All Hail Emperor Lelouch

As the crowd give Lelouch's victory mixed reactions and commentators finish up the commentary and prepare for the next match Lelouch Lamperouge still stands over his fallen victim centre of the ring, he motions for the MWP team to pass him a microphone.

John Dempsey: This should be interesting; the young blood wants to say a few words.

Michael Billings: If he is as good at milking crowds as he is at wrestling he'll be an instant hit.

As the microphone is tossed at him, he effortlessly catches it with a flourish without a second glance. Tapping it a few times, he waits for the crowd to calm down before he raises it to his mouth.

Lelouch Lamperouge: Hello Plymouth! Hello England! My name is Lelouch vi Britannia of the Holy Britannian Empire!

He accentuates a few hand gestures to dramatise his point. The crowd are rolling their eyes at this precocious upstart. Some are booing him, although most of the crowd do not really know what to make of him.

Andrew Becksford: The Holy Britannian Empire? He is English? He certainly does not look or sound similar to one.

Michael Billings: I thought this country was called the United Kingdom of Great Britain, not that!

John Dempsey: Great Britain, Britannian Empire, who cares? It’s not good ol’ America to me!

Lelouch waits for the boos to die down.

Lelouch Lamperouge: When I first came to this world, I spent a lot of time reading and learning everything there is to know about this world. When MWP came to England, I was excited. I wanted to come to this great nation, who gave us Shakespeare, Dickens, Yeats and Tennyson, who once conquered the seven seas, who became the first nation to abolish slavery, who ruled three-quarters of the known world, who became the single bastion of light for some of the darkest days in history, who gave the world the language that most of civilisation speaks!

With every point he makes, the crowd cheers even louder for him. By the time he finishes, they are giving him a standing ovation, applauding, roaring his name in support of the apparent patriotism that he is showing. As Lelouch pauses for dramatic effect for a few moments, the crowd begin singing “God Save the Queen”. Grinning at this reaction, he outstretches his arms to milk the affection so lavishly offered by the crowd.

John Dempsey: Oh don't suck up to these people. What’s so special about England anyway?

Lelouch waits for a verse of the British national anthem to finish, before he raises his microphone to his mouth once again.

Lelouch Lamperouge: All hail Britannia!

The crowd respond with a hearty and raucous “All hail Britannia!” breaking into more applause.

Lelouch Lamperouge: At least, that was what I thought until I actually came here.

The applause stops abruptly. Everybody quietens down. Tension hangs in the air; you could almost feel it, as the crowd waits and see what Lelouch says next.

Lelouch Lamperouge: England…STINKS!

Lelouch pauses for dramatic effect; the crowd respond to the obvious insult with a massive round of boos.

Lelouch Lamperouge: From the moment I first landed at Gatwick airport I saw England for what it really is: a joke! Your cities sink, you drive on the wrong side of the road, you are all uneducated; most of you cannot even speak your own stupid language properly!

Lelouch pauses once again for a few moments, as every insult is responded in kind with boos and jeers.

Lelouch Lamperouge: You invent sports only to suck at them, for example the sport you idiots call football where are you now? You haven’t won the World Cup since 1966, you didn’t qualify for the last European Championship and from the looks of things, you aren’t going to qualify for the next World Cup as well!

The crowd take their volume up another level as they have no reservations in expressing their hatred of this newcomer.

John Dempsey: That’s not football! Football is played by men in America!

Lelouch Lamperouge: Even if we forget about your embarrassing performances on the international stage, let’s take a closer look to your local side, shall we?

Lelouch pauses for a few seconds to soak up the hostile atmosphere.

Lelouch Lamperouge: Where’s Plymouth Argyle? You’re at the bottom half of what is effectively the 4th tier of the league! Even then, I honestly believe that even that is too good for you lot. You deserve to be in the Conference; where do you get your players from, your local homeless centre? And one more thing its called soccer real football is played over in America

John Dempsey : That's right you tell them Lelouch

In addition to the booing and jeering, the audience responds with a chant of their own.

A.r.g.y.l.e
we are the pride of the West Country
with a knick knack paddy whack give a dog a bone
Gay Lelouch can f**k off home.

Taking a few moments for dramatic effort, he appears to be revelling in the apparent hatred they have for him, taking the insults and abuse being hurled at him in his stride.

Lelouch Lamperouge: “Great” Britain is just a pathetic little island living in America's shadow, dreaming of her long forgotten glory days when she actually mattered to the rest of the world! Heck they only allowed you people to host the Olympics in that shit hole you call London last year because they all feel sorry for you, and really, who can blame them? I don't think I've ever seen so many fat, ugly, bald men in one place in all my life!

If the crowd were not hostile before, they certainly are now; chants of “Who are ya?” are repeated in great volume throughout the arena. A few of the fans at ringside toss empty beer bottles and food at him in anger. All are effortlessly dodged by Lelouch, taunting the crowd every step of the way by making his dodges as flamboyant as possible.

John Dempsey: Hah, this guy’s got it spot on! You tell them what they’re worth, son!

Michael Billings: Are you kidding me? Would someone turn of his microphone? What disrespect!

Andrew Becksford: So much for the conjecture that he’s English.

By now, the ring now littered with beer bottles and junk food, while the intended target remains unscathed in the middle of the ring, grinning from ear to ear. It seems that he actually enjoys the sheer amount of hatred the crowd is showing him.

Lelouch Lamperouge: Say what you want if it helps with your denial mechanism, fools! None of you are even have anything of significant importance to look forward to in your worthless little lives, and no one here can stop me, certainly not any of you worthless maggots, and certainly not this joke of a wrestler!

Lelouch accentuates his point by kicking Mark Johnson in the ribs.

Lelouch Lamperouge: I came to here to MWP for one thing and one thing only: to rule, and rule it, I shall! I will rule my kingdom it with an iron fist, and I will bring it greatness, whether you people like it or not!

Lelouch clenches his fist and places it on his chest, in another one of his hand gestures.

Andrew Becksford: To rule his kingdom? How delusional is this guy?

Lelouch Lamperouge: People of Great Britain and the rest of the TWG universe! Hear me! Forget your queens, your kings, your parliaments and your presidents! From this day forward, I shall be known as your one true leader! You shall call me Emperor Lelouch!

He accentuates his point with more flamboyant hand gestures, much to the distaste of the crowd.

Lelouch Lamperouge: Now, obey me, subjects! Obey me, world!

Lelouch draws a long, deep breath, releasing it in a low, rumbling chuckle, the sound echoing louder as it transform into a mocking, sinister laugh, while the crowd continuously vilify him.

John Dempsey: Emperor Lelouch! Hmm…that actually sounds pleasant. I love it.

Michael Billings: Oh please control yourself; he’s a complete whack job. He won one single match and his calling himself Emperor. What will he be if he wins again next week? God?

Lelouch Lamperouges : I am Britannias savior, MWP savior and the Savior, those among you educated enough to believe repeat after me All Hail Lelouch!

Lelouch drops the microphone onto the floor. He extends his arms outward, portraying himself to be a saviour of the people, something that is obviously rejected by the crowd, who begin more hostile chants in defiance of the young upstart.