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| "One"; vs KB | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: 30th January 2015 - 04:16 PM (96 Views) | |
| xShanex | 30th January 2015 - 04:16 PM Post #1 |
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LARIATOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
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“We think you’ll like what we have in-store.” The conversation wasn’t the first one of its kind Morgan Lane had ever encountered. The life of a talent relations agent tended to stretch to three categories: call wrestlers, make wrestlers happy, and show wrestlers merchandise that will make them (and by them we mean the UKWF) money. The UKWF was just a young pup, but Lane had been running with British wolves for five years now and the order always remained the same. See, there was really no “talent relations” at all, but a few nodded heads out of necessity. Get in, show the product, and get out had become Ms. Lane’s motto like she was out in the alleys slinging drugs. As she looked across the meeting table at the man on the other side, she just might have been. He had been high all week since she last saw him. Nathan Redmond rocked in narrow arches in the black leather office chair, hands folded over the pelvis of worn blue jeans. He hadn’t said much since he walked in, just your everyday “hellos” and “how are yous” before he sat down. His smile was as wide as the bruise growing from his jaw up the side of his head; the souvenir from his party with the clown. Lane thought about how she would’ve just preferred a balloon animal, but Redmond was walking tall, showing off his O2 battle scars like a little kid with a new toy. “Already in t’e best o’ moods, Morgan. Only goin’ up from here.” “Let’s see how right you are.” Lane’s hands disappeared beneath the table, followed by her face and head until all that Redmond could see was the suit jacket lump of her bent back like a business-class Loch Ness monster. With a grunt and a heave, Lane rocked the table with a cardboard box. Redmond’s smile couldn’t waver (mainly because loosening the muscles in his cheek would bring the pain of a Punchline that never ended back), but he leaned in closer to the box. Was it a present? A cake? A loved one’s head? Wizards and warlocks turned to the dark arts to find ways to freeze time, explorers searched for the fountain of youth, but at that moment Nathan Redmond found eternity in the unfolding of a piece of cardboard. He heard the choir sing as Ms. Lane pulled from the box a dark gray square of cloth, unfolding it carefully like a flag presented to a decorated soldier. Lane turned the article around in a flash. “Ta da!” He clasped his hand to his injured jaw, but the striking sting went numb in the euphoria. Even the pressure couldn’t stop his lip from quivering. The article was a t-shirt, colorful caricatures of Andreas Berenger, KC Kash, Tim Timmons and Caketown piled on top of each other in a massive mound amongst the rest of the bodies of faceless victims. Atop the hill of conquered stood an image of Redmond himself, arm raised in the air in a strike of lightning in a shot straight out of “Army of Darkness”, Redmond’s name spelled out in matching font. “So what do you think?” Lane asked out of instinct, but the answer was spelt out in salt water on Redmond’s face. The weight of the world was the weight of that cotton-blended shirt. His first match was something; the O2 was something else, but right there, for £17.03, there was definitive proof that he had made it somewhere. That he…was somebody. “I t’ink it’s t’e most beautiful t’ing I’ve ever seen.” Taking the shirt into his own hands, Redmond looked down upon it like a proud father. This was his, now. He had made this happen, created it with his own blood. He had built his house, and from that point on it was no longer about him. It was about defending his home and the hundreds of family members at ringside. “May I…take t’is one?” Lane gave a soft smile to the grown man overcome by his own emotion. “That’s the plan.” Redmond shot up from the chair in every way his pay-per-view injuries didn’t want him to. He gave a polite bow to the agent before taking off out of the room while struggling to muscle his new shirt on over his clothing. Lane chuckled to herself as she watched him go, taking a seat and pulling another shirt from the box. Checking around, she tucked the shirt into her suit jacket. She had only one thought: One of these days, that shirt was going to be worth something big. ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, In a couple of seconds, our video buffers through, bringing us to the streets of London. The scene was a page out of a stereotypical speculation; grey skies over Victorian architecture, the drizzle of light rain pitter-pattering down and pooling into small puddles. Used to the damp and dark like an everyday occurrence, the people of London kept on their way left and right, double-deckers slicing through water with sloshing whispers. We see this all from under the canopy of an outdoor café, closed during the winter months but still providing a bit of shelter from the rain and protecting the camera on the shoulder of the UKWF cameraman. Old Jim was not alone, though, as he had a bit of company. The camera panned to the right, finding that company in a man getting used to his new (co) name, “Mr. 2015”, but a man we know better as Nathan Redmond. Redmond watched the people go by, head nodding to the one earbud in-place but loud enough to hear a bit of “Janie Jones” by The Clash. Redmond’s duo-toned hair hung down on his head in the same way it had done before, but what was once dirty blond and black was now black with a few shades of very dark purple. Not a fancy man to say the least, Redmond wore some basic jeans and sneakers, but on his upper-half, despite the chill in the air, Redmond proudly wore that t-shirt that bore his name. It would be nice to think that the UKWF supplied him a fresh shirt for every day, but the truth was more likely: he hadn’t taken that shirt off since he got it. “Before we get to all t’e good stuff, I gotta say Cakey, you got one hell of a punch!” Redmond chuckled as he rubbed the now healing remnants of the bruise upon his face. “I don’t got a bad ‘ting to say about ya. T’at was a night I’ll never forget and I’m lookin’ forward to t’e day I can tell me grandkids about t’e time Granddad hit a giant clown wit’ a lariat!” Redmond shook his head, now looking into the camera with that grin that hadn’t left his face since his plane first touched down in London. “I’d like to call ya friend, Cakey. You ever need someone to have your back, ya got Nat’an Redmond.” Redmond pointed to the place across his chest where his name was spelled out plain as day. “But there’s no stopping for me! No sir, just like t’e locomotive, once t’e train picks up momentum it just can’t stop. Not saying t’at nobody’s gonna try, t’ough. In fact, at Live t’ere’s a barricade blockin’ t’e tracks t’at goes by t’e name Krimzon Blaze.” Redmond ran his hand over his scruffy beard, then folded both hands behind his head. “Blaze I was hopin’ I’d get t’e chance to speak first on t’is exchange so I can say somet’in’ you don’t hear enough of. Blaze, I respect you. I respect t‘e hell out of you. In fact, you were on my list of guys I wanted to face when I got my career up and runnin’. I wanted t’is match to be about sportsmanship and just havin’ a good time doin’ what we love…” Redmond sighed. “But t’en you had to make it about t’e numbers. All your title wins, t’e awards, all t’at good stuff. Said you were gonna cut me down or somet’in’ like t’at. Everyone else would get upset at a claim like t’at. Me? I love it! If you aren’t bringin’ your best, we’re not havin’ a match wort’ t’e Hooligans’ time! So at UKWF Live, it’s gonna be t’e first UKWF Empire Champion, t’e man t’e Hooligans voted ‘face’ of t’e year, versus t’at guy t’ey’re callin’ one of t’e two Mr. 2015’s. Who am I to let me family down?” Redmond comically shrugged, placing his hands on his sides. “When t’e time comes, KB, we can bring all t’e numbers we want into t’e mix, but t’e one you really need to be concerned wit’ is one. Just…one. One lariat and I get me another notch on me belt! The forecast is callin’ for Red Rain, Blaze.” Redmond winked. ”And I’m bringin’ t’e t’under!” Edited by xShanex, 30th January 2015 - 04:17 PM.
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