Unexpected Item In Baggage Area
Sept 6, 2021 9:26:27 GMT -5
Dave D-Flipz, Oh-Oh, and 1 more like this
Post by robriot on Sept 6, 2021 9:26:27 GMT -5
Archie Rude runs through the airport. He’s just broken some news, and now he wants to get a reaction from two of the people who will be most affected by it. He knows which flight they were on. He knows they should be collecting their baggage right about now.
He also knows a person or two at the airport, which is how he got through security so quickly.
The NPW cameraman struggles to keep up with Rude as he dashes along but won't have to sprint for much longer. There, in front of him, is his prey.
Rob Riot and Frank Windsor of the Bastards stand at the carousel, waiting for their bags. Both are wearing sunglasses and are dressed for long-distance air travel. Windsor sees Rude coming out of the corner of his eye.
“Fuck, does this prick never take a day off?”
Riot turns to see what Frank's looking at and scowls. That only seems to encourage Archie. He's a little out of breath as he catches up with him, but his million-dollar mouth kicks into gear immediately.
"Pro wrestling news never takes a day off, gentlemen, and neither do I. Here's the scoop. A few hours ago, NPW announced that a new tag team would be added to your Imperial Crown Tag Team Championship match at Honor. You were preparing to face Prime Time, but now you have to worry about an additional pair of opponents. Your reaction, please?"
Rude smirks. He thinks he’s catching the Bastards off guard. Riot smirks straight back at him, much to Archie’s apparent irritation.
“Archie. You’re allowed to turn your phone back on when your plane hits the runway. Do you really think I haven’t seen this already? I have WhatsApp. I have Discord. I have Facebook.”
“He has Tinder,” Frank chimes in.
“Shush, Frank.”
“He does, though.”
“I do, and I saw your mum on it.”
“OI!”
There’s nothing Archie Rude hates more than an interview slipping out of his control. He pulls an exasperated face at the camera and tries to drag the Englishmen back to the point at hand.
“Fine, whatever. You’d seen the news already. I still want your reaction. Surely your chances of walking away with the titles just went down?”
Riot and Frank look at Archie, look at each other, and then burst out laughing. Archie's lip curls into a sneer, and it looks like he's about to say something else, but Windsor cuts him off at the pass.
“You want a reaction? Here’s how I reacted. I thought NPW wants to screw us. I thought NPW could see what was coming and wanted to stop it through any means necessary, and that pissed me off. That’s how my fucking mind works, Rude, because I’m an angry man. That’s why Riot’s the angel on my shoulder. He saw it differently.”
Riot, as if driving home the metaphor, does indeed slap Frank on the shoulder before he takes over mic duties.
"Absolutely I did. I saw it as a punishment. Not for us, but for the people who finish second and third in that battle royal. NPW is a place that rewards winners, and second place is first loser. Third place is even worse. I think this is NPW trying to encourage the guys who can't quite climb the mountain to try harder next time, because if you get near the top and then slip, you're going to get fed to the Bastards. You think our chances went down? I think they went up, Rude. There are now six people in this match, and six is higher than either Primal or Timeless can count. Prime Time will be be confused, the battle royal losers will be exhausted, and we walk away with the big golden W."
Frank steps back in. The Bastards are in free-flow mode now and Archie, much as he hates it, is a passenger on the ride.
“But wait, there’s more!” Riot, are you a reigning NPW champion right now?”
“I am not.”
“Am I a reigning NPW champion right now?”
”No, Frank, you are not.”
"Then the rules of the game say that you and I could enter that battle royal and finish second and third ourselves, then jump out over the top!"
Riot slaps his own face in mock shock, Macauley Culkin in “Home Alone” style, then pulls the mic back his way.
"We could do that, Frank! We could! And maybe we will. Or maybe we won't. I mean I'm 37, you're still working on your cardio; maybe that would tire us out. Maybe instead, some Galactic Sex Pirates get involved in that battle royal and clean house, then we team up with them and lay in a four-on-two beatdown on Prime Time at Honour."
“Sounds good to me Robbie, sounds fucking great, but maybe we don’t even need the rest of the gang. Maybe we just solve this ourselves. See, there’s going to be a human battering ram in that battle royal.”
Riot and Windsor look at each other and grin, and then step back and gesture at the baggage carousel. They speak in unison:-
“AND HERE HE COMES!”
Luggage and cases come crashing down off the carousel as the enormous frame of Billy Fowler emerges through the hatch, laid horizontally on the conveyor belt. Other passengers are visibly enraged, but nobody does anything. With a man of Fowler's size, that's the smart response. Fowler stands up once he's through the hatch, kicking more luggage out of the way and then coming to join his fellow Bastards, carrying three bags behind him. He greets his teammates.
“I found the bags, lads. Sorry for the wait. Had a bit of an issue back there. What’s this prick doing here?”
Archie wants to respond to that insult in the worst way, but Riot snatches the mic back from him.
"Billy Fowler is going to be in that battle royal, kids, and nobody is going to throw this giant over the top rope. That means he lasts to the end, and it also means he handpicks the second and third place losers. You might try to change the rules, NPW, but the Bastards still run the game."
Riot shoves the microphone into Rude’s chest, and the three Bastards walk away.
He also knows a person or two at the airport, which is how he got through security so quickly.
The NPW cameraman struggles to keep up with Rude as he dashes along but won't have to sprint for much longer. There, in front of him, is his prey.
Rob Riot and Frank Windsor of the Bastards stand at the carousel, waiting for their bags. Both are wearing sunglasses and are dressed for long-distance air travel. Windsor sees Rude coming out of the corner of his eye.
“Fuck, does this prick never take a day off?”
Riot turns to see what Frank's looking at and scowls. That only seems to encourage Archie. He's a little out of breath as he catches up with him, but his million-dollar mouth kicks into gear immediately.
"Pro wrestling news never takes a day off, gentlemen, and neither do I. Here's the scoop. A few hours ago, NPW announced that a new tag team would be added to your Imperial Crown Tag Team Championship match at Honor. You were preparing to face Prime Time, but now you have to worry about an additional pair of opponents. Your reaction, please?"
Rude smirks. He thinks he’s catching the Bastards off guard. Riot smirks straight back at him, much to Archie’s apparent irritation.
“Archie. You’re allowed to turn your phone back on when your plane hits the runway. Do you really think I haven’t seen this already? I have WhatsApp. I have Discord. I have Facebook.”
“He has Tinder,” Frank chimes in.
“Shush, Frank.”
“He does, though.”
“I do, and I saw your mum on it.”
“OI!”
There’s nothing Archie Rude hates more than an interview slipping out of his control. He pulls an exasperated face at the camera and tries to drag the Englishmen back to the point at hand.
“Fine, whatever. You’d seen the news already. I still want your reaction. Surely your chances of walking away with the titles just went down?”
Riot and Frank look at Archie, look at each other, and then burst out laughing. Archie's lip curls into a sneer, and it looks like he's about to say something else, but Windsor cuts him off at the pass.
“You want a reaction? Here’s how I reacted. I thought NPW wants to screw us. I thought NPW could see what was coming and wanted to stop it through any means necessary, and that pissed me off. That’s how my fucking mind works, Rude, because I’m an angry man. That’s why Riot’s the angel on my shoulder. He saw it differently.”
Riot, as if driving home the metaphor, does indeed slap Frank on the shoulder before he takes over mic duties.
"Absolutely I did. I saw it as a punishment. Not for us, but for the people who finish second and third in that battle royal. NPW is a place that rewards winners, and second place is first loser. Third place is even worse. I think this is NPW trying to encourage the guys who can't quite climb the mountain to try harder next time, because if you get near the top and then slip, you're going to get fed to the Bastards. You think our chances went down? I think they went up, Rude. There are now six people in this match, and six is higher than either Primal or Timeless can count. Prime Time will be be confused, the battle royal losers will be exhausted, and we walk away with the big golden W."
Frank steps back in. The Bastards are in free-flow mode now and Archie, much as he hates it, is a passenger on the ride.
“But wait, there’s more!” Riot, are you a reigning NPW champion right now?”
“I am not.”
“Am I a reigning NPW champion right now?”
”No, Frank, you are not.”
"Then the rules of the game say that you and I could enter that battle royal and finish second and third ourselves, then jump out over the top!"
Riot slaps his own face in mock shock, Macauley Culkin in “Home Alone” style, then pulls the mic back his way.
"We could do that, Frank! We could! And maybe we will. Or maybe we won't. I mean I'm 37, you're still working on your cardio; maybe that would tire us out. Maybe instead, some Galactic Sex Pirates get involved in that battle royal and clean house, then we team up with them and lay in a four-on-two beatdown on Prime Time at Honour."
“Sounds good to me Robbie, sounds fucking great, but maybe we don’t even need the rest of the gang. Maybe we just solve this ourselves. See, there’s going to be a human battering ram in that battle royal.”
Riot and Windsor look at each other and grin, and then step back and gesture at the baggage carousel. They speak in unison:-
“AND HERE HE COMES!”
Luggage and cases come crashing down off the carousel as the enormous frame of Billy Fowler emerges through the hatch, laid horizontally on the conveyor belt. Other passengers are visibly enraged, but nobody does anything. With a man of Fowler's size, that's the smart response. Fowler stands up once he's through the hatch, kicking more luggage out of the way and then coming to join his fellow Bastards, carrying three bags behind him. He greets his teammates.
“I found the bags, lads. Sorry for the wait. Had a bit of an issue back there. What’s this prick doing here?”
Archie wants to respond to that insult in the worst way, but Riot snatches the mic back from him.
"Billy Fowler is going to be in that battle royal, kids, and nobody is going to throw this giant over the top rope. That means he lasts to the end, and it also means he handpicks the second and third place losers. You might try to change the rules, NPW, but the Bastards still run the game."
Riot shoves the microphone into Rude’s chest, and the three Bastards walk away.