Post by Old Line Jeff on Apr 23, 2023 23:37:09 GMT -5
Ronnie Long, sprawled in an armchair on his porch, looks every bit the Georgia redneck. The top of his head hidden by a white Atlanta Braves baseball hat, his hair hangs in loose curls to the tops of his shoulders, and his chest behind that open black leather vest is greasy from sweat. It gets warm in Georgia early.
“I’m not doin’ it.”
He lets those words hang in the air.
“I got a couple things I want to get off my chest… no. I’ve got a couple things I’m obligated to get off my chest.”
“But I’ve got enough to say that I don’t need to, eh, ‘shoot.’”
He picks the pistol he had sitting in his lap, spins it around one finger and sets it back down.
“I was all set up to do it too. I got that old pot I use for target practice out, just like I did when Gus Arnold asked me to lean in on Steve Awesome back in NPW that one time, I was gonna take my potshots, but…”
He shakes his head, gestures to the pot sitting in the lawn.
“I’m not feeling it.”
“Rob Riot and Frank Windsor pull a little scheme, a title switches hands, they seem to think it’s the coup of the century as opposed to the kind of heel stable shit that’s happened a dozen times before. I would know, folks. When Jeff Andrews was running Defiance, he appointed me and Heidi Christenson as the tag champions, and then switched the titles to trios tag titles and made Kai Scott our third to dodge giving the number one contender a shot.”
“I’m not saying it wasn’t disrespectful. I’m not saying it wasn’t disgusting.”
“I’m just saying that it’s not edgy.”
“Frankly, I’ve been telling everyone in the damn promotion exactly who and what Rob Riot is for months, and I knew the XHF bigwigs didn’t pay attention to my shit but apparently nobody else in the damn promotion does either. And it’s been a long time since I had anything to say about Frank Windsor, but they’re two sides of the same coin - one’s faux-sophisticated, the other fuckin’ says fuck all the fuckin’ time, but in the long run the difference between them is just fuckin’ semantics.”
“If you’re shocked at anything the Bastards do, well, Daeriq’s selling slightly used bridges and you might as well be interested.”
Ronnie smirks and spits some air out the corner of his mouth.
“And yeah, all this applies to Mr. Blood. He flips his wig. He’s always had that hands-off, let the inmates run the asylum kind of management style, but apparently he’s shocked and horrified when a few of the inmates decide to run out of bounds, so to speak. But then he decides not to just reverse the decision or vacate the belt. Now we’ve got XHF nonsense in W:UK, Lord Dominicus has his nose stuck in the door - still not a fan of the guy, but not going to pretend I don’t know his name. That was that special thing I had with old Nuwave Jayne Correia. I actually miss The ReVenants.”
He sighs.
“The daggone ReVenants. You see what you Bastards have reduced me to?”
Another, longer sigh.
“Blood actually asked me if I felt personally disrespected by the fact that Riot and Windsor decided to pull their little stunt, since it’s kind of overshadowed my World Title shot against Crane. Of course, I don’t want to blame them for the entirety of that, because I can’t seem to get anything out of Crane other than him hiding in the back of his penthouse and crying ‘he didn’t earn it he didn’t earn it’ like he’s trying to convince someone. Well he may have convinced Frank Windsor, but that’s not exactly braggable. Windsor’s pretty stupid. The Glucks already beat Crane once. If they can do it, I can do it. For that matter, I had him dead to rights the time we wrestled. But I’ve got Bastard issues before I can deal with my High Roller issues.”
Long shakes his head.
“Y’know, when I came to W:UK, I said I wanted the World Title. Called out the guy who had the belt at the time - I’ll come back to that. But watching Eron Hunter clean house in the Commonwealth division while watching the likes of Eddie Havok, Eddie D, and that one other guy in the World Division, I decided that the Commonwealth division was the place to be. I’ve been clear from the minute I came back to wrestling in NPW, I wanted to do something that mattered. The Commonwealth division mattered. And the one and only thing I respected about Rob Riot was that he was down there, striving to win the Commonwealth Title.”
“So of course, because he’s Rob Riot, he pisses that away.”
“Maybe Frank could’ve won that belt fair and square, although he had a long time to do it and a couple tries and didn’t.”
“But I’m not wrestling Riot, and I’m not wrestling Windsor either, am I?”
Long looks up as though waiting for someone to answer. When no one does, he continues.
“I’m wrestling the forgettable third Bastard. Ironic since judging by his earlier output he forgot that I existed. Ol’ Edward Zeppo.”
“No wait, that was a different Galactic Sex Pirate, wasn’t it? Nah, I know who I’ve got. Billy Fowler. Big Billah!”
“Pff.”
“No, see, there may be more important goings-on in W:UK than Billy Fowler, but I’m not going to ignore his entire existence. I’ve got some things to say about Fowler.”
“Next time.”
He picks that pistol up and shoots once, pinging a bullet off the old teapot in the yard.
Fade.
“I’m not doin’ it.”
He lets those words hang in the air.
“I got a couple things I want to get off my chest… no. I’ve got a couple things I’m obligated to get off my chest.”
“But I’ve got enough to say that I don’t need to, eh, ‘shoot.’”
He picks the pistol he had sitting in his lap, spins it around one finger and sets it back down.
“I was all set up to do it too. I got that old pot I use for target practice out, just like I did when Gus Arnold asked me to lean in on Steve Awesome back in NPW that one time, I was gonna take my potshots, but…”
He shakes his head, gestures to the pot sitting in the lawn.
“I’m not feeling it.”
“Rob Riot and Frank Windsor pull a little scheme, a title switches hands, they seem to think it’s the coup of the century as opposed to the kind of heel stable shit that’s happened a dozen times before. I would know, folks. When Jeff Andrews was running Defiance, he appointed me and Heidi Christenson as the tag champions, and then switched the titles to trios tag titles and made Kai Scott our third to dodge giving the number one contender a shot.”
“I’m not saying it wasn’t disrespectful. I’m not saying it wasn’t disgusting.”
“I’m just saying that it’s not edgy.”
“Frankly, I’ve been telling everyone in the damn promotion exactly who and what Rob Riot is for months, and I knew the XHF bigwigs didn’t pay attention to my shit but apparently nobody else in the damn promotion does either. And it’s been a long time since I had anything to say about Frank Windsor, but they’re two sides of the same coin - one’s faux-sophisticated, the other fuckin’ says fuck all the fuckin’ time, but in the long run the difference between them is just fuckin’ semantics.”
“If you’re shocked at anything the Bastards do, well, Daeriq’s selling slightly used bridges and you might as well be interested.”
Ronnie smirks and spits some air out the corner of his mouth.
“And yeah, all this applies to Mr. Blood. He flips his wig. He’s always had that hands-off, let the inmates run the asylum kind of management style, but apparently he’s shocked and horrified when a few of the inmates decide to run out of bounds, so to speak. But then he decides not to just reverse the decision or vacate the belt. Now we’ve got XHF nonsense in W:UK, Lord Dominicus has his nose stuck in the door - still not a fan of the guy, but not going to pretend I don’t know his name. That was that special thing I had with old Nuwave Jayne Correia. I actually miss The ReVenants.”
He sighs.
“The daggone ReVenants. You see what you Bastards have reduced me to?”
Another, longer sigh.
“Blood actually asked me if I felt personally disrespected by the fact that Riot and Windsor decided to pull their little stunt, since it’s kind of overshadowed my World Title shot against Crane. Of course, I don’t want to blame them for the entirety of that, because I can’t seem to get anything out of Crane other than him hiding in the back of his penthouse and crying ‘he didn’t earn it he didn’t earn it’ like he’s trying to convince someone. Well he may have convinced Frank Windsor, but that’s not exactly braggable. Windsor’s pretty stupid. The Glucks already beat Crane once. If they can do it, I can do it. For that matter, I had him dead to rights the time we wrestled. But I’ve got Bastard issues before I can deal with my High Roller issues.”
Long shakes his head.
“Y’know, when I came to W:UK, I said I wanted the World Title. Called out the guy who had the belt at the time - I’ll come back to that. But watching Eron Hunter clean house in the Commonwealth division while watching the likes of Eddie Havok, Eddie D, and that one other guy in the World Division, I decided that the Commonwealth division was the place to be. I’ve been clear from the minute I came back to wrestling in NPW, I wanted to do something that mattered. The Commonwealth division mattered. And the one and only thing I respected about Rob Riot was that he was down there, striving to win the Commonwealth Title.”
“So of course, because he’s Rob Riot, he pisses that away.”
“Maybe Frank could’ve won that belt fair and square, although he had a long time to do it and a couple tries and didn’t.”
“But I’m not wrestling Riot, and I’m not wrestling Windsor either, am I?”
Long looks up as though waiting for someone to answer. When no one does, he continues.
“I’m wrestling the forgettable third Bastard. Ironic since judging by his earlier output he forgot that I existed. Ol’ Edward Zeppo.”
“No wait, that was a different Galactic Sex Pirate, wasn’t it? Nah, I know who I’ve got. Billy Fowler. Big Billah!”
“Pff.”
“No, see, there may be more important goings-on in W:UK than Billy Fowler, but I’m not going to ignore his entire existence. I’ve got some things to say about Fowler.”
“Next time.”
He picks that pistol up and shoots once, pinging a bullet off the old teapot in the yard.
Fade.