TD: Folks, we must move on, but I'm sure there'll be some repercussions from this incident in the weeks to come... Let's get straight back up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NON-TITLE: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Marty Warnett vs. El Super Gecko -------------------------------- WRITER: DS [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring. He picks up the torn remnants of Super Scott's "LOOP" t-shirt and serruptitiously slips them inside his jacket.] SR: Did you see that, Dross? What a klepto. [Sparkplug raises the microphone:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is a non-title contest and it is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, making his way to the ring, hailing from parts unknown, weighing in at 235lbs, here is El Super Gecko! [Big pop as the Gecko waddles out of the entranceway to chants of "You can't hurt the lizard!" He strikes a comical martial arts pose at the top of the aisle and then heads down to the ring.] SR: What a loser. TD: El Super Gecko is a competitor feared throughout the world. He's ended the careers of many respected athletes, Steve Roberts. SR: Yeah, right. RA: And introducing his opponent: hailing from Cardiff, Wales, and weighing in at 245lbs, here is the current IIWF Intercontinental Champion: the "Party Maniac" Marty Warnett! [Big pop as "Cold Gin" starts up over the PA and Warnett comes out into the aisle to a big pop. He runs his fingers through his long brown hair and pushes open his denim jacket to reveal the gleaming Intercontinental Championship belt around his waist. He pats the belt, smiles at the crowd, and begins his walk down the aisle. The hands of many an eager young teenage girl impede his progress, but eventually he makes it into the ring. He mounts one of the corner buckles and raises his arms to the crowd to a big pop as fireworks erupt above the ring.] TD: This man has truly earned the respect of these fans in the time he's been in the IIWF. He never takes a back seat to anyone. SR: Although I hear that he's been known to take quite a few teenage girls to the back seat of his car. TD: Steve, please! At least Marty appears to have gotten over the personal problems which have been plaguing him since he captured the Intercontinental Championship in January. Hang on -- here comes the Lady DeWinter! SR: That's not DeWinter, Dross! It can't be! TD: Her fashion sense may be different, but that's definitely DeWinter! [There is a buzz as the Lady DeWinter makes her way down the aisle. She is stunningly beautiful, as always, but instead of her graceful form being highlighted by the close-fitting lines of an elegant evening dress, she wears a pair of tight jeans and a cropped Marty Warnett t-shirt. Her long brown hair, usually pinned back away from her face, now frames her features, hanging down in artfully messy tendrils. In short, she looks transformed.] SR: I can't believe it! Has she lost her mind, Dross?! TD: It appears that Marty and the Lady DeWinter have really been getting on well recently. She certainly appears to be a very great fan! [Warnett winks at DeWinter as she takes a seat at ringside, crossing her long legs and smiling back up at the IC champ. The referee signals for the bell to start the match, and Warnett turns to face the Gecko, who charges him. Warnett quickly hiptosses Gecko to the mat. The lizard makes a second charge, and again Warnett hiptosses him to the mat. Pop! This time, Gecko is a little more wary as he stands. The two men circle, and lock up. Warnett slips the Gecko into a headlock, and the lizard pushes him into the ropes. Warnett ducks a clothesline and fires back with a flying dropkick. He goes for the cover - 1 - 2 - Gecko kicks out!] TD: A nice dropkick there from Warnett, but it's not enough to put the Gecko away. SR: You can't hurt the lizard, Dross! [Gecko groggily gets back to his feet and is knocked back to the mat by a clothesline from Warnett. Marty leaps to the second buckle and drops an elbow on the lizard, then grabs both of the Gecko's legs. He looks out into the crowd, who give him a big pop! The lizard struggles to free his legs from Warnett's grip, but the IC champ keeps a firm grip, and quickly applies his patented figure four leglock. The Gecko yells out in pain.] TD: It's The End for the Gecko right here, Steve! This is an excruciating hold! SR: Come on, Gecko! Don't tell me you _can_ hurt the lizard! [The Gecko fights the hold for another ten or fifteen seconds, and then the referee signals for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding! Big pop as the official raises Marty's hand in victory.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner as the result of a submission: Marty Warnett! [The Gecko rolls from the ring as "Cold Gin" starts up again. Warnett holds the ropes open and DeWinter rises from her ringside seat to join the IC champ in the ring. She raises his arm to a big pop from the crowd. Suddenly, however, there is a disturbance in the aisle.] TD: Uh-oh. Here comes trouble! SR: Here comes Lord Byron! [Byron races down the aisle in his full regalia, complete with cane, which he discards at ringside, to a big heel pop and rolls into the ring. He immediately starts yelling at DeWinter. Warnett steps inbetween Byron and his ward, and receives a hard lariat for his trouble. Warnett rolls on the canvas, clutching his throat. Huge heel pop!] TD: Wow! What a shot from Byron there! Warnett's fighting for his breath. SR: Byron and DeWinter are really ripping into one another, Dross. [Byron grabs DeWinter with one arm and raises his other hand, apparently threatening to hit her. She struggles impetuously, but Byron refuses to let go. He shouts something about being cheap, and she spits in his face. Big pop! Byron is incensed, but just as he winds up to slap DeWinter, he is nailed from behind by Warnett, who clotheslines Byron from the ring over the ropes! Huge pop! Byron picks himself up as Warnett checks on DeWinter, and has to be restrained by the official. Marty signals for a microphone, and one is duly thrown into the ring. With one arm around DeWinter's bare midriff and the other clutching the mic, Warnett speaks breathlessly:] MW: Hey, Byron, you should know better than to try and hit a woman. I don't know what kind of gentleman you think you are, because you sure aren't gentle, and no _man_ needs to hit a defenseless woman to feel big. [Big appreciative pop from the crowd.] SR: [over the headset, sarcastically] Right on, Farty. Sheesh. TD: [over the headset] Please, Steve, violence against women is a serious issue. SR: [over the headset] So are the quarantine laws you're ignoring by wearing that animal on your head, Dross. [The crowd settles as Byron continues to be restrained on the outside.] MW: So you're a little steamed, huh, Byron? You need to prove yourself, right? If you want a war, if you want to feel like a man, then why don't you just get into the ring right here, right now for a title bout? [Huge pop from the crowd! Byron begins to remove his jacket. Warnett looks around at the crowd, smiles and nods.] TD: This isn't going to happen, Steve Roberts. Ring Wars III is still two weeks away -- the title won't be put on the line tonight. SR: Byron's ready, Dross. Byron's ready to take that title from Walnut right here, right now. TD: Well, here comes the IIWF President. Perhaps we'll get a decision here. [A spotlight picks out the IIWF President making his way down to ringside. He confers with the official and the ring announcer, who makes the following announcement:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the IIWF President has ruled that since both parties have agreed a verbal contract for a defense of the IIWF Intercontinental Championship here tonight, the match will be sanctioned! Marty Warnett will defend his title against Lord Byron right here tonight! [Excited pop from the crowd. Warnett beckons Byron into the ring, and the aristocrat explodes through the ropes into the squared circle, immediately getting into a slugfest with Warnett. DeWinter quickly bails out and takes up position on the arena floor, slapping the mat in encouragement for Warnett. The IIWF President heads back up the aisle, and the referee rolls into the ring, signalling for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Ring Wars III has come early, Steve! We've got an Intercontinental Championship match right here tonight! SR: And Byron's fired up, Dross! He's going to take that title! [Warnett blocks a haymaker from Byron and fires back with a right hand of his own, catching the nobleman flush on the jaw. Byron staggers backwards, giving Marty enough room to knock him into the ropes with a standing dropkick. Warnett picks himself up and runs at the ropes, attempting to clothesline Byron from the ring, but the Lord drops to the canvas, and Warnett tumbles over the ropes to the outside! Heel pop! Byron follows Warnett out and begins working him over with clubbing double axe-handle blows and kicks to the back.] TD: This is most uncharacteristic of Byron's style, Steve. SR: He's got to be careful, Dross. Sure, he's pissed off with Warnett, but he can't afford to let his anger make him sloppy. The worst punishment he could inflict on that witless Welsh wunderkind is to take his title away, not get a double countout for the sake of a few kicks. [Byron rams Warnett's head into the steel crowd barriers, and then rolls him back into the ring. As he climbs to the apron himself, Warnett manages to pick himself up and nail Byron in the midsection before suplexing him into the ring! Big pop! Both men lie stunned on the canvas, and the referee lays the count - 1 - 2 - 3 - Byron gets to his knees, attempting to shake off the cobwebs of the suplex. He drags Warnett to his feet and executes a vicious Russian legsweep on the IC champ. He goes for the cover - 1 - 2 - kickout! Byron locks Warnett in a reverse chinlock, deliberately facing DeWinter on the outside, who slaps the mat to spur Warnett on. Byron sneers and shouts something about not being able to help Warnett now.] TD: Warnett doesn't want to stay in that chinlock for long -- Byron has the jaw well and truly hooked. In fact, I think the referee ought to be checking whether that's a choke hold. SR: Byron use a choke hold? Please, Dross! [After a minute or so, Warnett appears to be fading in the hold, despite DeWinter cheering him on. The referee raises Warnett's arm, and it drops to the canvas. He raises the arm a second time, and again it drops to the canvas. He raises the arm a third time, and it drops -- but stops short of the canvas! Big pop! DeWinter claps with glee as Warnett begins stamping his feet on the mat. The crowd get behind the champion, chanting "Mar - ty! Mar - ty! Mar - ty!" Warnett manages to get up onto his knees, and blasts Byron with a wild swing of his elbows. Byron releases the hold and Warnett gets to his feet. However, Byron is merely staggered by the elbow shot, and hits Warnett with a Northern Lights Suplex! The referee makes the count - ] SR: One! Two! Three! He got him! TD: No, Steve! Warnett just got his shoulder out! Incredible! [The crowd lets out a relieved sigh as the referee holds up just two fingers. Byron argues with the official, and then turns his scorn on DeWinter, leaning through the ropes to send a few harsh words in her direction. Meanwhile, Warnett has time to regroup, and he gets to his feet, approaching Byron from behind and -- executing a stunning German suplex into a bridge! Huge pop! The referee counts - 1 - 2 - kickout!] TD: And just like that, Warnett nearly puts Byron away! DeWinter is simply too much of a distraction there on the outside! [Warnett is quickly to his feet, and he goes to the outside. He climbs, cat-like, to the top turnbuckle, and as Byron gets to his feet, launches himself with an incredible Frankensteiner from the top rope! Huge pop! Cameras flash all over the arena! Warnett makes the cover - 1 - 2 - kickout!] TD: Incredible! That's instinct, Steve Roberts! Byron doesn't know where he is right now, but he knows that he has to get that shoulder up before the three count! [Warnett drags Byron to his feet and attempts to whip him into the ropes, but Byron reverses, and sends Warnett careening across the ring -- straight into the official, who crumples to the mat! Big pop!] SR: Referee down! Referee down! [Warnett leans down to tend to the official while Byron rolls from the ring to retrieve the cane he had dropped upon entering. Byron approaches DeWinter, wielding the cane in a threatening manner. The Lady shrieks, attracting the attention of Warnett, who quickly rolls from the ring and positions himself inbetween Byron and DeWinter. Byron goes to strike Warnett with the cane, but Warnett grabs it and lashes out with a kick to Byron's midsection. The cane drops to the floor as Warnett brawls with Byron. Meanwhile, behind the two athletes, DeWinter picks up the cane from the floor and appears to be sizing up one of the two men.] TD: DeWinter's got the cane! SR: [sarcastically] With powers of observation like that, Dross, it's no wonder you're paid so well. [As Byron and Warnett brawl, both men have their backs to DeWinter, who seems to find it difficult to get a clear view of her target. In the end, she looks to the crowd, shrugs, and swings the cane -- hitting Warnett across the base of the skull! Warnett hits the mat like a sack of potatoes. Huge heel pop!] TD: DeWinter just nailed Warnett with the cane! SR: [sarcastically] Nothing gets by you, does it, Dross? TD: Has this all been a set-up between Byron and DeWinter the entire time?! Byron now, rolling Warnett back into the ring... the referee is slowly coming to his senses -- he didn't see any of that. Oh, this is wrong, Steve. [No emotion crosses the face of DeWinter as Byron covers Warnett, hooking both legs just to make sure. The referee groggily crawls over to Byron and makes a slow count -- 1 --- 2 --- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge shocked pop from the crowd! Byron stands and pulls his hair completely out of the ponytail from which it had been trying to escape for much of the match. He pushes his hair out of his eyes and raises his arms, a sneer on his face.] TD: I can't believe this! This result can't stand, surely! SR: Yes! Yes! Yes! We have a new Intercontinental Champion, Dross -- and two weeks ahead of schedule, too! RA: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner... and _NEW_ IIWF Intercontinental Champion, Lord Byron! [Huge heel pop as Byron leaves the ring to grab the Intercontinental Title belt from the timekeeper's table. DeWinter slips away up the aisle as Byron steps back into the ring. He kneels over Warnett, roughly holding his jaw and forcing him, through his semi-conscious haze, to watch as he waves the IC belt in his face. Byron slaps Warnett one more time, then stands and fastens the belt around his waist. He raises his arms once more to the crowd, who continue to jeer in derision. The official checks on Warnett as Byron drinks in the negative reaction.] TD: I have no idea what this result does to the Intercontinental Championship match scheduled for Ring Wars III, Steve... This is a shocking development! SR: No, Dross, this is great news! Finally, we have a worthy Intercontinental Champion! [Byron finally leaves the ring and heads up the aisle, his hands rarely leaving the gold around his waist, as if making sure that it is really there. Warnett is helped to his feet by the still-groggy official, and receives a rousing ovation from the capacity crowd.] TD: In my eyes, Steve Roberts, this man is still the Intercontinental Champion. SR: In my eyes, Dross, he's a loser, just as he's always been. Only now he's not got that title to make him seem more accomplished than he really is. Party's over, Warnett!