Fader v Laughlin

[UKWF]

Post your RPs for the match below. 2 RP cap, max. 1 RP per character, max. 500 words per RP.

[bryan]

#GRAPSINALLOVERTHEWORLD

“So there I was… a dumpster fire match”, Bryan Laughlin lifts his pint with a shamrock painted onto it, “..and I had just given a piledriver to this guy - sorry - this lad.”

It's noisy around him as a small crowd has gathered. Bryan’a favorite thing to do in England is find his favorite Irish bar and drink Guinness until he picks up the cockney slang

“..right through the fuckin telli, right?” Yep, there it is, “ And he basically gives me a chuffed grin as if it was something to be proud of.”

It's been a number of years since Bryan had been to this bar. In the beginning of his career he came in just to try & take home one of the locals, but with age comes wisdom and impatience.

His impatience never more prevalent than current day where we've seen Bryan wrestle on three continents in one week. Impossible? Perhaps. But it's just GRAPS.

Why the impatience? Because he sat back like a good boy and watched as the fresh faces climbed the ropes around him while he unknowingly slipped further from the top. Not realizing it until he could smell the burn in the palm of his hands.

At the bottom of most ropes is just a gym mat, a soft and encouraging landing allowing you to dust yourself off and get back in that rope. At the bottom of this metaphorical and non existent rope? Irrelevance.

And Bryan can't aford to be irrelevant.

He'd rather call a press conference and bid farewell like R Bud Dwyer.

So, how do you climb that rope to make sure you never hit that dark irrelevance? You find the best in the world and you challenge them to a good ole fashioned fight. When you're done? You shake their hand and go find the next fight. Not where it's safe, but where the fans want you to go.

And let's be honest, nothing is hotter than the Brits right now.

The conversation has progressed in a montage silence as Bryan had carried on speaking with his hands and finding more select opportunities to build his liquid courage.

In a fast forward sitcom style the world around Bryan buzzes. Flying manic in nature and leaving a trail behind them as if they were falling stars in the night sky.

“Blaise. I'm not flying around this world to make friends and shake hands. I'm flying around this world to shake hands after having mine raised. I know I'm walking into your front yard, knocking on your door and telling you to catch me outside - but I don't fly around the world to get punked out like a teenage girl in Beverly Hills. I'm on your front porch hoping you come out swinging because I'll have no choice but to drag through the streets if you don't. Blaise & Bryan. Just a couple of bad ass bees who refuse to share the honey. And I refuse to share my spotlight. Let’s fight”

[Blaise Fader]

"Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait—"

"—Blaise. What the fuck."

Back home in her Brixton flat, Blaise Fader gesticulates wildly, glasses askew on her reddened face, in some vain attempt to scare away the wild bear that is the news her brother has just relayed to her. 

Something she picked up in America, probably.

"What do you mean my match has been cancelled?!"

Corey has to take a step back.

"Yeah, there was a legit press conference an' everythin'. Did ya not get the memo?"

"I was in America! Vortex an' that!"

"Yeah, and?"

"And…"

"And?"

Blaise falters. "On the internet…"

"Righ', so—"

"—look, it doesn’t matter either way! I’ll make do! I always make do! Do I? I mean, don’t I?"

"Sis, yer gonna be fine. You know this bloke! This could be, like, Internet Friends III: Revenge of the—"

"—well…"

To say Corey is dubious is a bigger understatement than 'Theresa May lacks basic human empathy'. 

"What do you mean, well?"

"… I know him, sure... I just don’t know him super well. We’ve met like, twice, prolly. Hollywood. But, I don’t think we’ve ever spoken, outside of Twitter."

Corey sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sure on that Twitter a lot."

"It’s branding, Cor. It’s all about the brand."

"What brand?"

"I dunno! That's why I’m on Twitter all the time!"

Blaise turns her back on her brother, obviously distraught. She sidesteps, but trips on her own shoelace and stumbles forward; her injured knee hasn't done her any favors. Corey, to his credit, moves in to intercept his sister's fall - but her weight is more than he can manage, and the fall becomes more of a sloppy Japanese Arm Drag.

Blaise's lanky younger brother topples overhead, somersaulting into a plastic cabinet set.

The siblings, recovering from their sudden accident, shake away the cobwebs, balance and equilibrium returning. Blaise looks up to her brother to make sure he's alright... and her face goes ghostly pale.

"Corey."

"... what?"

"Don't move."

"... what?"

As Corey looks to roll to a sitting position, the cabinet topples on top of him... it's filled with paper and sticky notes. 

They're all promos for her cancelled match with Arcane and Kincaid.

---

"Bryan, I'll be honest. I don’t know ya as well as, say, Bryan Williams, or Ana Hayden, or Bronx. I don’t even know whether I should consider ya part of that unit of folks or not… but if there’s one thing I’m prepared for, it’s putting on a show. It’s fighting a bad motherfucker such as yerself and takin him to his limits."

"I admire you, Bryan, I love yer weird, swooshy hairdo, and yer tattoos, and yer memes. But, this is more than an exhibition fer me; this is another chance to go toe-to-toe with an excellent performer and prove that I can hang – and that I can hang longer and harder than you might think."