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

[UKWF]

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

[LeVine]

An all too familiar series of images plays on screen, a mixing of images of gore with images of overindulgent wealth. Some newer images show people hanging by a noose, a beautiful red Ferrari, and one is simply a bleeding wolf mouth. As the scene comes in, Marcus sits in a black leather chair and wears a black suit with a red tie. The room around him is off complete opulence, marble pillars, a diamond chandelier, a dining table. At that dining table is where the opulence ended, however, as what was on the table was a dark and depraved display of blood, bones, and other viscous materials.

LeVine removed his sunglasses and the fiery glint in his eyes had returned.

"Finally."

He began to laugh, a sense of complete arrogance bleeding off of every individual voice. The image warped and revealed Marcus sat alone, the blood and viscous material all replaced by an elaborate display of pastries: eclairs, bossche bols, chouquette, croissant, sou, cannolis, berliners, all of which are untouched. The Cult Classic began to speak as if nothing had changed.

"James Edwards. You have a lot of people talking about you lately. I've seen you around, you seem to enjoy what you do. I do too honestly, you do something very important to me and my mission James:

You're great at holding on to MY championship for me. Now I hope you understand that I'm not saying this to offend, but rather to praise. You've done very well to further my cause and make sure that my rise to the top of this company remains the penultimate example of why the UK, the US, and the rest of the wrestling world gets to fully appreciate the greatest wrestling country in the world, and, in turn, the single most extravagant and violent rise to greatness in this companies history. You have given that Broadcast championship meaning, and I'm thankful for that, because now when I take that belt from you there will be no possible way for anyone in this company to question my wrestling brilliance. You have proved that Britain isn't even good enough to beat an American, and I'm going to prove that an American is nothing compared to the best bred athletic competitor on this planet: Marcus LeVine.

I want you all to be very prepared for what is to come because it is going to change this company for the better. You are going to be ended Edwards, and when the British reign falls once again, the queen will no longer rule, and the flag of Canada shall fly high above the British empire."

The camera shifted once again, and now Marcus was simply walking in a garden, whistling quietly and walking away from the camera. He swayed as he walked and slowly his voice could be heard again.

"I killed a man,
just to watch him bleed
Oh, what a feeling
his screams, they set me free"

[James Edwards]

Breaking beans is about efficiency, not art. Look for the stringy ends on the opposite poles of the vegetable, snap them off, and toss the good bits into a bucket. Then repeat as needed until the plastic grocery sack laying on the ground is light enough to blow away.

Some people find beauty in this simple ritual, like James Edwards for instance. The Broadcast Champion stands in the cramped quarters of hotel suite kitchen. His hands and eyes move in harmony. He never breaks their alignment, even though he is aware of the camera watching him.

"Now and then I get the urge to cook a big mess of green beans; it reminds me of home. Well the good parts of home, at least."

His fingers scrape the bottom of the bag and finds a smooth surface, not the earthy coarseness of the bean pod. James' attention turns to the bowl. He takes it in his hands and pours the content into a small pot on the stove. After briefly playing with the knobs he finally turns his attention in the direction of the lens.

"I don't like to think about life back in Kentucky very often; there ain't a whole of good memories attached to the place. I can't deny that it a hand in makin' me the man I am today."

A low churning sound interrupts James. The water in the pot is boiling. Armed with a plastic stirring spoon, he splits his attention between dinner and reflecting on the past.

"Growin' up in a poor state ain't easy. You learn real fast that if you want to make something happen, then you can't depend on anybody else. God, family, or friends included. The only thing you can count on is your own hands and common sense. Stick with those two and life will turn out even keel for you.

That's the philosophy I've used during my second run with the Broadcast Championship. Dreams, a hunch in my gut, or the past ain't made me the reigning and defending champion. A clear head, patience, and a helluva lot of kicks have.

I've told two challengers that already. One listened to me, and he was damn close to throwin' me off my perch. Marcus, trust this folksy advice, you're pipe dreams don't mean shit to me. I don't care how violent you are or how much you wanna prove that Canadian are superior fighters. None of that shit is concrete. They can't outlast me; they can't outhit me; they sure as hell can't take something I've worked my ass to make mean something from me. It's gonna take your absolute best to beat me, and I don't think you have it in you. Dreamers never do."

James keeps stirring, his eyes on supper. Food before the fight, for now.

[James Edwards]

Honking horns. Shouts of profanity. Man made structures stretch as far as the eye can see. James surveys the urban setting high in the air from his hotel balcony.

"I wonder why people say this all this around me shit is progress. All these conveniences in lumped into one huge place and listen to the people. They ain't nothing but stressed or pissed off."

The annoyed, angry cackle of modernity increases in intensity on cue. James raises an eyebrow about the irony of the situation.

"All of this as cities grow, technology gets faster, and less work is needed to have a happy life. That doesn't seem like the path of a people movin' in the right direction. Eh, that doesn't sound very hopeful does it?"

Below an agitated motorist yells that if the person in front of them does not move than they will fuck up their mother. It's enough to make James cringe. He decides to go back into his hotel room and shuts the glass door behind him.

"I've heard the same argument made about wrestling. Every time there is a new champion crowned it means that the division goes forward instead of backward, but I can't help but fell concerned about what would happen if Marcus LeVine wins the Broadcast Championship.

Just think about what the belt has come to represent in the three months it has been around. Noah and I had some wars over it. We hated each other, but we still gave one another the absolute best we could offer. Ghensi put up the fight of his life against Noah for it. I can say the same the same thing about Kelley Garrett and Ace Watson when they took me on.

Something about it just inspires the fighters who come for it. The fights for it are the best on the card. That is what a championship is supposed to do.

When I look at Marcus LeVine, I don't see a man worthy of carryin' on that tradition. He's a guy who fights to inspire fear. He wants to maim people just for the fun of it. If he wins the championship, I guarantee you it will go from being a distinction of excellence to just another piece of masturbatory jewelry like the North Sea Championship. For that to happen is an insult to me and the others who fought to make it mean something.

If Marcus LeVine wins the Broadcast Championship, it won't progress. It will be a huge step. Me holdin' on to it may mean that the status quo goes unchecked, but the same old same old ain't always a bad thing."