Post by robriot on Oct 18, 2021 8:41:01 GMT -5
“Memory, all alone in the moonlight, I can dream of the old days, life was beautiful then…”
Rob Riot has a surprisingly beautiful singing voice. You wouldn't expect a rough-around-the-edges veteran wrestler to be stood up on a stage belting out Barbra Streisand's iconic song from "Cats," but there he is. He's stripped to the waist in a tattered old pair of jeans, picked out under a single spotlight on an otherwise empty stage. The theatre, too, appears to be empty. His voice echoes in the emptiness as he sings, but he seems to be done.
After taking a moment to clear his throat, he addresses the camera.
“Memory is a powerful thing, isn’t it Donzig? I think yours might be better than mine. I’ve spent the past week watching and listening, trying to work out where my opponents are mentally. Steve Awesome and Keith Williams have had the good sense to keep their mouths shut. You, on the other hand, seem content to open yours so wide that I can see all the way down your throat and then straight up to your brain. Do you know what I can see there?”
Riot mimes the act of laying out furniture on the stage.
"Me. Living in your head, rent-free. Held there by a memory. The memory of me beating the holy hell out of you at A Call To Arms in a different time and a different place. See, I'd already forgotten that. That's pre-NPW business. It turned out to be inconsequential. For you, though, it seems I left a stain that won't wash off. So here you are with a chance to wash it off in the main event of an NPW show in front of the whole world. Deny it as you might; I think you might even send in the KGB Death Squad again when it becomes apparent that you're going to come up short. For the second time."
He takes a few paces toward the front of the stage and holds his hand up to the side of his mouth in the manner of a Shakespearian actor doing an ‘aside.’
"Of course, given how you feel about Steve Awesome, it's just as possible that you'll send them after him. I'm not the only one wondering whether your little trio can even get along for the duration of this match, and If I'm wondering it, you can bet your last dollar that Steve Awesome is wondering it too. That's a distraction. He'll spend the whole match wondering when you're going to stab him in the back, and you'll spend the whole match thinking about doing it. Distracted people don't do well in the ring with me, Donzig. They make mistakes, and they lose. You're not in the right frame of mind to win this match, and the silence of your so-called friend 'The Great White Terror' suggests he's not feeling too confident either. Some guys are happy not to hear from their opponents before a match. Me? I take it as an insult."
Riot wanders off stage for a moment and returns with a skull. It’s probably a prop skull rather than a real one - or, at least, you hope it is. The Englishman puts on his best theatrical voice, his words booming around the theatre.
“Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rims at it.”
He pauses to chuckle to himself.
“Ha! Shakespeare said ‘rim.’ The old jokes are the best.”
He tosses the skull away. It bounces across the stage before coming to a rest, spinning in its spot.
"What I'm trying to get across to you, Donzig, is that I enjoy being centre stage. I enjoy being the centre of attention. I don't just deserve it - my reputation and my achievements demand it. I don't feel like the centre of attention right now. You seem more interested in Kid Koala. That's your second mistake. Not only are you distracted by one of your teammates, but you're also failing to focus on the most dangerous man among your opponents. I'll make you pay for that. You mention our past date at A Call To Arms but then save your best barbs for the guy in the animal costume I'm tagging with? You offend me. As I'm living in your head rent-free, you should pay more attention to the alterations I'm making up there. I'm making the place my own. I'm painting. I'm redecorating. You're going to hate what I've done with the place by the time you come back to take a look at it, but by then, it's going to be too late. Distracted and unfocused. I'm disappointed in you. I was anticipating a war. What I'm getting is a man who won't even see my best shot coming. And then there's you, Keith Williams. Then there's you. SPOTLIGHT!"
As Riot calls out his instruction to his unseen accomplice, the spotlight on him becomes brighter - so bright that you can no longer see the rest of the stage around him. It’s just Riot, the bright light, and you.
“Is that bright enough for, you Great White Terror? I’ve been watching you since the moment I opened the NPW door. What a vile creature you are. What a menace. What foul deeds you do. I’d call you a bastard, except I’m in the room. The Revenants and the Bastards seem destined to go to war, but I’m getting none of that smoke from you right now. Cat got your tongue, child? You were so keen to fight at first, but you seem to have lost that enthusiasm. Maybe you’ve already seen that we’re more than you can handle. Maybe you know that losing to me will be the first crack in that fragile glass that holds the Revenants together. You exist to be the best. When it’s so obvious that you’re not, what’s the point of you?”
The light dims a little again, and Riot walks across to the centre of the stage.
“When all is said and done, I’ll take all three of you and turn you into the same thing. A dying act on an unwatched stage. A testament to futility. I thank you.”
Riot takes a deep, theatrical bow, and everything goes dark.
Rob Riot has a surprisingly beautiful singing voice. You wouldn't expect a rough-around-the-edges veteran wrestler to be stood up on a stage belting out Barbra Streisand's iconic song from "Cats," but there he is. He's stripped to the waist in a tattered old pair of jeans, picked out under a single spotlight on an otherwise empty stage. The theatre, too, appears to be empty. His voice echoes in the emptiness as he sings, but he seems to be done.
After taking a moment to clear his throat, he addresses the camera.
“Memory is a powerful thing, isn’t it Donzig? I think yours might be better than mine. I’ve spent the past week watching and listening, trying to work out where my opponents are mentally. Steve Awesome and Keith Williams have had the good sense to keep their mouths shut. You, on the other hand, seem content to open yours so wide that I can see all the way down your throat and then straight up to your brain. Do you know what I can see there?”
Riot mimes the act of laying out furniture on the stage.
"Me. Living in your head, rent-free. Held there by a memory. The memory of me beating the holy hell out of you at A Call To Arms in a different time and a different place. See, I'd already forgotten that. That's pre-NPW business. It turned out to be inconsequential. For you, though, it seems I left a stain that won't wash off. So here you are with a chance to wash it off in the main event of an NPW show in front of the whole world. Deny it as you might; I think you might even send in the KGB Death Squad again when it becomes apparent that you're going to come up short. For the second time."
He takes a few paces toward the front of the stage and holds his hand up to the side of his mouth in the manner of a Shakespearian actor doing an ‘aside.’
"Of course, given how you feel about Steve Awesome, it's just as possible that you'll send them after him. I'm not the only one wondering whether your little trio can even get along for the duration of this match, and If I'm wondering it, you can bet your last dollar that Steve Awesome is wondering it too. That's a distraction. He'll spend the whole match wondering when you're going to stab him in the back, and you'll spend the whole match thinking about doing it. Distracted people don't do well in the ring with me, Donzig. They make mistakes, and they lose. You're not in the right frame of mind to win this match, and the silence of your so-called friend 'The Great White Terror' suggests he's not feeling too confident either. Some guys are happy not to hear from their opponents before a match. Me? I take it as an insult."
Riot wanders off stage for a moment and returns with a skull. It’s probably a prop skull rather than a real one - or, at least, you hope it is. The Englishman puts on his best theatrical voice, his words booming around the theatre.
“Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rims at it.”
He pauses to chuckle to himself.
“Ha! Shakespeare said ‘rim.’ The old jokes are the best.”
He tosses the skull away. It bounces across the stage before coming to a rest, spinning in its spot.
"What I'm trying to get across to you, Donzig, is that I enjoy being centre stage. I enjoy being the centre of attention. I don't just deserve it - my reputation and my achievements demand it. I don't feel like the centre of attention right now. You seem more interested in Kid Koala. That's your second mistake. Not only are you distracted by one of your teammates, but you're also failing to focus on the most dangerous man among your opponents. I'll make you pay for that. You mention our past date at A Call To Arms but then save your best barbs for the guy in the animal costume I'm tagging with? You offend me. As I'm living in your head rent-free, you should pay more attention to the alterations I'm making up there. I'm making the place my own. I'm painting. I'm redecorating. You're going to hate what I've done with the place by the time you come back to take a look at it, but by then, it's going to be too late. Distracted and unfocused. I'm disappointed in you. I was anticipating a war. What I'm getting is a man who won't even see my best shot coming. And then there's you, Keith Williams. Then there's you. SPOTLIGHT!"
As Riot calls out his instruction to his unseen accomplice, the spotlight on him becomes brighter - so bright that you can no longer see the rest of the stage around him. It’s just Riot, the bright light, and you.
“Is that bright enough for, you Great White Terror? I’ve been watching you since the moment I opened the NPW door. What a vile creature you are. What a menace. What foul deeds you do. I’d call you a bastard, except I’m in the room. The Revenants and the Bastards seem destined to go to war, but I’m getting none of that smoke from you right now. Cat got your tongue, child? You were so keen to fight at first, but you seem to have lost that enthusiasm. Maybe you’ve already seen that we’re more than you can handle. Maybe you know that losing to me will be the first crack in that fragile glass that holds the Revenants together. You exist to be the best. When it’s so obvious that you’re not, what’s the point of you?”
The light dims a little again, and Riot walks across to the centre of the stage.
“When all is said and done, I’ll take all three of you and turn you into the same thing. A dying act on an unwatched stage. A testament to futility. I thank you.”
Riot takes a deep, theatrical bow, and everything goes dark.
