Post by Frank Windsor on Jul 13, 2019 15:44:23 GMT -5
A lot had changed since Frank had been around the others in Riot Star Wrestling. Last time he’d been around the company he’d gone a bit weird on them, all hair and big coats; those were weird times. The Bastards were an institution in its own rights as between the three of them two of them had held the RSW World Heavyweight Championship belt and they had all been a part of the greatest tag team the world of professional wrestling had ever seen.
Some think that Frank Windsor was just a foul mouthed buffoon that just threw out expletives just to get him more air time but his wrestling skills won people over. Since he’d had a falling out with management the Bastards had taken different paths but they couldn’t not be back for the fiftieth edition of Anarchy, could they?
Had it really been that long in the making? Frank Windsor, the man that still held the GCW Hybrid Championship belt would want to make an impact at Anarchy 50 but what would they do to make this show the greatest ever? Bring back Morcant Davis? What about Garmr? Hell maybe even Chris Gibson come back for his twentieth time? Anyway how could they beat what they have done before?
Frank had thought maybe they could come back and take on someone like Shane Mitchell and whichever of the twenty seven factions he had been a part of but none of them would return his calls especially after what he’d done to the last guy that got into his business. So the boys had to go back to look at the roster to see who’d be worthy of facing the greatest wrestlers on the goddamn planet. And what was the outcome to this? They would face each other in some match which management were hoping would finally break them up.
Three Bastards enter the squared circle that THEY built and burn the place to the ground. Frank Windsor, Billy Fowler and Rob Riot will not be taken out so easily as they think as they are the greatest unit you’ll ever set your eyes on and they know that some of you have looked at a LOT of units.
There was a lot on the line at Anarchy Fifty; this was the biggest match in their careers. It was bigger than any of the World Championship matches that Riot and Windsor had been a part of in this company, more important that the tag championships the three of them had held their; hell it was even bigger than the GCW Hybrid belt that Frank still held onto in his home. It was bigger than pride as the loser had to do something that none of them wanted to do. They had to buy the drinks for a session after the show once they got back to the United Kingdoms. Now that was big.
They sat there outside of the modest family apartment in Southampton, England. The street was not deathly quiet. The dark that usually drove everyone indoors has lured an alarming number of people outside onto the street. A couple necked on a bench near the corner. An old man walked his dog. A group of teenagers played kick about with squashed red bull cans in front of locked up garages across the street, disrupting the quiet with laughter and the clank of aluminium hitting asphalt. Their Black Hummer is parked outside of this humble abode.
Having exited the driver’s door of the Hummer Frank Windsor surveyed the street with a look of disdain upon his face. He was sans his designer sunglasses and was dressed casually in a t-shirt with his beautiful face upon it and jeans. He went over to the front door and knocked. From the passenger side appeared Rob Riot, his partner from the Bastards. He was dressed in his usual get up.
“Is this really it?” Rob asked his accent evident. “Is this where Billy Fowler ended up? Really?”
“Why are we here Rob?” Frank asked. “We have a match to prepare for. Should I not be getting prepared for that? Why do we need Fowler to come out of retirement for this? Has he been seen since he was doing his commentary? Fuck, he was more over when he was channelling the fucking Crow than when he was on the fucking mic.”
“I know,” Rob said with disdain. “That little shit bored the shit out of me……literally sometimes but that’s a different story. He is nothing but what they call a putz Frank; what we need for Anarchy 50 is the three of us to have this match; not two of us BUT the three of us.”
The door slowly opened and there he stands, Frank and Rob’s stable mate Billy Fowler, his clothes were an England football jersey and shorts as you would expect from him if you knew him. He looked at Frank and Rob with a blank look not giving anything away, no emotion, nothing for a few seconds before he realised who they were. He had not seen or heard anything from them in a while.
“Frank?” he asked. “Rob? What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
Frank doesn't even blink at his Fowler’s emotional outburst.
"Rob?” he asked. “I thought you were up in Manchester writing your memoirs. What are you doing here? And Frank, they let you out I see."
Smiling Frank looked up and down the street nervously before abruptly turning back to his stable mate and looked directly into his eyes.
"Not fucking going to invite us in Billy?" he asked. “Nothing fucking changes it seems. I cannot believe that after all this fucking time you still have not forgiven me Fowler? We’re here on serious fucking business; you should have had the call right?”
Billy turned sideways letting Frank access to his house. Frank laughed and pushed past his stable mate into the living room, Rob followed close behind. Frank looked around at the sparsely decorated room, very neat. He picked up a picture frame, showing Billy as a child and his family on some holiday in Blackpool having fun, nodding he put it back onto the mantel piece.
“Shouldn’t it be us that should be pissed off?” Frank said. “With the way the Bastards self-imploded after you lost us the tag belt’s was fucking pathetic but we’re here to offer a fucking olive branch ain’t we.”
Billy stood behind him as Rob sat down and tried to make himself at home on the sofa exhaling wearily. She removed a vanilla envelope and put it on top of her knees. Frank seemed a little nervous as he was in the presence of the only guys that was not intimidated by Frank fucking Windsor and that made him wary. It did not scare him as it was a different kind of relationship than with his fellow wrestlers.
Billy looked at Rob first before finally he turned to his Frank, "So Frank I can understand Rob being here to talk me around but you? Why would you think that anything you say could cause me to sign on the dotted line?"
Rob smiled, “This is true Billy, but it was my idea. We need to showcase ALL of our talents at the fiftieth Anarchy. We are still the Bastards, right?”
“Oh?” Billy asked. “So you are wanting something like our little scrap at Wrestlewars?”
“Wrestlewars?” Rob asked. “Those were the days, especially when we didn’t have all the other boys in the locker room begging us for a push on the card right? But I won that one if memory serves me correctly.”
Laughing out loud Frank nodded. "Come on Rob, we need to fucking move on. And you talk about memory? Fuck, I thought on some website that you’d taken way to many fucking head shots that your bird was having to wipe your fucking ass because of it......."
He shook his head.
“They should have sent you the invitation bro,” Frank said. “It’s not as if you’ve got anything better to do right? What’s a fucking payday like this going to do for your fucking bank balance? Your baby’s momma probably would sign your fucking ass up for this straight away.”
Billy smiled ever so slightly, "I know I should do it bro, but coming back from an injury plus being saddled with that commentary job has knocked my confidence a bit so not sure if I can still hang with someone of Rob’s talents."
Frank looked very angry, his face turned red. His nostrils flared up and he jumped up and moved nose to nose with Fowler.
“What have I said to you before about fucking with me?” Frank said. “How can you really fucking say that with me in the fucking room? And to make you fucking thoughts null and fucking void, did you ever win the World fucking Championship? NO! You faked your way into the RSW Hall of Fame, right? By the way how’s the baby momma? Not got a fucking puncture yet?”
“For real?” Billy said. “Really? Are you going to play that fucking card? You want to go with the personal jibes on my sex life? Weren’t you the one with the dick plex finisher? Fuck you Frank.”
Frank is taken aback slightly, laughed and then sat back down.
“So you do seem to keep up on my fucking business,” Frank said. “When you fucking bypass the wit and fucking irony you believe you have and strike with fucking blatant hypocrisy. Most people think I am a loud mouthed, self-absorbed, materialistic fame hungry whore. And that’s mainly just my fucking mother. The rest of the fucking UK hates how I turned into the Man and its fucking justified. Do you not see it Billy? If you do not join this match it proves you are in this pathetic state of moronic-ness.”
“It is not all about you Frank,” Billy said.
“Can you not feel it? It’s in the fucking air,” Frank said. “You need to get with the fucking program. I know when we were performing together we always had fun especially Rob, even though he’s like an emotionless brick most of the fucking times. We’re like something from Game of Thrones without the incest. Hell, when you were doing the whole fucking Goth gimmick we could have called you……………”
“The Night King?” Billy interrupted.
“No fucktard,” Frank continued. “More like that stunty dwarf fucker.”
“This negativity will not help you out in the long run Frank,” said Billy. “You need to realise that this is not the World of Windsor anymore. But I will never take you fucking serious when you want to be some camp bitch. You are much better than that, with your designer shell suits and sunglasses roaming the world thinking you’re better than the rest of us that was the real Frank Windsor. Not the fur coat, camp Windsor.”
“Oh you are going there Fowler?” Frank asked. “I am the ONLY undefeated GCW Hybrid champion at RSW. And I have to show what it’s like to be the big dog when the three of us crack fucking heads in the squared circle.”
Frank looked at Rob as if he needed some kind of acknowledgement.
“Have you not seen me fucking beating all the best that the fucking wrestling industry has to throw at me?” he asked. “I am a fucking wrestling Icon these days. With what was going on with fucking RSW with those crazy clowns earlier this year it’s was going to be fucking fun times.”
"Your point?" Billy asked. “Are you going to still be running around in your fucking budgie smugglers rolling around on the ground with us trying to get out of our shadows. And don’t get me started on you Riot.”
Frank took a flask of vodka from the pocket of his jeans and unscrewed the cap. He took a swig and then offered Fowler a mercy toast. “Bigot.”
“Maybe we should just agree to disagree,” Billy said. “I did have good times with you guys most of the times but real life outside of the wrestling business needed to be looked at. I had to look at my future in this world especially when I had an epiphany when I was on the shelf injured.”
Frank laughed, “Injured? Wasn’t it a sprain right wrist or something? Fucking hell Billy, you need to get over your fucking self and climb back into the squared circle and go out on your own fucking terms.”
Billy smiled. “Oh what made you so jaded Frank? Why are you like this? We tried to make your wrestling career a good one. When myself and Rob took you under our wings we thought you’d be a superstar and were we wrong? Why did you turn out this way?”
“Way?” Frank inquired. “Really? If you think that I wasn’t broken because of what you and Rob did then it is you that is deluded. Come on Billy, think about it. You are fucking pathetic and this was a mistake.”
He got up and headed for the front door.
Rob stood up and looked at Billy in the face, “So you going to be there or not?”
Some think that Frank Windsor was just a foul mouthed buffoon that just threw out expletives just to get him more air time but his wrestling skills won people over. Since he’d had a falling out with management the Bastards had taken different paths but they couldn’t not be back for the fiftieth edition of Anarchy, could they?
Had it really been that long in the making? Frank Windsor, the man that still held the GCW Hybrid Championship belt would want to make an impact at Anarchy 50 but what would they do to make this show the greatest ever? Bring back Morcant Davis? What about Garmr? Hell maybe even Chris Gibson come back for his twentieth time? Anyway how could they beat what they have done before?
Frank had thought maybe they could come back and take on someone like Shane Mitchell and whichever of the twenty seven factions he had been a part of but none of them would return his calls especially after what he’d done to the last guy that got into his business. So the boys had to go back to look at the roster to see who’d be worthy of facing the greatest wrestlers on the goddamn planet. And what was the outcome to this? They would face each other in some match which management were hoping would finally break them up.
Three Bastards enter the squared circle that THEY built and burn the place to the ground. Frank Windsor, Billy Fowler and Rob Riot will not be taken out so easily as they think as they are the greatest unit you’ll ever set your eyes on and they know that some of you have looked at a LOT of units.
There was a lot on the line at Anarchy Fifty; this was the biggest match in their careers. It was bigger than any of the World Championship matches that Riot and Windsor had been a part of in this company, more important that the tag championships the three of them had held their; hell it was even bigger than the GCW Hybrid belt that Frank still held onto in his home. It was bigger than pride as the loser had to do something that none of them wanted to do. They had to buy the drinks for a session after the show once they got back to the United Kingdoms. Now that was big.
They sat there outside of the modest family apartment in Southampton, England. The street was not deathly quiet. The dark that usually drove everyone indoors has lured an alarming number of people outside onto the street. A couple necked on a bench near the corner. An old man walked his dog. A group of teenagers played kick about with squashed red bull cans in front of locked up garages across the street, disrupting the quiet with laughter and the clank of aluminium hitting asphalt. Their Black Hummer is parked outside of this humble abode.
Having exited the driver’s door of the Hummer Frank Windsor surveyed the street with a look of disdain upon his face. He was sans his designer sunglasses and was dressed casually in a t-shirt with his beautiful face upon it and jeans. He went over to the front door and knocked. From the passenger side appeared Rob Riot, his partner from the Bastards. He was dressed in his usual get up.
“Is this really it?” Rob asked his accent evident. “Is this where Billy Fowler ended up? Really?”
“Why are we here Rob?” Frank asked. “We have a match to prepare for. Should I not be getting prepared for that? Why do we need Fowler to come out of retirement for this? Has he been seen since he was doing his commentary? Fuck, he was more over when he was channelling the fucking Crow than when he was on the fucking mic.”
“I know,” Rob said with disdain. “That little shit bored the shit out of me……literally sometimes but that’s a different story. He is nothing but what they call a putz Frank; what we need for Anarchy 50 is the three of us to have this match; not two of us BUT the three of us.”
The door slowly opened and there he stands, Frank and Rob’s stable mate Billy Fowler, his clothes were an England football jersey and shorts as you would expect from him if you knew him. He looked at Frank and Rob with a blank look not giving anything away, no emotion, nothing for a few seconds before he realised who they were. He had not seen or heard anything from them in a while.
“Frank?” he asked. “Rob? What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
Frank doesn't even blink at his Fowler’s emotional outburst.
"Rob?” he asked. “I thought you were up in Manchester writing your memoirs. What are you doing here? And Frank, they let you out I see."
Smiling Frank looked up and down the street nervously before abruptly turning back to his stable mate and looked directly into his eyes.
"Not fucking going to invite us in Billy?" he asked. “Nothing fucking changes it seems. I cannot believe that after all this fucking time you still have not forgiven me Fowler? We’re here on serious fucking business; you should have had the call right?”
Billy turned sideways letting Frank access to his house. Frank laughed and pushed past his stable mate into the living room, Rob followed close behind. Frank looked around at the sparsely decorated room, very neat. He picked up a picture frame, showing Billy as a child and his family on some holiday in Blackpool having fun, nodding he put it back onto the mantel piece.
“Shouldn’t it be us that should be pissed off?” Frank said. “With the way the Bastards self-imploded after you lost us the tag belt’s was fucking pathetic but we’re here to offer a fucking olive branch ain’t we.”
Billy stood behind him as Rob sat down and tried to make himself at home on the sofa exhaling wearily. She removed a vanilla envelope and put it on top of her knees. Frank seemed a little nervous as he was in the presence of the only guys that was not intimidated by Frank fucking Windsor and that made him wary. It did not scare him as it was a different kind of relationship than with his fellow wrestlers.
Billy looked at Rob first before finally he turned to his Frank, "So Frank I can understand Rob being here to talk me around but you? Why would you think that anything you say could cause me to sign on the dotted line?"
Rob smiled, “This is true Billy, but it was my idea. We need to showcase ALL of our talents at the fiftieth Anarchy. We are still the Bastards, right?”
“Oh?” Billy asked. “So you are wanting something like our little scrap at Wrestlewars?”
“Wrestlewars?” Rob asked. “Those were the days, especially when we didn’t have all the other boys in the locker room begging us for a push on the card right? But I won that one if memory serves me correctly.”
Laughing out loud Frank nodded. "Come on Rob, we need to fucking move on. And you talk about memory? Fuck, I thought on some website that you’d taken way to many fucking head shots that your bird was having to wipe your fucking ass because of it......."
He shook his head.
“They should have sent you the invitation bro,” Frank said. “It’s not as if you’ve got anything better to do right? What’s a fucking payday like this going to do for your fucking bank balance? Your baby’s momma probably would sign your fucking ass up for this straight away.”
Billy smiled ever so slightly, "I know I should do it bro, but coming back from an injury plus being saddled with that commentary job has knocked my confidence a bit so not sure if I can still hang with someone of Rob’s talents."
Frank looked very angry, his face turned red. His nostrils flared up and he jumped up and moved nose to nose with Fowler.
“What have I said to you before about fucking with me?” Frank said. “How can you really fucking say that with me in the fucking room? And to make you fucking thoughts null and fucking void, did you ever win the World fucking Championship? NO! You faked your way into the RSW Hall of Fame, right? By the way how’s the baby momma? Not got a fucking puncture yet?”
“For real?” Billy said. “Really? Are you going to play that fucking card? You want to go with the personal jibes on my sex life? Weren’t you the one with the dick plex finisher? Fuck you Frank.”
Frank is taken aback slightly, laughed and then sat back down.
“So you do seem to keep up on my fucking business,” Frank said. “When you fucking bypass the wit and fucking irony you believe you have and strike with fucking blatant hypocrisy. Most people think I am a loud mouthed, self-absorbed, materialistic fame hungry whore. And that’s mainly just my fucking mother. The rest of the fucking UK hates how I turned into the Man and its fucking justified. Do you not see it Billy? If you do not join this match it proves you are in this pathetic state of moronic-ness.”
“It is not all about you Frank,” Billy said.
“Can you not feel it? It’s in the fucking air,” Frank said. “You need to get with the fucking program. I know when we were performing together we always had fun especially Rob, even though he’s like an emotionless brick most of the fucking times. We’re like something from Game of Thrones without the incest. Hell, when you were doing the whole fucking Goth gimmick we could have called you……………”
“The Night King?” Billy interrupted.
“No fucktard,” Frank continued. “More like that stunty dwarf fucker.”
“This negativity will not help you out in the long run Frank,” said Billy. “You need to realise that this is not the World of Windsor anymore. But I will never take you fucking serious when you want to be some camp bitch. You are much better than that, with your designer shell suits and sunglasses roaming the world thinking you’re better than the rest of us that was the real Frank Windsor. Not the fur coat, camp Windsor.”
“Oh you are going there Fowler?” Frank asked. “I am the ONLY undefeated GCW Hybrid champion at RSW. And I have to show what it’s like to be the big dog when the three of us crack fucking heads in the squared circle.”
Frank looked at Rob as if he needed some kind of acknowledgement.
“Have you not seen me fucking beating all the best that the fucking wrestling industry has to throw at me?” he asked. “I am a fucking wrestling Icon these days. With what was going on with fucking RSW with those crazy clowns earlier this year it’s was going to be fucking fun times.”
"Your point?" Billy asked. “Are you going to still be running around in your fucking budgie smugglers rolling around on the ground with us trying to get out of our shadows. And don’t get me started on you Riot.”
Frank took a flask of vodka from the pocket of his jeans and unscrewed the cap. He took a swig and then offered Fowler a mercy toast. “Bigot.”
“Maybe we should just agree to disagree,” Billy said. “I did have good times with you guys most of the times but real life outside of the wrestling business needed to be looked at. I had to look at my future in this world especially when I had an epiphany when I was on the shelf injured.”
Frank laughed, “Injured? Wasn’t it a sprain right wrist or something? Fucking hell Billy, you need to get over your fucking self and climb back into the squared circle and go out on your own fucking terms.”
Billy smiled. “Oh what made you so jaded Frank? Why are you like this? We tried to make your wrestling career a good one. When myself and Rob took you under our wings we thought you’d be a superstar and were we wrong? Why did you turn out this way?”
“Way?” Frank inquired. “Really? If you think that I wasn’t broken because of what you and Rob did then it is you that is deluded. Come on Billy, think about it. You are fucking pathetic and this was a mistake.”
He got up and headed for the front door.
Rob stood up and looked at Billy in the face, “So you going to be there or not?”
