Sweet and Sour (Singles debut vs Lil Petey)

OOC: Nothing super special. Just covering some old territory and laying some groundwork for future stuff since I can't expect people to know about things I'm picking up 10-13 years later. Betsy inspired me with the flashbacks. Enjoy or don't just don't be a cunt about it.







Whew. It’s been a while. I’m not sure if I remember how to do this… I swear, if you spend long enough leaning into the joke that Shawn Warstein is carrying you eventually you’ll actually start to believe it.

It’s not like I don’t understand the context of the jab when people take it.

I’m hardly the face of Project: Honor like some people might have predicted when I finally signed my contract and wet every pair of panties in the house with my debut. Hell, forget front and centre, I’ve barely been around since the clock struck twelve on New Years and kicked 2021 off with a whimper. Shawn on the other hand? He’s been fucking shit up for all of you, week in and week out. He took the platform of the tag team championships and made it into the foundation for something better, beating X-Factor Champions and winning War Games matches like it’s nothing and making himself one of the most powerful forces in the company.

I’m not bitter about it, but I’m not stupid either.

I know that people like Julius Fairweather and James Edgebrook only add my name to a ranking or type it into their column when they run out of superlatives to adorn Fuzz with and readers need to rest their jaws from the constant fellation of their tyrant. I know most of this roster is so up their own ass and in their own shit bubble that they don’t know who I am or what I’ve done other than be a pretty face and sick set of abs hiding in Shawn’s shadow.

I’m fine with it.

It’s rare that I get to fly under the radar, and be treated as the weak link in the chain.

I’ll be honest, though. My absence was hardly some elaborate scheme to lower my profile and camouflage myself in some sort of underdog status. I wasn’t trying to give Shawn the spotlight and raise his profile above my own out of altruism.

I wasn’t here because I didn’t want to be.

I wasn’t here because this is the sort of company that can drive you mad if you have an ounce of reason, a shred of dignity or god forbid a dash of skepticism… and I’ve always carried all three in bulk. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again; there is no honor in this project. It’s a company of cowards and pussies, led by pansies and twats.

Harsh words? Maybe, but nobody can prove me wrong.

Since the moment I set foot in a ring here, I’ve watched every opposing team I’ve faced disappear into the sunset when they didn’t get their way. Ulfhednarnir? Never heard from them again. Storm Chasers? Cancelled like the television show. Celestial Lovers? Probably lasted longer and had more fruitful results than the relationship between Project Honor and Revolution 1 Wrestling… but alas… Zane got to steppin’ and Myojin has never been the same. Where is the honor in any of that?

Legacy literally laid waste to this division, as predicted, and managements reaction is to punish us by telling me I’m fine on the shelf for two months and not to do a single thing to restock the pond for my eventual return? What was the logic, where was the long term vision? Did you really think Big Drip or Sports Entertainment Xpress were going to keep things interesting for anyone, least of all me?

This is the sort of stuff I’m talking about.

This is the same company that pushes generic two dimensional tropes like "shitty white rapper" or "dumb Australian" like creative gold. This is the same company that gets a superstar like Betsy Granger, hyped to the high heavens and whose singles debut is anticipated by the masses… but gives her less prestigious placement than Pat the fucking Postman. This is the same company that rewards the people that can ramble the longest and blow the most hot air, the same company that will promote Yung Sauce as a sympathetic figure and fan favorite as he tweets unveiled misogyny and unbridled harassment to the finer half of the population and fan base.

Like I said; reason, dignity and skepticism… If you have any of the three, this place can drive you mad.

… and so I return to the asylum, because if the inmates are going to run the place… why not me?

It’s time to leave the nest and take a few solo flights without Warstein.

It’s been a while.

Let’s see if I remember how to do this.

---

MIA SANCHEZ-RAVEN: Are you sure you’re happy, James? I mean really happy?

I remember nodding my head slowly, still trying to catch my breath and wrap my head around what she had just told me. She stared at me, her eyes wide with concern as I sat in silence, but her expression softened as I took a deep breath at her and smiled back.

I hated her for a long time after we got divorced. I blamed her for a lot, and I focused too much on the things that I thought she took from me or cost me… but it’s been a decade since we’ve been together, and time has healed most wounds.

I remember she was beautiful.

I remember that I loved her.

MIA SANCHEZ-RAVEN: Are you positive, babe? I mean, you really don’t look like you are… please, just be honest with me, I won’t get mad.

Pro-tip; that’s a lie, boys and girls. Any time a woman tells you that she won’t get mad, it’s just a signal that there’s only one answer she wants to hear escaping your lips. I know, the road signs are confusing, but if you don’t learn to read them they revoke your relationship license and you get less action than Lil Petey, and I’m pretty sure that dudes a virgin.

I was happy though, I just couldn't figure out how to tell her that. As someone that literally cut promos for a living, sometimes I just couldn’t get the right handle on my vocabulary. It shouldn’t have been hard. Just open your mouth and form words, you fucking child. Just say something to reassure her, say something to let her know that you’re with her on this... say anything!

JAMES RAVEN: Anything!

I could be a real dumb piece of shit sometimes.

MIA SANCHEZ-RAVEN: What?

JAMES RAVEN: Nothing, ignore that, I’m an idiot. Come here…

I remember reaching out with both hands, grabbing each of her elbows firmly and pulling her into my body. I stroked her hair gently as she nuzzled her face into my chest. I can still smell the shampoo that she used to use. I kissed the top of her forehead.

I can picture her face as I let go with one hand and slide my fingers to her stomach, feeling her navel. I had no idea back then, but it was the beginning of the greatest thing to ever happen to me… of all the world titles and tournaments Ive won… this would be my #Legacy, and my greatest achievement.

I was just a scared 18 year old.

JAMES RAVEN: I’m happy. I swear, I’m happy…

She had smiled at me softly.

MIA SANCHEZ-RAVEN: If it’s a boy, we can name him James.

I had smiled widely and let out a soft chuckle, extending my arms slightly to look her in the eyes. We had both welled up with tears as we stared deep into each other's eyes. A decade later, I can't think of this moment and bring myself to hate her… regardless of what we said about each other or did to each other when things turned sour...

JAMES RAVEN: Under no fucking circumstances.

The sour is good.

It's what helps you appreciate the sweet.

---

Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for has arrived!

Get’cha popcorn ready and tip your janitors, because I’m about to make every inch of the floor in this arena STICKY if you catch my drip… *wink wink*

The People’s G.O.A.T. is here and for the first time in Project: Honor history, you get to see him go one on one with one of the brightest shining stars on the roster… or at least a solid performer in the tag team division… OK, Lil Petey tries, alright! I don’t know that I can say anything more for him than that.

You’re not here for Lil Petey though. You’re here for the man with the endless abs and the smile so perfect it HAS to be surgically implanted, right? The man your sister watched wrestling with you for, and the poster your mother stared at while picking your dirty socks up off the floor. You’re here for the One Man Legacy, The Prophecy, The Prodigy, and any other nickname I’ve had, have or will have that you wanna drop to announce that the game has fucking changed for the rest of you.

I know, I know.

I said I was only here for the tag team stuff, I said I didn’t have the time or desire to compete full time and dive into the singles roster… but when someone lines up a one hundred and eighty pound Jamie Kennedy experiment across from you, dresses him up like Riff Raff and dares you to snatch his aluminum chain? I like easy money as much as the next fucking guy.

My situation has changed, and let's say the last two months spent idly waiting for a challenge to pop up for my belts have left me unfulfilled and ready to pimp slap the taste out of the mouths of anyone across from me… even if it’s someone like Yung Sauce, who has no taste to begin with…

ONE WIN!

ONE FUCKING WIN!

Big Drip Productions have been here since the jump, Lil Petey was one of the O.G.s of Proving Ground, and in all the time they’ve been grinding for views and ad revenue like the shitty flash in the pan viral sensations they are… they’ve got one win to show for it, and somehow want to dance around and disrespectfully speak my name like I’m the bad guy that’s beneath them? Somehow they think they’re worthy of occupying two months of my time when they can’t last two minutes in my depth, at my pace, in my division?

Fuck you, Petey.

Fuck you, Sauce.

You two are everything that is wrong with Project: Honor. You are the condensed and bottled form of every single poor decision and management misstep in this company. You symbolize everything that people like me hate about this place.

That Shawn Warstein hates. That Betsy Granger hates. It’s people like you that infuriate The Commonwealth and drive Dickie Watson to the edge. It’s the people like you that can’t defend our safe haven from people like Matt Knox or the Left Hand, or who take up space and cost someone like Sports Entertainment Xpress an opportunity because after losing EVERY OTHER FUCKING MATCH YOU’RE INVOLVED IN the blind squirrel finally finds a nut… but never provides any value back to any of us…

Big Drip sounds like a disease. A cancer. Something that needs to be removed from the roster for the betterment and survival of everyone else around it. I’m not being dramatic. You two could legitimately be the downfall and death of this company if we’re not careful.

I know what you’re thinking, “whoa, these vibes are way off, where’s the funny and goofy Raven that we all know and love? Where’s the sarcastic prankster from Division?”. That mother fucker has left the building, and went on sabbatical back in December when he helped the tag division catch fire and spent two months waiting and watching as Project: Honor let it burn.

Petey, you are not the Phoenix from the flames. You are the arsonist. You can pretend Legacy are the bad guys but we do more for the greater good of this company than you can wrap your mind around and describe in one hundred and twenty eight bars, you simple minded fucks.

Shawn Warstein and I end tag teams.

We end careers.

I’d tell you to ask around… but…

… they’re all gone.

Time is running out for you.

Tick Tok.

---

I never got along with my father. Those of you that have followed me through my career probably have a good idea of that, it’s never really been a secret. It’s not like the relationships a lot of people have with family members that they don’t like. We don’t still check in once a year or get together at holidays and do our best to act civil.

There’s no contact anymore, and when there is contact? We’re as combustible as Lil Peteys hair products.

I had been staring at my cell phone for nearly five minutes on the side of the road, my motorcycle’s engine purring softly between my legs as the traffic whizzed by me. I sighed deeply, watching my breath float away in the crisp winter air as I ran my fingers through my hair and looked up at the sky.

It was bull shit. I should never have had to make that call.

I looked back down at my phone, flipping through the contacts one by one for what must be the hundredth time in a row before landing on ‘Jonathan Raven’ yet again. I know, most people would have saved his number under ‘dad’, but most people never understood the kind of relationship that he and I have. Plenty of you never sat through my ‘daddy didn’t love me’ diatribes in the XWF, and good for you; but my father is the one that drove me out of Toronto when I was fifteen and told me that I was no longer a part of his family, my father is the one that blamed me for my brothers death at his funeral and told me that he wished it had been me instead, my father is the one that went so far off of the deep end after my mother passed that he put his hands on my sister, and my father is the one that tried to ruin my relationship with Mia on several occasions because “she wasn’t good enough for someone with the Raven name”… which is funny, because apparently I’m not good enough for the Raven name either. How’s that work out?

JAMES: Fuck it.

I hit the dial button and lifted the cell phone to my ear, squinting slightly as the glare of a semi truck’s reflectors catches my eyes. I shivered slightly as I listened to it ring once, twice, three times… I knew he was there, house arrest had a way of putting a damper on your social life. A chill rushed up my spine as I tried to push old memories from my mind, and I tried to pretend I didn’t see the things I saw growing up because of him. This was well over a decade ago, and I’ve still never felt the way I felt waiting for him to answer the ph-

JONATHAN: Jimmy? Is that you?

I was caught off guard actually hearing his voice. It had been a while, and I froze up momentarily. I was eighteen years old, rich as hell and on my way to becoming an international celebrity… and hearing him say my name still brought out the ‘little bitch’ in me. I took a deep breath, trying to regain my bearings.

JONATHAN: Are you there, Jimmy?

JAMES: Yeah, I’m here. Don’t call me Jimmy, only T.J. was allowed to call me that.

There was a long silence, but it’s true when they say that silence can be deafening. I could practically hear him tearing into me, screaming at me to never bring my brother's name up with him again and demanding that I treat him with the respect that a father deserves... but to his credit he didn’t. He knew he had no leg to stand on.

JONATHAN: Fine. What do you need, James? What happened to the ‘after this, we’re never speaking again’ you dropped on me last time?

JAMES: Trust me, I wish we were still going by that. I really, really do. Something’s come up though, and I felt like you should at least know… I’m having a baby.

JONATHAN: Are you still with that-

JAMES: Don’t finish that fucking sentence. Yeah, it’s with Mia.

It figured that the ass hole would be more concerned with whether I was living up to his standards with my relationship than the fact that he was about to be a grandfather. Fuck him. It was a mistake to even call, and as young as I was back then, I still should have known better.

JONATHAN: I see. Well, congratulations are in order. When is she due? When can I see my grand baby?

I remember laughing slightly, extra spitefully, making sure that he heard it… not because I was actually happy, but just to shove that extra dagger into his heart. I shook my head as I watched a red sedan pass me by, a kid in the backseat hanging his hand out the window and pretending it was an airplane.

JAMES: Never, Jonathan, you’ll never get to see them.

JONATHAN: Cut the first name bull shit, James, I’m your father. Are you really going to cut me out of the baby's life?

JAMES: Yeah, I am. I’m not going to let you poison it’s life like you did mine, or Rachel’s, or T.J.’s.

He didn't bother holding back this time.

JONATHAN: Don’t you bring your brother up to me you ungrateful piece of shit! Don’t you DARE! Also, stop trying to blame me for everything that’s gone wrong in your life; it makes you sound like a whiny god damned child!

JAMES: Uh-huh.

JONATHAN: What are you trying to tell me here, James? That you called up to rub it in my face, with no intention of letting me ever see my own flesh and blood?

I remember taking another deep breath, this time looking down at the cement as I kicked a pebble away from the tire of my bike and rubbed a dead spider off of the gas tank. I could feel the butterflies in my stomach as he yelled at me, my knees beginning to shake as I started to fall apart. It was almost over, I just had to power through…

JAMES: No, it wasn’t to rub it in… I guess… I guess that I just thought that whether they ever meet you or not, they’re going to know they have a grandfather. I figured you deserved the same.

JONATHAN: This is bull shit, James! I’ll fight you on this, you hear me? I’ll fucking fight you! I’ll take you to court, I’ll do whatever I have to do to get visitation.

JAMES: Uh-huh.

JONATHAN: Don’t shrug me off, James, I’m your father, and I’m telling you that I will take you the fuck down if I have to!

JAMES: Love you too, dad.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and cocked my arm back, hurling the phone as far away from me as I possibly could and watching in satisfaction as it sailed off the edge of the bridge and splashed into the water below me. I’m sure he shouted the entire way down, too. I grinned slightly and put my helmet back on, then took off down the road with no intention of ever looking back.

Sweet and sour...

---

You’re welcome, Lil Petey.

You haven’t thanked me, but that’s just because you’re an inconsiderate bitch and not because I didn’t actually deserve to be thanked.

You’re welcome, because as much as you and your friends spin things to make it seem like Legacy bullied you and deleted your music and treated you like the nerds on the playground… that was literally the best outcome you could have hoped for. You and I both know that you’re in over your head. You and I both know that a match against all three members of the PH Legacy chapter would have been a world of trouble that you are not equipped to handle, so a bit of a thrashing and some public humiliation? As opposed to a full on, sanctioned ass beating that wouldn’t end until all four of you had been left bloodied and broken, and gone on for as long as we chose to drag it out before putting you out of your misery?

You’re welcome.

You wont get off so lucky moving forward. You called Betsy a thot, Petey. What the fuck were you thinking? You’ve continued to run your mouth to me after watching me dog walk your boy Sauce around the ring like he was my prison bitch.

We are not Insidious or the Two Toned Mafia, Petey. You can’t go unchecked with Shawn and I like you did with them.

I am not Phoenix Lestrange, or Caden Young, or Jason fucking Terrance, I am not Myojin, or Zane, or Dagvald Riddick. They’ve all left you beaten. I plan to leave you buried.

You feeling OK, Petey?

The color just drained from your face. You’re looking paler than an Elena Dedraca selfie.

You doing alright, Petey?

You’ve suddenly got less to say than The Left Hand does each time I call them out.

You wanted the People’s G.O.A.T.?

You got him.

This was just a warm up. This was cracking the knuckles.

Manhandled with no effort… Imagine what’ll happen when we start applying pressure…

Fear the Raven, Forevermore.

---

I stand outside the Unipol Arena, arm in arm with Betsy Granger as she leans her head on my shoulder. In mere days we’d return to the ring, each making our singles debut with Project: Honor, though admittedly mine has been much longer in the making than hers. Lost in thought, I take a deep breath and stare at the building… images of tearing Lil Petey limb from limb filling my mind and bringing a gentle smile to my face.

Betsy straightens and turns to me.

BETSY GRANGER: Can we go now? You’ve seen it. You’ve had your moment… there are SO MANY things to see and do here that are much more fun than this…

I wink at her.

JAMES RAVEN: Almost. Just another couple of minutes. It’s helping me to clear my head of some things… just standing here… it’s relaxing… like meditation…

BETSY GRANGER: Like I said, I can think of things much… more… fun… and relaxing…

I turn to face her straight on, and it’s her turn to wink. Am I really going to insist that we stand here envisioning various ways we could defeat Petey or Tyler Bradford? Am I really going to demand that we make contingency plans for the 0.00000001% chance that Shawn needs backup with Yung Sauce?

JAMES RAVEN: Yeah, lets get the fuck outta here…

Her grin splits wide from ear to ear, a beaming smile warming my heart as we turn away from the arena. A loud ringing echoes from my pocket, and I pause for a moment to produce my phone and check the caller ID.

BETSY GRANGER: Do you need to answer it?

JAMES RAVEN: It’s Tyler.

BETSY GRANGER: Aw, tell him I said hello!

She motions for me to answer the call, even though the timing is far from perfect. Her excitement to hear from him nearly overwhelms my own, though the spontaneousness of the call has me concerned that somethings wrong. I flash her a grateful look, and pick up the phone.

JAMES RAVEN: Hey buddy!

TYLER RAVEN: … hi dad.

JAMES RAVEN: Is everything OK?

TYLER RAVEN: … yeah… can I ask you something?

JAMES RAVEN: Of course, buddy, what’s going on?

He’s quiet for a long moment. Betsy shrugs her shoulders and mouths “what’s up?” but I can only shrug back, until he speaks again.

TYLER RAVEN: How come I’ve never met grandpa?

My heart skips a beat and my stomach plummets through the bottoms of my feet. I stammer slightly.

JAMES RAVEN: U- uh… that’s complicated buddy. I’m not sure I can explain it all over the phone. Can we talk about it when I’m back home? I’m in Italy right now.

TYLER RAVEN: … ok.

JAMES RAVEN: Are you alright, Tyler? Where is this coming from?

He’s quiet for another long moment, each passing second of silence feeling like a day.

TYLER RAVEN: He called mom. I talked to him.

It’s like a cannon ball to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. I try to form words, but theyre little more than a weak gasp.

JAMES RAVEN: He… what? He… did… what… ?

TYLER RAVEN: Mom said he found her phone number and asked to talk to me. He wants to meet me… he says he’s sick… and he wants to meet me.

I can’t even attempt to speak anymore. My knees feel weak, and I nearly collapse to the pavement as Betsy grabs me firmly at the waist and lets me lean against her. She looks at me with concern, and the edges of my vision begin to close in. I feel like I’m going to vomit…

TYLER RAVEN: Mom says dinner is ready. I’m going to go. Have fun in Italy, dad. Call me when you’re home.

The line disconnects.

Sour.

This one is all sour.