Post by robriot on Oct 20, 2022 10:18:39 GMT -5
Nighttime somewhere in England. It doesn't matter where - if you pick the right town or city, a lot of places in England look the same after dark; doubly so if you head out to the suburbs. That's where Rob Riot is right now, leaning on a bridge and staring down into the water of the canal beneath. It's dark, but his face is illuminated by the faint glow of the Marlboro Gold cigarette he's smoking.
It’s unnecessary for viewers to know the brand he smokes - Riot just likes people to know he isn’t cheap.
He's been very quiet since the end of the last W:UK Legacy event, and he hasn't said a word on camera about the Battle of Britain, but that's all about to change. He takes a deep drag of the cigarette and then half turns to the camera, glancing at it briefly before turning back around.
"Hello, wrestling public. Well, what a time to be alive! A major pay-per-view for the hottest promotion on the network. A Bastard fighting for the world title in the main event. Two Bastards propping up the undercard in the tag title match, defending the straps that nothing and nobody have been able to take away from us for a year. It's a bigger stage and a bigger show, but the same thing is always true - Wrestle:UK is the Bastards' promotion, and this is the Bastards' time. People are buying tickets and tuning in for us, so I'd just like to confirm to all the boys and girls in the back that we're open to being thanked for the house any time you like. Yes, it's a great time for Wrestle:UK, and it should be a great time for us, too. But it isn't."
Riot grunts and takes another quick drag of the cigarette, flicking ash off the end of it and into the canal as he does so - a cherry-red glow dancing in the light before hissing as it disappears into the gloom of the water.
"Frank's done a good job of talking this match up. I'm sure the Glucks will do a good job of talking it up, too - or maybe they won't. Come to think of it; I'm not sure the Glucks are good at anything other than getting involved in other people's business and giving Ronnie Long reacharounds. Maybe they can talk, maybe they can't, but I can, and I don't want to talk about them. What I want to talk about is how they even got this match. What I want to talk about is what happened to my Commonwealth Championship match. See, there's a recurring theme developing in this company, and the theme is 'Rob Riot gets screwed.'”
He’s angry now, and the angrier he gets, the more he smokes. He drags the cigarette down almost to the filter before tossing it away into the darkness, turning around to face the camera head-on for the first time.
“Now, I said before that match that I didn’t really like or dislike Eron Hunter - I just saw him as someone in the way of me getting the respect I deserve as one of the greatest singles wrestlers in history. As it happens, I have way more respect for Hunter now than I did before I fought him. That doesn’t change the fact that I had him beat, and everyone knows I had him beat, before Ronnie Long's rent boys came and got involved with the match, and then Long himself shows up because he doesn't know when he's not welcome or relevant. Just to clarify that for you, Ronnie, the answers to those questions are, in order, 'never, and not for at least ten years.' Is there any payback? Are they punished for ruining a title match? No. Long gets another shot at the title, and the Glucks get to wrestle Windsor and me for the straps. Whoop-de-doo, Mr Blood. What a great call that is. Almost feels like Donzig's actually calling the shots round here, you puppet."
Riot shakes his head. The anger is palpable, but there's also disgust. This is a man who's both visibly and audibly at the end of his tether.
"Referees in this company do nothing. Officials in this company do nothing. The people who are supposed to enforce the rules in this company do nothing. If it isn't the Glucks, it's Donzig's bitches. If it isn't Donzig's guys, it's the Dark Stars, or Psychotic Goth and his pet howler monkey, or whoever the Hell else is trying to make a name for themselves that particular week. There's less chance of getting a clean finish in a Wrestle:UK match than there is of getting one in a ten-pound backstreet massage parlour. So here's where I am with it - I'm not playing anymore. Why should I even pretend to care about the card, the competitors or the rules anymore when nobody else does? Yes, I'm going to be there at the Battle of Britain, but beyond that, I make no guarantees. I'm not promising anybody a damn thing. What does that mean for the Brothers Fuck? It means this."
He draws himself up now to his full height - shoulders back, nostrils flared, eyes wide and unblinking.
"I'm not going to wrestle you. I'm going to fight you. I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to make you pay for invading my space and my opportunities. Maybe I'll do it in the ring, or maybe I'll do it before the match even starts. Maybe I'll be waiting in the parking lot. Maybe I'll just bypass you and go straight for Ronnie Long. Maybe - maybe I'll turn up during the main event and make sure Billy goes home with the title. Maybe I'll come empty-handed. Maybe I'll come armed. Maybe I'll be hiding under the ring, or maybe I'll come walking down that aisle to meet you in the middle of it when the bell rings, just as I should do. I said no promises, but actually there is one thing I can promise you from now on, Wrestle:UK, and it's this - Rob Riot does what Rob Riot wants. And when he wants to do something, it gets done. You bring the rules - and I'll bring the riot."
With that, Riot spits on the floor, scrubs it with his heel, turns and walks away.
It’s unnecessary for viewers to know the brand he smokes - Riot just likes people to know he isn’t cheap.
He's been very quiet since the end of the last W:UK Legacy event, and he hasn't said a word on camera about the Battle of Britain, but that's all about to change. He takes a deep drag of the cigarette and then half turns to the camera, glancing at it briefly before turning back around.
"Hello, wrestling public. Well, what a time to be alive! A major pay-per-view for the hottest promotion on the network. A Bastard fighting for the world title in the main event. Two Bastards propping up the undercard in the tag title match, defending the straps that nothing and nobody have been able to take away from us for a year. It's a bigger stage and a bigger show, but the same thing is always true - Wrestle:UK is the Bastards' promotion, and this is the Bastards' time. People are buying tickets and tuning in for us, so I'd just like to confirm to all the boys and girls in the back that we're open to being thanked for the house any time you like. Yes, it's a great time for Wrestle:UK, and it should be a great time for us, too. But it isn't."
Riot grunts and takes another quick drag of the cigarette, flicking ash off the end of it and into the canal as he does so - a cherry-red glow dancing in the light before hissing as it disappears into the gloom of the water.
"Frank's done a good job of talking this match up. I'm sure the Glucks will do a good job of talking it up, too - or maybe they won't. Come to think of it; I'm not sure the Glucks are good at anything other than getting involved in other people's business and giving Ronnie Long reacharounds. Maybe they can talk, maybe they can't, but I can, and I don't want to talk about them. What I want to talk about is how they even got this match. What I want to talk about is what happened to my Commonwealth Championship match. See, there's a recurring theme developing in this company, and the theme is 'Rob Riot gets screwed.'”
He’s angry now, and the angrier he gets, the more he smokes. He drags the cigarette down almost to the filter before tossing it away into the darkness, turning around to face the camera head-on for the first time.
“Now, I said before that match that I didn’t really like or dislike Eron Hunter - I just saw him as someone in the way of me getting the respect I deserve as one of the greatest singles wrestlers in history. As it happens, I have way more respect for Hunter now than I did before I fought him. That doesn’t change the fact that I had him beat, and everyone knows I had him beat, before Ronnie Long's rent boys came and got involved with the match, and then Long himself shows up because he doesn't know when he's not welcome or relevant. Just to clarify that for you, Ronnie, the answers to those questions are, in order, 'never, and not for at least ten years.' Is there any payback? Are they punished for ruining a title match? No. Long gets another shot at the title, and the Glucks get to wrestle Windsor and me for the straps. Whoop-de-doo, Mr Blood. What a great call that is. Almost feels like Donzig's actually calling the shots round here, you puppet."
Riot shakes his head. The anger is palpable, but there's also disgust. This is a man who's both visibly and audibly at the end of his tether.
"Referees in this company do nothing. Officials in this company do nothing. The people who are supposed to enforce the rules in this company do nothing. If it isn't the Glucks, it's Donzig's bitches. If it isn't Donzig's guys, it's the Dark Stars, or Psychotic Goth and his pet howler monkey, or whoever the Hell else is trying to make a name for themselves that particular week. There's less chance of getting a clean finish in a Wrestle:UK match than there is of getting one in a ten-pound backstreet massage parlour. So here's where I am with it - I'm not playing anymore. Why should I even pretend to care about the card, the competitors or the rules anymore when nobody else does? Yes, I'm going to be there at the Battle of Britain, but beyond that, I make no guarantees. I'm not promising anybody a damn thing. What does that mean for the Brothers Fuck? It means this."
He draws himself up now to his full height - shoulders back, nostrils flared, eyes wide and unblinking.
"I'm not going to wrestle you. I'm going to fight you. I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to make you pay for invading my space and my opportunities. Maybe I'll do it in the ring, or maybe I'll do it before the match even starts. Maybe I'll be waiting in the parking lot. Maybe I'll just bypass you and go straight for Ronnie Long. Maybe - maybe I'll turn up during the main event and make sure Billy goes home with the title. Maybe I'll come empty-handed. Maybe I'll come armed. Maybe I'll be hiding under the ring, or maybe I'll come walking down that aisle to meet you in the middle of it when the bell rings, just as I should do. I said no promises, but actually there is one thing I can promise you from now on, Wrestle:UK, and it's this - Rob Riot does what Rob Riot wants. And when he wants to do something, it gets done. You bring the rules - and I'll bring the riot."
With that, Riot spits on the floor, scrubs it with his heel, turns and walks away.