CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON vs. REZIN
We get a long, loving panned shot of an unusually large amount of children in attendance. Don’t worry, despite there being such questionably mouthed individuals like Tyler Best and Arthur Pleasant running around, there kids are used to it. They’re Australian, after all.
Richard Parker: Nick?
Nick Stuart: Rich?
Richard Parker: Why are there so many children at ringside?
Nick Stuart: That’s because the Voss family reunion is in the house! Applause!
Richard Parker: Did you just actually say “Applause!”?
Nick Stuart: It’s that magical time of the year where Voss and his incredibly impractically-sized family makes the journey from Australia to a random place in America, and it just so happens that the random place in America is wherever a PRIME show happens to be held!
Richard Parker: Is it just me, or are there even more children here than there were last year?
Nick Stuart: That does seem to be the case.
Richard Parker: Poor Mrs. Voss. She’s firing children out of her cooch like a Howitzer. A Vossitzer.
Ominous air sirens…
A murmur in the crowd. And then…
An explosion hits the arena, leaving behind a mushroom cloud of smoke over the stage. That’s what happens when the runaway son of a nuclear A-bomb makes his entrance, I don’t know if you know this.
“I Have A Prepared Statement” by Whores hits the PA system. The PRIMEview goes through many violent imagery of warfare interspersed with incredible feats of Rezin’s career. Blinding white light fills the entryway as Rezin emerges like a shadow burned into the ground from a nuclear blast – only this one’s lively and hates the human body.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen! The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first… hailing from the Inverted Crossroads of America, Indianapolis, Indiana, and weighing in at two-hundred and five pounds…
There’s pillars of flame, erupting in time with the song’s guitars behind the man emerging to the jeers of the crowd. Look at him with his beard and tattoos! Cower and fear before the Goat Bastard, for he brings hell! Witness as the Escape Artist outstretches his arms in a cross pose, and tremble! Watch as he walks down the ramp, and despair!
Vince Howard: HE IS THE GOAT BASTARD! THE ESCAPE ARTIST!
He makes his way down to the ring, strobe lights making his movements look like some sort of unhinged stop-motion cartoon that probably didn’t receive a great budget. A slow, circuitous route around the ring. Rezin has long embraced his role as “the Ugly” of PRIME. He doesn’t care how many fans show him scorn. He doesn’t really even care about those small pockets of fans that cheer him wildly. He only cares about the anarchy. The chaos. The thrill of being in that ring, doing what he does.
Vince Howard: THIS! IS! REZIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNN!!!
Rezin slides into the ring, his back hitting the ropes and performing an inverted cross pose for the hard camera. He’s here. He’s ready. Would Cecilworth Farthington be just as ready?
Nick Stuart: The former Universal champion! Anti-champion, even!
Richard Parker: I don’t know how he survives the things he does, Nick. Just a month and a half ago, Ivan sent him to hell in that Cell Match at Culture Shock. Cratered the whole damn ring with his body! Then he’s back two weeks ago and he hands Paxton Ray – you know, Mr. Paralysis Dickface – his first actual recorded loss in PRIME apart from that whole mess at Colossus with Sykes?
Nick Stuart: Clearly, the only things that can survive a nuclear war are cockroaches and Rezin…
The stage lights dim a second time, and we get a very different song than what Rezin walked out to. This one’s livelier. Peppier. Just as sinister underneath it.
That song is “Choke” by I Don’t Know How But They Found Me. It heralds the arrival of the Financier of the Glue Factory (Glue Point Oh, if you will), Lord Cecilworth Farthington.
As the riff reaches its peak, bright lights are cast down upon the entrance as the Financier walks out. Dressed in his plain black hoodie, his arms in his pockets, Farthington walks out with that easy, self-assured smile plastered all over his face.
Vince Howard: His opponent… from Buckinghamshire in England, the United Kingdom… he weighs in tonight at one hundred and eighty-seven pounds… the Financier of the Glue Factory… CECILWOOOOOOORTH! FAAAAARTHINGTOOOOOOONNNN!!!
Richard Parker (singing): Mr. Finish Line~
Nick Stuart: You know, it sounded like he was giving that title up a little bit recently.
Richard Parker: No way. He’ll never stop being Mr. Finish Line, Nick. He’s merely on a Finishing Hiatus. A Finish Vacation, if you will. Not a Finnish Vacation, too many Finns.
Nick Stuart: I can’t with you.
Farthington’s shoulders shimmy and sway to “Choke” without ever taking his hands out of his pockets as he makes his way to the ring. He rolls under the bottom rope with the speed of a man who’s taking things a little leisurely before leaping up. Finally, he pulls his left hand out of one of his pockets to give the jeering crowd a cheeky wave before he sets himself in a lean against the corner opposite that of Rezin.
Referee Timo Bolamba makes sure that Farthington has his hoodie removed before he calls for the bell.
Rezin subverts expectations by not immediately raising hell and blitzing Farthington at a hundred miles per hour. Instead, he circles the Financier like a lion stalking its prey. For his part, Farthington takes him seriously enough to match him, and they make a full revolution and a half around the ring before they finally lock up.
They jockey. Rezin has a slight weight advantage on Farthington, but Farthington has the slight height advantage. They’re evenly matched. Their jockeying puts them into the ropes, with each of them turning in position to try and put the other’s back against the ropes. Eventually, it ends with Rezin in the corner with Farthington trapping him there, and Timo makes a five count for a clean break.
Farthington obliges him, and gives Rezin a little friendly pat on the cheek and a smug grin, as though saying “good job”.
Nick Stuart: I think one of the last guys you want to taunt in that ring is Rezin.
Richard Parker: Yeah, plenty of people have done that, and… Rezin finds a way to beat them. Cecilworth, be careful in there!
Nick Stuart: He can’t hear you, Rich.
Richard Parker: Only because management wouldn’t let me bring my Glue Factory-branded bullhorn!
Nick Stuart: I would also not let you bring that to ringside.
Richard Parker: Bah!
Rezin has a bemused expression on his face as Farthington smiles and waves to the crowd. When Farthington finally turns his attention back to Rezin, that’s when Rezin strikes. He grabs Cecilworth by the shoulders and all but body checks him into the same corner, before battering him with rights and lefts.
Nick Stuart: Rezin has no patience for Cecilworth’s shenanigannery!
Richard Parker: “Shenanigannery”?
Rezin grabs Cecilworth by the wrist and tries to whip him into the opposite corner. Instead, Cecilworth reverses and then plunges a knee into Rezin’s midsection. A European uppercut rocks Rezin and puts his back into the corner enough that Cecilworth can hit him with a second one. Then it’s Cecilworth’s turn to try and whip his opponent into the other corner. This one is successful to a point, in that Rezin reaches the opposite corner. However, Rezin jumps up onto the second rope and then springs off of it. When Cecilworth follows him in, Rezin catches him in an armdrag that puts Cecilworth on the ground.
Cecilworth gets up annoyed, only to walk into a side headlock. A takeover soon follows, and Rezin is on top with Cecilworth not exactly happy about his predicament.
Nick Stuart: Rezin in control early…
Richard Parker: Typical Rezin. You start to expect all the crazy stunts, and then… boom. Side headlock. I can’t figure this guy out, Nick.
Cecilworth fights up to his feet, with Rezin grinding the side headlock the entire time. Cecilworth pushes Rezin into the ropes, who comes back to knock him down with a shoulder block. Rezin then runs into the perpendicular ropes, where Cecilworth adjusts where he lies so that Rezin has to hop over him. Cecilworth gets up in time to try a hip toss.
Rezin, like a cat, lands on his feet. Then he turns it into a hip toss of his own, putting Cecilworth on his back. Rezin tries to press his advantage, only for Cecilworth to knock him down with both feet. Cecilworth gets up, only for Rezin to do the same thing to him. Rezin kips up as Cecilworth gets back to his feet, and then… right back to the side headlock.
Cecilworth pounds the mat with his fist once in absolute frustration, careful to not indicate that he’s tapping out. Who taps out to a side headlock in this day and age? Not Cecilworth! He eventually pushes himself back up to his feet and tries to suplex Rezin out of the position. Instead, Rezin flips up and over, landing on his feet behind Cecilworth. Rezin then walks as casually as though he’s going to pick up his mail in the morning and simply reapplies the side headlock while Cecilworth is recovering.
Cecilworth is not happy.
He pushes Rezin into the ropes, but Rezin doesn’t even get the chance to rebound before the Financier bum-rushes him with a European uppercut!
Nick Stuart: A lot of starch on that uppercut from Farthington!
Richard Parker: Hehe. Starch. Corn starch. Because Rezin’s from Indiana.
Cecilworth hits him with another forearm while keeping Rezin trapped in the ropes, and then quite literally stomps him out of the ring, kicking him through the ropes and to the outside.
Nick Stuart: They’re out here in front of us, now.
Richard Parker: Getting this close to Cecilworth is a dream!
Cecilworth steps through the ropes to continue the attack, only for Rezin to pull his legs out from under him, causing him to land on his back on the apron. Rezin punches him a few times while he lies there, then climbs up onto the apron. He attempts to double stomp Cecilworth on the apron, but the Financier gets his feet up and then pushes Rezin off. He goes flying backwards, and hits the ring post with his back.
Rezin’s taken plenty of punishment over the course of the last few months, since originally winning the Universal championship. He feels this one, writhing on the floor.
Nick Stuart: What a counter from Farthington!
Richard Parker: Yeah!
Farthington sits on the apron, an infuriatingly confident smile on his face. He hops off of the apron and walks after Rezin, who’s on all fours and trying to suck air back into his lungs. Farthington pulls Rezin up and throws him back into the ring, casually hopping up onto the apron and stepping back inside.
Farthington proceeds to stand on Rezin’s beard and pull up on his arm, which makes Timo go for a five count. When Timo gets up to four, Farthington lets go of the arm.
Mind you, he’s still standing on the beard.
As Timo yells at him to get off the beard, Farthington lets out a long, elongated sigh… and then reaches into his trunks and pulls out a small handbook.
Nick Stuart: What the… Where the hell was he keeping that!?
Richard Parker: It’s the PRIME rule book!
Keep in mind, said “rule book” just says “PRIME RULE BOOK” in hastily-written sharpie, and it’s a tiny thing that’s barely the size of Farthington’s hand. You may recognize it as something he pulled out last week when talking about the idea of an “illegal” number of suplexes.
Timo is incredulous at Farthington actually trying to debate PRIME rules with him, especially since that debate is coming while Rezin is being pinned down by his beard by the Financier.
Nick Stuart: This is ridiculous! The referee’s word is law in the jungle of professional wrestling!
Richard Parker: Yeah, but it’s Timo. I’m surprised he hasn’t been busted back down to junior referee! His grasp of the rules is as questionable as his face paint!
Nick Stuart: You’re questionable!
Timo does the only reasonable thing he can do in the situation. He rips the rule book from Farthington’s hands and throws it out of the ring. Farthington reacts as though Timo just threw away the Dead Sea Scrolls. He’s so upset that he stomps on Rezin’s head multiple times while shouting at Timo about how he’s fucking things up.
Cecilworth only actually turns his attention off of Timo when Rezin suddenly shoots up to his knees and lands a body blow to Farthington’s gut. A second one staggers Farthington backwards, allowing Rezin to return to his feet and land a meaty forearm to the Financier’s jaw. This rocks Cecilworth, and allows the crust-punk to start battering him into the corner.
Cecilworth eventually catches Rezin with a headbutt, using the side of his head to catch a gap in Rezin’s strikes. It knocks Rezin back, landing him on his back and rolling to his feet in a daze. Cecilworth goes in for the kill by charging on him with every intention of taking Rezin’s head off. Instead, Rezin, by his very nature of being unpredictable… falls on his ass before Cecilworth can reach him.
Cecilworth flies over Rezin and hits the corner with his shoulder, and this allows Rezin to quickly roll him up. It only gets two, however, as Cecilworth pushes Rezin off of him.
Nick Stuart: Rezin almost stole this one!
Richard Parker: By being weird and clumsy, you mean!
Cecilworth and Rezin get up at the same time. Both go for the same move, which is headbutts. This, naturally, ends painfully for both men. The two of them stagger, spaghetti-legged, doing a funky little dance in trying to shake off the unexpected pain and remain standing.
Cecilworth hits him with a forearm, so Rezin answers with one of his own. But then Cecilworth goes for another, and Rezin ducks it and grabs Cecilworth from behind.
Nick Stuart: Black Thunder Bomb from Rezin! Into the cover!
Cecilworth gets the shoulder up. Rezin looks up at Timo grumpily, slapping his hands together rapidly to indicate that he’d wanted a faster count.
He stands, and seeing that Cecilworth is in a good position, he goes to the corner. He practically hugs it, like it’s an old friend. Fans know what he wants, and for the lack of a proper “good”, they’ll cheer for the “ugly” in this case. Rezin slingshots up to the top rope, steadies himself, and leaps.
Witness the majestic Rezin. Flying through the air in an arc that belies his chaotic nature. There’s something beautiful about the Rezinsault. For a man who heralds the A-Punk-alypse, who believes that anarchy and chaos are all that matters, Rezin paradoxically possesses one of the most astonishingly perfect moonsaults in all of professional wrestling. After all, making something beautiful out of something that should be ugly? That’s punk rock.
Cecilworth moves out of the way, and Rezin hits the canvas with his stomach. He’s barely to his feet when Cecilworth comes charging in. Rezin does his best to counter what he’s doing, catching Cecilworth in midair. This proves to be a mistake, as Cecilworth coils around his body like a boa constrictor. Or, more accurately… an octopus!
Nick Stuart: Into the octopus stretch! Farthington’s really got that thing cinched in!
Richard Parker: Rezin should tap. He should apologize for ever getting in a ring with Cecilworth, and he should tap. The order of that doesn’t really matter, honestly.
Nick Stuart: No, I don’t think Rezin’s interested in tapping out.
He’s not. Giving up isn’t punk rock. Despite carrying Cecilworth’s weight, and Cecilworth trying his best to make Rezin collapse to the canvas so that the stretch is even more deadly, Rezin refuses to go down. He can’t. He won’t. The Goat Bastard is a lot of things, so very many things, and that includes being too dumb (or high) to quit. So he fights it. He grabs Cecilworth’s ankle and starts to pry his leg off from his neck.
Cecilworth’s eyes go wide, partly from the mad-eyed look he has as he tries to grind the hold, and also because he’s surprised at how much Rezin is fighting the hold. He uses joint manipulation, bending Rezin’s fingers and wrist in ways that they’re not meant to be bent. Rezin doesn’t seem to care.
It’s only a hand.
He finally pries Cecilworth’s leg off of his neck. This left Cecilworth with only a wristlock to work with, and that’s just not enough to stop Rezin. A forearm doesn’t seem to have that much power behind it is followed by one that does, rocking Cecilworth and loosening his grip. A third breaks his grip entirely.
Rezin coils, and strikes.
Nick Stuart: CLOVEN HOOF KI— NO!
Farthington ducks what would’ve surely taken his head off his shoulders, which would’ve meant that Rezin would be wanted for murder, and Cecilworth wouldn’t have been down for that. He catches the recovering Rezin with a European uppercut, then backs up a few steps and tries the same setup to apply the octopus stretch.
It doesn’t work twice.
Rezin immediately catches control of Farthington’s maneuver and brings him down with a sharp backbreaker.
Nick Stuart: Tilt-a-whirl backbreaker from Rezin! Farthington’s in a lot of trouble!
Richard Parker: Quick! Get the rule book back and argue that he should be disqualified!
Nick Stuart: What?
Richard Parker: I don’t know! Farthy doesn’t really let me look at the rule book when I ask, but I assume Rezin broke some law! It’s Rezin!
Rezin picks up Farthington and lifts him up onto his shoulders with a fireman’s carry. He turns to face a corner and then rolls into a steamroller slam. He comes up from the slam landing on his feet, and then he hops up onto the second rope, then the top rope, and flies.
Witness the majestic Rezin, once again.
Flying straight and true.
Nick Stuart: REZINSAULT!
Richard Parker: NO!
Rezin lands it this time, and then goes into the cover.
Nick Stuart: Farthington gets the shoulder up! That was almost a second straight upset win for Rezin after the last show!
Rezin looks up at Timo with a disbelieving, wide-eyed look on his face. He holds up three fingers in the hopes that he misheard the count, and is pissed when Timo only shows him two in response. He gets up and pulls Farthington to his feet. What he wants more than anything is to send Cecilworth straight to the void. Arm wringer. Sets his feet.
INTO THE VO—NO.
Cecilworth shoves Rezin just as he grabs his head, and Rezin flies a few feet into the ropes. Fortunately, Rezin is able to land on his feet. Unfortunately, his back is to Cecilworth.
Nick Stuart: Malice in Wonderland!
The heavy elbow to the back of Rezin’s head rocks him, and if it hadn’t been for the ropes in front of him, he’d have fallen right out of the ring. Instead, Cecilworth smells blood.
Nick Stuart: And another!
A second elbow to the back of the head. Rezin’s almost out on his feet, but he has enough wherewithal to turn around to face Farthington and swing at him.
He misses. By like a foot.
Farthington hits him with a knee to the gut and reels him in. Front facelock. Hooks the leg.
Nick Stuart: WORTHLESS!
Rezin hits the canvas hard on the fisherman’s buster, and momentum carries him to sitting up. Farthington immediately turns and latches in the rear naked choke that Phil Atken once used, the dreaded Tarp.
Nick Stuart: AND INTO THE TARP!
Rezin’s arms fly out in all directions as he tries to fight the submission hold. Phil Atken had made the Tarp one of the most dreaded submissions in all of PRIME in the brief time he’d been the threat. Cecilworth’s imitation of the hold was no less effective, as Rezin’s attempts to fight out of it only cause Farthington to sink it in deeper.
Farthington gets his legs around Rezin’s body. There’s a mad look in his eyes as he starts using his right heel to smash the air out of Rezin’s chest.
Rezin’s flailing starts to fade. His arms drop. He’s unresponsive.
And Timo’s seen enough.
DING DING DING
Farthington doesn’t release the hold until Timo is physically forced to pry his arms off of Rezin’s throat. He’s not even back on his feet as Vince Howard makes the announcement.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen… the winner of this match! CECILWOOOOOOOOORTH! FAAAAARTHINGTOOOOOOOONNNNNN!!!
Farthington raises his arm in triumph, as he starts to realize that he’s no longer attempting to kill a man in a professional wrestling ring.
Nick Stuart: Cecilworth Farthington won a hard-fought victory here tonight, and he’s one step closer to challenging for the 5-Star Championship at Tropical Turmoil!
Richard Parker: Wouldn’t want to be in Avalon’s shoes when Tropical Turmoil comes around. If he makes it that far.
We cut away from the scene as Farthington starts the smarmily wave to the jeering crowd, with only one thing certain: Buy glue.