Post by robriot on Jul 27, 2022 13:41:41 GMT -5
“This is going to have to be a Hell of a clean-up job. Oops, did I say ‘Hell?’ Sorry, Jakie. I know that’s a party foul for you.”
Rob Riot stands in a field close to the Jodrell Bank science facility in England. He, like thousands of other people, attended the Blue Dot festival this past weekend. Wherever there's a music festival, there's a mess. Not everybody who came chose to take their tent home with them. Or their un-drunk alcohol, for that matter. Or, in some cases, their clothes. None of that bothers Riot particularly. He's never been against hedonism. For many of his years, he's encouraged it. The sea of detritus covers much of the grassy field behind the iconic wrestler, but he's not here to make points about the muck or the mud.
”Gentlemen, ladies, those undecided and those covering both bases, apologies for the mess. I didn’t cause it. Well, not all of it, anyway. I didn’t bring these cameras here so I could show off the filth. Instead, I wanted to direct your attention to….that.”
Riot points upwards. The camera pans up to follow his direction, and we get a glorious shot of Jodrell Bank's massive radio telescope dish. It's one of the largest of its kind in the country and has been ever since it was established by Bernard Lovell way back in the 1940s. From here, the United Kingdom studies the stars. OK, so maybe that's not true. From here, the United Kingdom watches for radio waves from distant objects in space. It's a mass of steel and instrumentation, turning slowly as it scans the heavens.
"Impressive, isn't it? I'd ideally like to have used the James Webb telescope for this, but that's kind of difficult given that it's more than one hundred million miles away in space. I'm good, but I have limits. I wanted a machine capable of processing astronomical data for what I have to say about this match I'm in at Legacy Five. A magnifying glass wouldn't do. A microscope wouldn't do, and nor would a regular telescope. Only something capable of seeing beyond the realms of our world and picking up the background hum of the universe works for my purposes. If you're wondering why, I'm about to tell you."
Riot turns his eyes away from the telescope, wincing a little as he does. Staring at the sky hasn’t been good for his eyes. He reaches into a pocket in his tweed jacket and produces some expensive-looking sunglasses, which he slips onto his face before continuing.
“Wentzel. Olympia. Vector. Zolothach. Ronnie Long. I hope you had a good, long look at that telescope and pondered its meaning in relation to you. I know that very few of you - actually, scratch that, none of you - are blessed with the greatest of critical faculties when it comes to comprehension, so allow me to assist. That telescope can see things that are invisible to the naked eye. It can detect radio signals that no regular radio in the world can pick up on. Using that sensitive instrument, trained scientists can detect the tiniest, most indistinguishable transmission from a pulsar on the other side of the galaxy, sent towards planet Earth billions of years ago. By the time those signals reach us, there’s a strong chance that the star that created them has died. It probably died millions of years ago. What’s picked up at Jodrell Bank Observatory is the barely audible cry of a cold, lonely star that died in a forgotten solar system before the first life on this planet crawled out of the sea and tried to find a way to survive on land. It’s the inconsequential sound of the distant dead imperceptibly landing on the ears of the living - and yet every fragment and frequency of it is more relevant than anything that any of you have to say to me.”
He smirks. He’s proud of that one. In fact, he’s so proud of it that he takes a little bow.
"I've been watching and listening. Some of you seem to be a little tongue-tied, and there's no great surprise there. What are you supposed to say when you have the attention of a God, after all? What words could you speak to his ears that would mean a thing to him? Any of you trying to address me would be like a dog trying to comprehend jazz, but some of you have tried. Fair play to you for that. A couple of you seem to think my age is an issue. Might I remind you goons that I am not yet forty? Yes, it's true that I've been around for a very long time. That's not the same thing as being old. I know it feels like I must be knocking fifty because of everything I've won and everything I've done, but unfortunately for you, I'm still in my prime. Don't let that distract you, though. Please focus on my age and mistake me for a decrepit old man. I'm begging you to. Some of you have gone a little further than that, though, haven't you? And by 'some of you,' I mean Jakie Wentzel."
Riot reaches into his pocket a second time. This time he produces a small Bible, which he opens to a random page and pretends to read aloud.
“Nah tha haffraff hee haw yassersnaffin. Sin tin ruffinroller puffin bist me naw hawk hawk. Herr snerr thaw raffin. Huff. Huff huff jigglepuff.”
He snaps the book shut, shakes his head and tosses the holy tome aside, where it nestles among a collection of discarded cider cans.
"Now, before you all open your phones and your laptops and you start writing letters of complaint to Mr Blood, that isn't me disrespecting the book. That's me disrespecting Wentzel. Wenztel, I swear to the god that you believe in that those words are all I hear when you talk. I turned on the subtitles. I turned up the volume. Hell, I even tried consulting the tea leaves in the bottom of my mug, and I still don't know what you tried to say to me. You should come with a translator. What I do know is that last time I met you in the ring, it took me less than ten minutes to outwit you and walk away laughing while you lost what's left of your Amish-fried mind. What in the world makes you think this time is going to be any different? I have nothing to fear from you. While I'm on the topic, I also have nothing to fear from Ronnie Long."
A brief pause. Something about Long clearly irks Riot. He takes the sunglasses off again and snaps them shut, replacing them in his seemingly bottomless pocket. Doing so allows him to fix the camera with a sharper gaze.
"The question I wanted answering when I stepped in the ring with you is whether you still had it. Whether there's still some spring in those legs or whether you're so far over the hill you can't even see the top anymore. Now, you probably think you answered that question in the positive because the books say you beat me. Ronnie, I've lost before, and I'll lose again. I lose battles all the time, but I never lose wars. What you showed me by getting your goons involved is that you can't get it done on your own anymore. You can't beat me one on one, and you already know who I ride with you, so you know you can't win a gang war. You've got nothing on me, but I welcome the opportunity to teach you that properly this time. That leaves three people I have no issue with."
Riot runs his hands across his shaved skull and sighs deeply, looking at the ground for a moment before looking back up.
"Look. Zolothach. Olympia. Vector. I get that this is a special night for the three of you because you're in the ring with Rob Riot, but I implore you not to get in my way. I've got personal business to take care of with Long and Wentzel, and more importantly, I've got a Commonwealth Championship to win. The goal since day one has been to bring every belt in Wrestle:UK into the Bastards camp, and the Commonwealth Championship is the only missing piece. That means it's the priority, and I'm the one who has a shot at it. That means I can't fail, but it also means you're in harm's way if you try to stop me. I think we all know that we could mash the three of you together like a flesh Transformer, and I'd still beat you while blindfolded, but it seems only fair to warn you. What it all comes down to, ladies and jellyspoons, is this."
Riot points at the Jodrell Bank Observatory behind him one final time.
"When all's said and done at Legacy Five - when that bell rings, and we're finished for the night - the whole world's going to be staring at a ring containing Rob Riot and five dead stars."
Rob Riot confidently stalks away from the shot, pausing only to pick up a full can of beer from the grass.
Rob Riot stands in a field close to the Jodrell Bank science facility in England. He, like thousands of other people, attended the Blue Dot festival this past weekend. Wherever there's a music festival, there's a mess. Not everybody who came chose to take their tent home with them. Or their un-drunk alcohol, for that matter. Or, in some cases, their clothes. None of that bothers Riot particularly. He's never been against hedonism. For many of his years, he's encouraged it. The sea of detritus covers much of the grassy field behind the iconic wrestler, but he's not here to make points about the muck or the mud.
”Gentlemen, ladies, those undecided and those covering both bases, apologies for the mess. I didn’t cause it. Well, not all of it, anyway. I didn’t bring these cameras here so I could show off the filth. Instead, I wanted to direct your attention to….that.”
Riot points upwards. The camera pans up to follow his direction, and we get a glorious shot of Jodrell Bank's massive radio telescope dish. It's one of the largest of its kind in the country and has been ever since it was established by Bernard Lovell way back in the 1940s. From here, the United Kingdom studies the stars. OK, so maybe that's not true. From here, the United Kingdom watches for radio waves from distant objects in space. It's a mass of steel and instrumentation, turning slowly as it scans the heavens.
"Impressive, isn't it? I'd ideally like to have used the James Webb telescope for this, but that's kind of difficult given that it's more than one hundred million miles away in space. I'm good, but I have limits. I wanted a machine capable of processing astronomical data for what I have to say about this match I'm in at Legacy Five. A magnifying glass wouldn't do. A microscope wouldn't do, and nor would a regular telescope. Only something capable of seeing beyond the realms of our world and picking up the background hum of the universe works for my purposes. If you're wondering why, I'm about to tell you."
Riot turns his eyes away from the telescope, wincing a little as he does. Staring at the sky hasn’t been good for his eyes. He reaches into a pocket in his tweed jacket and produces some expensive-looking sunglasses, which he slips onto his face before continuing.
“Wentzel. Olympia. Vector. Zolothach. Ronnie Long. I hope you had a good, long look at that telescope and pondered its meaning in relation to you. I know that very few of you - actually, scratch that, none of you - are blessed with the greatest of critical faculties when it comes to comprehension, so allow me to assist. That telescope can see things that are invisible to the naked eye. It can detect radio signals that no regular radio in the world can pick up on. Using that sensitive instrument, trained scientists can detect the tiniest, most indistinguishable transmission from a pulsar on the other side of the galaxy, sent towards planet Earth billions of years ago. By the time those signals reach us, there’s a strong chance that the star that created them has died. It probably died millions of years ago. What’s picked up at Jodrell Bank Observatory is the barely audible cry of a cold, lonely star that died in a forgotten solar system before the first life on this planet crawled out of the sea and tried to find a way to survive on land. It’s the inconsequential sound of the distant dead imperceptibly landing on the ears of the living - and yet every fragment and frequency of it is more relevant than anything that any of you have to say to me.”
He smirks. He’s proud of that one. In fact, he’s so proud of it that he takes a little bow.
"I've been watching and listening. Some of you seem to be a little tongue-tied, and there's no great surprise there. What are you supposed to say when you have the attention of a God, after all? What words could you speak to his ears that would mean a thing to him? Any of you trying to address me would be like a dog trying to comprehend jazz, but some of you have tried. Fair play to you for that. A couple of you seem to think my age is an issue. Might I remind you goons that I am not yet forty? Yes, it's true that I've been around for a very long time. That's not the same thing as being old. I know it feels like I must be knocking fifty because of everything I've won and everything I've done, but unfortunately for you, I'm still in my prime. Don't let that distract you, though. Please focus on my age and mistake me for a decrepit old man. I'm begging you to. Some of you have gone a little further than that, though, haven't you? And by 'some of you,' I mean Jakie Wentzel."
Riot reaches into his pocket a second time. This time he produces a small Bible, which he opens to a random page and pretends to read aloud.
“Nah tha haffraff hee haw yassersnaffin. Sin tin ruffinroller puffin bist me naw hawk hawk. Herr snerr thaw raffin. Huff. Huff huff jigglepuff.”
He snaps the book shut, shakes his head and tosses the holy tome aside, where it nestles among a collection of discarded cider cans.
"Now, before you all open your phones and your laptops and you start writing letters of complaint to Mr Blood, that isn't me disrespecting the book. That's me disrespecting Wentzel. Wenztel, I swear to the god that you believe in that those words are all I hear when you talk. I turned on the subtitles. I turned up the volume. Hell, I even tried consulting the tea leaves in the bottom of my mug, and I still don't know what you tried to say to me. You should come with a translator. What I do know is that last time I met you in the ring, it took me less than ten minutes to outwit you and walk away laughing while you lost what's left of your Amish-fried mind. What in the world makes you think this time is going to be any different? I have nothing to fear from you. While I'm on the topic, I also have nothing to fear from Ronnie Long."
A brief pause. Something about Long clearly irks Riot. He takes the sunglasses off again and snaps them shut, replacing them in his seemingly bottomless pocket. Doing so allows him to fix the camera with a sharper gaze.
"The question I wanted answering when I stepped in the ring with you is whether you still had it. Whether there's still some spring in those legs or whether you're so far over the hill you can't even see the top anymore. Now, you probably think you answered that question in the positive because the books say you beat me. Ronnie, I've lost before, and I'll lose again. I lose battles all the time, but I never lose wars. What you showed me by getting your goons involved is that you can't get it done on your own anymore. You can't beat me one on one, and you already know who I ride with you, so you know you can't win a gang war. You've got nothing on me, but I welcome the opportunity to teach you that properly this time. That leaves three people I have no issue with."
Riot runs his hands across his shaved skull and sighs deeply, looking at the ground for a moment before looking back up.
"Look. Zolothach. Olympia. Vector. I get that this is a special night for the three of you because you're in the ring with Rob Riot, but I implore you not to get in my way. I've got personal business to take care of with Long and Wentzel, and more importantly, I've got a Commonwealth Championship to win. The goal since day one has been to bring every belt in Wrestle:UK into the Bastards camp, and the Commonwealth Championship is the only missing piece. That means it's the priority, and I'm the one who has a shot at it. That means I can't fail, but it also means you're in harm's way if you try to stop me. I think we all know that we could mash the three of you together like a flesh Transformer, and I'd still beat you while blindfolded, but it seems only fair to warn you. What it all comes down to, ladies and jellyspoons, is this."
Riot points at the Jodrell Bank Observatory behind him one final time.
"When all's said and done at Legacy Five - when that bell rings, and we're finished for the night - the whole world's going to be staring at a ring containing Rob Riot and five dead stars."
Rob Riot confidently stalks away from the shot, pausing only to pick up a full can of beer from the grass.