James Raven vs Lisa Seldon

[Alex Smiley]

Reminder:

- Word limit for Group Stage matches is 1500.
- 1 RP per wrestler per match.
- Deadline: January 20, 2019, at 11:59PM Pacific.

[Lisa]

I am aware I come to this sport from a privileged position. I like to think I made it all on my own, but I had a leg up. I didn't get to carry the name or the moniker, but I had the connections, the teachers, the right people filling my head with the right things.

When it comes to the job, my thoughts are straightforward. It doesn't matter who you're fighting, doesn't even matter if it's a foregone conclusion. You give it your all every night out. Any opponent, any crowd, you put it all in or you walk away immediately.

Wrestling doesn't need even one more talent who's too big for the ring.

"This is the greatest job in the world and I mean that with unwavering sincerity.

I'd go as far as to say that if you're watching this right now and thinking about your future; deciding who or what you want to be. My advice is don't waste your time trying to be a policeman or an astronaut. Be a wrestler. Travel the globe, meet interesting people and go about fucking up their lives for fun and profit."

We pass from one hotel to another, back in Toronto for round three. The shot parses in with me sitting on the edge of the bed, looking positively giddy as I give a little bounce, kick my legs and try my best not to make it look too staged.

"I mean look at me. I'm from a small town of of less than 8,000 people and my job prospects were minimal to non-existent. I could have been in a supermarket, call centre or maybe even driving a van. Instead I'm currently a champion in three different continents and still have half my own teeth to show for it.

I'm also my own boss. I go where the wind takes me, limited only by my abilities, dedication to the craft and willingness to travel to far off, mystical lands, like Dayton Ohio."

I make an oh face and throw in some jazz hands for good measure.

"Honestly it is the greatest job in the world. It has given me so much. A place in the world, an identity and a type of self-confidence you can only get when you know you can just straight up murder every single other person in a room.

It has given me everything. So with that in mind you'll have to forgive me if I'm not positively glowing at the thought of one more match amidst the division of the damned. So devoid of talent that scavengers are already trying to pick through the carcasses before any of them have even had the decency to make like their careers and die.

And worst of all, the person picking through those scraps? A goddamn, motherfucking magician! The lowest form of entertainer."

A mock sneering grin drifts across my face.

"Now I'm left with James Raven. The last hope, a sliver of talent and a man who couldn't even be bothered to shoot a proper fucking promo.

I mean no one is asking for much. You've been given every opportunity to shine. A world stage amongst innumerable talent, the home field advantage, literally no push back from two opponents who have basically just allowed you to dance allover their faces. All anyone asks is that you take 15 minutes to explain how you're going to make contestant number one eat both your shoes backwards without obliterating your already shallow mystique.

You couldn't even do that."

I throw my arms up in exasperation.

"James Raven has tried to paint himself as a stoic anti-hero. Beloved in his homeland, derided by the big names, picking his spot and looking to prove them all wrong. Instead the image he's conjured up is that of a joyless, sneering, self-aggrandising ball of angst, surrounded by sycophants and yes men all too lazy to put on a fucking match and find out who they are looking past.

And maybe it seems a bit unfair to put all this on you. You didn't say a word of it. Not one. However you did at least back it enough to wrap it up and slide it under the door as they were closing up for the week, so we have to take it as your word. You didn't give us anything else."

Another little grin and a roll of the eyes, all for show. I suppose that's another one. Don't let anyone else talk for you. You'll never come out of it well.

"Your friends are all idiots. Let's set that right away. They're both so far up your ass they can't even see the tide coming down on to of you. Beating you down with mindless platitudes and thick-headed nonsense. Bellowing about how you're going to walk to the final without breaking a sweat or how they've never heard of your opponents, like that means a fucking thing.

There are thousands of wrestlers across hundreds of companies. Of course you haven't heard of them. Who cares who you've heard of. Or who any of us have heard of. No one had heard of the Vikings until they landed on your beach, murdered your family and took you home to cook them breakfast.

You having heard of something doesn't make it anymore or less likely to hold you down and skull fuck you until your eyes turn red."

I lean my head to one side and let the thought drift.

"I walked into this tournament knowing two people by name. I'm aware that my field of view is always going to be narrow. At no point was I stupid enough to convince myself that meant the rest were on a hiding to nothing.

The wrestling world is always going to be bigger than you."

A tut.

"For what it's worth, I've had a long and storied career. While you were commiserating your place in the hierarchy, I was passing between communities and strip-mining them of their gold. I've grown a taste for it now. I happily roam the landscape, collecting titles and turning hometown heroes inside out, no matter where I might find myself.

I've thrown that in there because it appears to be where you've hung your hat. 15,000 people chanting your name. Carrying you to glory, all of them loving you, all of them praying for you to win, all of them destined to be very sad when they realise the only deciding factors in that match are going to be me, you and stripy guy calling for the bell and telling me to stop stepping on your face.

I mean this isn't the NFL. I'm not going to muck up the count or get sad because people aren't chanting my name when I'm standing over your body. Even that is me being kind. I've got fans all over the world. I'm a great person people want to get behind and you're a miserable, sad-sack who seems to be going out of your way to erode any goodwill they were willing to give you.

I'd go as far as to say they deserve better than you. They deserve someone who can carry themselves in the final. Someone who deserves to be there."

I sling myself back onto the bed, kick my feet up and lean back on my elbows.

"I came here because I wanted to fight the best in the world. It wasn't some grudge or vanity project. I'm not here to play spoiler. I'm here because I am amongst the best. I have been for years, I will be for years more. I belong in this conversation and I'm not about to let you ruin that with some half-hearted sentiments about who sells tickets.

You know who sells tickets? Winners. And I'm going to sell a fuck ton when I march into the Chamber carrying your head aloft like a conquering hero.

I'm going to walk into your hometown and crush the life out of you. You're going to feel your body quit. And in that, you're going to get exactly what you wanted. You're going to get a name in this fight. Someone who has a chance, who can make the top dogs in group a and b take notice and actually win this thing. Someone so much more deserving of this opportunity than you.

Your only saving grace is you know which bus is going to get you home. Me? I'm going nowhere but up."

I throw a wink and watch as the camera drops out. My smile goes with it.

No mistake, win or lose, no one is strolling past me.

[The Raven]

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" cackles the voice on the other end of the line, bubbling over with excitement, "I couldn't hear you over the sound of me winning so damned hard!"

"I said 'congratulations to the king of New York' you piece of shit," I practically shout into the phone, louder and clearer than before so that there's no confusion.

He laughs. His name is Aidan Collins, and he's been in my corner since I stumbled into this business a decade ago. He's been there any time I needed a pep talk, a mentor, or a hired gun to dig a hole in the desert and drive me to the oceans edge when I have a mess that needs cleaning. I'm kidding, obviously... we'd never hide a body in the desert.

"Thank you, you magnificent sonofabitch!" he screams over the line at me. He's drunk. I can hear a party going on in the background. Good for him, he deserved a night like this.

He had lived up to his end of the deal. It was a bargain we struck months ago when The Experts first sent out invitations for the Super 6; enter independently and win our groups (in dominating fashion, of course) and make the finals together to ensure that a member of The Tribe walks out of the Elimination Chamber as the winner of the Extreme Tournament and top threat to the True Expert title. It was more than another accolade to the two of us, substantially more than just another resume line to inflate our already enormous egos.

Winning this event was a chance to finally be validated. It was a chance to shove our feet straight up the asses of a group that spent years telling us we weren't good enough and that our styles wouldn't let us hang with their lowest tiered competitors. They used to laugh at the XWF. They aren't laughing now.

"Hey!" he suddenly screams away from the mouthpiece, "Would you guys shut the fuck up?! I'm on the phone!"

The party noises grow louder, a deliberate middle finger to the man of the hours request.

"Sounds like a wild night over there, buddy," I mutter, glancing around the isolated and shadow filled HILITE FC gym. Everyone went home hours ago, but not me. It doesn't seem like there's a point in going home. I don't think I'll be sleeping much tonight anyways.

"Chaos. Midgets are running around everywhere. Drake Komodo is trying to fight everyone and I think T Money is trying to order a donkey off of Craigslist," he informs sarcastically.

"So a typical Sunday night at Casa de Collins?" I jab.

"Oh, fuck off," he chuckles, pausing for a moment, "How're you doing? You ready? This whole thing falls apart if your head isn't in the game this week."

I've been ready for this for months; since The Experts sent me my invitation, since the Toronto block was announced and proclaimed mine to lose, since the first two clowns took their ill advised swings at me and got put the fuck to sleep... everyone with half a brain was able to look at the round robin schedule and see that I was on a collision course with Lisa Seldon. I'd be a fool to not be prepared by now.

"Yep." I finally answer, choosing to spare Aidan the details.

"Well... that's actually more convincing than I expected," he muses to himself, "You sure? You're not somewhere in Toronto, sitting alone in a dark room, drinking four finger glasses of whiskey while you spiral out of control and convince yourself you're the worst wrestler to have ever lived?"

I'm moderately offended by that. I glance around the empty gym again. The room IS dark but I'm not drinking, so he can suck a dick.

"Nah, nothing like that," I promise.

"You're sure?" he presses, "We both know how you can get sometimes, and frankly it's pathetic."

Wow. The support is just so touching. He's right though. We've all seen sad Raven before and unfortunately he had reared his ugly head a lot in the past few months. There was too much upheaval around me, but it finally feels like direction has been found and order restored. The Tribe was 5-0 in the round robin so far, and the HILITE gym was poised to become an integral part of The Experts in the new year. Betsy was back, and my focus had returned with her. I wasn't chasing the action and trying to knuckle up with life anymore... I was finally letting it come to me again.

"I'm good, dude. I swear," I tell him, my tone calm and even, "I'm happy. I'm having fun again. You don't need to worry about me."

"OK, well let's try not to make it sound so queer," he says quickly, "No need to fan the flames on the internet rumors about us."

"Right," I mutter as I check my watch, "I'm going to let you go. I've got to finish up a few things at the gym and get home to meet Betsy. I just wanted to say congratulations. To the king of New York!"

"Thanks, now make it official and join me in the finals. To the king of the north."

"I'm pretty sure that's trademarked."

"Fuck you."

The line clicks dead and I drop the cell phone to a nearby table, shaking my head at the pure disrespect. I glance casually at the camera sitting atop the tripod on the gym mats. I sigh deeply. I've run the clock down as far as I can, there's only one thing left to do before the bell rings.

CAMERA ON

"Ladies and gentlemen... it's time! The moment you've all been waiting for, the people's main event on the night the Super 6 group stages come to a close! Introducing first... the silver tongued Scott, she of the razor tongue and lightning wit! She's cocky! She's overconfident! She's out here spitting the same piss and vinegar you've all heard a hundred times before, because it's easier to be a hissing hellcat than to form educated opinions or offer a sportsmanlike contest! You know her (maybe)! You love her (probably not)! You're gonna have to watch her! Glasgow's own Lisa Seldon!

"Her opponent! The People's G.O.A.T.! James mother fucking Raven! The crowd goes wild!

"I apologize, those introductions weren't my best work. I just figured that by now everyone already knew who I was, and I didn't want to be redundant. After all, I'm the one whose face is on the billboards and television spots and there's a reason we're having this match in Toronto and not over in the United Kingdom. I'm flattered but it makes me an easy target, the hometown boy that every contender thinks they can knock from grace. Just listen to the garbage Lisa is spewing as if it bears any ounce of relevancy; 'wah! I don't like Raven not cutting promos directly into a camera!' and 'your friends are dipshits'. 'You had two easy wins to get to this point' while she conveniently ignores the fact she beat the same exact people to earn the stakes in this showdown. 'I'm so cool that I didn't even know any of the participants when I entered the tournament, hurr durr!'.

"I've been nothing but respectful leading up to this. I've told everyone Lisa was going to be my toughest competition, and that she had a legitimate shot at going all the way if I didn't live up to expectations. Maybe I thought our mutual friends and long careers would lead to some sort of common ground, but boy was I wrong. That cunt put NO respect on my name.

"Oooohh! Nooo! Raven, you called her a cunt!

"Relax. She's Scottish. It's not nearly as offensive to them. They call pens cunts when the ink runs dry.

"You don't know me, Lisa. You can talk tough and try to label my character traits with your little dungeons and dragons alignment chart, but I'm not the man you seem to think I am. I'm far more substantial competition than you're allowing yourself to believe and I will not allow you to disrupt my run in this tournament. I will not allow you to cheapen my efforts in a field of competitors that you don't even respect enough to know by name.

"You're hardly the first to claim I'm overrated, and propose that you've found a way to clip my wings and leave me in a broken heap while you soullessly mine another company for it's gold and glory. You're just the most recent, and the next in a long line. Maybe you'll find a way, but I'm not counting on it.

"I'll still shake your hand. I'll still wish you luck.

"Then I'm going to fuck your world up."

CAMERA OFF