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The crowd gives it up for the old vet as his music plays. Yet, perhaps the reason for the pop is deeper than the fact that he's been a standard for years. No. The cheers carry with it a certain finality. The all in devil may care of a final poker hand. The fans know that this is likely the Surrey Soldier's last run. Be it several months or several years, at his age, this will be his last big go in the ring.
Period.
Smith: And dinosaurs walk the Earth, Brunny, yet again.
Brunswick: Yeeesh! C'mon, Doug! Even YOU are happy to see that last weeks performance wasn't a one off for Rupert!
Smith: Yeah, I'll give you that; this man has sacrificed plenty and is only now seeing the biggest stage of all...but he has to share the light with Logan, who, will steal it I think.
Amber: Making his way to the ring from Surrey England, standing at 6'2'' weighing in at 225lbs...RUUUUPEERRRT LLLOOONNNGSSHHHAAANNNKSSS!!!
Smiling lips, but pensive eyes, Longshanks slaps hands and takes his time on the ramp before hitting the apron with a roll. Hopping up on his feet quickly, Longshanks is a ball of energy that belays apparent age. He's happy in decline, and resolution. The climax of his career has begun, and he's picked a good target for starters. Motioning for the mic, Rupert kisses Amber's hand before she vacates.
He sets eyes on the tron, staring into the Gorilla position expectantly as the crowd murmurs. After a minute, he looks disappointed, turning from the tron and facing the production.
Rupert: Alright, LaCoore; ya gonna make me call your yank ass up from Miami or the back room, fine! Truth is, I'm too old to be PATIENT! Get ya Florida F(bleep!)CKING arse out here now! We got words to exchange! Production monkeys, I need another mic here, please, thank you!
The crowd gushes excitement as an off duty Saget, smiling, leaps the barricade and tosses a mic to Longshanks. Catching it, Rupert turns back to the tron, free mic in off hand held out to the ramp.
Rupert: Don't keep me waiting any longer, Sunny Jim! History will pass you by!
As the music, the crowd pops at the charismatic badass villian that stood before them.
Announcer Making his way to the ring, residing in Miami, Florida. Weighing in at 185 pounds. The Legionary, Logan LaCoore!
LaCoore walks down the walkway of PRW Rage, throwing up a Turkish Wolf. The crowd pops with a "Too Sweet!" chant.
LaCoore slides into the ring, runs the ropes a few times, and grabs a microphone.
Logan LaCoore Listen here, you old gaff. Our match was rigged, it shouldn't have even started, you're from SNS, not PRW. What are you doing, invading? Did you get your ass kicked too much over there? It seemed like you didn't do well your first match either. I have to give it to you, for someone that looks like they should be in a casket at an open funeral right about now, you talk like a 10-year-old in the comments section of a social media.
Rupert Longshanks Who you callin' gaff, rookie? That was your first match ever and at least I have an excuse, due to my age. But you're a fresh adult and I went easy on you. How about this, I'll take you on at PRW Summerfest's Pre-Show. That will sure settle our beef.
Logan LaCoore You're on, Granddad.
After he muttered the words, LaCoore kicked Rupert in the gut and hit him with a Slingblade. Longshanks stumbled up and tried to clothesline LaCoore, missing. Logan rebounded and hit the Disclocator, locking in the Full Nelson tight.
Smith Yeah, LaCoore. Kick that Dinosaur's ass.
Brunswick Can you have just a little more respect for the old-timer, they are a former World Champion, besides, you're not so youthful yourself.
Smith Fuck you, Brunswick
Brunswick You can't say that on TV, damn it!
Smith flipped Brunswick off, things thereafter seemed to return to normal. After all of the bickering, LaCoore still had Longshanks in that Full Nelson off the Disclocator.
Like a snake shedding off a layer of scales, so was the concussed Longshanks in peeling himself free of the Full Nelson. Slow. Agonizing. Deliberate. But natural. The way he rolled, and the way he shifted. The way he angled his head forward while using his hands to push off Logan's.
His head shot backwards.
Nailing Logan between the eyes.
Logan had the "Sweet!" chant. Rupert and "S-N-S!". It sounded now as he rolled clear and shook off what he'd suffered. Lacoore though. The young man was on his feet sooner than Rupert, a little wobbly, but guard up.
Rupert hit a shoot, and in a blink, both men were brawling on the mat. A flurry of blurry fists connecting every which way. The crowd loved it. Those who'd followed the young Logan to his major debut in PRW were glad to see him facing off against a twilighting legend; many felt that this was natural booking.
As one rose, one fell.
By the same token.
Fans of Rupert were proud that he wouldn't be paired of against another venerable warrior exiting to a swan song. No. Rupert was old Ska mixing into the youth of dubstep. And while it wasn't pretty, it was unexpected and welcome.
PRW had their ME for the Summerfest Preshow unfolding in the brawl before them.
Smith: This is out of control!
Brunswick: Both competitors have come undone, Doug! And this will continue at Summerfest!
Refs and security flooded the ring, prying both men apart. They kicked and yelled at each other inanely as they were pulled away to opposite ends of the ring. A divided arena howled. This was the unexpected pop for two long awaited men.
Better late then never.
Longshanks would end a long career in PRW.
LaCoore would begin the height of his.
The winners were the fans.
End.
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