Post by bigdaddybastard on Feb 18, 2022 5:28:34 GMT -5
It’s a sunny fine day on the roads that wind through the mountain pass as the large black VW pickup driven by Billy Fowler cruises along. The window is down, his shades are still on, and The Clash is turned up loud on the stereo.
“Well I told you I would be back. I’m feeling a bit hungry so I’m heading to a little down just down the way for a spot of brunch.”
The road crisscrossed on for a few more miles until it passed through a sleepy little town. Nothing much here except a gas station and a small café. Fowler parked up just outside and headed in, adjusting his glasses and hair as he approached a table and placed his order with the waitress who promptly addressed him.
He settled back into his chair, draping his right arm across the back of the chair next to him.
“MMM MMM MMM! Nothing beats bacon and eggs in the morning. Now where did I leave off?
Oh that’s right, I was going to address the beating that you gentlemen should expect from us. But I’ve noticed something, something a little strange.”
A cup of warm coffee lands in front of the big man and he takes a delicate sip.
“I’ve been watching social media and the network, and I’ve seen all three of you respond to our initial warnings to you. And that’s when I noticed it. Every single one of you addressed Rob Riot or Frank Windsor… But there was no love to be shared for poor old Billy Fowler.”
The waitress quietly places a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon on toasted bread on the table. Fowler gives her a nod and a smile before picking up his knife and fork and beginning to cut apart the food before him.
“I’ll be honest with you. This is nothing new to me.
For most of my career I’ve been seen as the least threat. I’ve often stood behind Rob and Frank, towering over them yet still in their shadows. I’m no fool, I know that my calibre isn’t that of Rob or Frank.
However don’t make the mistake of thinking that my calibre is less!
It's just different.”
Fowler reaches for a bottle of ketchup, slapping a large dollop on the side of the plate.
“Every step of my career I’ve been compared to those I associate with or those standing on the ladder run just above me. So forgive me gentlemen if you expect me to be saddened by your attempts to forget about me or treat me as the weak link in the chain.
The truth is… I’m lazy. Fuck, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for those other two bastards dragging my arse back in. Half the time I running on 50% and sure, that probably looks like a person with potential who just can’t make it. The little engine who could.
But there is more to this truth. You see occasionally, a situation comes along that gets my engine stoked! It get’s these old Fowler bones a rumbling! It might a big title shot or a chance to make real history. Or it might be some jumped up pricks like you thinking they have some right to underestimate me!”
A rage crosses Fowler’s face briefly before he takes a big mouthful of his brunch. Chewing it over a bit of ketchup slips out the corner of his mouth. He slowly wipes it from his face with his index finger and examines it for a moment.
“I see double up ahead
Where the riverboat swayed beneath the sun
Is where the river runs red
Forgive me. You uncultured fucks probably don’t recognise those lyrics. They’re from a song by Ocean Colour Scene. A fine British band and I’m sure Rob Riot will love me referencing.
But it’s apt.
Because Steve, Timeless, Donzig… You think you’re on a pleasure cruise. You’re already patting yourselves on the back and getting the cocktails ready. But a bend is approaching in the river.”
Fowler rubs the ketchup between his thumb and forefinger for a moment, examining it intently before turning his gaze towards the knife lying on the table.
Without a moments pause for thought he grabs the knife and begins dragging it across his forehead, again and again. The waitress lets out a horrified scream and runs to the kitchen as Fowler forces the blunted table knife through his skin and flesh until a red flow of blood begins to ooze from his forehead, running down his face and dripping onto the plate below.
As he feels the warm flow he smiles and sits back, the tone in his voice changed from the previous calmness.
“Does this look like the face of someone who can be underestimated?
Do I look like someone you can just sleep on?
Rob Riot and Frank Windsor are twisted up for sure, but they haven’t gone to where I’m willing to go. I was expecting to have to focus on just one of your wankers… but appears that you’ve changed the game. The gentlemanly rules are out the window and instead I’m going to have to decimate all three of you!
January 24th, Heart of Halifax, I’m going to let the rivers run red! And whilst you stare up at the lights through red tinted eyes you’ll realise the true extent of the mistake you made. One silly action to make a statement is going to cost you more than you could ever imagine. Your empire, is going to crumble before you even stake a territory! Fowler, Windsor, Riot. We don’t go down.
Imagine how it will feel when you hear that 1…2…3…
And in that moment an arena of NPW fans…no…Bastards fans slowly begin to laugh at the sorry mess we’ve left you in. Empire? More like a fucking dolls house.”
Fowler slowly pulls out a handful of dollar bills from his pocket and without counting them just leaves them on the table.
“Well I told you I would be back. I’m feeling a bit hungry so I’m heading to a little down just down the way for a spot of brunch.”
The road crisscrossed on for a few more miles until it passed through a sleepy little town. Nothing much here except a gas station and a small café. Fowler parked up just outside and headed in, adjusting his glasses and hair as he approached a table and placed his order with the waitress who promptly addressed him.
He settled back into his chair, draping his right arm across the back of the chair next to him.
“MMM MMM MMM! Nothing beats bacon and eggs in the morning. Now where did I leave off?
Oh that’s right, I was going to address the beating that you gentlemen should expect from us. But I’ve noticed something, something a little strange.”
A cup of warm coffee lands in front of the big man and he takes a delicate sip.
“I’ve been watching social media and the network, and I’ve seen all three of you respond to our initial warnings to you. And that’s when I noticed it. Every single one of you addressed Rob Riot or Frank Windsor… But there was no love to be shared for poor old Billy Fowler.”
The waitress quietly places a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon on toasted bread on the table. Fowler gives her a nod and a smile before picking up his knife and fork and beginning to cut apart the food before him.
“I’ll be honest with you. This is nothing new to me.
For most of my career I’ve been seen as the least threat. I’ve often stood behind Rob and Frank, towering over them yet still in their shadows. I’m no fool, I know that my calibre isn’t that of Rob or Frank.
However don’t make the mistake of thinking that my calibre is less!
It's just different.”
Fowler reaches for a bottle of ketchup, slapping a large dollop on the side of the plate.
“Every step of my career I’ve been compared to those I associate with or those standing on the ladder run just above me. So forgive me gentlemen if you expect me to be saddened by your attempts to forget about me or treat me as the weak link in the chain.
The truth is… I’m lazy. Fuck, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for those other two bastards dragging my arse back in. Half the time I running on 50% and sure, that probably looks like a person with potential who just can’t make it. The little engine who could.
But there is more to this truth. You see occasionally, a situation comes along that gets my engine stoked! It get’s these old Fowler bones a rumbling! It might a big title shot or a chance to make real history. Or it might be some jumped up pricks like you thinking they have some right to underestimate me!”
A rage crosses Fowler’s face briefly before he takes a big mouthful of his brunch. Chewing it over a bit of ketchup slips out the corner of his mouth. He slowly wipes it from his face with his index finger and examines it for a moment.
“I see double up ahead
Where the riverboat swayed beneath the sun
Is where the river runs red
Forgive me. You uncultured fucks probably don’t recognise those lyrics. They’re from a song by Ocean Colour Scene. A fine British band and I’m sure Rob Riot will love me referencing.
But it’s apt.
Because Steve, Timeless, Donzig… You think you’re on a pleasure cruise. You’re already patting yourselves on the back and getting the cocktails ready. But a bend is approaching in the river.”
Fowler rubs the ketchup between his thumb and forefinger for a moment, examining it intently before turning his gaze towards the knife lying on the table.
Without a moments pause for thought he grabs the knife and begins dragging it across his forehead, again and again. The waitress lets out a horrified scream and runs to the kitchen as Fowler forces the blunted table knife through his skin and flesh until a red flow of blood begins to ooze from his forehead, running down his face and dripping onto the plate below.
As he feels the warm flow he smiles and sits back, the tone in his voice changed from the previous calmness.
“Does this look like the face of someone who can be underestimated?
Do I look like someone you can just sleep on?
Rob Riot and Frank Windsor are twisted up for sure, but they haven’t gone to where I’m willing to go. I was expecting to have to focus on just one of your wankers… but appears that you’ve changed the game. The gentlemanly rules are out the window and instead I’m going to have to decimate all three of you!
January 24th, Heart of Halifax, I’m going to let the rivers run red! And whilst you stare up at the lights through red tinted eyes you’ll realise the true extent of the mistake you made. One silly action to make a statement is going to cost you more than you could ever imagine. Your empire, is going to crumble before you even stake a territory! Fowler, Windsor, Riot. We don’t go down.
Imagine how it will feel when you hear that 1…2…3…
And in that moment an arena of NPW fans…no…Bastards fans slowly begin to laugh at the sorry mess we’ve left you in. Empire? More like a fucking dolls house.”
Fowler slowly pulls out a handful of dollar bills from his pocket and without counting them just leaves them on the table.
