Rumble Reactions, Syndicate style!
Dec 20, 2020 11:20:43 GMT -5
Dave D-Flipz, Dylan, and 3 more like this
Post by Justin on Dec 20, 2020 11:20:43 GMT -5
After the Rumble.
After the melee.
But not too far after.
As always, NPW welcomed all journalistic outlets to participate in the post-show media scrum. Some of the boys and girls tended to ignore these little jaunts, and they did so to the detriment of their own earning potential. Everybody knows that all of the best hot takes came straight off the cuff while the happenings of the show were still fresh in everyone’s mind.
Some wrestlers thrived in this environment.
Others did not.
The media room in the Powerade Centre had a table set up in front of an NPW and XHF branded backdrop. Various media types with cameras and microphones and some wielding little more than a smartphone had been awaiting the arrival of the new North American Double Crown Champion for several minutes when finally a couple of peons made their way out and started loading down the table with celebratory beer, whisky, and a tub of Stacker XXXXL pre-workout mix.
More time passed.
Finally, there was a commotion as Eric Dane led his Syndicate into the room. The trio were all smiles and high-fives and pats on the back as the night had been a one-hundred percent success and a celebration was obviously in order! But first, this last piece of business would have to be tended to.
Cameras flashed as Scott Steel and Jesse Jamester took seats behind the table. Jamester placed the Halliburton case full of cash on the table in front of him before grabbing two bottles of Moosehead Lager from the table in front of him. Steel snatched his bucket of powder and was just about to grab a handful before Jamester handed him an opened Mooshead. Steel studied the bottle for a moment before pouring it’s contents into his bucket of (allegedly) perfectly natural supplements.
Eric Dane, the only Champion in NPW that matters, made a big to-do of displaying the jewel-encrusted North American Double-Crown title belt on the table for all to enjoy. His smile was a mile wide, gleaming just as brightly as the plates on that shiny new fifteen pounds of gold and platinum. Finally he poured himself a hefty glass of Lock Stock and Barrel 16 Year Rye and took his seat between his two enforcers.
Everyone in the room began firing questions at the newly christened Syndicate. The Only Star slowly sipped at his whiskey before absently nodding at a kid in the front row.
“Congratulations on your win-” The kid is cut off by Dane.
“Yeah, yeah,” Eric said. “Don’t waste time kissing my ass; Everybody knows I’m great. Next question.”
Hands shot up as the kid slunk back into the anonymity of the crowd. The Champ sipped and nodded again, this time to a saucy young redhead with a smartphone.
“Don’t you think you’re being just a tad smug for a guy who had his two goons do all his dirty work for the entire Rumble and needed Brass Knux to put down Lord Dominicus?”
The Only Star’s nose wrinkled up in disdain.
“I’m gonna say… No. Next?”
Eric craned his neck searching for another person to call on, but yonder saucy young redhead had no intention of disappearing back into the aether like the kid before her. She persevered.
“And what about Timeless?”
The Antagonist rolled his eyes at the question. Jesse Jamester almost did a spit-take, and Scott Steel picked that particular moment to interject. Jumping to his feet and nearly overturning the table, if it were not for the efforts of Dane and Jamester, The mountain took what could be called a generous chug of whatever had congealed in the bucket of STACKSWOL XXL.
Steel leveled what in other situations would be an accusatory finger, but in his case carried the implicit threat of a human-powered space shot.
“IFTIMELESSHASAPROBLEMIMGONNAPOTATOHIMSOHARDTHATHISANCESTORSCHOOSENOTTOMATE.IWILLDESTROYNEMOPROTECTTHEPUPPOSANDLITTLEFORESTCREATURES”
Time, being a construct of the imagination, was lost for a moment as everyone in the room tried nervously not to laugh at Scott Steel, but honestly couldn’t for the life of any of them understand anything that fell out of his mouth. The Champ was used to Scott’s nonsense though, and was undeterred. Dane managed to soothe his big man back down into his seat.
“Alex Turner is exactly what he claims to be,” Eric’s lip curled in distaste. “Timeless.”
“That’s not cryptic at all,” the redhead said. “Care to elaborate?”
By sheer force of determination Dane put a smile on his face. Beside him Scott Steel had found a red solo cup to scoop out his Stacker/Moosehead paste and Jamester was content to continue drinking beer and being awesome.
“Timeless, as in, not worth mine. Next question.”
Saucy-Q tries to keep on keepin’ on, but this would be where Jesse Jamester finally chimed in on the proceedings.
“Put some respect on the next thing you say! You’re talking to the rightful Double Crown Champion, who took this company by the balls tonight, and with the powers that be,” Jesse indicated Steel and himself with thumbs, “Northern Pro wrestling is relevant again! Yeah, the line to thank us starts over there Miss.”
Jesse paused, nodding at Scott as though he just told him something with his eyebrows, and took another swig from the beer in front of him.
“Dane came and delivered, which is a lot more than anyone else can say in tonight’s event. The Syndicate had a plan, and we executed, and you’re all witnessing history tonight!” Jesse exclaimed beforefinishing his beer after and grabbing another.
In a narrative shift, Steel had regained his feet. Still fuming about the eaten dog, The Mountain started gesticulating wildly in forms more reminiscent of pre-evolutionary animism. Jamester did his best to hold the man back. No such luck. Scott one-handed his entire table, pulling cords and microphones along with it, offering it skyward to whatever god Steel prays to (likely Crom, Natural supplements(allegedly), or some combination of the two), before returning it to earth at what is best described as YEET velocity, ruining even more NPW equipment before returning to his seat. Eric Dane flatly ignored the expected outburst, Jamester patted the even bigger man on the back, as blond curls shook in aftershocks. NPW Staff, prepped for this eventuality, quickly and efficiently put new mics in front of Dane and Jamester as though nothing had happened. In an effort to move things along, XHF familiar face Angela Dewitt stepped up from her spot at the back of the assembled mass of media.
“BREAKING NEWS!”
What? Everybody who’s anybody has a gimmick.
“Angela Dewitt here with the freshly crowned North American Double Crown Champion, and maybe more importantly the next challenger to Dylan Black’s X*Crown Championship, Eric Dane!”
The Champ rolled his eyes.
“Who let the pre-recorded message in here?”
This drew a few stifled chuckles.
“Seriously,” Eric chided. “What do you want?”
“Just a word about your upcoming Main Event match at NPW Does New Years! Dylan Black has already gone on record saying-”
The Only Star cut her off.
“Let me just stop you right there, dollface. Dylan Black isn’t the champion in Northern Pro Wrestling, Eric Dane is. Now, that red strap that he carries around, the X*Crown, that’s probably about the most prestigious championship that I’ll have challenged for since two-thousand and five. Outside of this one, that is.” He nodded toward the Double Crown. “And I know aaaaaaall about that big vault and those twenty-one championships that the X*Crown represents, and I’ve gotta say…”
A pregnant pause is followed by a shrug and Eric’s forced smile levels up into a smirk.
“I’m impressed.”
A collective gasp rumbled through the room.
“Yeah, yeah, I might be an asshole, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have an eye for talent. He might have looked like a doorknob with two left elbows out there in the Rumble tonight, but the guy did what fuckwits like Maverick and Anthony Caffery couldn’t, he took the ball and he ran with it. I don’t think I’ve got to convince anybody that Dylan’s run with the X*Crown has been anything short of legendary, hall of fame worthy even…”
Another pause.
“But then he came to NPW, and he ran up against me.”
More hands shot up, Eric ignored them.
He nodded and stood, grabbed his belt and downed his glass of whisky. Steel and Jamester followed suit, Jesse grabbing an armload of beers as well as the cool quarter-mil that Dane had won alongside the Double Crown title belt and Steel clutched at his beer bucket and funnelled the rest of it before throwing it at some hapless nerd in the third row.
“Now I’ve got a lot to say about Dylan Black, but now is neither the time nor the place. Right now, tonight, it’s all about this,” he pats the belt on his shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my friends and I are due for a night out on the town and Toronto’s just a hop, skip, and a jump down the highway!”
Steel shouted one last line. But being that Steel had gone jackknifed semi mad, what came out was the equivalent of a binary blast transmission from a black hole merger. He stared, eyes wider than dinner plates, as Reporters scrambled to write down, whatever the in the lord’s actual fuck had just been said.
The Only Star patted his enforcer on the back, leading him away from the table before anything or anyone else was powerbombed at the Powerade Centre.
“Now if you’ll all excuse us…”
And with that, the Syndicate has left the building.
After the melee.
But not too far after.
As always, NPW welcomed all journalistic outlets to participate in the post-show media scrum. Some of the boys and girls tended to ignore these little jaunts, and they did so to the detriment of their own earning potential. Everybody knows that all of the best hot takes came straight off the cuff while the happenings of the show were still fresh in everyone’s mind.
Some wrestlers thrived in this environment.
Others did not.
The media room in the Powerade Centre had a table set up in front of an NPW and XHF branded backdrop. Various media types with cameras and microphones and some wielding little more than a smartphone had been awaiting the arrival of the new North American Double Crown Champion for several minutes when finally a couple of peons made their way out and started loading down the table with celebratory beer, whisky, and a tub of Stacker XXXXL pre-workout mix.
More time passed.
Finally, there was a commotion as Eric Dane led his Syndicate into the room. The trio were all smiles and high-fives and pats on the back as the night had been a one-hundred percent success and a celebration was obviously in order! But first, this last piece of business would have to be tended to.
Cameras flashed as Scott Steel and Jesse Jamester took seats behind the table. Jamester placed the Halliburton case full of cash on the table in front of him before grabbing two bottles of Moosehead Lager from the table in front of him. Steel snatched his bucket of powder and was just about to grab a handful before Jamester handed him an opened Mooshead. Steel studied the bottle for a moment before pouring it’s contents into his bucket of (allegedly) perfectly natural supplements.
Eric Dane, the only Champion in NPW that matters, made a big to-do of displaying the jewel-encrusted North American Double-Crown title belt on the table for all to enjoy. His smile was a mile wide, gleaming just as brightly as the plates on that shiny new fifteen pounds of gold and platinum. Finally he poured himself a hefty glass of Lock Stock and Barrel 16 Year Rye and took his seat between his two enforcers.
Everyone in the room began firing questions at the newly christened Syndicate. The Only Star slowly sipped at his whiskey before absently nodding at a kid in the front row.
“Congratulations on your win-” The kid is cut off by Dane.
“Yeah, yeah,” Eric said. “Don’t waste time kissing my ass; Everybody knows I’m great. Next question.”
Hands shot up as the kid slunk back into the anonymity of the crowd. The Champ sipped and nodded again, this time to a saucy young redhead with a smartphone.
“Don’t you think you’re being just a tad smug for a guy who had his two goons do all his dirty work for the entire Rumble and needed Brass Knux to put down Lord Dominicus?”
The Only Star’s nose wrinkled up in disdain.
“I’m gonna say… No. Next?”
Eric craned his neck searching for another person to call on, but yonder saucy young redhead had no intention of disappearing back into the aether like the kid before her. She persevered.
“And what about Timeless?”
The Antagonist rolled his eyes at the question. Jesse Jamester almost did a spit-take, and Scott Steel picked that particular moment to interject. Jumping to his feet and nearly overturning the table, if it were not for the efforts of Dane and Jamester, The mountain took what could be called a generous chug of whatever had congealed in the bucket of STACKSWOL XXL.
Steel leveled what in other situations would be an accusatory finger, but in his case carried the implicit threat of a human-powered space shot.
“IFTIMELESSHASAPROBLEMIMGONNAPOTATOHIMSOHARDTHATHISANCESTORSCHOOSENOTTOMATE.IWILLDESTROYNEMOPROTECTTHEPUPPOSANDLITTLEFORESTCREATURES”
Time, being a construct of the imagination, was lost for a moment as everyone in the room tried nervously not to laugh at Scott Steel, but honestly couldn’t for the life of any of them understand anything that fell out of his mouth. The Champ was used to Scott’s nonsense though, and was undeterred. Dane managed to soothe his big man back down into his seat.
“Alex Turner is exactly what he claims to be,” Eric’s lip curled in distaste. “Timeless.”
“That’s not cryptic at all,” the redhead said. “Care to elaborate?”
By sheer force of determination Dane put a smile on his face. Beside him Scott Steel had found a red solo cup to scoop out his Stacker/Moosehead paste and Jamester was content to continue drinking beer and being awesome.
“Timeless, as in, not worth mine. Next question.”
Saucy-Q tries to keep on keepin’ on, but this would be where Jesse Jamester finally chimed in on the proceedings.
“Put some respect on the next thing you say! You’re talking to the rightful Double Crown Champion, who took this company by the balls tonight, and with the powers that be,” Jesse indicated Steel and himself with thumbs, “Northern Pro wrestling is relevant again! Yeah, the line to thank us starts over there Miss.”
Jesse paused, nodding at Scott as though he just told him something with his eyebrows, and took another swig from the beer in front of him.
“Dane came and delivered, which is a lot more than anyone else can say in tonight’s event. The Syndicate had a plan, and we executed, and you’re all witnessing history tonight!” Jesse exclaimed beforefinishing his beer after and grabbing another.
In a narrative shift, Steel had regained his feet. Still fuming about the eaten dog, The Mountain started gesticulating wildly in forms more reminiscent of pre-evolutionary animism. Jamester did his best to hold the man back. No such luck. Scott one-handed his entire table, pulling cords and microphones along with it, offering it skyward to whatever god Steel prays to (likely Crom, Natural supplements(allegedly), or some combination of the two), before returning it to earth at what is best described as YEET velocity, ruining even more NPW equipment before returning to his seat. Eric Dane flatly ignored the expected outburst, Jamester patted the even bigger man on the back, as blond curls shook in aftershocks. NPW Staff, prepped for this eventuality, quickly and efficiently put new mics in front of Dane and Jamester as though nothing had happened. In an effort to move things along, XHF familiar face Angela Dewitt stepped up from her spot at the back of the assembled mass of media.
“BREAKING NEWS!”
What? Everybody who’s anybody has a gimmick.
“Angela Dewitt here with the freshly crowned North American Double Crown Champion, and maybe more importantly the next challenger to Dylan Black’s X*Crown Championship, Eric Dane!”
The Champ rolled his eyes.
“Who let the pre-recorded message in here?”
This drew a few stifled chuckles.
“Seriously,” Eric chided. “What do you want?”
“Just a word about your upcoming Main Event match at NPW Does New Years! Dylan Black has already gone on record saying-”
The Only Star cut her off.
“Let me just stop you right there, dollface. Dylan Black isn’t the champion in Northern Pro Wrestling, Eric Dane is. Now, that red strap that he carries around, the X*Crown, that’s probably about the most prestigious championship that I’ll have challenged for since two-thousand and five. Outside of this one, that is.” He nodded toward the Double Crown. “And I know aaaaaaall about that big vault and those twenty-one championships that the X*Crown represents, and I’ve gotta say…”
A pregnant pause is followed by a shrug and Eric’s forced smile levels up into a smirk.
“I’m impressed.”
A collective gasp rumbled through the room.
“Yeah, yeah, I might be an asshole, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have an eye for talent. He might have looked like a doorknob with two left elbows out there in the Rumble tonight, but the guy did what fuckwits like Maverick and Anthony Caffery couldn’t, he took the ball and he ran with it. I don’t think I’ve got to convince anybody that Dylan’s run with the X*Crown has been anything short of legendary, hall of fame worthy even…”
Another pause.
“But then he came to NPW, and he ran up against me.”
More hands shot up, Eric ignored them.
He nodded and stood, grabbed his belt and downed his glass of whisky. Steel and Jamester followed suit, Jesse grabbing an armload of beers as well as the cool quarter-mil that Dane had won alongside the Double Crown title belt and Steel clutched at his beer bucket and funnelled the rest of it before throwing it at some hapless nerd in the third row.
“Now I’ve got a lot to say about Dylan Black, but now is neither the time nor the place. Right now, tonight, it’s all about this,” he pats the belt on his shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my friends and I are due for a night out on the town and Toronto’s just a hop, skip, and a jump down the highway!”
Steel shouted one last line. But being that Steel had gone jackknifed semi mad, what came out was the equivalent of a binary blast transmission from a black hole merger. He stared, eyes wider than dinner plates, as Reporters scrambled to write down, whatever the in the lord’s actual fuck had just been said.
The Only Star patted his enforcer on the back, leading him away from the table before anything or anyone else was powerbombed at the Powerade Centre.
“Now if you’ll all excuse us…”
And with that, the Syndicate has left the building.
