Darlington's Debut

William Darlington
Of course, good sirs. I shall speak to you soon!

William bows himself out of the room, leaving Lord Blackwing, his son Ian, and Duke Reginald Churchill Chesterfield Esquire III in the room behind him. They had been relaxing in the comfort of Lord Blackwing’s parlour, enjoying a spot of tea and discussing the week’s events. The four of them had come to America for their own reasons, and Darlington respected each and every one of them. He, however, was here for one purpose and one purpose only. To compete.

For a couple years now, William had some strange obsession with professional wrestling. His mother frowned on him for it, claiming it a “spectacle for barbarians,“ and William agreed. Wrestling was a sport, but professional wrestling…it was a joke, with no competitive edge. And yet, it was that strange showiness of it that attracted William to it, until he finally decided to give it a try. At first, he was not welcomed warmly. The crowds loathed him, thinking him an over-hyped pretty-boy, some spoiled brat who would only be destroyed in their precious ring. William proved them wrong. He moved up the ranks quickly in London Wrestling Monarchy, grabbing himself their top title on three separate occasions. Eventually, they learned to accept him, and by the time William was preparing to leave to go to America, they were sad to see him go…

February 21, 2011
London Wrestling Monarchy

William slowly stands, looking across the ring at Adrian Duncan as he holds up the LWM Championship. The crowd cheers loudly. Adrian looks at William, getting to his feet. He offers his hand. William frowns. He and Adrian were both the top competitors in the company, and had held the tag titles together on three separate occasions, but the two never really saw eye to eye in the back. Adrian grew up in a poor family, in a farming town a few miles west of Glasgow, Scotland. Their views on wrestling were very similar. They wanted to be challenged. They wanted to bring out the best in others, and beat those bests. Adrian and William were the best. They were able to put their differences aside. Their drive to win was great enough to get along with each other long enough to survive three tag title reigns.

William looks at Adrian’s hand, offering to help him to his feet. William shakes his head and swats it away. This was another attempt at humour. Adrian was mocking him, and William did not appreciate it. William grabs hold of the top rope and uses it to get to his feet, his head still ringing a bit. That was it then. Management knew he was leaving, preparing to head to America, to bring his talents there. They were sad to see him go…but their final request to William was that he lose the belt, to keep the LWM Championship with the company. At first, William had told them to piss off. He had worked hard to take that belt. It was his, and he was going to treasure it as his greatest accomplishment. But…something had come over him. As he conversed with other roster members, remembering the good times he had, even amongst these worms of society…he realized he had some level of respect for the company. And so, he had decided to throw the match. To allow LWM to keep their precious championship. William stood up straight, his head held high. He had done the right thing, and he knew it. His last match was over. He had lost. Now it would be one to America.

Adrian Duncan
Hold on a second, Willie.

William stopped dead in his tracks, standing on the apron, ready to jump down and head to the back.

Adrian Duncan
A lot o’ you people don’ know this…but that righ’ there? Tha’ was William’s las’ match.

There’s a murmur of interest through the crowd, and William feels all eyes on him. He stares suspiciously at Duncan. What was he playing at?

Adrian Duncan
Willie, I know we never really saw eye to eye on a lot o’ stuff. But I’ve fought ya lots o’ times before, and I know when you’re at yer best, and when yer slackin’. And tha’…tha’ wasn’t the Willie I’ve fought in the past.

William sneers at Adrian, who smiles at the crowd.

Adrian Duncan
The lad will ne’er admit it…but since he’s leaving n’ all, he knew he had ta drop tha title. And lads, I think Willie here just threw the match so he could keep the title with London Wrestlin’ Monarchy. So I say we give the lad a round of applause, aye?

The audience cheers for William. Adrian approaches him, and once again extends his hand.

Adrian Duncan
Ye did a good thing there boyo.

William Darlington
It was the gentlemanly thing to do.

Adrian smirks.

Adrian Duncan
Wha’ever yer reason, it was a good thing. Good on you.

He glances at his hand, still outstretched. William shakes his head, but shakes Adrian’s hand, to the thunderous cheers of the crowd.

“DARLINGTON! DARLINGTON! DARLINGTON! DARLINGTON!”

William looks around. He had never heard them cheering for them so loudly. Never before had they chanted his name with such enthusiasm. Adrian steps back, raising the mic to his lips once more.

Adrian Duncan
Ladies n’ gentlemen…Englan’s favorite son!

“DARLINGTON! DARLINGTON! DARLINGTON! DARLINGTON!”

William smiles, and raises his fist, getting them to cheer even louder. At that moment, he realized…

This was what he was truly meant to do.

Of course, the other gentlemen could never know. As far as they knew, William was going to America, and while he intended to compete for some federation, his primary purpose was to speak with a Mr. Matthews about a lucrative business deal. William was a gentleman, but this was the twenty-first century. Once simply could not get by on daddy’s money any more. William did in fact plan to go into business, but his primary reason for his journey to America was to wrestle. To compete. William had found an affinity for professional wrestling. He had learned the true sport, on the mat, when he was a boy. He remembered it well, spending hours, training with the best mat wrestlers in England, learning the tricks and tips. He had a natural talent for it.

It seemed that there wasn’t much William couldn’t do. He was a gifted jockey, a talented violinist. He had learned much about economics in school, though he had never finished his studies at the university, completing only two years at Oxford before pursuing other interests. Still, he was intelligent. And he was young. It was only four years ago, he had inherited his father’s sizeable fortune.

Henry Archibald Darlington was the last in line of the noble Darlington family. He was near 45 years old when he died of a stroke. William was a mere seven years old at the time. William was the sole heir to the Darlington fortune, like his father before him. Many feared that Henry marked the end of the line, as his first three attempts at raising a son failed. William’s mother had given birth to three girls before finally, when Henry was 38, William was born.

As a young man, William was always pressured to be a “gentleman.” Know your forks and spoons, know which utensils correspond to which part of the meal. Elbows off the table. Back straight, chest out. Walk with pride. Don’t slouch, boy. No, no, you bow like this, at the waist. Keep your head high. William’s father’s voice replayed in his head on a regular basis. Unfortunately, there were not many “pleasant” memories William had. There were a few, yes…but the vast majority of his recollections were not of horseback rides through the woods behind Darlington Estate, nor were they of fencing matches, or pleasant conversations over tea in the parlour. No, most were memories of rigorous lessons, learning to be a “proper gentleman.” Often times, William felt as though he was being trained for something. As if he was some prince in disguise, learning how to one day rule the nation. No such luck. The Darlington’s were a noble family, yes. But there was no royal blood in the family line. This was the modern day, but still, William was raised learning the ways of a culture long lost. Eventually, he had learned to accept it, and love it. Now, there was no greater pleasure for him than living the life of the British aristocracy.

Lord Edward Blackwing had always been a sort of father figure to William after Henry’s death. Ian Blackwing was a close friend of William’s, and the two considered themselves kin, of sorts. Ian too, grew up under a stiff rule, learning the same lifestyle under Lord Blackwing as William had under his own father. Ian was a proper gentleman, far greater than William could hope to be. At least, that’s what Reginald had told him. Reginald was another close friend. Thirteen years William’s senior, Reginald Chesterfield was hardly a “personal friend” of William’s, but the two got along well enough. Reginald was sort of an older brother of sorts. He could be a good mentor at times, teaching William the things that his father and Blackwing never did, but other times, Reginald could be a bit of a prat, preferring to pick on young William. As they got older, their relationship grew stronger, but there was still a level of separation between the two, due primarily to their gap in age. Especially now, William often suspected Reginald thought him a bit of a nuisance. Only time would tell his true thoughts.

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It’s been made official. William Darlington has signed with this cesspool. This “Insurgency Wrestling Federation.” And it would seem my debut match has quite a story behind it.

Apparently, someone has attacked Mr. AJ Reckless, and has left him out of competing state indefinitely!

Tragic. Simply tragic. Fortunately, I have offered to step forth and take Reckless’s place. So this week, we shall see the debut of England’s Favourite Son against…some degenerate American ninny named Keith Axel. Axel, who calls himself a “Renegade” as if it’s something to be proud of!

Mr. Axel, perhaps you were dropped on your head as a child. Perhaps you were neglected by your parents. A renegade is nothing more than a degenerate. Scum of the earth, rebelling against the people that allow you the liberties you enjoy every day of your miserable life. In fact, that seems to be the sole purpose of this entire miserable company. Insurgency? Is that not a rebellion? An attempt to seize power?

Ah, but I understand. The Insurgency is that rebellion that broke free of some other oppression, is that correct? A successful Revolution, is that correct? Very well. Revolution, as despicable as it is, is sometimes necessary. But that’s neither here nor there.

I came to America for competition. I came to IWF to bring some culture back to this wretched nation. I shall enlighten you all, teach you the proper way to compete. I shall teach you the English way. It will start with this miscreant, Keith Axel. And when I vanquish my opponent, it will be onward in this “Full Throttle Tournament.” Ah, a tournament. The truest way to determine real skill. I embrace the challenge. The championship is as good as mine, and I assure you, the Full Throttle Championship will grace the waist of a noble gentlemen. A true Englishman.

England’s Favourite Son. William Darlington.