Post by johnmwhite on Aug 8, 2011 20:54:18 GMT -5
--Aryan Franchise plans to fight fire with fire, and he's playing with matches while standing before the devil himself. That makes me sound all cool and awesome and him pitiful, right? Good, that seems the right sort of vibe for a wrestling post these days. Anyway, the Franchise stands there, finger on the rulebook, where indeed subsection 66 of the REW code informs us that when a contender is defeated in single combat, they forfeit that contendership to their vanquisher. John Michael White puts his own bony finger on the crinkled pages and drags the dusty tome across the expanse of his broad black desk.--
John Michael White: Let me see now...
--JMW lifts the rulebook, peers at it closely, cradles it carefully in his hands like a precious, ancient text. Then he hurls it in the fireplace by his desk. Why does he have the fire roaring in August?--
John Michael White: Like a wise man once said... I AM THE LAW!
Aryan: You can't do that!
Andrea: Oh dear...
--JMW holds up that spindly finger for silence, and for once the Franchise grants it. Not so much because he is intimidated or feeling like being obedient to the skinny, bald cripple, but he's interested in hearing exactly what the lawyer's explanation for all this is.--
John Michael White: You think rules mean anything to me? I could have pointed out the paragraph right below yours, that said contendership cannot be transfered in the event of a defeat via no-show. You have to beat a guy to earn their spot, not just wait for them to get distracted enough to leave it unoccupied.
--Aryan leans over the desk, lip curling in anger.--
Aryan: And how're you going to prove that after tossing the rulebook in the fire, smartass?
John Michael White: Relax. I said I could have pointed that out to you, but you know something, I like your style. Sure, it's worn out and clichéd, with the silly hair and the girls dripping off your arms like you're stuck in some 1990s testosterone-driven computer game, and sure the whole Aryan aspect is somewhat off-putting to a Jewish lawyer, but the good thing is you remembered that's what I am and you tried to deal with me on my terms. It was a mistake, of course, but the important thing is... you tried.
--Aryan shakes his head, smirking.--
Aryan: You trying to patronise me into punching your bald head off your narrow little neck?
--JMW puts a hand on his world title belt, waving his other hand in a gesture of openness.--
John Michael White: On the contrary, I mean what I say. I am impressed. And that is why I have decided that you will get the first crack at the world championship...
Aryan: About time.
John Michael White: ... when it rests in our new home.
Aryan: ... what're you planning now, you little weasel?
Andrea: You're going through with it?
--JMW nods, the overhead light gleaming from his smooth head. There are harsh florescent lights above, the only light in this dark office. No windows, of course - JMW has learned from several interlopers poking around in his office, or poking around in his organs with knives and razors.--
Aryan: Go through with what?
John Michael White: We're moving. REW needs a fresh start, with fresh blood and, to be honest, a bit of fresh air. The REW Starmaker arena is in Scotty Raven's name, mostly for insurance liability purposes, but the federation itself is under my control. And as a corporate entity, I'm moving us to the much lower rent, higher crime city formerly known as Detroit. And once we're there, things will be very different.
Aryan: What is this, a coup?
John Michael White: I prefer to think of it as a salvage operation. I have a business partner--
Aryan: I don't give a shit. What about my title shot?
John Michael White: First card in our new location, which will still be a week or two away... you'll get your shot.
Aryan: And I'm supposed to take your word for it?
John Michael White: Trust me, I'm a lawyer.
--Well that was quite the conversation. Not much action but lots of nice exposition. And it's true - REW is upping sticks and moving to a new location. Not that the Francise is all that interested in this information, as right now he's just eyeing the lawyer, who sits there cool and calm, eyes rigid as a snake's. Can he really trust what the slippery champion says?--
