Arcane v Fader

[UKWF]

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

[Arcane]

Fade in to a shadowed board room somewhere in London. Arcane takes a seat at one end of an oval table, at the other is the back of a leather swivel chair.

Arcane: Look... I just lost. It happens.

The chair turns to reveal the striking Stella Chalmers-Blythe. She tuts at her lover.

Stella: If you want the UKWF Championship, you can't afford to be careless.

With a shrug, he lights a Cuban cigar.

Stella: If you want this...

She slowly pulls her blouse open to reveal a lacy bra.

Stella: You can't afford to be careless. I like winners.

Arcane: Hmm... you see what I did to your other boy?

Stella: Cross was so disappointing...

Arcane: Not just in the ring?

She laughs coyly for a moment then suddenly narrows her eyes.

Stella: Darling, you're not irreplaceable either.

Arcane: Tsk... come on, you know I'm the only one who can stop Blaise Fader.

Stella: Prove it.

---

It's dark out as Arcane walks the streets of inner city Leeds, hood pulled up over his head.

Arcane: We all know what they say about absolute power but don't even tread that path, Blaise.

I've been on a tight leash since I signed for UKWF; I've just carried out instructions to the best of my abilities. It's paid dividends to work within the system. Now in the streets, I had power. I ran the block, ruled the shadows like a God among men. When you catch a fiend dipping his dirty fingers in your pure white key, and you've got the silenced 9 millimetre tucked under your belt, then you know what power is.

Now I'll have a little taste of power again because I've got your life in my hands. Not in the same raw, visceral sense as I would in the streets but wrestling is your life. UKWF is your home. Like it or not, Stella raised you from a pudgy rookie to a national superstar, and you've never quite managed the same level of success elsewhere. Just imagine if I were in control of your destiny in UKWF. That's power.

Funny we're in Leeds for this final battle - I'll string you up and bleed you out like halal meat. Don't be encouraged by my last showing; I'm guilty of taking my foot off the accelerator from time to time, but you're the same. You let that hack MJ Bell take your title. Dig deep for me. I don't want to beat some wheezing pig, I want to beat the longest reigning UKWF Champion. It will be all the more satisfying when you're running errands for me and Stella.

He stops outside the Pulse Club and looks up at a UKWF poster with Blaise Fader's smiling picture. He shakes his head from side to side.

Arcane: You know, the fat girls back in the endz, they're always desperate, easy... eager to please.

You'll feel right at home when you're under my thumb.

[Arcane]

Six months of conflict, Blaise. Six months of anguish; it all comes to a head at Power Play. Either you join New Management or you leave with your tail between your chubby legs. Either you humble yourself or find somewhere else to work. UKWF doesn't need you, but you need UKWF. You've built a legacy here and what a pity should it be cut short due to your own pigheadedness. Still I know you won't walk; you wouldn't want to let your fans down, and I might change your whole outlook.

You will nod, you will kneel kneel and you will do as you're told. Stella clicks her fingers and you dance. You already perform when she wants, against who she wants, and so moving forward - no more pretence. You will report directly to New Management. The corporate world ain't so bad, girl. I know you're from a humble background, you feel uncomfortable around refinement, but I believe in aspiration. You should better yourself - with a low carb diet. We ain't the cake squad.

Some people make the rules, other people follow. It all depends what you're born to. You've spent your whole time in UKWF bucking authority, rallying around an ultimately pointless cause. You thought you were in control. You defeated Watson and Storms, but then I showed you how it's all just a game to New Management. I ended your gauntlet and turned the tables. Now you have nothing to gain, everything to lose. For people like us - born into poverty - we're just chess pieces. Stella moves the pieces but I'd rather be a monarch than a pawn. You might call me a sellout but I don't owe the streets a damn thing.

I'm not gonna dap you, bitch, you've got enough groupies online and in the ill-fated resistance. You mix with yes men, revelling in mediocirty; there's always some schmuck to pat you on the back for another unfinished job. Stella tells me when I've dropped the ball, she holds the mirror to my flaws to force me to improve. All this self-congratulatory bullshit on Twitter, all the limp wrist love-ins with MJ Bell - what does it really achieve? She waltzed out with your title but you're still their champion, right? It's cool Bell parades round with the gold, you're happy for her and to the fans, you'll always be their hero.

Nah, your ego has ballooned to match your porcine aesthetic, you can't face your own reflection - it's dysmorphia. I can see through the facade; I'll take a scalpel to those healing wounds and make you question your whole psyche. I'll beat you into unconsciousness, to then open your eyes to how barren and pathetic you've really become. New Management will guide you through the fog. Who knows, perhaps one day you'll stand proudly at my side, enforcing our grand strategy for UKWF.

But first, I've got to drive my knee through your gnashers. No pain, no gain... and you're in for a long night.