Post by robriot on Apr 27, 2022 11:47:32 GMT -5
Our scene is, somewhat insalubriously, a public bathroom. A grotty-looking door in front of us is shut, but behind it, we can hear someone heaving up their lunch. Based on the fact that Rob Riot and Billy Fowler are hammering on the door - which appears to be locked - we can probably surmise that the person behind the door is Frank Windsor.
Riot: Frank, will you come out of there? We've got promo time booked.
Fowler: Rob, I hate to interrupt, but…
Riot: Then why interrupt? You're a big man; help me get this door open.
Fowler: Yeah, I would, but the camera's already here. They must have got bored of waiting.
Riot: What do you mean the camera's already…
Riot turns around and notices that the camera has found its way into the bathroom and is filming the whole thing. He flashes Fowler a glare for not alerting him earlier but quickly composes himself.
As he does so, there's the deeply unpleasant sound of further vomit being ejected down the toilet behind the door. Riot speaks quickly in an attempt to cover up the sound.
Riot: Tong, Phantam, this is your fault. Normally when Frank's sick like this, it's because he's been drinking for five days straight, but this? This has nothing to do with alcohol. This is a direct result of watching your press conference, and I can't say I blame the man for reacting like this because I nearly hurled up myself. Fowler, have you ever heard such a desperate-to-please pair of limp-wristed, hand-wringing do-gooders in your whole life?
Fowler: Well, I've spent most of the past ten years hanging around with you and Frank, so it's fair to say I haven't.
Riot: Exactly. Team Fairtex, give me strength. "We respect the fans." "Our father taught us to kiss babies and hold hands with women." "Don't speak ill of championships; they're not baubles." "We're honoured to be here." Do you actually hear any of the saccharine crap that comes out of your mouths? Even worse, do you believe any of it? Do you think that shaking hands and kissing arse is going to get you ahead in this business? I already reminded the whole world that you're nothing but a pair of RSW curtain jerkers. You seem to think that winning the SWAT tag team championships has elevated you beyond that. All I can say is that the fact that the tag team titles fell so far down the ladder that you could grab hold of them is a sign of how tightly that cesspit of a promotion was circling the drain before it finally went down the plughole. Respect, are you kidding me?"
Windsor: (from inside the toilet) Fuck 'em!
Riot: We were wet behind the ears like you once. We used to try to carry the banner for promotion after promotion, and do you know what we found? No promotion has ever been worth it. The Bastards outlast them all. You're marching into this match trying to wave the flag for a promotion that's already dead. We're coming into it trying to collect some hardware. That's all there is to it. It's all transactional to us. More belts for the collection and more titles to add to the legacy. Wrestle:UK gets a little boost because it gets to add the Bastards to its honour roll, and if it can stick around for long enough, it does better business because we're here. Emphasis on the word "business." The romantic fairytale ending to this match might be Team Fairtex standing tall with the gold and hugging all the women and children on the way out of the ring, but this ain't a fairytale, kids. This is real life, and real life is ugly and violent. Just like Frank.
The bathroom door slams open, and Frank emerges, wiping something unsightly from the corner of his mouth.
Windsor: Two little dickheads sitting in a row, one's called Tong and the other's called Po. I don't actually know what your names are, but that's close enough. You want to talk about honour and respect? Getting into the ring with us is a fucking honour for you. The fact that we've even agreed to share that ring with you is as much respect as you're going to get from us. If you think your daddy trained you well enough to go toe to toe with the Bastards, I'm going to have to find some pencil-necked geek somewhere to build me a time machine so I can go back and kick your daddy square in the nuts so hard he'll never be capable of shooting you two sad sacks into your mother. If he knew what a pair of sorry, wet, pandering sissy boys you'd turn out to be, I think he'd thank me. The Bastards walk into Wrestle:UK's opening night as the NPW Tag Team Champions, and they walk out as the Wrestle:UK Tag Team Champions. That's what's happening. You can lie down and make it easy on yourselves, or you can try to stand up and take a beating. I hope you take option two because after watching that fucking shitshow of a press conference, I'm fixing to kick your heads down your necks until they're poking out of your arses.
Riot chuckles.
Riot: This is Bastards business on Bastards time. Promotions mean nothing to us. Promotions are just a backdrop; the Bastards top the bill. We're the only main event act left in the pro wrestling business and Wrestle:UK just so happens to be where we're going to prove it one more time. Rob Riot and Frank Windsor will be the tag team champions. Billy Fowler is going to be the world champion, and if either me or Frank feels like it, maybe we'll dive into that battle royal and pick up the Commonwealth strap too. If we want it to happen, it's going to happen. Tell 'em why Fowler.
Fowler grins.
Fowler: Because there isn't a single damn thing anybody can do about it. Come on, boys, let's hit the bar.
Windsor: Amen to that.
The Bastards exit the bathroom, leaving the door swinging in their wake. The scene fades out on a lingering shot of the Windsor-damaged toilet.
Riot: Frank, will you come out of there? We've got promo time booked.
Fowler: Rob, I hate to interrupt, but…
Riot: Then why interrupt? You're a big man; help me get this door open.
Fowler: Yeah, I would, but the camera's already here. They must have got bored of waiting.
Riot: What do you mean the camera's already…
Riot turns around and notices that the camera has found its way into the bathroom and is filming the whole thing. He flashes Fowler a glare for not alerting him earlier but quickly composes himself.
As he does so, there's the deeply unpleasant sound of further vomit being ejected down the toilet behind the door. Riot speaks quickly in an attempt to cover up the sound.
Riot: Tong, Phantam, this is your fault. Normally when Frank's sick like this, it's because he's been drinking for five days straight, but this? This has nothing to do with alcohol. This is a direct result of watching your press conference, and I can't say I blame the man for reacting like this because I nearly hurled up myself. Fowler, have you ever heard such a desperate-to-please pair of limp-wristed, hand-wringing do-gooders in your whole life?
Fowler: Well, I've spent most of the past ten years hanging around with you and Frank, so it's fair to say I haven't.
Riot: Exactly. Team Fairtex, give me strength. "We respect the fans." "Our father taught us to kiss babies and hold hands with women." "Don't speak ill of championships; they're not baubles." "We're honoured to be here." Do you actually hear any of the saccharine crap that comes out of your mouths? Even worse, do you believe any of it? Do you think that shaking hands and kissing arse is going to get you ahead in this business? I already reminded the whole world that you're nothing but a pair of RSW curtain jerkers. You seem to think that winning the SWAT tag team championships has elevated you beyond that. All I can say is that the fact that the tag team titles fell so far down the ladder that you could grab hold of them is a sign of how tightly that cesspit of a promotion was circling the drain before it finally went down the plughole. Respect, are you kidding me?"
Windsor: (from inside the toilet) Fuck 'em!
Riot: We were wet behind the ears like you once. We used to try to carry the banner for promotion after promotion, and do you know what we found? No promotion has ever been worth it. The Bastards outlast them all. You're marching into this match trying to wave the flag for a promotion that's already dead. We're coming into it trying to collect some hardware. That's all there is to it. It's all transactional to us. More belts for the collection and more titles to add to the legacy. Wrestle:UK gets a little boost because it gets to add the Bastards to its honour roll, and if it can stick around for long enough, it does better business because we're here. Emphasis on the word "business." The romantic fairytale ending to this match might be Team Fairtex standing tall with the gold and hugging all the women and children on the way out of the ring, but this ain't a fairytale, kids. This is real life, and real life is ugly and violent. Just like Frank.
The bathroom door slams open, and Frank emerges, wiping something unsightly from the corner of his mouth.
Windsor: Two little dickheads sitting in a row, one's called Tong and the other's called Po. I don't actually know what your names are, but that's close enough. You want to talk about honour and respect? Getting into the ring with us is a fucking honour for you. The fact that we've even agreed to share that ring with you is as much respect as you're going to get from us. If you think your daddy trained you well enough to go toe to toe with the Bastards, I'm going to have to find some pencil-necked geek somewhere to build me a time machine so I can go back and kick your daddy square in the nuts so hard he'll never be capable of shooting you two sad sacks into your mother. If he knew what a pair of sorry, wet, pandering sissy boys you'd turn out to be, I think he'd thank me. The Bastards walk into Wrestle:UK's opening night as the NPW Tag Team Champions, and they walk out as the Wrestle:UK Tag Team Champions. That's what's happening. You can lie down and make it easy on yourselves, or you can try to stand up and take a beating. I hope you take option two because after watching that fucking shitshow of a press conference, I'm fixing to kick your heads down your necks until they're poking out of your arses.
Riot chuckles.
Riot: This is Bastards business on Bastards time. Promotions mean nothing to us. Promotions are just a backdrop; the Bastards top the bill. We're the only main event act left in the pro wrestling business and Wrestle:UK just so happens to be where we're going to prove it one more time. Rob Riot and Frank Windsor will be the tag team champions. Billy Fowler is going to be the world champion, and if either me or Frank feels like it, maybe we'll dive into that battle royal and pick up the Commonwealth strap too. If we want it to happen, it's going to happen. Tell 'em why Fowler.
Fowler grins.
Fowler: Because there isn't a single damn thing anybody can do about it. Come on, boys, let's hit the bar.
Windsor: Amen to that.
The Bastards exit the bathroom, leaving the door swinging in their wake. The scene fades out on a lingering shot of the Windsor-damaged toilet.