Post by robriot on Jan 11, 2023 10:18:16 GMT -5
This is a Rob Riot promo, but it's not your average Rob Riot promo. It's not slick. It's not professionally lit. It's not sharply edited. In fact, it's been filmed on a phone camera. That much is obvious from the way Riot himself sets it up, no more than a couple of inches away from the phone, before stepping away into the middle of a fairly nondescript room. It's bare except for the occasional chair and a table - a blank canvas for anyone who wants to enter it.
The quality of the recording isn't the only strange thing about this scene. Rob Riot doesn't appear as we usually see him. He's not dressed to wrestle, and he's not in his usual tweed and corduroy combo, either. Uncharacteristically, he's dressed in jeans and an old Bastards t-shirt. If you were to sum the look up in a word, you'd probably go with "scruffy."
"There's power in words, Armand, and there's power in names. Hundreds of years ago, people believed that a witch could only curse you if they knew your name. Even now, having the wrong kind of name in the wrong part of the world can be enough to get you killed. Names are knowledge, and knowledge is power. I guess you're feeling pretty powerful right now because you know my name, and you're not afraid to use it. The wrestling world knows me as Rob Riot, but you're quite content to sit there in your toy plane and your faux leather chair, sip your off-brand whisky, and call me Robert Hill. Only one person in the world gets to call me by that name, Armand, and you're not her. But let me tell you about Rob Riot and Robert Hill."
He pauses. He’s been pacing back and forth as he speaks, but now he stands still for a moment, running a hand across his usually-shaved head. He’s been letting it grow out a little recently. As such, it serves to make him look a little wilder; a little more unkempt.
"Rob Riot is the world's greatest wrestler. Rob Riot is all about touring with The Bastards, loving the spotlight, living the good life and stacking up championships. He's a persona created for the pro wrestling world. He's a projection of myself, just as we all are on our best days, but he's a projection all the same. You want to get under his skin and find a layer or two of Robert Hill underneath? Well, I've been Rob Riot for so long that there ain't much left of him, but here are a few things you should know before you say his name out loud."
He suddenly and urgently steps closer to the camera, eyes narrow and yet ablaze.
"Robert Hill grew up in Blackpool in a house where his mum had to go back to work when he was eight because his dad got sick. Robert Hill went to a low-grade school next to a pub in the middle of that cesspit of a town. Across the street was a stairway that led to an underground toilet where people used to overdose and die on a weekly basis. He walked to that school and home again every day from the age of eight. He walked through a town that has double the national average rate of suicide, drug addiction and {No Means No}. He survived in a town where the average life expectancy is ten per cent lower than the UK average. He grew up and shipped out of a town where people get stuck in a rut from the day they're born to the day they die. He took his first beatings on those Blackpool streets, and he learned from them. He spilt his first blood on those Blackpool streets, and he enjoyed it. He might not be Rob Riot, but he's a survivor. Do you know what comes with survival? Guilt."
He closes his eyes for a moment. He’s been talking faster and faster, but he hasn’t moved an inch since he took that half-step forward. He might not even have blinked.
“Guilt at getting away when so many others got stuck. Guilt at not going home and helping out. Guilt at moving away and leaving my father behind, who died three months after I left. You like to think you’re immortal, Armand, but we’re all subject to the laws of physics and thermodynamics. I’ve seen death. I know what death is. I’ve known friends who’ve taken their own lives. I’ve seen people - beautiful, clever, funny people - lose their minds to drink and drugs. I’ve seen that town swallow people whole and mourned every single one of them, but in the same moment I mourned them, I learned never to be afraid. There’s no time. There’s no need. Bad things are going to happen anyway, and most people who threaten bad things can’t deliver on them. You want to threaten Maurice Evans? Go ahead, see what happens. You want to send people after the people I hold dear? Make my day. I’m not afraid of who you are or what you might do, you relic. It falls on you to be afraid of what I may do in return.”
He sighs.
"The thing is, I know that naming me means nothing to you. It's a cheap trick, just like your cheap Egyptian cigarettes and the cheap parlour tricks you pull off to convince people you're more than just an end-of-the-pier magic act with a stupid accent. It was just a jibe to you; a way of getting a response. You've been around for a while, so you know how old wisdom works. Here's a piece you've heard before - 'Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.' You were booked with Rob Riot, but you asked for Robert Hill. More fool you."
It’s closing time. Rob reaches out to the camera, preparing to shut it off and upload it.
“Just for you, Armand, you’re not wrestling Rob Riot of the Bastards in Aberdeen. You’re not wrestling anybody at all. You’re in a fight, and you’re fighting Robert Hill, the survivor of Blackpool. Those streets gave me Hell, but that only means Hell is mine to deliver. I’m going to take pleasure in delivering it to you.
{{EDITING NOTE:- I didn't put "No Means No" in there, I guess this forum auto-censors the "r" word}}
The quality of the recording isn't the only strange thing about this scene. Rob Riot doesn't appear as we usually see him. He's not dressed to wrestle, and he's not in his usual tweed and corduroy combo, either. Uncharacteristically, he's dressed in jeans and an old Bastards t-shirt. If you were to sum the look up in a word, you'd probably go with "scruffy."
"There's power in words, Armand, and there's power in names. Hundreds of years ago, people believed that a witch could only curse you if they knew your name. Even now, having the wrong kind of name in the wrong part of the world can be enough to get you killed. Names are knowledge, and knowledge is power. I guess you're feeling pretty powerful right now because you know my name, and you're not afraid to use it. The wrestling world knows me as Rob Riot, but you're quite content to sit there in your toy plane and your faux leather chair, sip your off-brand whisky, and call me Robert Hill. Only one person in the world gets to call me by that name, Armand, and you're not her. But let me tell you about Rob Riot and Robert Hill."
He pauses. He’s been pacing back and forth as he speaks, but now he stands still for a moment, running a hand across his usually-shaved head. He’s been letting it grow out a little recently. As such, it serves to make him look a little wilder; a little more unkempt.
"Rob Riot is the world's greatest wrestler. Rob Riot is all about touring with The Bastards, loving the spotlight, living the good life and stacking up championships. He's a persona created for the pro wrestling world. He's a projection of myself, just as we all are on our best days, but he's a projection all the same. You want to get under his skin and find a layer or two of Robert Hill underneath? Well, I've been Rob Riot for so long that there ain't much left of him, but here are a few things you should know before you say his name out loud."
He suddenly and urgently steps closer to the camera, eyes narrow and yet ablaze.
"Robert Hill grew up in Blackpool in a house where his mum had to go back to work when he was eight because his dad got sick. Robert Hill went to a low-grade school next to a pub in the middle of that cesspit of a town. Across the street was a stairway that led to an underground toilet where people used to overdose and die on a weekly basis. He walked to that school and home again every day from the age of eight. He walked through a town that has double the national average rate of suicide, drug addiction and {No Means No}. He survived in a town where the average life expectancy is ten per cent lower than the UK average. He grew up and shipped out of a town where people get stuck in a rut from the day they're born to the day they die. He took his first beatings on those Blackpool streets, and he learned from them. He spilt his first blood on those Blackpool streets, and he enjoyed it. He might not be Rob Riot, but he's a survivor. Do you know what comes with survival? Guilt."
He closes his eyes for a moment. He’s been talking faster and faster, but he hasn’t moved an inch since he took that half-step forward. He might not even have blinked.
“Guilt at getting away when so many others got stuck. Guilt at not going home and helping out. Guilt at moving away and leaving my father behind, who died three months after I left. You like to think you’re immortal, Armand, but we’re all subject to the laws of physics and thermodynamics. I’ve seen death. I know what death is. I’ve known friends who’ve taken their own lives. I’ve seen people - beautiful, clever, funny people - lose their minds to drink and drugs. I’ve seen that town swallow people whole and mourned every single one of them, but in the same moment I mourned them, I learned never to be afraid. There’s no time. There’s no need. Bad things are going to happen anyway, and most people who threaten bad things can’t deliver on them. You want to threaten Maurice Evans? Go ahead, see what happens. You want to send people after the people I hold dear? Make my day. I’m not afraid of who you are or what you might do, you relic. It falls on you to be afraid of what I may do in return.”
He sighs.
"The thing is, I know that naming me means nothing to you. It's a cheap trick, just like your cheap Egyptian cigarettes and the cheap parlour tricks you pull off to convince people you're more than just an end-of-the-pier magic act with a stupid accent. It was just a jibe to you; a way of getting a response. You've been around for a while, so you know how old wisdom works. Here's a piece you've heard before - 'Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.' You were booked with Rob Riot, but you asked for Robert Hill. More fool you."
It’s closing time. Rob reaches out to the camera, preparing to shut it off and upload it.
“Just for you, Armand, you’re not wrestling Rob Riot of the Bastards in Aberdeen. You’re not wrestling anybody at all. You’re in a fight, and you’re fighting Robert Hill, the survivor of Blackpool. Those streets gave me Hell, but that only means Hell is mine to deliver. I’m going to take pleasure in delivering it to you.
{{EDITING NOTE:- I didn't put "No Means No" in there, I guess this forum auto-censors the "r" word}}