Bad Hotels, Bad Vibes, Bad Intentions
Jul 30, 2021 7:17:54 GMT -5
Oh-Oh and Jesse Jamester like this
Post by robriot on Jul 30, 2021 7:17:54 GMT -5
“Motherfucker!”
The door of a cheap Minnesotan hotel room crashes open, almost coming off its hinges in the process. Rob Riot bursts through it, having been both the person who kicked it open and the person who shouted the curse word. He throws his gear bag onto the bed and then lashes out a table, smashing a hotel-issue kettle in the process.
Frank Windsor and Billy Fowler follow Riot through the door, exchanging a knowing glance. Riot gets like this after a loss. Riot sometimes gets like this after a win, but it's always worse after a loss. Riot's rant continues.
“Do officials do nothing anymore? Two weeks ago, Frank gets hit in the head with a camera. Nothing happens. Tonight, Billy gets taken out by Donzig. Nothing happens. Have we lost our fucking edge here or what?”
Frank is already looking for the minibar, so it falls to Billy to try to calm the angry Riot Star down. He does his best.
“Rob, it’s just one match. Everyone saw what they did. We’ll get them down the road, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Riot blinks at him hard. He wasn’t expecting that.
”You’re sorry? Sorry for what?”
“Getting pinned. It was me who got pinned.”
"Yeah, after being jumped from behind. This is what I mean, Billy. We're losing our edge. We're getting outdone by numbers games, and we're staying in cheap, shitty hotels. Why are we even in this hotel? We're rich, aren't we? Couldn't we have booked something better?"
There’s an awkward pause. Riot presses the issue.
“I mean, I’m rich. I banked most of the money from our last run. Are you guys… did you not…”
The awkward pause continues. Fowler mouths “Frank spent all his money on booze” to Riot while Windsor busies himself avoiding eye contact. Rob quickly decides to move on.
“Turn the camera on.”
”What camera?”
“There’s always a camera. This is wrestling.”
Frank, halfway down a bottle of piss-weak freezing cold American minibar lager, interjects.
“Camera’s in the corner. It’s already on.”
“What do you mean it’s already on?”
All three Bastards, just for a moment, turn to the camera and stare out at the audience. Riot quickly switches gears into promo mode.
“OK, KGB. Well done. Slow hand clap for you. No, really, we mean it. Watch.”
Fowler and Riot clap slowly and sarcastically for the benefit of the camera. Windsor has a beer in each hand by this point and doesn’t know which one to put down, so he doesn’t bother.
"Almost everything we said would happen happened. Team Fairtex made up the numbers. The Revenants got embarrassed. We beat you boys to a pulp, and yet there you are with the straps. There you are with the straps because for ten beautiful seconds, you outsmarted us while the referee's back was turned. That's twice in two matches that either you or the Revenants have tried cheating to gain an advantage on us. We'll take that as a show of respect, boys. You know you can't get the job done on a level basis, so you take the cheap way. That's fine. It tells me you're shook. Since the GSP arrived and the Bastards came back, people are shook. I haven't seen people all shook up like this since the day Elvis died, and I didn't even see that day because I'm too young. Shook is good. Beaten is better. Tell 'em, Billy."
Billy wasn’t expecting to be cued. He had, in fact, turned his attention to unpacking his gear bag. Looking slightly alarmed, he turns back around and faces the camera.
“Right. Yeah. You’ve made a mistake, KGB, and the mistake was beating us. We might have let it slide if you took those titles and pissed off into another company, but you’ve brought them home to NPW. You’ve pissed in our chips, but you’ve left the chips on the table. Now someone’s going to have to eat those pissy chips, and it’s not going to be us. The XHF Trios Titles weren’t even there to chase in NPW two weeks ago, but they are now. You already had targets on your backs. Now they’re magnetised.”
Riot stares at Fowler with an arched eyebrow.
”Pissy chips?”
“Yeah, it worked in my head. Send it to Frank.”
Before Riot can even cue Frank, Frank sinks the half bottle of beer he had left and rants at the camera with his trademark venom.
"You've fucked it, lads. You've fucking fucked it. You dumb pricks don't realise that when you steal something, you're not supposed to bring it into the home of the person you stole it from and show it off. That's how dumb fucks get beaten up, and beating dumb fucks up is what the Bastards do for beer money. Now you've got to walk around the locker room in every backwater town we visit wearing those trinkets around your waists, wondering whether today is the day Frank Windsor and the Bastards stove the back of your skull in. That day's coming, dickheads, and it's coming quick."
Riot takes over.
"Oh, it's coming quicker than a fifteen year old pumping his first high school date in the back seat of a fifty dollar car. KGB, you play the numbers game well, but you've forgotten one thing. You're not dealing with just three Bastards here. Oh, no, no. You're dealing with the whole GSP gang, and there are eight of us."
Fowler perks up at that.
”Are we still counting Kintaru?”
"Ah. Good point. Fucks knows. OK, seven of us. At least seven, but maybe eight. If you want to go to war, boys, then let's go. The Bastards will see you down the line, and they'll bring the whole GSP gang with them just to make sure you behave yourselves this time around. Armand, Mein Freund, what's always been coming to you is still coming. Never forget that. Not even when you're sleeping. I promise you're not safe. Frank, give me one of those damn beers. "
The Bastards have a lot of drinking to do. The camera shuts off.
The door of a cheap Minnesotan hotel room crashes open, almost coming off its hinges in the process. Rob Riot bursts through it, having been both the person who kicked it open and the person who shouted the curse word. He throws his gear bag onto the bed and then lashes out a table, smashing a hotel-issue kettle in the process.
Frank Windsor and Billy Fowler follow Riot through the door, exchanging a knowing glance. Riot gets like this after a loss. Riot sometimes gets like this after a win, but it's always worse after a loss. Riot's rant continues.
“Do officials do nothing anymore? Two weeks ago, Frank gets hit in the head with a camera. Nothing happens. Tonight, Billy gets taken out by Donzig. Nothing happens. Have we lost our fucking edge here or what?”
Frank is already looking for the minibar, so it falls to Billy to try to calm the angry Riot Star down. He does his best.
“Rob, it’s just one match. Everyone saw what they did. We’ll get them down the road, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Riot blinks at him hard. He wasn’t expecting that.
”You’re sorry? Sorry for what?”
“Getting pinned. It was me who got pinned.”
"Yeah, after being jumped from behind. This is what I mean, Billy. We're losing our edge. We're getting outdone by numbers games, and we're staying in cheap, shitty hotels. Why are we even in this hotel? We're rich, aren't we? Couldn't we have booked something better?"
There’s an awkward pause. Riot presses the issue.
“I mean, I’m rich. I banked most of the money from our last run. Are you guys… did you not…”
The awkward pause continues. Fowler mouths “Frank spent all his money on booze” to Riot while Windsor busies himself avoiding eye contact. Rob quickly decides to move on.
“Turn the camera on.”
”What camera?”
“There’s always a camera. This is wrestling.”
Frank, halfway down a bottle of piss-weak freezing cold American minibar lager, interjects.
“Camera’s in the corner. It’s already on.”
“What do you mean it’s already on?”
All three Bastards, just for a moment, turn to the camera and stare out at the audience. Riot quickly switches gears into promo mode.
“OK, KGB. Well done. Slow hand clap for you. No, really, we mean it. Watch.”
Fowler and Riot clap slowly and sarcastically for the benefit of the camera. Windsor has a beer in each hand by this point and doesn’t know which one to put down, so he doesn’t bother.
"Almost everything we said would happen happened. Team Fairtex made up the numbers. The Revenants got embarrassed. We beat you boys to a pulp, and yet there you are with the straps. There you are with the straps because for ten beautiful seconds, you outsmarted us while the referee's back was turned. That's twice in two matches that either you or the Revenants have tried cheating to gain an advantage on us. We'll take that as a show of respect, boys. You know you can't get the job done on a level basis, so you take the cheap way. That's fine. It tells me you're shook. Since the GSP arrived and the Bastards came back, people are shook. I haven't seen people all shook up like this since the day Elvis died, and I didn't even see that day because I'm too young. Shook is good. Beaten is better. Tell 'em, Billy."
Billy wasn’t expecting to be cued. He had, in fact, turned his attention to unpacking his gear bag. Looking slightly alarmed, he turns back around and faces the camera.
“Right. Yeah. You’ve made a mistake, KGB, and the mistake was beating us. We might have let it slide if you took those titles and pissed off into another company, but you’ve brought them home to NPW. You’ve pissed in our chips, but you’ve left the chips on the table. Now someone’s going to have to eat those pissy chips, and it’s not going to be us. The XHF Trios Titles weren’t even there to chase in NPW two weeks ago, but they are now. You already had targets on your backs. Now they’re magnetised.”
Riot stares at Fowler with an arched eyebrow.
”Pissy chips?”
“Yeah, it worked in my head. Send it to Frank.”
Before Riot can even cue Frank, Frank sinks the half bottle of beer he had left and rants at the camera with his trademark venom.
"You've fucked it, lads. You've fucking fucked it. You dumb pricks don't realise that when you steal something, you're not supposed to bring it into the home of the person you stole it from and show it off. That's how dumb fucks get beaten up, and beating dumb fucks up is what the Bastards do for beer money. Now you've got to walk around the locker room in every backwater town we visit wearing those trinkets around your waists, wondering whether today is the day Frank Windsor and the Bastards stove the back of your skull in. That day's coming, dickheads, and it's coming quick."
Riot takes over.
"Oh, it's coming quicker than a fifteen year old pumping his first high school date in the back seat of a fifty dollar car. KGB, you play the numbers game well, but you've forgotten one thing. You're not dealing with just three Bastards here. Oh, no, no. You're dealing with the whole GSP gang, and there are eight of us."
Fowler perks up at that.
”Are we still counting Kintaru?”
"Ah. Good point. Fucks knows. OK, seven of us. At least seven, but maybe eight. If you want to go to war, boys, then let's go. The Bastards will see you down the line, and they'll bring the whole GSP gang with them just to make sure you behave yourselves this time around. Armand, Mein Freund, what's always been coming to you is still coming. Never forget that. Not even when you're sleeping. I promise you're not safe. Frank, give me one of those damn beers. "
The Bastards have a lot of drinking to do. The camera shuts off.