Post by robriot on Jun 7, 2022 7:48:59 GMT -5
“Haway the Toon!”
Rob Riot stands facing the camera with his Wrestle:UK tag team championship belt slung over his shoulder. He's wearing a Newcastle United football shirt and stands in front of a promotional banner advertising Legacy 3 at St. James Park. It's going to be a big night for pro wrestling - the biggest in Newcastle for many a year. As one of the promotion's reigning champions, Riot has been nominated for commercial duties. He's doing his best to sound positive and upbeat for the camera.
"In just over a week, Wrestle:UK comes to Newcastle-Upon-Tyne for its third special event, and it's going to rock St. James Park like nothing you've seen since the Keegan era! Billy Fowler is going to defend the World Heavyweight Championship against Morrissey…"
Riot shudders a little at that, remembering the performance he put in as Morrissey in Manchester the previous evening for Fowler’s benefit. He’s still not quite sure what came over him, but he didn’t like it. Shaking his head, he moves on.
"...and myself and Frank Windsor are going to be defending our Wrestle:UK Tag Team Championships against the challengers, the Dark Stars. It's going to be difficult, it's going to be exciting, it's going to be touch and go, but if you fans buy your tickets for this one of a kind event, I promise you'll see a night that you'll never forget. Dark Stars, you better bring your A-game because….ah shit, I can't do it."
The facade suddenly drops like a stone. Anyone watching this would have been struck by the fact that Riot wasn’t his usual self, and he can no longer maintain the pretence. His forced grin is replaced with a scowl as he rips off the Newcastle shirt and throws it to the ground, dropping his title belt along with it.
“Actually, no. It’s not that I can’t do it. It’s that I won’t do it. Rob Riot is not a promotional puppet, and this match is not a challenge. Let’s be real here. But first, let’s get this shit out of the way.”
Riot kicks over the St. James Park banner, revealing that he's sat inside a fairly nondescript TV studio. There's murmuring from behind the camera, but if the director or anybody else was thinking about saying anything to Riot, they quickly change their mind. The Riot Star grabs a stool from somewhere off-camera and sits on it, glowering down the lens.
“Niko, Kono, I doubt you know anything about football. Maybe they don’t show it on your ‘home planet,’ or in the 53rd century, or wherever the hell you two claim to come from. Because you don't know about football, I doubt you know this rule about the World Cup. If the same team wins the trophy three times, they're allowed to keep it. It becomes their property. Brazil was allowed to keep the Jules Rimet trophy for that exact reason. If we applied that rule to wrestling, we'd already own you because we've beaten you so many times. You're already our property, but I guess someone in management doesn't think that's enough because apparently, we have to fight you again. I guess this time, rather than making you our property, we're just going to have to make you our bitches."
He smirks, letting that one sink in. You don’t often see people combine statistics with swearing outside an office meeting.
"I'd love to be able to hype this match for Wrestle:UK. I'd love to be able to tell these fans and the whole world that it's an honour to face you for these tag team championships and that me and Frank are doubling our training just to make sure we prevail on the night. I can't say any of that, though, because it's bullshit. You know just as well as we do that there's only one reason why you're in this title match. It's because no other tag team or stable on the roster has any interest in stepping up and trying to take these straps from us. Everybody knows the tear the Bastards have been on since we came back to this sport, and nobody wants to stand in our way. We don't wrestle in this promotion; we own it. Billy is the world champion. Me and Frank are the tag team champions. Anyone who wants to fight us either has to be very brave or very stupid. I'd ask which of those you are, but given that you're still living your spaceship fantasy life, I think we all know the answer."
He rubs his temples, clearly frustrated with the situation.
"Look, I'm going to try to level with you in terms you'll understand. Let's say I believed in all this sci-fi crap that you spout, which I don't. Let's say you've travelled far and wide and seen other worlds, other times, other - I don't know - universes? Did you ever find one reality where the Dark Stars could beat The Bastards? Did you ever find a point in the future where people remembered your names instead of ours? Of course you didn't. If you did, you'd be living there instead of here. You're in this time and this place because it's where you're at your best, and even at your best, you're not even fit to weave the fibre that makes the laces of my boots, let alone lace them."
Bending down to the floor, Riot picks up his tag team championship belt and throws it back over his shoulder.
"The Bastards are elevating this promotion. That means The Bastards are elevating these tag team titles. To do that, we need a better standard of competition. We can't get that until you're in the rear view mirror, so I guess we just have to take care of business. Niko, Kono, pray to Cthulu or Mork and Minky or E.T. that whatever we do to you is as swift and painless as it can be. I can't make any promises that it will be. The standard is going to be raised in W:UK, and when it goes up, there's going to be no room for you. This is our company, and you're going to get stomped to the bottom of the barrel."
He wanders out of shot but then quickly comes back, beaming a sarcastic smile.
“Oh, and make sure you buy tickets and tune in, everyone!”
The scene fades out.
Rob Riot stands facing the camera with his Wrestle:UK tag team championship belt slung over his shoulder. He's wearing a Newcastle United football shirt and stands in front of a promotional banner advertising Legacy 3 at St. James Park. It's going to be a big night for pro wrestling - the biggest in Newcastle for many a year. As one of the promotion's reigning champions, Riot has been nominated for commercial duties. He's doing his best to sound positive and upbeat for the camera.
"In just over a week, Wrestle:UK comes to Newcastle-Upon-Tyne for its third special event, and it's going to rock St. James Park like nothing you've seen since the Keegan era! Billy Fowler is going to defend the World Heavyweight Championship against Morrissey…"
Riot shudders a little at that, remembering the performance he put in as Morrissey in Manchester the previous evening for Fowler’s benefit. He’s still not quite sure what came over him, but he didn’t like it. Shaking his head, he moves on.
"...and myself and Frank Windsor are going to be defending our Wrestle:UK Tag Team Championships against the challengers, the Dark Stars. It's going to be difficult, it's going to be exciting, it's going to be touch and go, but if you fans buy your tickets for this one of a kind event, I promise you'll see a night that you'll never forget. Dark Stars, you better bring your A-game because….ah shit, I can't do it."
The facade suddenly drops like a stone. Anyone watching this would have been struck by the fact that Riot wasn’t his usual self, and he can no longer maintain the pretence. His forced grin is replaced with a scowl as he rips off the Newcastle shirt and throws it to the ground, dropping his title belt along with it.
“Actually, no. It’s not that I can’t do it. It’s that I won’t do it. Rob Riot is not a promotional puppet, and this match is not a challenge. Let’s be real here. But first, let’s get this shit out of the way.”
Riot kicks over the St. James Park banner, revealing that he's sat inside a fairly nondescript TV studio. There's murmuring from behind the camera, but if the director or anybody else was thinking about saying anything to Riot, they quickly change their mind. The Riot Star grabs a stool from somewhere off-camera and sits on it, glowering down the lens.
“Niko, Kono, I doubt you know anything about football. Maybe they don’t show it on your ‘home planet,’ or in the 53rd century, or wherever the hell you two claim to come from. Because you don't know about football, I doubt you know this rule about the World Cup. If the same team wins the trophy three times, they're allowed to keep it. It becomes their property. Brazil was allowed to keep the Jules Rimet trophy for that exact reason. If we applied that rule to wrestling, we'd already own you because we've beaten you so many times. You're already our property, but I guess someone in management doesn't think that's enough because apparently, we have to fight you again. I guess this time, rather than making you our property, we're just going to have to make you our bitches."
He smirks, letting that one sink in. You don’t often see people combine statistics with swearing outside an office meeting.
"I'd love to be able to hype this match for Wrestle:UK. I'd love to be able to tell these fans and the whole world that it's an honour to face you for these tag team championships and that me and Frank are doubling our training just to make sure we prevail on the night. I can't say any of that, though, because it's bullshit. You know just as well as we do that there's only one reason why you're in this title match. It's because no other tag team or stable on the roster has any interest in stepping up and trying to take these straps from us. Everybody knows the tear the Bastards have been on since we came back to this sport, and nobody wants to stand in our way. We don't wrestle in this promotion; we own it. Billy is the world champion. Me and Frank are the tag team champions. Anyone who wants to fight us either has to be very brave or very stupid. I'd ask which of those you are, but given that you're still living your spaceship fantasy life, I think we all know the answer."
He rubs his temples, clearly frustrated with the situation.
"Look, I'm going to try to level with you in terms you'll understand. Let's say I believed in all this sci-fi crap that you spout, which I don't. Let's say you've travelled far and wide and seen other worlds, other times, other - I don't know - universes? Did you ever find one reality where the Dark Stars could beat The Bastards? Did you ever find a point in the future where people remembered your names instead of ours? Of course you didn't. If you did, you'd be living there instead of here. You're in this time and this place because it's where you're at your best, and even at your best, you're not even fit to weave the fibre that makes the laces of my boots, let alone lace them."
Bending down to the floor, Riot picks up his tag team championship belt and throws it back over his shoulder.
"The Bastards are elevating this promotion. That means The Bastards are elevating these tag team titles. To do that, we need a better standard of competition. We can't get that until you're in the rear view mirror, so I guess we just have to take care of business. Niko, Kono, pray to Cthulu or Mork and Minky or E.T. that whatever we do to you is as swift and painless as it can be. I can't make any promises that it will be. The standard is going to be raised in W:UK, and when it goes up, there's going to be no room for you. This is our company, and you're going to get stomped to the bottom of the barrel."
He wanders out of shot but then quickly comes back, beaming a sarcastic smile.
“Oh, and make sure you buy tickets and tune in, everyone!”
The scene fades out.