Everett v Gav

[UKWF]

Post your RPs for the match below. 2 RP cap per person.

500 words max per RP.

[UKWF]

The first-ever video embedded on the UKWF website opens with handheld footage of a small and rather untidy apartment. Amidst the layers-deep piles of beer cans, crisp packets and pizza boxes, on a grubby, colourless couch, sits a buzz-cut youth in a blue football top. Judging by the excited commentary emanating from somewhere nearby, he is watching a game of the sport in question – an impression cemented by his explosion of enthusiasm a moment later:

‘YES! GET IN!’

He jolts up off the couch, clapping and chanting:

‘LET ‘EM COME, LET ‘EM COME, LET ‘EM COOOOOMEEEE…!’

His celebration is cut short, however, as he notices the camera filming him. His jubilant expression darkens into a gruff scowl, as he barks:

‘Oi! What’s all ‘at, ‘en?’

‘Filmin’ us, babes, ent I’, comes a heavily-accented female voice from behind the camera. ‘So’s we can be on that YouTube, like. You can get well famous on there, innit. There’s this one bloke what…‘

‘YouTube?’ The youth frowns. ‘You mental? Nowt but wankers, innit! See that bloody Justin Beaver – bloody poof!’

‘OI’, the girl snaps, ‘right fittie, ‘e is!’

The lad shrugs. ‘Wo’eva. ‘I ent goin’ on no bloody YouTube.’

‘Well', the girl retorts, 'what ‘bout that wrestlin’, then? Don’t you gotta make a video for that, like?’

‘S’pose’, the youth grumbles. ‘Alrite. Go stand over there.’

The girl complies, as her interloper turns to follow the camera.

‘Alrite, you wankers? This is the G-Man, Gav the Boss, the ‘ardest man in Sarf London!’

‘Babes’, the girl cuts in, ‘we’s from Essex, innit?’

‘Shut it, Shaz’, Gav snaps urgently. Then, composing himself, he continues:

‘This ‘ere’s a message to that poof I’s facin’ at the weekend. That Raheem Sterling. Listen, mate, man to man, yeah? Might as well stay in on Sunday. Getcher bird. Watch a DVD, or the football or summat. ‘Cause you fights me, you’s gettin’ yer arse kicked ‘arder ‘n’ the Wall is kickin’ Blackpool’s.’

The lad gestures at the nearby, out-of-frame television set as he continues:

‘See, mate, I ent one of ‘em wankers what goes ‘round with their tops off actin’ like they’re ‘ard, but you cuff ‘em round the ‘ead once an’ they takes off cryin’ like the poofs they are. I’m the real fuckin’ deal. You fuck with me, you get yer ‘ead kicked in. Simple as. An’ after I’s done kickin’ yer ‘ead in, I’s gunner kick the rest of that lot’s ‘eads in. An I’s gunner be Champion. ‘Cause after you, it’s just a buncher birds, innit? Easy-peasy.’

Gav smirks smugly, before hastily adding:

‘Oh, an' speakin' o' birds…mine’s gunner be out ‘ere with me on Sunday. Don’t try nowt funny with ‘er, or yer gettin’ what for. You got that, mate?’

The youth then visibly relaxes as he concludes:

‘Alrite, that's it, you cunts. Gav out. COM’ON YOU LIONS!!!’

It is with this, and a raised fist, that the very first video on the UKWF website comes to a close.

Final Word Count: 498

[Dave]

"This is the final point of my evolution," Sterling Everett says to open his promo. We catch the former GFC World Tag Team Champion in London's Stryke Dojo, during a break between his training units.

"When I first stepped foot in the wrestling ring, I was just a heavy. A bodyguard for Frank Wiland and the group known as The Filth. Then, when the management finally realised I was good enough to actually wrestle, I formed the team known as Fear & Loathing in the UK, alongside Sylar Drake. And we even went as far as winning the World Tag Team titles. But then, when I was about to become the singles star I was born to be, FRONTIER took a... well, let's call it an extended break. It stopped. And my evolution stopped with it. I disappeared from the surface of the British wrestling scene. But now, with the creation of UKWF... I am back. And I am ready to reach that final point."

He smiles and takes a sip from a bottle of water placed next to him on the bench.

"For those of you ignorant enough to ask who I am... My name is Sterling Everett. I've had quite a few nicknames over the course of my still pretty short career. The Birmingham Bruiser, The Gentleman with the Merciless Fists, The Birminghammer.... those tell a lot about me, but I've never really been fond of any nicknames. Or roles, or gimmicks or however you want to call it. Despite the intellect I posses, I am a fairly simple man to describe - I am a powerhouse and a prizefighter. I don't do anything more than walk out, beat the ever living crap out of people, cash my check and leave. And safe to say, this weekend is not going to be anything different as I will punch my way through Gav The Chav, as much as I loathe that name, and take home the UKWF Championship.

I know one thing is for certain. The people in the Electric Ballroom will be against me. They rather support Gav, a comedic underdog and a man of the people... because he is just a lousy PS4 playing wanker, just like the majority of the audience. They rather support people like Ursula Areano, the heroic princess of pro-wrestling. And I understand that. And I. Don't. Care."

Everett gets up from the bench and cracks his knuckles.

"I've never had the support of any of you. You nitpickers have always had something against me, and you've never been happy for me. That's why my wins, titles and success have always been that much sweeter. When I win the UKWF title this Sunday, the chorus of your boos will be the sweetest thing ever I'll hear."

The scene fades.

[Dave]

The scene opens in a backstage area in London's Stryke Dojo. We roam through an empty hall, when suddenly we hear a repeated sound of wood knocking against concrete.

"Genesis is upon us..." a deep voice says as the camera takes us closer to the stairs, where Sterling Everett is sitting, tapping his barbed-wired cricket bat against the concrete floor. "...And so far, it is all a big mockery."

Everett taps the bat against the floor for the final time, leaving us in silence for a brief moment.

"At least for me, that is. When UKWF becomes the topic of a conversation, everybody talks about a new, exciting British organisation. Everybody talks about the big money guys like Mark Storm signing for it. Nobody talks about the opening match, because Gav the Chav is a lousy wannabe wrestler, and I am supposed to be the heavy bodyguard guy who just fills in a blank spot on the card. That's what everyone gets absolutely wrong.

I mean, yes, Gav is an absolute disgrace to our business. That stands. But I am the dark horse of this bloody thing..."

Everett stands up.

"In a field full of kids and birds, I am a two hundred fifty pound beast of a man. A former champion in this fine land. Trained by the very best in the industry. Meant for destruction and shaped to perfection. I'm gonna give you something that every casual wanker just gives out, but only a real man like me truly keeps - a promise. I promise you that this Sunday at the Electric Ballroom, I will turn heads. I will take haters and make them believers. I will be the first to walk into that ring to break Gav the Chav in two... and then I will be the last to leave the ring when I clean the house in the tournament finals and lift the UKWF Heavyweight Championship over my head. But that's not all... that's too easy..."

Sterling glances at his weapon of choice before staring at the camera again.

"I will not just beat them. I will destroy them, physically incapacitate them so much that when Genesis is over, I will be the only man standing over a pile of bodies. Then, UKWF will not only respect me... they will f--"

The lights suddenly go out.

"FEAR! THEY! WILL! FEAR YOU! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" a loud, cracked high-pitched voice screams into the darkness. The lights come back again as Sterling Everett is swinging his cricket bat around, trying to hit the unknown visitor.

"Who are you?! And where?! Show your face!!" Everett shouts angrily. But the mysterious entity is nowhere to be seen. Sterling faces the camera one last time, breathing heavily after the shock.

"...They will fear me."

He marches away as the scene fades to static.