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Prince Adeyemi · (04-15-2023)

For ease of the match writer:
Stipulation is found at the bottom of this roleplay, bolded. The rest of you dirty sods, pls read the roleplay and let me know what you think if you have time :)

Moments after winning the title…

Stumbling into through the curtains, Isaiah could still hear the rambling on of Dolly’s voice. It was customary that the loser would leave first so the winner could bask in the glory of victory - of being crowned champion.

But Dolly wasn’t one for tradition or formality - she was one for attention.

The moment her shiny gold spotlight disappeared, she had to come up with another, a provocative one in the form of a self-run Pay Per View. Nothing would keep Dolly from enjoying her undeserved limelight.

And nothing would stop Isaiah from enjoying his redemption.

Small, baby steps.

But a taste of redemption nonetheless.

The hunt had been successful.

His monster had been sated, at least for today.

He had his first title, back in his aching hands.

As the heat of the stadium lights leave his back, Isaiah stumbles onto one of the equipment crates in the back - Dolly had certainly pushed him, with every dirty low blow and just the immense focus it required to keep your focus on slimy pieces of Waters trash.

Isaiah was spent.

”You focused, you got hungry, you gave in to instinct and you captured your prey.”

He didn’t have the energy to shake the voice out of his head or respond to it.

”But your hunt will now never end.”

Isaiah glances down at the beautiful television title, glistening with his sweat and a speck or two of blood.
”Every single show.”

Isaiah takes a deep breath in, steadying himself against the crate before sitting up on it.

”An indefinite, tireless throne.”

He hoists it up against his shoulder before staring back out through the curtains.

”No rest for the weary, a warrior king.”

The voice of his dead coach rings with a sinister laughter, mockingly at the title. All the voice cared about was blood, sweat and destruction. This was the best outcome for it, a situation where Isaiah was forced to fight, over and over and over again - regardless of the opponent, there would be destruction.

Regardless of who won - there would be blood.

And when there is blood - there would be growth.

“I could rattle off your report card.

Like every Dolly, Jackson and Kido seems to like doing. (That’s right, you’re all on blast.)

“Oooh, I beat this guy that beat you.”

“Hey, I’m better than you because I’ve wrestled for 20 more years.”

“Omg, what’ve you done but win and lose in a sport about winning and losing?”

“Oh my, you got eliminated in the first round? Guess I’m winning.”

Honestly - shit like that couldn’t sell Tim Tams to a tourist down under, let alone a wrestling match for one of the most prestigious wrestling companies in the world.

Oh, don’t let me forget my favourite.

“Delusions of grandeur.”

Come on - I don’t know how much Vinnie’s promised ya’ll in your contracts but I think it’s time ya’ll actually told the fans why they should come and watch you kick ass.

I’ve stumbled on my words, played into some of these tropes… Before I realised they were tropes. Shit most, all of ya’ll do the same damn thing - proving that averages exists, even amongst the top echelons of this business.

That includes you Jackson.

The hardest worker in the XWF - who’se just about been what… Gallivanting and surviving one Vegemite sandwiches for the last two years?

The workhorse who thought he could weasel his way back in here and claim the crown?

It sickens me that a part-timer holds on to our top title and accolade, and that she won it by pinning TWO part-time pieces of trash in Bourbon and you.

I’ve said this company has dropped from its days of glory since I first stepped foot in this business - and I was right.

Sure, my rookie ass is nowhere close to being at the top, but to see the top dominated by substitute jackasses rather than the real week-in-week-out workhorses?

That’s a damn shame.

That’s why beating Dolly was vital - because she’s been in and out of here more times than Epstein and his island.

Yeah, that’s a “children doing things they shouldn’t be doing” reference. I’m glad I could wake her up and help her see that she’s a full-fledged adult now.

An adult that doesn’t get to win cheap, that doesn’t get to force the referees hand or call on men to do her dirty bidding. An adult that taps out because she doesn’t have what it takes.

She isn’t truly ruthless

She can’t truly do whatever it takes to win.

She’s just a child being forced to grow up.

That throwing temper tantrums alone will get her anything - that playing the same dirty games she’s used to will let her keep her throne.

This is what true ruthlessness looks like.

I will do whatever it takes to win.

I will cling to this belt until it’s ripped off my still carcass.

And it won’t be you doing it.

No, no, no, Noah.

I’ve been watching you.

I’ve kept my eye on every single one of you that climbed their way to the top at March Madness - Ned, Sidney, Peter… You.

And you talk some good shit, don’t you? A real funny, irreverent little thing.

And you fight well too, clawing your way up through a tough gauntlet.

But how horrifically you fell at the end, throat crushed by Sidney Grey.

Crushed… And weakened.

You are my next prey on this eternal hunt, the next stop on the road to greater grandeur.

And you’re already bleeding, helping me stalk and destroy you.

I will prevail.

And you will submit to me.”

The sound of a bullet ricocheting off the window-ledge sent a chill down Isaiah’s throat right into his stomach, weakness washed over him as he leaped onto the fire escape and glanced down the three floors. Leaping over the side, he grips onto the edge with one hand and lets his body drop before stopping himself at the floor below. Catching his breath, he drops once more to the next floor and looks up in time to see a balaclava’d head pop through his uncle's window.

“Cut him off from the alley!”

Isaiah finally drops to the tarmac, the height a little higher than his legs could handle and crashes on to his side. As he pushes himself back onto his feet, he feels a soreness in his shoulder and shoves it to the back of his head - he had bigger things to worry about.

He hears feet against tarmac running towards him, while the head from above makes it’s way down the fire escape cautiously, still waving the hand gun around. He catches a shadow peering around the corner to his left and makes the split decision to run towards his right - hoping they hadn’t cornered him.

”POP HIM”

A flurry of bullets fly down the alley, loud gunshots ringing through the poor neighborhood and eliciting natural screams from anyone on foot. Isaiah keeps his head low and finally makes it to the end, spotting a bright pink (presumably teenage girls bike) with tassels lying on its side.

He sprints towards it, hopping onto it and starts pedaling hard just as he hears the indistinct yelling of his assailants exiting the alley behind him. None of this was making sense to him - Jeremiah being back from jail way too early, Empire coming after him and his uncle - Doc - going missing.

Isaiah can feel the energy seep out of his body as he pedals furiously back home. He’d completely forgotten about Zeke and Chae still there - possibly hurt.

He wasn’t in the gang business anymore - he hadn’t been for years. He was no threat to the Empire. Jeremiah had let him leave fairly amicably too… After a couple of arguments. The power, the money, the fame had made Jeremiah forget about his friends quickly…

[shadow=grey] “You’re out? Isaiah is… OUT? Don’t be ridiculous, Chae. The boy’s not even conscious, who made you his mouthpiece?”

Chae still held the young Isaiah in her hands, his face purpled and broken from a vicious Empire beat down. Isaiah had been sent across enemy lines on his own again, or they’d come to him and taken him cos they knew how important he was to The King’s Court - either ways, he was alone and he’d been beaten inches to his death. Even Doc didn’t seem like he could do anything, scurrying through his medical supplies looking for some adrenaline and pain killers.

”You don’t know how to run anything Jeremiah, is one of us going to have to die before you realise you’re way out of your depth?”[pink]

Jeremiah’s hand twitches, his palm straightening as if he was about to strike her with it.

” Empire is half the gang they used to be because of me. Harlem is OURS because of me. AND.. Pops knows it. Why don’t you, Chae? Pretty little thing too good for the streets now?”

Chaeryoung rolls her eyes, reaching for her phone and speed dialing Ezekiel.

[pink]”The kid you grew up with is bleeding to death right here, on YOUR watch, and you think you’re the Kingpin all of a sudden. You’re delusional! Maybe Zeke will knock some sense into you. ”

Jeremiah rips the phone out of Chaeryoung hand, livid that she wasn’t even looking at him as he spoke to her.

“What Zeke needs to do is go down there and murder the Empire shitheads that did this.”

”What, so he can get his ass wacked by three bigger guys too? You might be making a little more money than they’re making, but they’re twice as dangerous as you and your dogs are Jer’. You’re just too blind to see it.”

Chaeryoung snatches back her phone with an unexpected quickness. She hits the call button and sets the phone on speaker before glaring back at Jeremiah. It clicks as Zeke picks up.

“Zeke, Isaiah’s hurt bad. We’re at Doc’s, I need you to get the car here, we’re taking him to a professional - no offense Doc’.”

”None taken, young’un. I can keep him alive for a bit but I’m no good without knowing what’s wrong in his head.”

Zeke hangs up without saying a word. He was always quick to act. Quick to come to their aid.

Isaiah’s body lurched, a glob of blood and spit erupting out from his mouth and onto his chest. Chae curses under her breath.

“Damn Iz, hang in there brother - we’ll get the guys that did this.”

“You can do whatever you want Jer, we’re out. For good. I’ll let Pops know. I’ll even go down to Babylon and let those Empire pricks know. “

Babylon was a bar on the other side of Harlem and acted as a sort of headquarters for the Empire brass. Nobody fought there,, and usually had the older, more experienced gangsters just playing pool and cards. The skirmishes were usually by the young guys, people their age trying to make a name for themselves on the streets. No serious gangster still got THEIR knuckles bruised.

“C-calm down Chae, he’s gonna be okay. He’s a tough guy so just stop babying him alright? You’ll see, he’s gonna come back strong and take Harlem back from these outsider punks with me.”

”So is Harlem yours or do you need to take it back? Which one is it Jer. Are you on top or losing? Are you the King or just a struggling hopeful? To be honest, I don’t really care any more. I mean it when I saw we’re out. We’re going straight - you can claim your “throne” or whatever it is you’re trying to do. You can follow Pops with your weird Oedipus complex all the way to floating in the Hudson or deep in Pen. But Isaiah, Zeke and I - we’re done.”

Just as she finishes her sentence Zeke bursts through the door and swears loudly as he catches sight of Isaiah. He rushes to Chae’s side and the two lift the boy up with Doc and head down the stairs.

Jeremiah stays rooted in his position, twirling a butterfly knife in one hand. As they disappear around the corner, he chucks the knife straight down to the floorboard, embedding the knife deep into it with a growl.

Chae is fast asleep at Zeke’s bedside, holding his much larger hand in her dainty pale ones. Zeke stirs to consciousness and winces as the pain from his new gunshot wound courses through his body. Paired with his earlier stab wound, his guts were starting to feel a little foreign to him.

”Morning, sunshine.”

The large man had slipped in and out of consciousness for the last few days, being pumped to Valhalla in morphine. Every time he’d aroused, he’d felt a wave of pain and the sweet scent of Chaeryoung… But never Isaiah. Until today.

Isaiah gets up from the couch at the corner of the pretty cushy room, lifting the title from his lap onto his shoulder. It glistens in the fluorescent light of the hospital. The glisten elicits a chuckle.

”Wha- whaddya know. Ahem - welcome back champ.”

”Sorry I haven’t come to see you.”

”Chae said you were too m-much of a p-p-punk to just walk through the door.”

”I haven’t found them yet. Not all of them at least.”

”Then how dare you stand b-b-before me.”

He jests.

”I thought you should know I got the title back. I thought it’d help with the recovery.”

”Damn that stick in your behind’s just gotten bigger.”

”You almost died.”

”Yeah, we both been there.”

”I left you to kill them and failed.”

”Yeah, I’ve left you to bleed out c-c-c-countless times.”

”How-”

”We’re even Iz, we always will be.”

”Oh, how cute. You do remember you have a title to defend in a weeks time, boy?”

”Who y-y-you got next?”

”Noah Jackson, next week.”

”At least he won’t try at pop ya’ eyeballs eh?”[red]

Zeke starts to laugh, before it turns into a cough and sends pangs of pain through to him. Squeezing his happy button with his free hand and Chae’s with his other he slips back into a numbing bliss.

[red]”I-I-I’m…. Going to pass out. G-get him… Champ.”

As Zeke slips into sleep once more, Isaiah takes a deep breath and walks out of the room - not even giving Chae a glance before he leaves.

“I’m sorry Mr. Jackson.

I cannot let you walk out of Atlanta the champ.

I cannot let another snot-nosed, daddy-pleasing, half-assed punk hold a title in this damn company again, let alone at my expense.

With you, Dolly and that one time Madison’s son was here - we’re overflowing with people who gotta prove something to their daddies.

Go win a lil league trophy or something, but keep your ill-disciplined ass out of this company.

Really, go find a therapist or something, I’m sure Dionysus has a good connection somewhere, or Charlie Nickles, maybe Mark Flynn and his Path have an answer.

But it’s not this title.

This title is not the answer to YOUR daddy issues.

You can come in here, spout your irreverent, aussie trash. Call me a cunt 34, 35, 85 times and try and get a chuckle or two from XWF faithful… You can do everything you do - except claim this title.

Because you do not belong in this business - you belong at home, sorting out your daddy issues with your daddy. Then, maybe then, you’ll have half the focus it takes to conquer this industry. Maybe then you’ll find the ruthlessness it requires to stay relevant.

Maybe then, you’ll find the motivation to actually stick around and not just visit.

You’ve certainly learnt more from your Dad than you give yourself credit for.

Hardly present. Barely any care or affection.

The XWF ain’t your child outta’ wedlock.

It’s a place for champions, for fighters, for predators who crave nothing but the top.

I ain’t gonna sit here and tell everyone how I’m better than you. Or how I’ve defeated more people than you have or climbed higher up the rungs of glory.

I’m still just a rookie, making a name for himself.

But at least I fight week in and week out - when my body will let me.

At least I chase redemption when I’m out instead of waiting for an opportunity like this to be handed to me.

I stood in the ring with Barney Green and an ungrateful Vagabond for crying out loud - I will do anything to keep moving forward.

And you? What’ll you do Noah? Wait in line at the unemployment office? Keep dialing for dear daddy and hoping you’ll find him in the crowd?

You’re back for attention but what happens when it’s gone?

Ain’t nobody remembering second place in the March Madness Tournament of 2023 for too many months.

Your attention will fade, then what will you do?

You’ll leave again, until another opportunity to meet your attention junkie needs presents itself.

Here, i’ll make it easy for you and make it a submission match.

So you can tell the whole world you quit when I crush the neck Sidney Grey injured.

Then we’ll be free of you for good."

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