Post by Old Line Jeff on Jul 3, 2022 0:16:40 GMT -5
“The more things change the more they stay the same.”
Daeriq Damien, in a horrific dayglo-orange suit, rubs his hands together and smiles greasily.
“While in Halifax, we spent a rather significant portion of our time out on the docks overlooking a rancid, stinking harbor. Look at this.”
He reaches out to grab the camera, and we get a sloppy pan across the rusting industrial infrastructure and crumbling concrete wharves.
When he releases the camera, it settles on Ronnie Long.
A scowl stamped on his face, his hair now done in greasy ringlets hanging down over his eye and his eyepatch, Ronnie rubs his hands together slowly.
“It wears on you, doesn’t it, Ronnie?”
“You know it does. But you know what? It’s the small differences that stand out.”
His lips pull back over his teeth. It’s emphatically not a smile.
“If I wanted a cheat meal back in Halifax, I could go to a poutine stand. Here, it’s all about jellied eels, pie and mash. Back in NPW it was all about traditional wrestling, here, we’ve got people casting magic spells during matches. Magic. Spells.”
As Damien opens his mouth to say something, Long raises one finger.
“And if you think I’m trying to bury it, think again. I’ve seen it before, and it never leads anywhere good. I’ve watched other people find out, and I’ve got zero interest in fucking around. You mess with Reality too much, and Reality starts fighting back. I’ve seen it. I want nothing to do with it.”
He shakes his head.
“But luckily for me, the person who decided to step up to me is completely at the other end of the rational versus fantastic scale. Rob Riot. And to a lesser extent, Frank Windsor, who I think I have unfinished business with. And Billy Fowler, who I’ve never spoken to or about before, but who has a title around his waist that I’d rather like to have around mine. That’s the real reason I’m here, you know. Not to beat the drum for NPW… or CWA… or the CAL’s NPW from 20 years ago… or IWA, or OLW, or any of that ancient stuff that nobody remembers anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got my preferences, but there’s not enough left in this game for anyone to be a chooser.”
Damien nods sagely as Long licks his lips.
“No, I didn’t choose Riot. But I’m happy he chose me. Fowler may be the champ, but we all know that Rob Riot is to the Bastards what Jeff Andrews was to the Untouchables. When Riot decided to step up to me as soon as I set a foot backstage in W:UK, I was higher up the ladder than I was when my eye got fudged.”
“I say that with one eye, you can see better than with two.” Damien interjects. “No more trying to see both sides of something. No more indecision, no more confusion. No more trying to balance your ambition with your ethics, because look where your ethics got you. Look where ethics gets anyone. Don’t think that because Rob Riot’s getting cheered he’s any better than we are. He’s the guy that beat up a Santy Claus in front of little kids, he doesn’t care.”
“Nooo, he cares. He cares about securing his place at the top. He knows what happened when NPW left XHF and I finally had a reason to try. He wants to cut me off at the pass before I get back up to speed.”
“You don’t appreciate that, do you?”
“Not at all.”
Long finally turns directly to the camera.
“You’re right, Rob - it has been a long road to get here. It’s funny, because the road is long, and my name is Long, get it?”
“I don’t know what you did before you got here. Not much about it, at least. But I understand you’ve won multiple world titles before. Not me. I won a World Title. Once. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, I hit a snake with a rake and the damn thing practically fell into my hands. I didn’t hang onto it long - long, geddit? - but hey, how many World Champions do?”
“But listen. I was sitting at home on leave, trying to get this head of mine straightened out, trying to get cleared, trying to mollify my girl back home, and I realized something. The reason I fell into a World Championship reign at the right time? Because I decided to act like it was the right time, and it came true. I know I lost a title match to Nuwave Jayne Correia not too long ago. Same guy I beat on my way in the door.”
“Same reason I’m going to beat you, Rob.”
“You’re stepping in my way for what? No, I know what you said about protecting me from myself. Maybe you remember what I came into NPW for - you know, that thing about wading through all the feuding stables and being someone the promotion itself could be proud of? Well, I think I’ve got you figured out, Rob. You know who I am, you know what I’ve done, and you can talk about me being bitter - hell, that’s a crazy choice of a word, considering my main man Jeff Andrews was called the King of the Bittermen - but what you’re really worried about…”
“Is Fowler.” Damien finished the thought.
“There’s a reason it’s not Andrews helping me, and that’s because I don’t want his accolades overshadowing mine. Like yours are doing to Fowler. Like they always have. You care enough to try and protect what he’s got by turning the barbarians away at the gates… just not enough to actually step out of the way.”
“Well, that’s fine, Rob. Do what you want.”
“But you won’t be standing in my way for.”
*snort*
“Long.”
Daeriq Damien, in a horrific dayglo-orange suit, rubs his hands together and smiles greasily.
“While in Halifax, we spent a rather significant portion of our time out on the docks overlooking a rancid, stinking harbor. Look at this.”
He reaches out to grab the camera, and we get a sloppy pan across the rusting industrial infrastructure and crumbling concrete wharves.
When he releases the camera, it settles on Ronnie Long.
A scowl stamped on his face, his hair now done in greasy ringlets hanging down over his eye and his eyepatch, Ronnie rubs his hands together slowly.
“It wears on you, doesn’t it, Ronnie?”
“You know it does. But you know what? It’s the small differences that stand out.”
His lips pull back over his teeth. It’s emphatically not a smile.
“If I wanted a cheat meal back in Halifax, I could go to a poutine stand. Here, it’s all about jellied eels, pie and mash. Back in NPW it was all about traditional wrestling, here, we’ve got people casting magic spells during matches. Magic. Spells.”
As Damien opens his mouth to say something, Long raises one finger.
“And if you think I’m trying to bury it, think again. I’ve seen it before, and it never leads anywhere good. I’ve watched other people find out, and I’ve got zero interest in fucking around. You mess with Reality too much, and Reality starts fighting back. I’ve seen it. I want nothing to do with it.”
He shakes his head.
“But luckily for me, the person who decided to step up to me is completely at the other end of the rational versus fantastic scale. Rob Riot. And to a lesser extent, Frank Windsor, who I think I have unfinished business with. And Billy Fowler, who I’ve never spoken to or about before, but who has a title around his waist that I’d rather like to have around mine. That’s the real reason I’m here, you know. Not to beat the drum for NPW… or CWA… or the CAL’s NPW from 20 years ago… or IWA, or OLW, or any of that ancient stuff that nobody remembers anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got my preferences, but there’s not enough left in this game for anyone to be a chooser.”
Damien nods sagely as Long licks his lips.
“No, I didn’t choose Riot. But I’m happy he chose me. Fowler may be the champ, but we all know that Rob Riot is to the Bastards what Jeff Andrews was to the Untouchables. When Riot decided to step up to me as soon as I set a foot backstage in W:UK, I was higher up the ladder than I was when my eye got fudged.”
“I say that with one eye, you can see better than with two.” Damien interjects. “No more trying to see both sides of something. No more indecision, no more confusion. No more trying to balance your ambition with your ethics, because look where your ethics got you. Look where ethics gets anyone. Don’t think that because Rob Riot’s getting cheered he’s any better than we are. He’s the guy that beat up a Santy Claus in front of little kids, he doesn’t care.”
“Nooo, he cares. He cares about securing his place at the top. He knows what happened when NPW left XHF and I finally had a reason to try. He wants to cut me off at the pass before I get back up to speed.”
“You don’t appreciate that, do you?”
“Not at all.”
Long finally turns directly to the camera.
“You’re right, Rob - it has been a long road to get here. It’s funny, because the road is long, and my name is Long, get it?”
“I don’t know what you did before you got here. Not much about it, at least. But I understand you’ve won multiple world titles before. Not me. I won a World Title. Once. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, I hit a snake with a rake and the damn thing practically fell into my hands. I didn’t hang onto it long - long, geddit? - but hey, how many World Champions do?”
“But listen. I was sitting at home on leave, trying to get this head of mine straightened out, trying to get cleared, trying to mollify my girl back home, and I realized something. The reason I fell into a World Championship reign at the right time? Because I decided to act like it was the right time, and it came true. I know I lost a title match to Nuwave Jayne Correia not too long ago. Same guy I beat on my way in the door.”
“Same reason I’m going to beat you, Rob.”
“You’re stepping in my way for what? No, I know what you said about protecting me from myself. Maybe you remember what I came into NPW for - you know, that thing about wading through all the feuding stables and being someone the promotion itself could be proud of? Well, I think I’ve got you figured out, Rob. You know who I am, you know what I’ve done, and you can talk about me being bitter - hell, that’s a crazy choice of a word, considering my main man Jeff Andrews was called the King of the Bittermen - but what you’re really worried about…”
“Is Fowler.” Damien finished the thought.
“There’s a reason it’s not Andrews helping me, and that’s because I don’t want his accolades overshadowing mine. Like yours are doing to Fowler. Like they always have. You care enough to try and protect what he’s got by turning the barbarians away at the gates… just not enough to actually step out of the way.”
“Well, that’s fine, Rob. Do what you want.”
“But you won’t be standing in my way for.”
*snort*
“Long.”