UKWF Broadcast Ch'ship: Edwards (c) v Watson

[UKWF]

Post your RPs for the match below. 2 RP cap per side, max. 500 words per RP.

[James Edwards]

"Where I come from, if you say want something, then you damn well go out and do it on your own."

James' words are, in fact, rooted in home. He is back in Kentucky at the moment, taking a well-deserved break from his obviously painful profession. His lower back is stiffer than the picnic table red plywood shed he sits against. The wind hisses through the trees, a forewarning that storms are on the way. Ace Watson might need to pay heed to the wind.

"What did you want to show us all against Alyssa, Ace? That you were better than her? That you're the same man that held a belt for 150 days or some such shit like that?

Don't waste your or my time with that garbage. You had the words, but you didn't have the pride to finish off a woman you obviously loathe. Your buddys did the work for you. If that's what you're about, fine, but don't go actin' like you're a killer because she couldn't keep going; don't warn me that makes you the most dangerous man I'll ever face for my belt.

Garrett said as much when she came at me. Hell, she couldn't do it on her own, so she had her sisters give me the boots before, during, and after the fight. It didn't do a damn thing, did it? I still won, and I still walked out on my volition.

You wanna know why Ace? Pride, simple fuckin' pride.

The most dangerous man I've ever faced ain't anybody you'd have heard of or guess; he's my reflection. He is the opponent I face off with every day when I crawl out of bed. The same one I couldn't put any effort to grapple with after I made an ass of myself when I lost to Reigner.

Being able to beat the man in the mirror is why I spent so much time in the gym after that loss. I had to ask people for help to get better, which ain't easy for me to do. I did anyways because to get the best out yourself, you have to be proud of what you can do.

That's why I'm gonna be able to look myself in the eye after this fight, win or lose. What are you gonna be able to do, Ace? Pull out more bullshit and then puff yourself back up to justify it? That seems likely to me.

Don't like what I'm sayin? Then prove me wrong. Leave the NME in the back. Fight me like a man and prove a man of your word, one with a spine armored by pride. You gotta better chance if that happens. If not, you're gonna be another example of this advice I always seem to have to give out."

[James Edwards]

"So what about the numbers game?"

His mentor, his ex, and his white-haired best friend all asked a valid question, but James could not give them a definitive response. He had no fucking clue, just like with Garrett and company. There was not any guarantee that the New Management Enforcers would even make an appearance. At least that's what he told himself.

The truth blasted him in the face like the unseasonably cold gale whirling through the open field. It chilled him like the choppy pond water he kept plunging into as his workout continued. It felt heavier than the twin sacks of potatoes stashed in the old army duffel strapped across his shoulders.

They would come, and they would try to strike hard and quick; like the drone strikes he always heard people rail about on NPR.

This was a situation where having allies backstage would come in handy. He knew there would be willing volunteers to serve as his personal militia because they wanted to get back at the thugs trying to run the UKWF. James didn't want to get caught in the cross-fire of that. Experience taught him that having enemies in the middle of a championship reign was bad news.

Armed with that knowledge, he did the only logical thing; he kept spring from one end of the pasture to the other; splashing through the frigid water half way. The wind stung his eyes to point large tears cascading down his cheeks. He didn't pause to wipe them and clapped them shut more often than not to stop the flow.

The longer he ran, the more his legs began to feel like wood. He could stop whenever he wanted too. He could wait for better weather. Those were excuses though. If the wind, the cold, the water, and the tears would keep coming then so he would he.

Fuck it all. He didn't need logic to tell him anything. Instincts bred into him by over 100,000 years of human evolution were more than enough, and they screamed at him to conquer the savagery of nature. So he did.

Nothing was going to break him. Not the weather; not his body; especially not fucking Ace Watson or his running buddies. He was a damn machine, built to last.

He remembered that as he almost stumbled into the fence, wheezing like the worst asthmatic with a sly smile etched upon his lips; he had an answer.

"What about the number game?"

"Ain't a damn thing I can do about it. Just gotta keep going. The only thing that can stop me is me."

[Ace Watson]

Watson sits in the living room of his London flat, boxes of baby essentials stacked up against the wall far behind him. Harley had left, and she did not want to have their unborn daughter live with Ace. The boxes were left unsealed and ready to be easily opened again in case she changed her mind and came back, Ace did not want toa ccept he would not be able to live with his daughter.

He looked to the camera.

“My last match did not go as I had planned. Yes, I won, but it wasn't a fulfilling victory. I did not want the NME to get involved, I didn't have any part in the planning of what they did. And I didn't want to win the match because Alyssa could no longer continue. I wanted that match to be the one where I prove I can handle things by myself, where I prove I am a very serious threat to the Champions of this company. But I did not get to do that this time.”

“So I guess... I'll have to do it against you, James. I'll do it by beating you. Doing that will prove I was given this shot not because of my alignment with the NME, but because I am a worthy challenger, and by the end of the night, a worthy Broadcast Champion.”

“See that title needs stability. It's been rocking all over the place since it's inception. Last thing it needs is someone who fights himself holding it. What it needs is someone who can hold a title for 150 days or more, a reign you disrespectfully belittled. My Zero Gravity reign saved that title, it made it something people cared about. I'll do the same for the Broadcast.”

“I've been waiting a long time for this shot. I've been deserving of it since the Battle Royal. I've had to sit and watch while people who lasted less time than me in that match got their shot before me. So no, injuring Alyssa doesn't make me the most dangerous challenger to face you for that title, my desire and my hunger to beat you for that championship does. My waiting only made me want it more.”

“UKWF has not seen the best of Ace Watson, the matches you've all seen of me have been plagued with excuses not to take me seriously, but that ends at Defying the Odds. I do not wish for the NME to get themselves involved in our match, James. I feel like I'm always having to prove I'm worthy of the things I get in this business, but enough is enough. This is my match. I deserve it.”

“I've won titles all over the world, but I want more, and I've not had the taste of holding a championship belt and calling it mine in far too long. I want that Broadcast Championship. I want it more than you. That's why I will win.”

[Ace Watson]

Maybe it was a lesson he had learned from his relationship with Bianca, but he had to tell Harley his love was fading, before things got bad and he did something really stupid. He had to end their relationship. But he was not expecting her to leave, not completely, and not permanently like she was suggesting she would. Ace bought the place in London so Harley and the baby would be comfortable, so they'd all have a place to live together. But now Harley and their unborn daughter were living in Australia, all the way on the other side of the world with Kelsey Spencer, who was Harley’s best friend and potentially the woman their daughter would be named after. Ace knew Harley would at least be slightly happy there, and that Spencer would help Harley with what Ace had put her through. Ace still cared. He had offered his help many times with providing money to help pay for Harley’s things while she was with Kelsey, but both of them had declined, and showed no signs of being persuaded into accepting. His door was always open to Harley, if she wanted to return. Though he was slowly losing hope that this would ever actually happen.

Ace was moving the boxes of baby things to one pile, a push chair, cot, Moses basket, boxes of clothes, all of which he had bought months in advance of his daughter’s July due date. None of which Harley wanted. Ace had broken her heart and he felt terrible about it. Unfortunately the place with the most space for all the items was in the living room, and they'd serve as a constant reminder of what he had lost.

Watson placed a final box on top of the pile, when there was a knock on the door, one which Ace recognised.

Dad…

Later, after they had caught up and Ace had told his father all about the situation with the mother of David Watson’s granddaughter, their conversation fell to the match against Edwards.

“I know why you want to win that Championship, Declan.” The older Watson said, softly as he always did. “But if you go about doing so with the help of those other guys your legacy will not be looked at the same way as mine. You're going about things the wrong way.”

Ace sat there in silence for a moment, like he had done every time his father gave him advice. “I really don't want them to get involved this time. I want to prove I can do it on my own. Those fans don't believe me. It's like they've never seen anything of mine outside of this company.”

“They just don't like your group. They don't like to see people win that way. I'd rather see you get victories the way you've done before. Even when you were using underhanded tactics on your own. At least those were smart. You're better than that. I know it.”