Post by robriot on Nov 6, 2021 15:48:31 GMT -5
Archive footage.
You're looking at the Bastards, but in a different place and a different time. Windsor is thinner. Riot has hair. Fowler has the kind of youthful exuberance that comes from not being kept awake at night by young children. They're fresher faced but look battered. They're standing on a rampway, looking out at an arena full of cheering fans. The logo in the corner of the screen tells you that this is a Riot Star Wrestling show.
It’s December 2018, and this is AnarChristmas V - the last of the Christmas specials aired by the once-famous promotion. Rob Riot has just lost the RSW World Heavyweight Championship to Shane Mitchell. If you know the careers of these three men, you know that this was supposed to be the end.
Riot, Windsor, and Fowler wave at the crowd and then embrace on the ramp to a standing ovation. They take one final bow before turning and walking through the curtain for what everybody thought was the last time.
The image freezes, and the shot pulls back to reveal Rob Riot sitting in his armchair with his feet up on a plush, watching the footage with a glass of needlessly expensive whisky in his hand.
“Bro code. Oxford Osland, you really want to talk to me about bro code? Tell me what you see in this footage.”
Riot points the remote control at the screen and rewinds the footage a few seconds, taking us back to the image of the Bastards taking their final bow.
“I know you can’t answer that question because you’re not here, so let me answer it for you. Bro code is standing by your brothers in arms until the end comes. It means staring defeat in the face and fighting on anyway. It means reaching down into the pit of your soul and finding something more to give because your brothers need you. Bro code is sharing a bond that nobody can break, and nobody outside the brotherhood can understand. The Bastards have that bro code. We’ve always had that bro code.
Beckoning the camera over, Riot leans a little closer and points to a scar on his upper forehead. It’s one of many on his head. He taps it with his index finger.
"That scar was put there by Frank Windsor. He hit me head-on in the skull with the GCW World Heavyweight Championship. He did it because he wanted to tell me that he wasn't lesser than me anymore, and he wasn't willing to stand in the background. I wanted that title. He wanted me to know that he wasn't going to stand aside and let me have it. It was a message from him received and understood by me, and I respected him for it. See, the Bastards have been to war with each other twice. Two triple threat matches in two different promotions. Our bro code means we can kick every shade of shit out of each other and then go for beers afterwards. That, my decidedly-not-friend, is a bond that you can't understand. You'll never get close to understanding it. You're trying to pick at my allegiances, but deep down in your core I think you're worried that some of your so-called brothers aren't even going to show up for the Great Northern War, let alone walk into hell with you."
The Riot Star pauses long enough to take a sip of his whisky. He swills it around his mouth before swallowing, taking his time. This promo works on his schedule, not on yours. Eventually, he sets the glass back down and continues.
"You used the phrase so mockingly. You spit words like ‘loyalty’ and ‘bro code’ like they're insults because you don't understand them. It amazes you that a man like Jesse Jamester would selflessly come to the aid of Billy Fowler. It astounds you that the Bastards would voluntarily return that favour. These are alien concepts to you because you and your little wolfpack are allies of convenience. The only reason you're still standing together at all is that none of you has worked out the right time to sink a knife into the other's back. Make no mistake, though, Double-O, that the moment is coming. Don't worry about Jesse Jamester discarding us when he doesn't need us - we're not the stable here. Worry about Keith Williams realising that the rest of you bums are the anchor around his neck holding him down. You want some advice, man to man?"
He leans back toward the camera again, holding a hand up to the side of his face as if he’s whispering words to Osland that nobody else can hear.
"Make the first move. Don't let Keith strike first, and for Christ's sake, don't let Rob Garcia get the jump on you. Can you imagine the embarrassment? You'd never recover. Take a good look around once we've finished draining your blood inside that cage. Take stock. Think about who tried their hardest and who truly didn't pull their weight - and then take your shot. It's how you get to the top in this business, kid. I've been there. Maybe it'll be your turn one day."
Riot waves the camera away, seemingly done for the night, but as it backs up he clicks his fingers. He's remembered something.
“OH!”
The camera stops, holding its position, as Riot stands up and walks towards it.
“History. That was the other thing. You want to get inside my head by pointing out you eliminated me from my first match in three years, inside a supposedly haunted prison, after other people had done the dirty work of wearing me down. Well, congratulations to you. Maybe you could ask Keith how it feels to go up against me now I’m back in the wheelhouse and back in the ring. If you’re suggesting I owe you a receipt, I’m happy to print it for you. Maybe I’ll staple it to your skull when I’m done taking back my pound of flesh. Thanks for the reminder. I told you last time you heard from me that I enjoy paying my debts.”
He shrugs.
“Now you’ve reminded me that I owe you one personally, you can look forward to being repaid in full.”
Instead of the camera backing away from Riot, Riot walks away from the camera. The time for talking is over.
Now it’s time for war.
You're looking at the Bastards, but in a different place and a different time. Windsor is thinner. Riot has hair. Fowler has the kind of youthful exuberance that comes from not being kept awake at night by young children. They're fresher faced but look battered. They're standing on a rampway, looking out at an arena full of cheering fans. The logo in the corner of the screen tells you that this is a Riot Star Wrestling show.
It’s December 2018, and this is AnarChristmas V - the last of the Christmas specials aired by the once-famous promotion. Rob Riot has just lost the RSW World Heavyweight Championship to Shane Mitchell. If you know the careers of these three men, you know that this was supposed to be the end.
Riot, Windsor, and Fowler wave at the crowd and then embrace on the ramp to a standing ovation. They take one final bow before turning and walking through the curtain for what everybody thought was the last time.
The image freezes, and the shot pulls back to reveal Rob Riot sitting in his armchair with his feet up on a plush, watching the footage with a glass of needlessly expensive whisky in his hand.
“Bro code. Oxford Osland, you really want to talk to me about bro code? Tell me what you see in this footage.”
Riot points the remote control at the screen and rewinds the footage a few seconds, taking us back to the image of the Bastards taking their final bow.
“I know you can’t answer that question because you’re not here, so let me answer it for you. Bro code is standing by your brothers in arms until the end comes. It means staring defeat in the face and fighting on anyway. It means reaching down into the pit of your soul and finding something more to give because your brothers need you. Bro code is sharing a bond that nobody can break, and nobody outside the brotherhood can understand. The Bastards have that bro code. We’ve always had that bro code.
Beckoning the camera over, Riot leans a little closer and points to a scar on his upper forehead. It’s one of many on his head. He taps it with his index finger.
"That scar was put there by Frank Windsor. He hit me head-on in the skull with the GCW World Heavyweight Championship. He did it because he wanted to tell me that he wasn't lesser than me anymore, and he wasn't willing to stand in the background. I wanted that title. He wanted me to know that he wasn't going to stand aside and let me have it. It was a message from him received and understood by me, and I respected him for it. See, the Bastards have been to war with each other twice. Two triple threat matches in two different promotions. Our bro code means we can kick every shade of shit out of each other and then go for beers afterwards. That, my decidedly-not-friend, is a bond that you can't understand. You'll never get close to understanding it. You're trying to pick at my allegiances, but deep down in your core I think you're worried that some of your so-called brothers aren't even going to show up for the Great Northern War, let alone walk into hell with you."
The Riot Star pauses long enough to take a sip of his whisky. He swills it around his mouth before swallowing, taking his time. This promo works on his schedule, not on yours. Eventually, he sets the glass back down and continues.
"You used the phrase so mockingly. You spit words like ‘loyalty’ and ‘bro code’ like they're insults because you don't understand them. It amazes you that a man like Jesse Jamester would selflessly come to the aid of Billy Fowler. It astounds you that the Bastards would voluntarily return that favour. These are alien concepts to you because you and your little wolfpack are allies of convenience. The only reason you're still standing together at all is that none of you has worked out the right time to sink a knife into the other's back. Make no mistake, though, Double-O, that the moment is coming. Don't worry about Jesse Jamester discarding us when he doesn't need us - we're not the stable here. Worry about Keith Williams realising that the rest of you bums are the anchor around his neck holding him down. You want some advice, man to man?"
He leans back toward the camera again, holding a hand up to the side of his face as if he’s whispering words to Osland that nobody else can hear.
"Make the first move. Don't let Keith strike first, and for Christ's sake, don't let Rob Garcia get the jump on you. Can you imagine the embarrassment? You'd never recover. Take a good look around once we've finished draining your blood inside that cage. Take stock. Think about who tried their hardest and who truly didn't pull their weight - and then take your shot. It's how you get to the top in this business, kid. I've been there. Maybe it'll be your turn one day."
Riot waves the camera away, seemingly done for the night, but as it backs up he clicks his fingers. He's remembered something.
“OH!”
The camera stops, holding its position, as Riot stands up and walks towards it.
“History. That was the other thing. You want to get inside my head by pointing out you eliminated me from my first match in three years, inside a supposedly haunted prison, after other people had done the dirty work of wearing me down. Well, congratulations to you. Maybe you could ask Keith how it feels to go up against me now I’m back in the wheelhouse and back in the ring. If you’re suggesting I owe you a receipt, I’m happy to print it for you. Maybe I’ll staple it to your skull when I’m done taking back my pound of flesh. Thanks for the reminder. I told you last time you heard from me that I enjoy paying my debts.”
He shrugs.
“Now you’ve reminded me that I owe you one personally, you can look forward to being repaid in full.”
Instead of the camera backing away from Riot, Riot walks away from the camera. The time for talking is over.
Now it’s time for war.
