Post by Justin on Jan 2, 2021 13:16:30 GMT -5
There had been no post-show meet and greet with the media.
There would be no days-long celebration.
A new X*Crown Champion had not been inaugurated.
Eric Dane had lost his bid to become the ultimate champion of champions across the XHF Network, through no deficiency of his own mind you, and rather than burn down the province of Ontario around him he’d decided to go home quietly and without incident.
The Only Star hadn’t spoken to Scott Steel since the big dumb fuck had managed to get himself distracted by a pair of oddly-shaped tits and a bucket full of pre-workout powder, and while Jesse Jamester had accomplished his job of keeping Dane’s Halliburton briefcase protected, he’d also been of no help once things went sideways inside the ring.
Corrective discussions would have to be had and repercussions meted out.
The moment that the Double Crown Champion set foot back inside of the Crescent City Fight Club he’d dismissed Steel and all of the hullabaloo that came with the big man. He hadn’t made eye contact with The Mountain since he’d turned away from Dane during the X*Crown title match to go chase a piece of blown out tail. Jamester had his own machinations to attend to so he excused himself as well, and before long Eric Dane found himself sitting alone with probably his only friend left in the business, Angus Skaaland.
“Turn on the camera,” Eric was adamant.
Angus hesitated.
“Are you sure you wanna do this?”
“Turn it on.”
“Maybe sleep on it one more night?”
“Angus,” Eric chided. “Turn on the fucking camera.”
And so he did. Eric sat behind a desk, presumably his own, with the NPW title belt folded neatly in front of him, slightly to his left side. A moment passes as The Antagonist steels himself for what is to come.
“Dylan Black.”
A snarl curls onto his lips.
“Congratulations. You’ve managed to make it past me with your championship still intact, albeit with your tail stuck right between your legs.” Eric rolls his eyes. “Be that as it may, our business is concluded. Stay out of Canada and you and I are copacetic. Show your face around here again and I’m going to assume that you’re ready to give me my rematch and will act accordingly.”
He fakes a smile. A moment passes.
“Now. With that distraction done and over with it’s high time that I turn my attention to this,” he runs a hand across the NPW Championship. “This right here, the North American Double Crown, is going to become the single most important and influential Championship across the entire Network. For that to happen, though, it’s got to be defended.”
“And that brings me to this.”
The Champ opens one of his desk drawers and pulls out three packets of paper. He places them one next to the other on the desk in front of him.
“These right here are signed and legally binding contracts for a Championship Match for the North American Double Crown against the Champion, yours truly. That’s it boys and girls, if you want a shot at the title, all you’ve got to do is sign on the dotted line. This isn’t a rib, it’s the real deal, and I’d like to encourage anyone from Northern Pro…”
He pauses, momentarily contemplating.
“Fuck it, anybody in the world to take this opportunity. Don’t like me? This is your chance to shut me the fuck up. Think I’m a shitty champ? Now’s the time to prove it! Got a set of balls on you and ready to take your shot at the brass ring? Bring it the fuck on. Just don’t expect me to make it easy for you because I can guaran-the-fuck-tee you that I was made to jump through every hoop in the book just to have the opportunity to wrestle twelve other motherfuckers for the right to be called the Champion!”
Noticeably excited, The Only Star takes a moment to regain his composure.
“That being said, each of these Championship Opportunities will take place under Syndicate Lumberjack rules. That is to say, my Syndicate will surround the ring as Lumberjacks to keep the action on the inside and cowards like Alex Turner the fuck out. This gives me the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, if you will. You see, the title gets defended, and my Syndicate gets the opportunity for a few much needed Team Building Exercises.”
A smile spreads on Dane’s face, like the cat who ate the canary.
“So there it is, Eric Dane defends the Double Crown against anyone.”
“Well.”
That smile twists into a smirk.
“Anyone that is, except for Alex Turner.”
The smirk grows to a disdain laden sneer.
“That piece of shit can go fuck himself. If he wants a shot, he can get down on his knees in the center of the ring and kiss my bare ass! Then, and only then, will Timeless Alex Turner ever even sniff the North American Double Crown.”
There would be no days-long celebration.
A new X*Crown Champion had not been inaugurated.
Eric Dane had lost his bid to become the ultimate champion of champions across the XHF Network, through no deficiency of his own mind you, and rather than burn down the province of Ontario around him he’d decided to go home quietly and without incident.
The Only Star hadn’t spoken to Scott Steel since the big dumb fuck had managed to get himself distracted by a pair of oddly-shaped tits and a bucket full of pre-workout powder, and while Jesse Jamester had accomplished his job of keeping Dane’s Halliburton briefcase protected, he’d also been of no help once things went sideways inside the ring.
Corrective discussions would have to be had and repercussions meted out.
The moment that the Double Crown Champion set foot back inside of the Crescent City Fight Club he’d dismissed Steel and all of the hullabaloo that came with the big man. He hadn’t made eye contact with The Mountain since he’d turned away from Dane during the X*Crown title match to go chase a piece of blown out tail. Jamester had his own machinations to attend to so he excused himself as well, and before long Eric Dane found himself sitting alone with probably his only friend left in the business, Angus Skaaland.
“Turn on the camera,” Eric was adamant.
Angus hesitated.
“Are you sure you wanna do this?”
“Turn it on.”
“Maybe sleep on it one more night?”
“Angus,” Eric chided. “Turn on the fucking camera.”
And so he did. Eric sat behind a desk, presumably his own, with the NPW title belt folded neatly in front of him, slightly to his left side. A moment passes as The Antagonist steels himself for what is to come.
“Dylan Black.”
A snarl curls onto his lips.
“Congratulations. You’ve managed to make it past me with your championship still intact, albeit with your tail stuck right between your legs.” Eric rolls his eyes. “Be that as it may, our business is concluded. Stay out of Canada and you and I are copacetic. Show your face around here again and I’m going to assume that you’re ready to give me my rematch and will act accordingly.”
He fakes a smile. A moment passes.
“Now. With that distraction done and over with it’s high time that I turn my attention to this,” he runs a hand across the NPW Championship. “This right here, the North American Double Crown, is going to become the single most important and influential Championship across the entire Network. For that to happen, though, it’s got to be defended.”
“And that brings me to this.”
The Champ opens one of his desk drawers and pulls out three packets of paper. He places them one next to the other on the desk in front of him.
“These right here are signed and legally binding contracts for a Championship Match for the North American Double Crown against the Champion, yours truly. That’s it boys and girls, if you want a shot at the title, all you’ve got to do is sign on the dotted line. This isn’t a rib, it’s the real deal, and I’d like to encourage anyone from Northern Pro…”
He pauses, momentarily contemplating.
“Fuck it, anybody in the world to take this opportunity. Don’t like me? This is your chance to shut me the fuck up. Think I’m a shitty champ? Now’s the time to prove it! Got a set of balls on you and ready to take your shot at the brass ring? Bring it the fuck on. Just don’t expect me to make it easy for you because I can guaran-the-fuck-tee you that I was made to jump through every hoop in the book just to have the opportunity to wrestle twelve other motherfuckers for the right to be called the Champion!”
Noticeably excited, The Only Star takes a moment to regain his composure.
“That being said, each of these Championship Opportunities will take place under Syndicate Lumberjack rules. That is to say, my Syndicate will surround the ring as Lumberjacks to keep the action on the inside and cowards like Alex Turner the fuck out. This gives me the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, if you will. You see, the title gets defended, and my Syndicate gets the opportunity for a few much needed Team Building Exercises.”
A smile spreads on Dane’s face, like the cat who ate the canary.
“So there it is, Eric Dane defends the Double Crown against anyone.”
“Well.”
That smile twists into a smirk.
“Anyone that is, except for Alex Turner.”
The smirk grows to a disdain laden sneer.
“That piece of shit can go fuck himself. If he wants a shot, he can get down on his knees in the center of the ring and kiss my bare ass! Then, and only then, will Timeless Alex Turner ever even sniff the North American Double Crown.”
