The Bash - Defiant Title Shot: Raven vs Ironside vs Rose

[Jana Rikar]

[/] WINNER GETS A DEFIANT TITLE SHOT IN BALTIMORE [/]
James Raven vs Max Ironside vs Coral Rose

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Deadline is Noon Eastern on August 18th
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[Coral Rose/ Quinn Rivers]

The scene opens up on Coral Rose as she is seen sitting in a hot tub. She was trying to relax. She shakes her head, as she lightly sighs.

"Another show, another match. Could honestly care less about it. Don't even know why I was put in a match for a title shot. Really like I care about that. Hey I can bet anyone I will not win. I don't care to win, I don't want to win. At same time, I also don't want that little bitch Max to win. Yeah I am saying I hope James Raven wins. I heard and know enough about him to know he would be a better person to face the champ, than a bitch in Max. Really come on, look at it, James is the better person, while Max is just a failure little bitch."

She sighs again softly.

"I'm sure Max isn't going to like me calling him that, will bring up the last time we faced. Go on ahead Max, it won't matter. You won't prove anything. Hell not like you even get me at my best. It's fun half ass it again bitches like you Max, or have you, and others just not notice that? Wait...I bet you really did think I was trying, wouldn't surprise me, it is you after all. Yet wonder why you are a joke. Act like you have all the dedication, and talent to win, but yet fall short as always. Can only win when people half ass it in the ring. Did you ever think, maybe just maybe the reason you can't do better, can't get those wins is because you are just plain not smart enough. Hey go ahead, try to deny it, or prove me wrong, we all see and know the truth, we all seen how things are. Like said, go on deny it all you want."

She laughs softly, as she shakes her head.

"James Raven, I have heard a lot about him from Sabrina Wilson, or Carter. Honestly heard can be an ass, but is decent, talented, and can get things done in the ring. Can say I see him going to the top here in Defiant. Do I think he will win this match, yeah I do. I don't have anything bad to say about him even. Really why should I, I actually respect him. He has shown he can do great things, and isn't a little pussy bitch like Max is. Honestly, I'm going to enjoy seeing him beat Max, and myself. I am sure Max doesn't think he will, but hey I do. I actually don't mind losing to him, and if was any other match, I would even maybe not half ass it. Who knows though, this is me talking here. We all know I half ass it here, while other place I actually go all out, and try. Nothing against you Raven, but I just only show up for the job, and put on half ass matches, while making sure you, and others get the wins, and stuff you deserve. Oh but wait, that's right, if talk to some, I am just all my mouth. Yet see I am much more. Still I don't mind losing to you, and can't wait to see what you can, and will do here. I will see you in the ring"

Coral smiles, as she was showing respect. She gets out of the hot tub, as she heads out of the room as she wraps a towel around her body after grabbing it. The scene fades out.

[Max Ironside]

A somebody was once a
nobody who wanted to and did.
— John Burroughs

They have no power over me – I know this is true but I keep handing it to them. I want them to view me as an equal. As a challenger. As an actual threat. Instead I get summarily dismissed. Betrayal is something I can accept. Being laughed at – it's happened so much I don't even hear it now. The fact that I made it here, the fact that I cleanly earned a shot at Aidan Carlisle the last time should grant me a little bit of a rub. A back-pat. A nod.

What I don't expect is this endless stream of backbiting nonsense. It's key to see the world through a different view, without the taint of your own self-importance. I am willing to go one step so you understand what my true intentions are. I want to reach that level.

That's what this is all about. I want them to look at me and see a fellow wrestler. Not some sideshow curiosity. Not some inspirational 10 o'clock news story sandwiched between more Trump nonsense and a bunch of terrorist attacks as the world continues to unravel. I'm not young. I know my best years are soon to be behind me. I'd really like to have that moment before it's slipped from my grasp forever. Validation. Life itself isn't worth a damn thing without risks. I told myself that. Now I'm telling you. Throw out all the garbage, all these trappings of fame and just exist in the moment. Real life destroys all dreams without discrimination. I know this.

Any wrestler worth their salt knows this.

You'd better believe James Raven knows this.

I'm so stupid, aren't I? I want the same thing they all do. I want a moment that's special and in the same breath I want to be the same as them. I can't have both. Such is my dilemma. 

I want to see the flashbulbs popping, wanna hear my music over the speakers with the blood pounding in my ears. I want to hold that belt to my chest and know that finally, for one moment, all the hard work I put in, all those hours I sacrificed any sort of extra-curricular life for the pursuit of this dream – this GOAL – was worth it. Is that so much to ask?

I want to be someone that will still be talked about when my time has come and gone. I think I've put enough of myself on the line to have earned that, don't you? I did. Before Aidan, before I went to FAW and was humiliated in their joke of a hardcore tournament, before Kasey Summers looked me in the eye and called me a loser, I thought I had.

Apparently, I was wrong. I'm just another cog in the wrestling machine. My name isn't meant for marquees, my face doesn't belong on posters.

It doesn't matter what they think.

I'll show up, and do what I'm supposed to do – do my best to win, to outlast another clusterfuck of a match like I did the last time. Earn another shot. Take another run at Aidan. Let life slap me back into place – stop dreaming, Max. You cannot possibly hope to win.

(the present: New York)

August 16, 2017

The lobby was deserted, the opulence understated beyond the glass and steel flash. Fancy paintings in muted colors. A fish pond with a little waterfall. The air smelled like cinnamon, vaguely like cookies and it was perfectly cool after the blazing heat outside. The sleepy security guard had taken his name and waved him to the elevator and now Max Ironside was sitting on a black leather couch, listening to the fish tank gurgling beside him. The receptionist was busy at her desk, filing her nails. It was quiet, almost ominously so – he hated to even breathe for fear it would be too loud.

Morning sunlight slanted across the space, painting a buttery yellow stripe across the marble floor and he edged his scuffed Converse into it, watching the dust motes settle down on the black fabric. With an audible sigh, he finally sat back, letting the cool, plush leather embrace him like a hug.

A voice interrupted his near doze, "Mr. Ironside? He's running a little late this morning. He'll be with you in a moment…"

Max nodded. After waiting a half an hour, he was starting to think he was invisible.

A few minutes later, a man built like a linebacker came down the hallway, sporting a smile that probably cost a few thousand dollars. "Max? Hi there, I'm Rick Wakefield. Sorry to keep you waiting-" the words actually felt sincere with that sheepish smile.

Max rose to his feet, holding out his left hand to shake – that always put people off. "It was no bother. Beats being out there in that godawful heat. New York in summer-"

"Nothing smells quite like it," Wakefield quipped. He'd been ready for the awkward shake, his massive paw completely smothering Max's hand. "Come on back to my office. Did you want something to drink? Sylvia," he called out, getting the attention of the receptionist, "could you bring some refreshments in? I'm sure Mr. Ironside is a bit parched after the trek down here-"

"It's no bother, really," Max cut in, too quiet for anyone to notice as he followed Wakefield down that hall, his shoes squeaking against the marble.

Once inside, he settled into the chair in front of Wakefield's desk.

"So, Max," Wakefield flashed that expensive veneer again, "what brings you in?"

"I…" Max swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "I think I need some professional help. I've been doing this for a while and it's really time to stop. Time to admit I've got problems doing it on my own. It's been this huge uphill battle for my whole life – not just my career – and it's starting to take its toll. I'm not performing at my best out there anymore. I'm making rookie mistakes and I need…" he broke off, shaking his head, clearly ashamed.

"There's no harm in admitting that. None whatsoever."

"You came highly recommended to me. From… someone I used to consider a friend." Max stumbled over the words, methodically squeezing the palm of his bad hand with his good one, trying to keep it from seizing up on him.

"I looked over the file. I'm happy to help in any way I can, Max. I've been a sports agent for a lot of years, ever since I blew out my knee in college. I make it a point to help people like you, those who've been-"

"Oh no," Max was quick to correct him, "I haven't been wronged. I'm not looking to make a case for a lawsuit or anything like that. I just need a little help with my image, with how I present myself."

"I see." Wakefield leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk as he steepled his fingers. "Why don't you tell me a little bit about your life, Max. Tell me the things I won't find in that file."

"What?" He hesitated, looking down at his lap as he swallowed hard. "Why's that important?"

"Because," Wakefield replied, "every hero's got to have an origin story."

[James Raven]

REPORTER 1: Now that you've had some time to digest it, how do you feel about your loss in your Defiant debut? 

He thinks about the question for a second, but not hard. With a casual roll of his eyes and shrug of his shoulders he nearly convinces the entire press corps that they had imagined the entire thing.  

RAVEN: I don't know what you're talking about. Next question? 

REPORTER 1: Hold on James, what do you mean you don't know? The Titan Title match? The 9-man gauntlet? It wasn't even two weeks ago, you can't honestly expect us to believe that you don't- 

RAVEN: OOOOH right, that! I've chosen not to count that as a legitimate contest on my record, instead it was just a teaser trailer for a coming blockbuster.  

The Peoples GOAT sits in front of a purple velvet curtain, the Defiant Wrestling logo emblazoned boldly over his shoulder as he takes a sip from his steaming cup of coffee and stares at the group of reporters sitting before him. They look confused, puzzled, downright gob-smacked if we're being honest. 

REPORTER 2: I'm sorry, can you clarify that James? You've chosen... not to count it? It happened. We were all there, and we all saw it, and I hate to break it to you but you lost to Jenni Drew fair and square.  

RAVEN: Here we go again with that word, "loss". Everyone keeps throwing around how I "lost" to Hot Topic, or Rebel Queen, or whatever it is that Aidan Carlisle wannabe is calling herself. Explain something to me; how in the hell does a woman get herself caught in a triangle choke, feel the walls cave in as I squeeze the life out of her, tap like a coward in front of an entire arena of people, and somehow go home with a title belt and calling herself the victor? Huh? Can someone please explain that to me? 

The reporters look around at each other, none sure if he's actually being serious or just trying to create sound bytes.  

REPORTER 3: Well, it's a wrestling match, James. Not jiu-jitsu trials. Your shoulders were flat, and you got pinned. THAT'S how you lost.  

James stares at the guy for a long moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching furiously as he chews on the corner of his lower lip.  

RAVEN: See, this is exactly what I'm talking about! Why you gotta force that kind of negativity into my life, man? Why don't you come up here and let me choke you out like I did to the new Titan Champion, and after you come to try and tell me again how my shoulders were flat and you're the winner. Who the hell even let this guy in here in the first place? Look at him! You couldn't draw a more accurate depiction of "jealous because he was picked last in gym class"! 

The reporters all turn to look at their colleague, his nebbish looks and thick glasses doing nothing to dissuade the aspersions James has cast. He opens his mouth to retort, but has nothing.  

RAVEN: Right, that's what I thought. Look, I get it, really; Jenni Drew is hot. There's something about that thick, black unwashed hair and the figure of a bulimic crack whore that really does it for me. She did NOT come out of that match as the apple of Defiants eye, though. That's why I'm fighting to be the number one contender to the top championship in the company, and she's fighting a journeyman in Cyrus Riddle that's only fighting this week because Defiant couldn't fill out a card. She wants to be Aidan Carlisle, and prove she's a better role model for the little girls than the chick stripping down to lingerie and making tackles half the time? I got news for ya, Jenny... it won't happen by doing a piss poor impression of her halfway down the card.  

The reporters chatter amongst themselves, snapping pictures of the multi-time Hall of Famer and scribbling down shorthand notes of all the ammo he's firing at the Titan Champion. He sips his coffee and smiles to himself, he loved holding court like this. 

RAVEN: OK, who's next? 

REPORTER 4: James, you seem to have an awfully big bag of negative statements to reach into regarding DWF... is there a reason that you're working so hard to bury the company that you work for, and hope to become champion of? 

RAVEN: I haven't had to work hard to bury Defiant, bitch bye. They did that all on their own. All I did was call out the facts as I saw them, and let everyone else question the logic. Every time a new card is announced some poor ass gets his name misprinted on every poster or press release; just ask me, Mr. James Drew. Every time they shuffle all of their matches three times in an hour, forget to follow one of their employees and miss important tweets, or make the decision to push their part-time roster instead of the people that plan on being here each and every week, they make THEMSELVES look stupid. I will NOT apologize that they can't run their business. I will NOT apologize that they don't realize their own good fortune in having The Peoples GOAT on their roster. Fuck 'em.  

The media corps is silent, not sure how to handle the heat and passion in his voice as it intensifies with each and every word. James has them in his hand, and he knows it. 

RAVEN: You want to tell me that my promo last time wasn't "Defiant" material? That my inner demons and road back to glory are cute, but you'd really rather have some generic shit talk to chop into 20 second advertising clips? Fine, I can do that too. I'm sorry I tried to give you all something a little different, but let's talk some shit... 

He leans forward in his seat, the members of the assembled media corps all doing the same as he stares them down with a glint of mischief in his eyes. 

RAVEN: I don't like this place. I don't like the way they treat the company banner more importantly than the superstars waving it. I don't like Jana Rikars cooking. I don't like Rusty Fairchilds face. I don't like Aidan Carlisle running around some football field on my television in a lace bra and booty shorts but pretending she's some icon of female strength, empowerment and liberation. I don't like any of this... yet. Once I'm your new Defiant Champion though, get ready to see some changes.  

REPORTER 5: So then it's safe to say that you're confident heading into The Bash? Coral Rose and Max Ironside don't pose you any major concerns? 

He grins from ear to ear, draining the last of the coffee from his cup before setting it down on the floor and contemplating his next words carefully.  

RAVEN: They don't pose me any concerns, no. They've already given up. If they don't have confidence in themselves, why should I lend them any credibility? At least Coral had the balls to come out and tell everyone the truth, I honestly can't even argue with her. She's NOT going to win, and she knows it. She's NOT the next Defiant champion, and she knows that too. Listen to her talk about Max and I, though... that's what's telling. "James Raven is the better man", and "Max is a whiny bitch that shouldn't get another title shot". "I heard of him from Sabrina Wilson" and blah, blah, blah. Honestly, the chick is so deep in my corner on this one I'm not sure that she doesn't think we're on a team. As long as she knows her role, and stays out of my way, Max is the one I'm taking out.  

He takes a deep breath, finally reaching the last item on his agenda.  

RAVEN: Max. Max, Max, Max. I'm going to be gentle about this, because you don't strike me as the type of guy that handles verbal confrontation without crying. This is NOT your origin story, or some feel good tale about the little wrestler that could. We're not all gearing up to watch a fairy tale ending where you finally pick up the big win, get your rematch with Aidan, and climb to the top of the mountain. We're about to watch a damned horror movie, where your fellow villagers have sent you as tribute for the legendary dragon to feast on. We didn't get to face each other in the gauntlet, like I had hoped we would Max. I'm sure you were thanking your lucky stars. This week you aren't so lucky. This week I break you, and make you do what Coral and the rest of the DWF roster has been since the day I signed... Fear the Raven, Forevermore.  

FADE 

TO  

BLACK