Post by James Raven on May 19, 2021 22:58:58 GMT -5
ONE WEEK AGO
PROJECT: HONOR HQ
Click! Click! Click!
The heels of Italian leather shoes clip the highly polished marble floors sharply as he walks, echoing off of the high ceilings and down the hallway to announce his arrival. The walls of the Project: Honor headquarters stretch on forever, adorned with large posters of the companies top stars and champions which he barely notices as he blows by. He finally reaches a fork in the hall, his head whipping wildly from side to side as he plots his next move and eventually chooses to go right.
CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!
His pace quickens, each step more explosive as he makes his way determinedly towards his destination. Where the fuck is everyone? He shoots his arm out and rolls up his sleeve to eye his priceless Rolex. 10:31 am. If the Project: Honor staff isn’t at work yet, let alone guarding their head office against him, then it was no wonder they were collapsing into shambles as they were.
He finds himself at another fork in the hallway, and this time shrugs before turning to the left. He freezes in his tracks, spotting someone at the far end of the passageway. The person doesn’t look impressive, their clothing modest and their hands full with a tray of overpriced coffees to be delivered throughout various offices.
Our protagonist back steps, trying to disappear back around the corner, but the young intern spots him and calls out down the hall.
INTERN:
Hey! Hey, you! STOP!
The man with the Italian leather shoes and valuable Rolex watch does not stop. He turns and quickly makes his way down the hall to the right, the fork he had previously chosen against.
INTERN:
I said “stop”! You’re not supposed to be here! HEY!
CLICK!CLICK!CLICK!CLICK!CLICK!CLICK!CLICK!
He breaks into an all out sprint, passing a hand painted mural of Dickie Watson that looks familiar. He’d been here before, back when he signed his contract. He was going the right way. He can hear the intern chasing after him, the clean squeaking of more sensible footwear echoing in the background. It’s a stark contrast to his own measured clips, and his focus on not skidding out of control across the marble and into a wall.
Damn his constant desire to look good.
INTERN:
I need backup! Top floor! It’s him! It’s James Raven!
He grins to himself as he continues to speed down the corridor quicker than Li’l Petey to a title shot he doesn’t deserve. He was apparently infamous in these parts, but he was used to his reputation preceding him. He eyes the last door at the end of the hall. That was it, he was almost there! He can hear his tail huffing and puffing into his walkie talkie, his voice fading as our hero continues to put distance between them.
INTERN:
Hurry! He’s almost there! I’m not gonna catch him!
He reaches the door.
Of course he does.
He checks the name on the door, just to make sure. This would be a heinous act if carried out on an innocent party. He tries the knob, but the office is locked. He steps back and prepares to kick; decorum went out the window a long time ago.
SECURITY:
RAVEN! STOP! Mr. Johnson isn’t even here right now!
RAVEN:
That’s not a problem for me. I don’t like to go when people are watching, anyways.
He rears back and blasts the lock out of the frame, the office door swinging open to allow entrance. He turns for the first time to look at the men behind him, the intern now caught up and joining the security guard. He winks at them, then disappears into the office.
INTERN:
Oh no!
SECURITY:
Shiiit!
The two of them take off down the hall, the guard panic stricken as the intern gasps for breath like Lance Williams while trying to string three coherent sentences together. They reach the office, but as they peer inside through the busted door they realize it’s too late. They groan, casting their eyes to the heavens in dismay.
INTERN:
Go in there and stop him!
SECURITY:
I’m not touchin’ that man, now. YOU go in there and stop him!
They lean back into the doorway, eyes cutting through the shadows to see the outline of The People’s G.O.A.T. standing firmly behind Rock Johnson's desk. He shakes vigorously, the soft zip of his slacks closing informing the spectators that he was finished. He makes his way around the desk, leaving the top drawer open to drain as the steady trickle to the carpet can be heard. He reaches the door, confronting his pursuers.
RAVEN:
I told you guys that an audience would make me shy.
He brushes his hand across the interns face as he steps through the doorway and back into the hall. He turns to the security guard as he passes.
RAVEN:
Get someone to clean that up, or let it sit until Rock Johnson gets back. It’s up to you. How much do you guys like your boss?
The guard and intern look at each other and then back into the office as James disappears down the hallway. With the People’s G.O.A.T. out of sight, the two men separate and wander casually away from the scene.
They didn’t see a thing. Mr. Johnson could handle that himself.
James Raven grins to himself, celebrating a mission accomplished. Rock had only himself to blame. He had warned them...
He had even sworn “to fucking god” so that people knew he was serious. What more did these people expect of him? He reaches an elevator bay, hitting the button and waiting patiently for a long moment. A loud "ding" echoes through the small foyer, and metallic doors separate like the blonde from Drago Santiago's scalp when he goes too long between bleachings.
He steps inside, and the doors close in front of him.
He disappears, and as the elvator descends we can hear him laugh.
This is not what we asked for.
This is not what the people wanted.
Sure, it was a foregone conclusion that Aiden and I were eventually going to cross paths, and everyone knew that the tournament finale began and ended with the time keepers bell that cues us... but nobody expected it to happen in round two. Nobody wanted it to happen in round two. I've fought Myojin in the finals of a tournament for a championship before, and I've danced circles around Lance Williams every time he can turn his overly muscular neck enough to glance sideways at me. There's nothing new or exciting in either of those match ups, and what... you're about to tell me that I'm NOT gonna be one of the people at the end?
That left Aiden Reynolds. One half of The Commonwealth.
That left Aiden Reynolds. The sickest cunt out of Australia since Noah Jackson, The Sickest Cunt out of Australia.
I expected this earlier. I was almost positive that he and Dickie Watson were going to be forced to stand as opposition to Legacy, and that one day the four of us would tear down the house in a way that only the special combination of the four of us could... because while none of us may be exactly what the rest of you want us to be, we are unquestionably ourselves, and we are unquestionably better than you.
Maybe that sounds elitist, and maybe I don't give a fuck. I've been telling you all for months that I've gotten tired of biting my tongue. I've grown weary of playing nice guy and going with the flow to keep everyone happy. I don't owe any of you the courtesy of blowing smoke up your ass, and telling you how honored and excited I am for our match... I'M NOT! Most of you consistently waste my time, showing up with half assed efforts and flimsy excuses, then bitching to each other about how anti-social I am and how it feels like I'm barely a participant here.
I am sick of being told that people don't like me when I'm angry. I don't want another person to tell me about how much more enjoyable I am when I'm the sarcastic Canadian pulling pranks backstage and making the women in the crowd cast a disapproving eye at their partners. I am sick of watching people be made into stereotypes or told that what they are isn't good enough.
I. Am. Better. Than. You.
I shouldn't have to hide that. I shouldn't be expected to be ashamed of it.
Shawn. Warstein. Is. Better. Than. You.
He's never been afraid to let it be known and for some reason I was expected to pull him back, to apologize for him, to mend fences and put out fires with the rest of the roster when he inevitably offended them. Aiden Reynolds was supposed my escape from all of that. He was an outlet, a beacon of hope in a quagmire of shit. I'm a fan of his, and I say that with all sincerity. I've been watching his tape for a year or two, and the fluidity he posesses in the ring is matched only by the slickness on your girls thighs when he makes his entrance... and as I slogged through week after week of Blair Regent rejects and Dripdozing dipshits, it was the thought of Aiden Reynolds that kept me going.
Someday he and I would headline a show. Someday he and I would go to war for a championship and whether Dickie and Shawn were at our sides or not, the fans would see one of us with gold held high over our heads and know they had just seen one of the all-time great bouts.
This isn't what we asked for.
This is not what the people wanted.
Buried beneath Mark Hunter and Small Peter and their sham of a title match? Separated from my partner for months while two other tag teams compete to kick off the show? No Tag Team championships? No X-Factor championship? No tournament finals? Just a random ass fucking match on a random ass fucking Proving Ground in Curitiba mother fucking Brazil? You people don't let me have anything nice, and then you wonder why I throw middle fingers to the sky and struggle to play nice with the rest of you. You don't deserve the nice guy Raven. You don't deserve the People's G.O.A.T. that bigs you all up.
You deserve a tyrant, stomping through your midst and pissing in your top drawers when you deserve it like Ozy isn't capable of doing.
You deserve your ass beat each time you step out of line like Mark Hunter or Lance Williams and try to tell me I'm wrong for feeling the way I feel.
You deserve Aiden and I walking out of that ring Friday night without battling at all... you deserve to see the match when it's on our terms. The finals. The way it should have been from the beginning. If you want to crown the winner of Myojin/Williams, then crown them... but if that's how he and I choose to handle it there's not a damned thing any of you will do to stop us, because you can't.
This isn't what any of you wanted, or what you expected, is it? Well, join the fucking club. I'm not going to shit on Aiden Reynolds just to appease you. I'm not going to sit here and spew the same repetetive bull shit that you all hear each and every week from the rest of the roster. You know my record, and you know my resume. You know his. He's tenacious, he's unrelenting, and this is unrelated but I hear he's got a massive hog... don't ask who told me, you just hear these sorts of things through the grapevine, you know?
You don't deserve this match, but he and I do. We'll figure out how we want to handle this, and the rest of you will wait on bated breath to see what we decide.
Something around here is going to have to change. Something about me and the way I've handled the rest of you in this place is going to have to change.
I just need to figure out what...
I just need to figure out how...
Big things are in store if I get past Aiden, but that's a big if.
This is not what the people wanted.
Sure, it was a foregone conclusion that Aiden and I were eventually going to cross paths, and everyone knew that the tournament finale began and ended with the time keepers bell that cues us... but nobody expected it to happen in round two. Nobody wanted it to happen in round two. I've fought Myojin in the finals of a tournament for a championship before, and I've danced circles around Lance Williams every time he can turn his overly muscular neck enough to glance sideways at me. There's nothing new or exciting in either of those match ups, and what... you're about to tell me that I'm NOT gonna be one of the people at the end?
That left Aiden Reynolds. One half of The Commonwealth.
That left Aiden Reynolds. The sickest cunt out of Australia since Noah Jackson, The Sickest Cunt out of Australia.
I expected this earlier. I was almost positive that he and Dickie Watson were going to be forced to stand as opposition to Legacy, and that one day the four of us would tear down the house in a way that only the special combination of the four of us could... because while none of us may be exactly what the rest of you want us to be, we are unquestionably ourselves, and we are unquestionably better than you.
Maybe that sounds elitist, and maybe I don't give a fuck. I've been telling you all for months that I've gotten tired of biting my tongue. I've grown weary of playing nice guy and going with the flow to keep everyone happy. I don't owe any of you the courtesy of blowing smoke up your ass, and telling you how honored and excited I am for our match... I'M NOT! Most of you consistently waste my time, showing up with half assed efforts and flimsy excuses, then bitching to each other about how anti-social I am and how it feels like I'm barely a participant here.
I am sick of being told that people don't like me when I'm angry. I don't want another person to tell me about how much more enjoyable I am when I'm the sarcastic Canadian pulling pranks backstage and making the women in the crowd cast a disapproving eye at their partners. I am sick of watching people be made into stereotypes or told that what they are isn't good enough.
I. Am. Better. Than. You.
I shouldn't have to hide that. I shouldn't be expected to be ashamed of it.
Shawn. Warstein. Is. Better. Than. You.
He's never been afraid to let it be known and for some reason I was expected to pull him back, to apologize for him, to mend fences and put out fires with the rest of the roster when he inevitably offended them. Aiden Reynolds was supposed my escape from all of that. He was an outlet, a beacon of hope in a quagmire of shit. I'm a fan of his, and I say that with all sincerity. I've been watching his tape for a year or two, and the fluidity he posesses in the ring is matched only by the slickness on your girls thighs when he makes his entrance... and as I slogged through week after week of Blair Regent rejects and Dripdozing dipshits, it was the thought of Aiden Reynolds that kept me going.
Someday he and I would headline a show. Someday he and I would go to war for a championship and whether Dickie and Shawn were at our sides or not, the fans would see one of us with gold held high over our heads and know they had just seen one of the all-time great bouts.
This isn't what we asked for.
This is not what the people wanted.
Buried beneath Mark Hunter and Small Peter and their sham of a title match? Separated from my partner for months while two other tag teams compete to kick off the show? No Tag Team championships? No X-Factor championship? No tournament finals? Just a random ass fucking match on a random ass fucking Proving Ground in Curitiba mother fucking Brazil? You people don't let me have anything nice, and then you wonder why I throw middle fingers to the sky and struggle to play nice with the rest of you. You don't deserve the nice guy Raven. You don't deserve the People's G.O.A.T. that bigs you all up.
You deserve a tyrant, stomping through your midst and pissing in your top drawers when you deserve it like Ozy isn't capable of doing.
You deserve your ass beat each time you step out of line like Mark Hunter or Lance Williams and try to tell me I'm wrong for feeling the way I feel.
You deserve Aiden and I walking out of that ring Friday night without battling at all... you deserve to see the match when it's on our terms. The finals. The way it should have been from the beginning. If you want to crown the winner of Myojin/Williams, then crown them... but if that's how he and I choose to handle it there's not a damned thing any of you will do to stop us, because you can't.
This isn't what any of you wanted, or what you expected, is it? Well, join the fucking club. I'm not going to shit on Aiden Reynolds just to appease you. I'm not going to sit here and spew the same repetetive bull shit that you all hear each and every week from the rest of the roster. You know my record, and you know my resume. You know his. He's tenacious, he's unrelenting, and this is unrelated but I hear he's got a massive hog... don't ask who told me, you just hear these sorts of things through the grapevine, you know?
You don't deserve this match, but he and I do. We'll figure out how we want to handle this, and the rest of you will wait on bated breath to see what we decide.
Something around here is going to have to change. Something about me and the way I've handled the rest of you in this place is going to have to change.
I just need to figure out what...
I just need to figure out how...
Big things are in store if I get past Aiden, but that's a big if.
48 HOURS LATER
STERLING-SILVER MANAGEMENT GROUP
STERLING:
No you fucking didn’t!
RAVEN:
I did.
Joseph Sterling sits slack-jawed behind his own desk as our champion regales him with the story. His hand hovers over his top drawer protectively, but James waves him off dismissively and shrugs his shoulders.
RAVEN:
What was I supposed to do?! I said I’d do it, and I was backed into a corner! I had to do it! I HAD TO!
STERLING:
If a man doesn’t have his word, what does he have? I guess you’re right, you had no choice.
RAVEN:
NO CHOICE!
Joseph laughs, standing up from his desk and making his way over to the door where his briefcase is waiting on the floor. He gestures for James to follow and Raven obliges, rising from the guest seat and making his way to the exit. Joseph pulls the office door closed behind them and the duo set out for the elevators.
They didn’t work together often. They didn’t have reason to. James had always used Jeremy Silver as his agent and manager, and ever since he was eighteen Jeremy had treated him well and steered him in the right professional directions... there was no reason for representation from anyone else. When Joseph Sterling came into the company as a partner Jeremy shared the workload of plenty of clients… but Raven was special. He was Silver’s, and he always would be.
That didn’t mean that Sterling wasn’t a welcomed breath of fresh air to our icon. He was closer in age, and his interests were more similar. He was more liberal in his strategies and his willingness to take a chance, and while Raven’s ideas often earned a “why?” from Jeremy Silver, Raven had never heard anything but “why not?” from his current companion.
He was a good sounding board. He was also an excellent second opinion.
They step inside the elevators, and head towards the ground floor.
STERLING:
So, what happens now when Project: Honor decides to suspend you, or worse?
RAVEN:
Psh. They wouldn’t fire me. I could dog-walk Rock around his entire piss-soaked office and they wouldn’t do anything to me. If they were going to, they would have by now.
STERLING:
Let’s not put that to the desk, m’kay? You’re setting a high bar with those tag titles, and if you can get past Aiden-
RAVEN:
That’s a big if. He’s a monster among men.
Joseph stares blankly at James, unsure if he’s missed some sort of joke.
STERLING:
Don’t you have some punch line to hit here?
RAVEN:
Aiden Reynolds is a noble warrior, JOSEPH! I won’t make a mockery of him or his accomplishments for a hollow laugh in a shitty elevator from someone that’s not even my real agent, JOSEPH!
He holds his hands up defensively, then continues.
STERLING:
Fine. Well, “big if” you get past Aiden, you’re only one match from being a double champion. You and Shawn wanted to build a Legacy? Well, you’re doing it. Stay undefeated and win a second belt, and you’re one of the best in Project: Honor history, and that’s not even going to be up for debate.
Something about that statement troubles Raven, his face twisting in concern.
STERLING:
What, are you about to tell me you don’t want the X-Factor championship or something? Or are we still going with the “I can’t beat Aiden” bit?
Our legend is quiet.
RAVEN:
… nah… it’s just, well… speaking of Shawn and Legacy, has Jeremy talked to you at all lately?
Joseph's face tightens, his shoulders tensing up as he switches his briefcase to the other hand uncomfortably and shrugs.
STERLING:
We talk about pretty much everything, man. Yeah, it’s come up.
James nods his head slowly, planning his next words carefully as the elevator doors open and they step into the office's main lobby. He motions for Joseph to stay quiet as they cut their way through to the main door and step outside. He’s not having this discussion with so many casual ears listening in.
They exit the building, warm air washing over them with a healthy dose of sunshine peering through between buildings. James turns to Joseph.
RAVEN:
So… if he told you how he feels, how do you feel?
Joseph chuckles uncomfortably, momentarily breaking the fourth wall.
STERLING:
Hey man, I don’t know how much you want me to say here. People are going to see this. Shawn is going to see this.
RAVEN:
I’m aware of that. You don’t need to explain to me how this business works or what these cameras that follow me around mean. I’ve given up on most expectations of privacy, it all gets brought up against you someday no matter how private and vulnerable you thought you were being. Just ask Kayla Richards. What do you think?
Joseph runs his hand over the back of his neck, sighing helplessly.
STERLING:
I think… I think Jeremy has some valid concerns. I’m not sure Legacy makes as much sense as you think it does.
RAVEN:
What the hell does that mean? “Make sense”?
STERLING:
What does it sound like it means? Look at it like it’s a business decision, James. You two have smothered the tag team division, and it’s costing you. Look at Big Drip Productions; how many different tag teams have they fought in the past six months? But Legacy, the champions, can’t find a single pair of contenders capable of fighting them? Staying loyal to Legacy has cost you months of your career, sitting on the sidelines waiting for teams that are never going to step up and trying to let Shawn take the singles spotlight after GCWA. Staying loyal to Legacy has the company actively separating you and trying to break you up, and people waiting for Shawn to stab you in the back because you won’t do it to him first!
James doesn’t say anything, but shakes his head in disgust. He hadn’t seen this coming. Joseph was usually level headed and logical, he was the voice of reason to counter Jeremy’s often wild or outlandish thoughts. James had never expected Sterling to echo the same concerns.
RAVEN:
It doesn’t matter if it makes any fucking sense to you, Joseph. It’s not a business decision, it’s my fucking team. They’re my fucking friends!
STERLING:
Uh huh, that’s why Jax and Noah have been so active in backing you up, right? That’s why Betsy is back in the XWF? Why everyone besides Shawn is more interested in themselves than the Legacy banner you keep trying to wave?
RAVEN:
You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.
STERLING:
Maybe not, but everyone else is seeing what Jeremy and I are seeing, and you need to open your eyes. Legacy has become you and Shawn, loosely tethered together in a division that can’t handle you within a company that doesn’t actually care about you. Maybe that sucks to hear, James, but it’s true. If they wanted you to be accommodated, you would be. If they wanted Legacy as featured champions, they’d treat you like some. Legacy is nothing but the thread thin belief that Shawn won’t turn on you. SHAWN FUCKING WARSTEIN!
James shakes his head.
RAVEN:
You don’t know him.
STERLING:
I don’t need to. I’ve watched this sport my whole life. I know him. I know what he does to people.
Raven turns to walk away, heading away from the building's main entrance and towards the sidewalk.
RAVEN:
We’ll do dinner another time. I’ve lost my appetite.
STERLING:
Hear me out, James. I know this eats at you! I know it kills you to sit on the sideline, to feel passed by and overlooked! I know damn well that you want people to respect you the way you used to, and gulp when they see your name on the card across from theirs! It will happen, but it won’t happen while you’re tethered to Warstein! It won’t happen if you walk away right now…
James stops moving, a few paces from the curb. He doesn’t look back, but he stands like a statue and considers what he’s hearing carefully. Joseph sees this as an opening, and presses forward.
STERLING:
If you beat Aiden-
RAVEN:
Big if.
STERLING:
Whatever. Beat Aiden, and then Myojin. Raise that second belt, then separate from the tag division. Separate from Legacy. You’d be the face of Proving Ground, instantly. With a new division to rule over, you start crossing names off the list. Pyro. Drago. Mark Hunter. Ozy. They can’t duck you when they don't have a lack of partner as an easy excuse. You can run this shit… and then the Legacy championship provides a fitting and symbolic end to your rebirth. You’d be the biggest star in this place. You’d be the G.O.A.T. to a whole new roster.
James shakes his head slowly.
RAVEN:
… it wouldn’t work…
STERLING:
Not if you refuse to honestly consider it. Not if you stay anchored to Warstein. Not if you lose to Aiden.
RAVEN:
Not that big an if...
STERLING:
Sure it is. You can win this, and you know it. You can do a lot more than you’ve been doing and you know that too. Now come on, let’s grab dinner. I can talk you through the “Return of the Raven” plan that Jeremy and I came up with. I’ll warn you now, it’s going to hurt a lot of people's feelings… hell, it’s going to hurt a lot of people, point blank.
Raven takes another step towards the sidewalk.
RAVEN:
Not tonight.
He wasn’t a believer in the idea that you never say never. He said never plenty of times,
No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to say it tonight.
FADE
TO
BLACK
TO
BLACK