Apathy? Never Met Her (vs Blair Regent, X-Factor tournament)

Apathy is a cruel bitch, but I don’t know her.

I couldn’t imagine the collective “who cares?” that echoes on the wind each time your name is announced to the masses. It’s not a hatred or bitterness earned by doing something that the fans didn’t like; it’s a biting indifference earned by never doing anything they cared about to begin with.

Apathy is the kiss of death in this industry, a cold and serrated blade drug quickly across your neck and then plunged deep into your belly. It leaves you gurgling and squealing in a pool of your own blood, bile, and mediocrity… but it leaves you with no questions about your standing in the world. It leaves you with no false impressions that you matter.

I’ve never felt its sting or its savagery. I’ve never felt its shade wash over me, and yet I know that some of you have never known the warmth of anything else.

I wonder if I’m as unrelatable to you as you are to me?

I can’t begin to wrap my head around the concept of working for a company for nearly four months without making an impact. I can’t imagine waking up each morning, coming to the show each week, knowing that I’m allowing myself to be a non-factor.

See, I’m a needle mover. I’m a ticket seller. I’m an attraction. They start petitions to put me on cards I wasn’t scheduled for and they write features about how the undefeated champion is one of the best on the roster, but STILL underutilized and STILL underappreciated. They can’t get enough of me. They get a giant, heaping spoonful and immediately gulp it down and ask for more. They put me on posters, they use me to float pay per views for a roster I’m not even on… and fucking why? Why would the tag team titles be cross-branded when management can’t find enough challenges for Legacy on our home show? Because I matter…

Can you identify?

Nobody should be surprised. This industry gives back what you put in, and you don’t have to look any further than the two of us to see what I mean. I’ve given my entire adult life to something you treat as a casual cash-in. I’ve lost most of my family and a marriage to a sport you show up late to and chain smoking your entire way to the ring. The fans recognize the difference between people like us, and they treat us as we deserve to be treated because of it.

I’m not saying everyone loves me. I know that plenty of people think I’m a smarmy douchebag, a pretty face and a reputation bigger than his skill set. Over the hill, second fiddle, emotionally unstable, I’ve heard everything there is to be hear whispered behind my back and screamed in my face… but love me or hate me, people fucking care.

Apathy is a cruel bitch, and she and I will never meet.

She’s your roommate, though. She clings to you like your leather jacket, draped over you everywhere you go. Every match that you choke away, every opportunity that slips between your fingers… she grips you tighter. Nobody will ever support someone who sees them as nothing but a dollar sign, not management, fans or peers… and I am nobody's blank cheque.

I am the People’s G.O.A.T.

I am the undefeated, reigning tag-team champion.

I am your soon-to-be new X-Factor champion.

… and you are…

… hang on, give me a second…

… whew… this is embarrassing…

---

RAVEN:
Blair Regent? Really?

I stare across the desk at Jeremy Silver, my long time agent and manager. Snug in the confines of his office, I sit hunched in the guest seat with Shawn Warstein sitting on a small couch in the corner behind me. Jeremy shrugs his shoulders helplessly, nodding his head in confirmation.

SILVER:
That’s what they tell me, yeah.

I don’t have to turn around and look at Shawn to know that he’s smirking.

RAVEN:
How the fuck did she get into this thing?

SILVER:
You know what’s funny about that, James? I have NO FUCKING IDEA! I don’t work for Project Honor and they don’t exactly consult me when putting together their brackets! They sent me the update, showed me the card, and I’m passing it along to you.

He holds his hands defensively, and I shoot him the middle finger and a shit eating grin for his efforts. Warstein stands up from the couch, making his way over to the window and staring out at the city.

WARSTEIN
I’ve beaten her twice already. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.

My head whips around, eyes shooting daggers into Shawn's back.

RAVEN:
Whoa whoa whoa. Nobody said I was worried. I know I’ll be fine. I just don’t understand how she’s in something called the Elite 8 when she’s never won a single goddamn match.

Shawn looks over his shoulder to Jeremy.

WARSTEIN:
Does he seem worried to you?

Jeremy nods in affirmation.

SILVER:
He seems worried. Besides, Blair has won a match before. She beat Pat the Postman. Soooo… I think she’s HIGHLY qualified for this little tournament.

I roll my eyes.

RAVEN:
She BARELY got back into the ring before a ten count.

WARSTEIN:
Well Pat, fierce competitor that he is, didn’t make it back into the ring at all. It was an incredibly impressive victory.

RAVEN:
Shut the FUCK up, Shawn! She’s been here for four months and hasn’t pinned or submitted a single person. I’m not worried.

Shawn and Jeremy look at each other again, and Jeremy grins before looking back at me.

SILVER:
You seem worried.

RAVEN:
I’m going to kill you. No bull shit.

He bangs the palms of his hands down on the desktop excitedly, laughing loudly.

SILVER:
I love the passion baby, but channel it at Blair Regent.

RAVEN:
I don’t need to channel anything. She tapped out to Emmanuelle. She lost to Indy Darling. She lost the War Games match. Name one thing she’s done that’s even moderately impressive.

Shawn and Jeremy are quiet for a long moment, pondering the query. Finally Shawn comes up with something.

WARSTEIN:
One time, at Proving Ground, I saw a fan with a sign that said “I CAN’T TELL IF I’M ATTRACTED TO BLAIR OR NOT”.

I stare at him blankly, and he shrugs the trademark Warstein shrug.

WARSTEIN:
That was pretty funny.

RAVEN:
… she had nothing to do with it, though.

SILVER:
Probably why it was so good, am I right?!

Jeremy throws his head back wildly, cackling at the ceiling of the otherwise quiet office as Shawn and I stare at him. He realizes he’s the only one laughing but can’t help himself, still howling as he gets up from his chair and makes his way across the office to the small bar that stands in the corner. His shoulders roll and he wheezes as he pours himself a glass of scotch, quickly downing it to calm himself before chuckling once more.

SILVER:
So yeah, obviously Blair Regent is an absolute fucking joke.

I feel my blood pressure begin to lower as he makes his way back to his seat, settling in and pulling himself back up to the desk.

SILVER:
The rest of this group isn’t, though. Once you get past The Downer, it’s going to get a hell of a lot tougher.

RAVEN:
How tough are we talking? Give me the names.

SILVER:
Uhhh… TJ Thompson or Myojin?

I shake my head dismissively.

RAVEN:
We’re not worrying about anyone affiliated with Big Drip Productions, and I’ve beaten the Starboy before.

Shawn takes this opportunity to chime in from the corner.

WARSTEIN:
I’ve beaten the Starboy twice.

Jeremy points at Shawn and looks to me inquisitively.

SILVER:
How has he had so many more matches than you?

WARSTEIN:
I guess they just like me more.

RAVEN:
Bullshit. Nobody likes you more.

SILVER:
Least of all Atara, am I right guys?!

Jeremy holds his hand up for a high five, but I don’t offer him one. Neither does Shawn. He looks between the two of us before realizing he’s gone too far, his hand slowly sinking to his side. There are times when Shawn would snatch Jeremy by his throat and dangle him out the office window for that comment. Luckily, this is not one of those times. Shawn makes his way across the room towards the bar.

WARSTEIN:
Just for that, I’m drinking your most expensive shit.

Jeremy nods graciously, turning back towards me and happy to pretend as if his off coloured remark had never been made. I exhale deeply through my nose. My blood had nearly boiled, my own desire to snatch Jeremy by his throat exploding… but if Shawn could let it go, so could I.

SILVER:
Anyways, Lance Williams is in this. So are Cadillac Jackson and Emmanuelle...

I shrug my shoulders indifferently.

RAVEN:
Please. The “Drip Dozer”? Some of these people are alright, I guess, but you’re not throwing any names at me that make me stop and think, Jeremy. This kind of seems like I’ll get by Blair, and just have to make sure I don’t get sloppy and cost myself.

SILVER:
… and Aiden Reynolds.

I stop.

I think.

RAVEN:
Aiden is in this? Well, that’s interesting…

I had always assumed that at some point Legacy would end up facing off with The Commonwealth. Our two factions were so clearly head and shoulders above the rest of the division that it seemed inevitable. I had spent countless hours strategizing how to counterattack a team like Reynolds and Dickie Watson. They worked together so seamlessly, but they could be isolated… they could be picked apart… It was only once management was so quick to throw him at Betsy that I realized how eager they were to see us all at each other's throats.

The thought of Aiden and I one on one for the vacant X-Factor title? Slap that on the poster for the next Proving Ground exclusive pay per view and rent a big venue, because you’ve got one hell of a main event.

SILVER:
Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, James. You’ve got to beat Regent first.

RAVEN:
Bitch, please.

SILVER:
Then, you’ll have to get by someone else, and you know it’s going to be tougher than you’re letting on. None of the other people in this are going to be walks in the park.

Shawn pulls the whiskey glass away from his lips long enough to chime in from the corner.

WARSTEIN:
Hell, maybe they don’t even wait for the finals. Maybe you match up with Aiden next round.

I turn to face Shawn, eyes narrow and intense. How dare he speak that sort of evil into the world.

RAVEN:
If they fuck this up, and put Aiden and I in round two?! I will walk into Rock Johnsons office and piss in his top drawer, I swear to fucking god. I will drag Indy Darling back to the ring just to super kick the smirk and the sunglasses off his face. They’ve got a license to print money and they’re going to throw it away…

We all sit in silence, knowing full well that management is gonna management and probably flush this golden ticket away. I try to divert my own focus to something more hopeful.

RAVEN:
OK, fuck the X-Factor tournament. Any word on what’s happening with the tag team division?

Jeremy’s face lights up.

SILVER:
Ayyyyyyyy! That’s right, baby! Over 130 days, that’s what’s up!

He raises his hand for another high five. Shawn and I don’t budge to give him one. Once more his hand sinks to his side, shamefully.

SILVER:
What? Whaaaaat?! How are you guys upset about that!

WARSTEIN:
Over 130 days but not nearly enough title defenses. Find us some challengers, damn it.

SILVER:
Whoa, first of all, I only represent James. Until you start paying me you’re just a guy who drinks my liquor. Second, and I hate to repeat myself from earlier, but I don’t work for Project Honor! If they don’t think any of the teams they have are ready for you, what am I supposed to tell ‘em? James has already beaten S.E.X. twice in GCWA, and the Dragon Tamers or whatever? Frankly, they’re awful.

I shake my head dismissively.

RAVEN:
We don’t give a fuck. If they’re in our division we’re going to steamroll. What does it matter if management thinks they’re ready or not when it’s always going to end the same? Legacy victorious. Like it’s always ended. Whoever they have, it’s time to start lining them up and letting us knock them down. If they can’t accommodate us, then they need to work harder to develop our division, because we’re not going anywhere and we’re not shutting up.

SILVER:
So do what they suggested! Go find some people who think they measure up and prove them wrong!

WARSTEIN:
You mean, do your job for them? Why should we pull people from the XWF or GCWA or anywhere else and bring them to Project Honor? There are teams here. There are people that are owed a thing or two…

SILVER:
Who, Pyro and Drago? Ozymandias and his little cult? Who are you talking about?

Shawn shrugs his shoulders, draining his glass and setting it down on the bar before making his way towards the office door.

WARSTEIN:
You got a bathroom around here?

SILVER:
Past the elevators and through reception. They’ll show you. I’ll bring up tag team stuff next time I’m on the phone with PH brass, but I can’t promise anything. The division is scared of you two. What can I say?

Shawn exits the office without another word, disappearing down the hallway. Jeremy’s eyes follow Shawn until he’s out of sight, then turn and lock intensely onto me.

SILVER:
You’ve got to tell me… did you smash his ex?

RAVEN:
Go fuck yourself. Seriously.

SILVER:
Hey! I didn’t make up the rumor! I just read it on social media like everyone else, and want to know all the juicy, sopping wet details.

RAVEN:
You’re a piece of shit. A real goddamn pig.

He doesn’t deny my accusations, but simply stares at me expectantly.

SILVER:
… soooooo…

RAVEN:
No! No I didn’t do a goddamn thing! Atara and I are friends, we had a couple of drinks and that was it.

Jeremy rolls his eyes.

SILVER:
Sure. Whatever you say. I don’t know how much Jerry Springer you’ve ever seen, but when a girlfriend thinks her man cheated, and the other woman says that yeah she fucked the guy… the man is never innocent.

RAVEN:
This isn’t Jerry Springer, and Betsy knows that nothing happened.

Jeremy nods his head patronizingly. He doesn’t believe a word that I’m saying, but he knows better than to push the subject further. His gaze drifts back to the hallway, watching for Shawn to come back.

SILVER:
At least tell me that you recognize what’s happening.

RAVEN:
Excuse me?

SILVER:
Tell me you see the writing on the wall. They’re trying to split you two up, and it’s working. Shawn is pulling away. Refusing to book you two together? Ensuring that you each have these individual opportunities like War Games or the X-Factor tournament? They want you apart. They want you opposed.

I shake my head, but I say nothing.

That’s bull shit, right?

SILVER:
Just keep your head up, and on a swivel. Don’t get caught slipping by the company or your partner, you know? You’re an icon. Don’t forget that shit.

RAVEN:
You have no idea what you’re talking about.

SILVER:
Sure I don’t. Sure I don’t. I only work in the industry, dealing with management for you, right?

He stands up and makes his way back over to his bar, looking back into the hallway as he pours another drink and Shawn re-enters the office. Warstein looks at me, his brow furrowed tightly.

WARSTEIN:
What were you guys talking about?

RAVEN:
How-

SILVER:
How Blair Regent is the worst thing to come out of Philadelphia since Eagles fans, mostly. “The Pop Punk Princess”? No wonder she’s 1-4 or whatever the hell she is since signing her contract. If she comes out to the ring smoking a cigarette, she’s not going to last more than five minutes in the ring.

Shawn looks at me slowly. He can see right through the bull shit. I say nothing. I’ll deal with it later. Shawn makes his way quietly back to the bar, picking up his glass and pouring another drink alongside Jeremy.

I keep telling myself that there’s no truth behind Jeremy’s words.

If I fully believed it, I’d have only had to tell myself once.

---

There's something about all of this that's starting to feel very Mean Girls-ish. I don't want anyone to get confused and believe that I take any sort of pleasure in sitting here, telling you that I'm more popular than you. I don't look like some sort of hero trying to hammer the point home that nobody gives a shit what you say or do, but sometimes we need to embrace the role of villain. Sometimes you have to hammer home a point that someone doesn't want to hear.

You're going to get chewed up by professional wrestling, Blair. You're going to get spit out by people like me.

Every time you show up to the ring whiskey soaked and smelling like cheap perfume and stale smoke, the people are going to oppose you. Every time you face off with some companies legend, knowing that you haven't done an ounce of the work they have and are relying on some twists and flips and amateur tumbling exercises to make a name for yourself, the roster is going to root for you to get put in your place and booted from the locker room like so many half assed wannabes before you.

You don't realize how close you are to the unemployment line, and you're out here entering this business for some kind of fortune? You're chasing fame and haven't given anyone a reason to remember you?

You aren't the first person I've served a "future endeavour" notice to, Blair. You won't be the last.

You're just the current.

You're a temporary speed bump on my way to a second championship and a second tournament win. You're a stepping stone as I remind people why I'm one of the top stars in this company, and just getting warmed up. It's a shame, in a different situation maybe I'd have looked closer at you, maybe I'd see the potential that you think you have... and you know what? I'd probably have offered to help. I'd have taken you under my wing and shown you how to train, how to navigate the waters of a company like Project Honor without being fed to the top dogs like a beef stick.

It's not a different situation.

Project Honor has drained that supportiveness and comraderie from me.

Now you're just another face, another name, and they want me to kill you all.

I'll see you back in Brazil, uhhh...

... shit, not again, I can't believe this...

... I'm totally blanking again...

It doesn't matter. It never did. Fear the Raven... Forevermore...