ABOUT TWO WEEKS AGO
JAMES RAVENS OFFICE



Bzzzzz!

Bzzzzz!

My cell phone vibrates gently on the wooden tabletop beside me. I ignore it, instead lifting a glass to my lips and taking a deep sip before setting it back down on a coaster. That’s right. I use coasters. Who has two thumbs and no moisture rings on his very expensive furniture? This guy.

Bzzzzz!

Bzzzzz!

The cell phone vibrates again. I take a deep breath, tilting my head back towards the heavens and closing my eyes. For the love of god… these persistent fucks.

“You wanna check that?” Centurion inquires with a smirk.

“Nope,” I respond shortly, “I most certainly do not.”

“But what if it’s something important?” Centurion presses, “What if it’s Betsy? Or Theo with some kind of business emergency and the words ‘please Raven, I need your help’?”

“It’s not.” I force out through clenched teeth.

“Oh come on James,” Big Shank chimes in from his seat in the corner of the room, the stub of a freshly extinguished cigar smoldering in a crystal ashtray on the side table next to him, “Why be so pessimistic? Who do YOU think it is?”

I shoot him a dirty look from a dozen yards away.

“Fuck. You.” I mutter as Shank and Centurion share a knowing glance and chuckle madly to each other, “We all know exactly who it is.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic, buddy,” Centurion says with a smile, “Maybe it’s some other federation asking you to join their big tournament! That happens to you nearly every month, right? Or maybe it’s a young martial artist looking for a mentor and a training camp to take them to the next level! You should really answer that.”

“Yeah, James, answer it!” Big Shank adds from his seat in the peanut gallery, “What if it’s your son, wanting to tell you that he forgives you for divorcing his mother?”

Well. That was a low blow. Even Centurion feels badly about that one, glancing at Shank tentatively before turning to me with a silent apology.

“What?!” Shank asks, defending himself, “It’s unlikely but it could happen!”

Centurion shakes his head and Big Shank picks up the smoldering cigar butt from the ashtray, clenching it between his teeth and chewing away at the tip as a few more plumes of smoke escape and drift lazily towards the ceiling.

Bzzzzz!

Bzzzzz!

“James,” Cent finally says, his face deathly serious, “All jokes aside, and with complete sincerity, you should answer your phone. It could be important.”

With a deep sigh and sincere doubt I reach down for my cell phone and turn it over to look at the display.

4 NEW NOTIFICATIONS
FROM ATARA THEMIS

FIGHT ME.
3 MORE MESSAGES

Regret floods every cell in my body as I slam the phone down hard enough to crack the screen through the case. Centurion and Big Shank struggle to keep straight faces, half smirking at each other through peripheral vision as they feign ignorance.

“Who was it?” Centurion asks.

“Yeah man, who was it?” Big Shank echoes.

“FUCKING ATARA!” I explode with near volcanic intensity, “IT’S ALWAYS FUCKING ATARA! THE RARE TIMES IT’S NOT IT’S FUCKING FUZZ!”

“In the interest of accuracy,” Centurion calmly interjects, “I believe he goes by ‘Shawn’ again.”

“WHO GIVES A FLYING FUCK?!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

Big Shank stands up slowly, making his way from his armchair over to Centurion and I. He clutches the cigar between his fingers, a thick trail of smoke wafting into the air behind him.

“This could be nuts, I don’t know,” he says calmly, “But have you thought about just fighting her? You kind of owe her that, don’t you think?”

Centurion, for the first time, looks genuinely confused.

“Wait, owe her? Why would you owe her?” he asks with a completely straight face.

“Have you seriously not figured it out yet?” Shank asks, rolling his eyes, “Remember that trip to Greece, ten or fifteen years ago?”

“I’ve made a lot of trips to Greece in my lifetime, Dustin,” Centurion admonishes.

“Hey now, I didn’t know we were using government names here,” Big Shank grunts, slamming a heavy fist into Centurions shoulder. Centurion groans and clutches his arm, and Shank continues, “Raven went over to beat the fuck out of-”

“Hey!” I stop Big Shank short, before he can say a name. He and Centurion look at me, surprised, but I don’t say another word. Centurion glances sideways at Big Shank, who simply shrugs back at him.

Bzzzzz!

Bzzzzz!

“Somebody please,” I mumble, “Shoot me in the face with a high calibre rifle.”

“Do you think she remembers? Do you think she knows who you are?”

“Of course she does. How could she not?”

“Does someone want to fill me in, here? She remembers what? If we went to Greece ten or fifteen years ago, she’d have been like… 12?”

“Maybe. Give or take a couple of years. I don’t know.”

“Let it go, Cent, you’ll figure it out eventually.”

The three of us sit in silence for a long moment, Shank chewing on the nearly extinguished nub of a cigar as he lords over Centurion and I, social distancing be damned. Centurion connects the dots, a look of recognition passing across his face like a shadow. Suddenly the flood of messages doesn’t seem like such innocent fun, and my frustration becomes much more understandable.

“Damn,” Centurion whispers, “You smashed her dad.”

Bzzzzz!

Bzzzzz!

“Maybe she doesn’t remember at all,” Shank offers, the optimism strikingly out of character for him, “Maybe her dad lost a lot of fights and that whole weekend was way more memorable to you than to her. Like, if your dad is shitty him coming home pulverized is just Saturday, y’know?”

“Maybe.”

“Or maybe she won’t want to discuss it. Maybe she won’t even acknowledge it happened! This whole thing could be coincidental, really.”

Bzzzzz!

Bzzzzz!

“Or not. I don’t know. She could remember everything in vivid detail and want to relive it all with you, which would definitely suck.”

I grab my cell phone off the table and flip it over to look at the screen. It’s Atara. Of course it’s Atara. This isn’t funny anymore. This isn’t some cute game a rookie is trying to play just to get a Legend to give them a little shine. This is going to have to be handled, one way or the other… she’s made that perfectly clear.

Bzzzzz!

Bzzzzz!

I don’t look at the new messages. I open my recent texts and select a group chat with the XWF management and booking department, and fire off three quick words.

I WANT ATARA

I hit the power button, and stare down at my glass for several agonizingly long moments.

Bzzzzz!

Bzzzzz!

Bzzzzz!

Bzzzzz!

Bzzzzz!

Bzzzzz!

My phone begins to quake like an epileptic in my hand, and for the first time in a long time I’m confident the messages aren’t from Aphrodite Incarnate. Big Shank and Centurion continue to chat, joking to ease the tension in the room, but I’ve tuned them out. It’s time to stop worrying about the past, and prepare for the future.




“You people don’t understand the difference between acknowledgement and respect.

“You all like to pretend that you respect Atara, simply because you don’t disregard her like you have so many women that came before. You like to pretend that you respect her because you bestow titles like ‘up and comer’ upon her. You do not get to claim yourself as progressive because you acknowledge that which is undeniable. You don’t get credit because she made herself impossible to dismiss.

“You don’t respect someone you view as nothing more than an accessory to the Universal Champion. You don’t respect someone that you imply sleeps her way to favoritism despite no evidence of such, or that you slip casual sexual innuendos to while thinking you’ve now fulfilled your weekly obligations of well researched and thought out trash talk. You may not want to admit it, hell, you may not even know it outside of your subconscious… but most of you do not respect Atara Themis.

“She is a novelty act to you. She is a ‘bombshell’ that should battle Jenny Myst week in and week out and be grateful for whatever table scraps and male attention you’re all so gracious to leave her at the end of each booking cycle. I’ve seen the promos. I’ve seen the treatment in nearly every forum of interaction that this company has to offer.

“I respect Atara Themis.

“I respected her enough to tell her honestly, as my peer, that she had gotten herself in over her head by asking for this match so aggressively. There were no low blows, no subtle implications or dismissive jabs about her personal business… and I stand by everything I said. I won’t apologize for letting a future superstar know that I think they’ve made a career misstep. Furthermore-”

“Hey, I’m sorry, can I interject here? You did NOT just say furthermore.”

“What are you doing in here? This is supposed to be a private session for me to get a few thoughts out.”

“Well your thoughts were… woo boy… bo-ring. I was thinking I could jump in and help you get going.”

“No. No, none of that. Whatever you’re about to say is EXACTLY what I’m trying to speak out against now. I’m not looking for the easy jok-”

“Easy like Atara Themis! OH! THERE IT IS! It’s like 2012 up in here, Suicide Kings running wild!”

“God damn it… can we try and be a bit more selective about what we say here, ple-”

“Selective?! We’re talking about Atara Themis, she’s banging Fuzz! She’s clearly never been selective about anything in her life!”

“That’s, well, that’s her business; and apparently he’s going by Shawn again, stop deadnaming him you social terrorist.”

“There he is! There’s a glimpse of the old Raven! Now look into the camera and roast her! Make a sex joke or something! Hell, call her a cun-”

“Oh fuck this. She didn’t say anything important about me anyways…”

CAMERA OFF

FADE OUT