You Get What You Get; Return of the G.O.A.T. (RP 1 vs. TIO)

[GM James Raven]

Ridgecliffe Middle School
Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada
Five Days Ago
9:16 am

A shudder runs down my spine as Betsy and I make our way quickly down the hallway, my eyes scanning across the same yellowish walls and beige tiling you’d find in any other elementary school. Finger paintings and hastily scribbled landscapes are taped to nearly every surface (kind of like Crash Rodriguez’s apartment) and half-sized green metal lockers are bolted into the wall across from the classroom doors.

BETSY:
Those are ADORABLE.

She practically squeals and tugs on my sleeve as we stop and she points at the lockers.

BETSY:
We should get one for the OCW locker room so that Zybala has somewhere to put his things!

I fake a smile and offer a half hearted chuckle, but my blood’s run cold and I can hardly force a breath from my throat to speak. I NEVER wanted to be back here. This place is the stuff of nightmares… haunting my dreams more often than #murderhaus. Betsy notices my demeanor and the playful sparkle in her eye fades and gives way to a wave of concern.

BETSY:
James? What’s wrong?

RAVEN:
I- It was a mistake to come back here, I- I shouldn’t have done this.

BETSY:
I don’t understand what’s happening, beloved. You still haven’t told me what “here” is, or why you wanted to come back.

RAVEN:
I did a horrible thing here once. A lifetime ago.

BETSY:
When you were a child?

RAVEN:
No, 2019.

My voice trembles feebly, like the skeletal structure of Michael J. Fox or the arms of Lewis Chad Pinkston. Betsy looks even more confused, and so I press onward in my attempts to explain.

RAVEN:
Two years ago, I spoke to a room full of kids here, and- and- I did something I’m not proud of.

BETSY:
I’m getting a real “Michael Scott’s Tots” vibe from all of this. Did you promise to pay their tuition or something?

RAVEN:
Oh, it was MUCH worse than that.

My words leave her shaken, and that says a lot. She normally carries herself with the confidence of a woman that “almost” and “kind of” beat Mack O’Connor in two attempts, so… yeah. She’s pretty tough.

BETSY:
Did… you hurt anyone? Did you hurt a kid?!

RAVEN:
Whoa! No! It wasn’t nearly THAT bad, but interesting that your mind went straight there... yikes… they were all T.I.O. fans and I roasted him mercilessly. I told them in very explicit ways how I planned to beat the shit out of him on my way to winning the Block Party tournament… AND THEN I DID IT! I DID EVERYTHING THAT I TOLD THEM I WOULD!

She rolls her eyes.

BETSY:
You’re being overdramatic. Kids have heard trash talk before, especially ones that have watched wrestling and rooted for T.I.O. Most of them probably didn’t even see the match, anyways.

RAVEN:
Oh, they saw it. I sent tickets to every kid in the class for them and their families. Premium seating too!

She shrugs her shoulders gently.

BETSY:
But it’s not like the show was here, though. You think a bunch of random families from Halifax travelled to the USA for a free wrestling show?

RAVEN:
I paid for their travel! AND LODGING! Really nice accommodations, Betsy!

She stammers and scrambles for another excuse.

BETSY:
Yeesh. Well… maybe it’s a positive memory for all of them. A family vacation! Maybe you won some of them over, and converted them into Raven fans.

RAVEN:
Lawyers have been contacting me ever since, saying I traumatized half of the group. Little Vibish Gurumanthi dropped out of school and ran away to Prince Edward Island to fish commercially and sell his hauls on the black market. He was 10 years old! Granted, that may have just been to get out of Halifax… this place is so boring that if you google fun things to do in town, it’ll bring up driving directions back to Toronto. Anyways, I think I did real damage to this community when I beat T.I.O. and I need to apologize to them.

BETSY:
… that’s probably not the best idea. What’s done is done, you know? These kids probably don’t remember it anyway, and if they do, it’s probably best to let them all heal.

It becomes apparent to me that she still doesn’t get the purpose of this visit.

RAVEN:
No, I don’t want to apologize for last time, I want to apologize that I’m going to do it again. These kids need to be warned that their local hero is about to get sent home in a body bag, and that the last thing he saw will have been me lubing up to fuck him harder than Aidan Carli-

Betsy cuts me off sharply.

BETSY:
JAMES! Stop! We don’t need to be talking about that sort of trash.

RAVEN:
You’re right. These are children I’m going to be speaking to, they don’t need to know about the sexual indiscretions of Ian Bishop.

She shakes her head.

BETSY:
Oh, I was just referring to Aidan, but yes to your thing as well. I think you’re right, James. I think it was a mistake to come back here. You don’t owe any of these kids an apology, you don’t owe them an explanation. Also, none of these rooms seem to have any people in them. It’s still summer break, so this was definitely a mistake…

RAVEN:
The school is closed?

My shoulders slump, mood deflated like Sebastian Grey’s bicep if you pierced it with a pen-knife. Seriously, that guy looks like he’d zoom around the room if you put a hole in his skin and let the helium out.

BETSY:
That’s probably why we had to climb through the window to get in.

RAVEN:
Had to? You mean “were lucky enough to”. Alright, well, I feel a little foolish. What do you want to do now?

BETSY:
I could think of a few things.

She winks slyly at me, and I grin from ear to ear when suddenly we hear the sound of someone clearing their throat about fifteen yards down the hall from us. We see a janitor standing, watching us with a sad look in his eyes.

JANITOR:
Please don’t. I’ll have to clean up.

I double-take.

RAVEN:
Whoa. You look a lot like a guy we work with. Are you related to Peter Vaughn?

JANITOR:
… Hail Raven.

FADE
TO
BLACK

---

Dollarama
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Three Days Ago
3:41 pm

I stand alone in the check out line of a dollar store, my arms loaded with sugary foodstuffs and campfire gear. The lone cashier talks casually with each patron, and I can’t help notice as my nostrils begin to flare and my toes begin to tap furiously.

I had been on edge since we got back from Halifax. I was actually eager to see Ian Bishop again, and give him a little piece of my mind after the shit he’s had to say in the past week. I wanted to lay into him. I wanted to beat him from pillar to post, and then remind him that it was for the second time.

It’s just crazy to me; like I’m dealing with a man who has absolutely no awareness of what happens around him. I’M the one that won our first match up, handily I might add. I’M the one that interrupted HIS temper tantrum, and as he kicked and screamed and bitched about how nobody could stop him… I simply reminded him that I could. Then, as he starts to make demands and set up hoops that he wants the company to jump through before he agrees to face me, he has the audacity to run to social media and act like I’ve somehow been afraid of him, and like I’m the one making this whole interaction so difficult.

I’M afraid, when he’s the man that ghosted XWF because my cologne still lingered in their hallways.

I’ve been in the same spot since the day I beat T.I.O… the top of this industry, and never once has he come to see me. Never once has he had the inclination or the balls to tell me he wanted to run it back, or like I shouldn’t have won that day. He knows just as well as everyone else does that the right man won that day.

Now he wants to play an internet tough guy.

Now he wants to sell tee shirts and set up roadblocks, as if he could handle the backlash of disappearing on me again.

Besides, he needs a win over me much more than I need a rematch with him. If T.I.O. disappeared, I'd be lined up with Xavier Lux in a heartbeat. I've beaten him more times in the past year than most OCW roster members have in a career, and I have a World title shot from Block Party that I never used.

You do the math.

The cashier finally calls me over, snapping me from my thoughts as I approach and dump marshmallows and skewers and several bottles of lighter fluid on the counter. He begins to scan.

CASHIER:
Planning a barbecue or something?

RAVEN:
I’m thinking more of a bonfire.

CASHIER:
Cool. Careful with that lighter fluid, then, it can get out of control quick if you spray too much on the wood.

I chuckle as he begins to bag the items for me.

RAVEN:
I’m not going to be burning any wood, but thanks.

CASHIER:
Huh? What are you burning then? If you’re spraying anything weird with lighter fluid, I wouldn’t eat any marshmallows or food that’s been cooked over it, ya know? It’s sketchy.

I nod my head in understanding, trying to stifle another chuckle. Who knew the local Dollarama had fire marshalls working behind the register? I tap my debit card on the Interac tablet and grab the bag from him, nodding one more time in gratitude as I make my way towards the exit and he calls the next customer to his counter.

I pull my cell phone from my pocket as I leave the store, dialing Betsy’s number as I make my way across the street towards my car. It rings a few times before she answers.

BETSY:
You have the stuff?

RAVEN:
Yep.

BETSY:
Marshmallows?

RAVEN:
Three bags.

I can practically hear her groan in ecstasy over the line, but she composes herself quickly.

BETSY:
So, you want me to place the order? There’s no going back once I do.

RAVEN:
Do it.

There’s a short silence, then…

BETSY:
It’s done. It says the delivery should be Sunday morning. So… does this mean I have to wait until Piledriver on Monday to eat the marshmallows?

RAVEN:
… I may have gotten four bags.

The squeals and various sounds that meet my ears are too explicit to describe to an audience that includes impressionable youths like Thaddeus Duke and Ian Dream, but trust me, they were great.

RAVEN:
Love you, see you when I get home.

BETSY:
You’ll be seeing plenty of me, I think.

She hangs up the phone, and for the first time in over a week, there’s something on my mind other than the upcoming episode of Piledriver. There’s something on my mind other than my long awaited and inevitable return to an OCW ring. There’s something other than T.I.O. and the memories of beating his face through the canvas before putting down Max Ironside, Big Bifford and Lurrrrrr to win Block Party and make myself the focal point of a company I wasn't even signed to.

I think about the Transatlantic champion.

I think about the countless times she’s followed me around the globe just because I asked her to.

I think about getting back to her.

Everyone else can wait.

TO
BE
CONTINUED