he’s a great cook, but I saw him first. I ain’t no jealous bitch but you try to snapchat him one more time and we’re gonna scrap – and it won’t be in no wrestling ring.”
“Between you not bein’ able to keep my boyfriend or my dad outta your mouth, this is the most blatant attempt at tryinna Single White Female someone I’ve ever seen one wrestler do to another. Seriously, Mike. You want a boyfriend like mine, find one yourself. You pissed off at me because my dad actually loves me back, try being a less shitty kid. What’s next, gonna try on my clothes and go through the pockets? Newsflash, asshole – I’m a girl, my clothes don’t have pockets.”
Take 8
FADEIN on MJ Flair, hands and wrists taped, ‘HIGH OCTANE FLAIR’ shirt prominently displayed, standing in front of the HOW March To Glory banner. She’s looking off camera.
“Seriously? No, I ain’t gonna tone it down. Fuckin’ asshole says I bring up my dad too much? He brings up my personal life more than I ever have. Besides, my dad’s never had a stitch’a ownership in any company I’ve ever drawn a paycheck from. We’ve never had a single moment together on television. And the fucking–”
Air quotes.
“Son of God”
Raised eyebrows.
“Is gonna talk shit? Fuck that shit, dude. You want another one, we’ll do another one.”
She looks straight into the camera.
“Ya hit the button too soon, man.”
Static.
Take 9
FADEIN on MJ Flair, hands and wrists taped, ‘HIGH OCTANE FLAIR’ shirt prominently displayed, standing in front of the HOW March To Glory banner.
“So this is the Group of Death, and it’s living up to its name. The other brackets, someone can surprise ya, but you can sorta pick out a favorite. Not here. Everyone’s got at least one win at this point.”
“Except you. And me. And that’s about to change.”
“I know ya put this group together ta prove a point, Mike. But it wasn’t as simple as ‘I wanna make sure a maximum of one member of the Industry can make it to the semifinals,’ now, was it? You could’a done that with the four of us and Max Kael. Or Crash Rodriguez. Or Halitosis.”
“Nah. You wanted ta run away with this.”
She shrugs.
“Can your ego handle any other option? Talkin’ as much shit as you’ve been doin’ – beating LT at Iconic with weight bearing leverage and a fistful’a tights – you have a desperation to win.”
“And it’s fuckin’ glorious.”
“Maybe you’re ‘bout ta go three and one. Maybe you’re ‘bout ta go four and out. The possibilities are still pretty wide open. But stumblin’ right out the gate, Mike?”
“How’d that taste?”
“But there’s another side to it, Mike. And it didn’t dawn on me until Dan Ryan read me to hell and back, with one simple word.”
“Walkabout.”
“I was dragged from this company, kicking and screaming, because the people that love me knew I needed it. And they were right.”
“What about Michael Lee Best? Does anyone love you? Does anyone even like you?”
“In the time that I’ve known you existed, you’ve been a wrestler, or a manager, or an owner, or a trainer. Do you do anything that isn’t directly tied to the professional wrestling industry?”
“Do you live, or do you just exist?”
“Maybe that’s why you’re so obsessed with my personal life: because you don’t have one. Maybe that’s why you let your ego put you in the Group’a Death. Because without all’a this? You’re as shallow as a puddle’a paint and as interesting as watchin’ it dry.”
“The irony is that you asked for this… not from a desperation to win, but from ego. Ego ain’t necessarily bad, Mike. Ego is like fire – it can warm you up or it can burn your ass.”
“Gettin’ toasty, isn’t it?”
FADE TO BLACK
Take 10
FADEIN on MJ Flair, hands and wrists taped, ‘HIGH OCTANE FLAIR’ shirt prominently displayed, standing in front of the HOW March to Glory banner. Do you really need more details?
“Hi, I’m MJ Flair and you’re watching High Octane Television. Don’t touch that dial, coming up next is Refueled Sixteen, featuring the continuation of the Lee Best Invitational – twenty of your favorites fighting for a shot at Cecilworth Farthington. This week, your main event of the night is gonna see me step into the ring with High Octane’s favorite son, eight-time former World Champion Mike Best.”
She smirks.
“This is a match that’s been built up and hyped for well over a year on social media, ended up on everyone’s radar when I joined up for War Games, on the tip’a everyone’s tongue when Mike stepped back into the ring…”
Pause.
“And it’ll be a reality at Refueled Sixteen.”
MJ winks at the camera.
“High Octane Wrestling. Feel the burn.”
FADE TO BLACK
That’s a wrap
MJF: So are we good?
Brian Bare’s face is resting in his hands, but he slowly looks up, almost in disbelief.
Brian Bare: Uhhwhat?
He’d become wall – eyed at the rapid fire read on Mike Best, slowly losing hope of getting anything else done today, but she just delivered a beat – for – beat recreation. She has the audacity to look impatient, as if she’s not the one who just wasted an hour of his day.
MJF: Are we done, man?
Brian Bare: Um- ye- w—Yeah, we’re good. Thank you.
With a simple nod of the head, MJ steps off camera while unwrapping her athletic tape.
Brian Bare: Ms. Flair?
MJF: Yo?
Brian Bare: Is that Fritos thing real?
She smirks.
MJF: Ask ta’ sniff someone at Refueled after they get outta the ring, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.
Cut.