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James Raven- Posts : 2
Join date : 2020-10-20
Chapter 4: All Roads Lead To Legacy
Thu Dec 03, 2020 5:58 am
Chapter 4:All Roads Lead To Legacy
It’s become quite commonplace that whenever James or I show up to a company, that company can’t wait to get us into the spotlight.
Do we draw money?
Obviously.
Are we Titans of this Industry?
That goes without saying.
The Main Event spot is always beckoning for the two of us, and it’s grown tenfold since we have decided to align ourselves. The two of us are going to do the same thing we do every time we step into the ring.
There are no such things as half measures.
There are no doubts.
That’s why whenever we walk into a company, whether we are solo or as a unit, the tides turn. And they turn quickly. The clouds begin to wipe away the sky. The low rumble of thunder begins to echo throughout. The lighting strikes mere inches away from you.
That’s when you realize something isn’t right.
That’s where your colossal mistake begins to ferment inside your miserable pathetic little brains.
The lightbulb will flash above your head like this was a goddamn cartoon.
You were never chasing the storm.
The storm kicked in your fucking door, told you to make it a bourbon neat, kicked it’s feet up on your table, and asked you what’s for dinner.
This storm is a category 5 hurricane, and it goes by the name of….
Legacy.
Do we draw money?
Obviously.
Are we Titans of this Industry?
That goes without saying.
The Main Event spot is always beckoning for the two of us, and it’s grown tenfold since we have decided to align ourselves. The two of us are going to do the same thing we do every time we step into the ring.
There are no such things as half measures.
There are no doubts.
That’s why whenever we walk into a company, whether we are solo or as a unit, the tides turn. And they turn quickly. The clouds begin to wipe away the sky. The low rumble of thunder begins to echo throughout. The lighting strikes mere inches away from you.
That’s when you realize something isn’t right.
That’s where your colossal mistake begins to ferment inside your miserable pathetic little brains.
The lightbulb will flash above your head like this was a goddamn cartoon.
You were never chasing the storm.
The storm kicked in your fucking door, told you to make it a bourbon neat, kicked it’s feet up on your table, and asked you what’s for dinner.
This storm is a category 5 hurricane, and it goes by the name of….
Legacy.
November 25, 2020
Affectionately Known as Black Wednesday
The low buzzing of shitty EDM music drones on in the background. The Lincoln Navigator comes to a stop as all four doors open. From the back door Noah Jackson and Jackson Hart flood out of the back. James Raven emerges from the front passenger door, and I hop out of the driver's seat.
I drag my hand across the hood of the truck and toss the keys towards a valet. I clear my throat as all three men turn towards my direction.
“Problem?” Jackson asks as he pats Noah on the shoulder, who quickly rolls his hand away.
“Nope not really, just, isn’t this a little cliche?” I said while pointing towards the door to the club. “Isn’t this really a day for college kids to get hammered so they don’t have to sit at home with their families the day before thanksgiving?”
“Sure is, cunt.” Noah beams while smiling ear to ear.“Yeah I’m not going to be spending my thanksgiving without being hungover with you two always talking about business.”
“Yeah this is right in Noah and I’s wheelhouse. Just let’s all go in there, get hammered and have a good time.” Jackson takes the lead towards the door as the rest of us follow.
“Still doesn’t make a lick of sense. Raven being here I get….” I said before Raven quickly cut me off.
“Fuck you. I’m still in the right age bracket you old fuck.” A quick grin comes across his face.
“How is Betsy tonight?”
“She’s busy, and knows that with the three of you this was bound to happen.”
“What exactly is that?” Noah chimes in from behind.
“Well a night of debauchery, drinking, the two of you chasing after every female in the building.” James says while pointing to Noah and Hart, “And making sure this asshole doesn’t tear the building apart like he did last time. I’m a glorified chaperone tonight.”
“That was one time, after some tainted weed.” I stated matter of factly.
“Yeah and somehow you still managed a convoluted series of death traps for Jackson and I.” Raven said while raising an eyebrow towards me.
“Please those traps were set up for weeks ahead of time.” *Obligatory fourth wall break: James and Jackson did a promo where I tried to kill them. It’s fire, and you should all watch it.*
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“What can I say, I plan ahead.”
As the four of us reach the door the bouncer gives us one look over and shakes his head.
“What gives cunt? Don’t you know who we are?” The bouncer just shakes his head and laughs. “Oh you think this is funny? Dad!”
I walk up to the bouncer as he points to the back of the long line leading around the building. The four of us look down the line and all shrug.
“How much?”
“It doesn’t work like that tonight fellas.” The bouncer lifts up his clipboard and taps on the sheet of paper on there. “You’re either on the list or you’re waiting in line.”
“Yeah that doesn’t work for us.” Quickly I grab the clipboard and crack it in half over my knee. I hand it back to the man and reach into my jacket pocket and pull out a wad of cash. Rolled tightly and secured by a rubber band. It’s quickly placed in his hand. One head nod later and we are walking into the club.
Raven and Hart head off towards the VIP section, as Noah and I make our way towards the bar.
“Dad, I didn’t realize you were rolling like that tonight cunt?” I give Noah a quick laugh and Pat him on the back.
“Noah we’ve got all night, or at least until that guy's shift is over.” Noah crooks his eyebrows and looks at me puzzled.
“Why the fuck do we care about that guys shift ending?”
“Oh…” The bartender slides the two of us a drink. I quickly down mine and turn towards the VIP section. “That’s when he will realize that it was a roll of singles wrapped in a twenty.”
“You know you could actually afford to not do that right?” I begin to walk away from the bar as Noah follows behind me.
“Yeah of course. Listen closely...you don’t stay rich by spending money all the time.”
“Fuck that. You’ve wasted more money in the past year on stupid shit than I’ll ever see in my life.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right…” We reach the velvet ropes of the VIP section. “Fuck that guy anyways. He seriously wasn’t going to let us in here.”
“Yeah fuck that cunt.”
Noah smiles as we walk up to James and Hart who are in a thrilling conversation, when Hart looks up to me.
“So which one is weaker?”
“Excuse me?”
“Which chaser is weaker? Vortex or Debris?” Hart asks matter of factly.
“I dunno…. I guess if I had to say….. neither.”
“That’s a cop out.” Noah says while sitting down and kicking his feet up on the table.
“Not really. I mean when you actually stop and think about it, it actually makes sense.” As I sit down next to Noah and pour a drink. “When you’re standing across the ring from two Andy Dick impersonators you’re bound to take it easy on them. And much like the mighty possum that’s when they will strike. When they are belly up and facing near certain defeat…” I leap up from my spot causing glasses and bottles to go flying in all different directions. “BAM! Now you’ve got rabies.”
“Yeah I get that but they can’t be any more difficult than Urinary Tract Infection?” Noah asks while standing glasses upright on the table. James raises a hand to correct him but stops short.
“Well I guess that’s one thing we can all bank on… At least these two will show up. I don’t know if people realize that when it comes to being at the top of the industry the first step is always… showing up. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that these two will do that.” As I stand up and give Noah a nod. Quickly he pulls out his phone. “Noah hit me with the facts about these two.”
“Come on man… I’m trying to have a nice night out and you’re going to cut a promo?” Hart says while throwing his arms up.
“Obviously not. It’s not like there is a camera here or anything.” *Obligatory Fourth Wall Break as I wink towards the camera.* “I just want the rundown.”
“Right cunt. Here we go.” Noah feverishly swipes on his phone. “Uhh first thing, Oklahoma is where they are from.”
“Well that sucks.” I said despondently.
“Why?”
“Well I was going to take the whole route where I make fun of how inbred the entire state is, and how no one in the state does doggy style because the state motto is you don’t turn your back on family.” I roll my eyes. “And that’s just the tip of the circular family tree. There are quite literally dozens of these people out there that chase storms. The biggest thrill of their miserable existence, is chasing after and failing to capture something THAT WE KNOW IS ALREADY COMING! How pathetic do you have to be to not be able to follow a simple radar? Oop…. that must be the thing that is broken in their DNA.”
“Ok fine Oklahoma isn’t the route. Uhh.” Noah pinches and zooms in on the page. “Apparently they are former tag team champions of Fight 1.”
“Wait!”[/i[ I hold a hand up towards Noah. “You mean THE FIGHT 1?!?”
“I guess cunt. Why does that mean anything to you?”
“Nope not at all. Actually I’ve never heard of the fucking place before and if these two were running around with their tag team titles it doesn’t really strike me as a place that I would want to call home. Even if it was just to dethrone the champs of the Rocky Denis All Drag Queen Invitational.” I quickly shake my head. “No, sorry that’s a bit too far. Neither men nor the women want anything to do with these two morons. The two of them are like two moths flying towards a light in the summer air. They see something bright and shiny, and are immediately driven towards it. All sights set on the glowing orb. Then boom, glass ceiling, or in this metaphor's case, glass encasement.” I quickly slam my hands against one another rapidly. “As the two of them bash their skulls against the glass, suddenly it is turned off. They are left in the dark vast void of nothing. Adrift with nothing to show, but you have to ask yourself the question… who killed the lights?”
“Oh god if this isn’t right on the nose.” Hart chimes in as he takes a drink from his glass emptying in the process.
“Too true Jackson. I guess saying that we are the human in control of the lights is too on point.” I begin to tap my chin, deep in thought I Light up like a Christmas tree. “Y'all ever see that movie A Bug’s Life?”
The three of them give me a crooked eye and tentatively nod.
“Well they are like the ants in that movie, and we are like the rain. Get it? It works because they are the Storm Chasers….”
Nothing but blank looks from the three of them.
“Fuck you. An ant can drown in one single rain drop and these two clowns are ants compared to James and I.” Once again I am met by blank stares. “Fuck you guys. The metaphor plays.”
The three of them Shrug in unison as I shake my head. The rest of the night goes about as well as you could think. Noah and Hart trying to hit on anything that moves. James checks his phone every so often while drinking and talking about The Storm Chasers, and I sit there watching the wonder twins get shot down at every opportunity. I pull out my phone and see that there are no new messages.
“Hey James….” I snap a few times to get his attention. “I think I’m going to bail.” I hand him the valet ticket and stand up.
“You sure?” He asks while grabbing the ticket.
“Yeah. There isn’t much for me here right now anyways. I’m just gonna head home. Make sure those two don’t kill themselves.”
“No promises.”
I give James a quick wave and head out towards the entrance. A brisk cold air hits my nostrils as I step outside, one Uber order later and my phone buzzes. My face lights up from the pale glow of the screen.
“Hmm, would you look at that.”
A small smile comes across my face, as I quickly respond to the message. The car pulls up and just as quickly is pulling off, as a scene transition that’s sicker than Charlie Sheen after a five day bender happens.
I drag my hand across the hood of the truck and toss the keys towards a valet. I clear my throat as all three men turn towards my direction.
“Problem?” Jackson asks as he pats Noah on the shoulder, who quickly rolls his hand away.
“Nope not really, just, isn’t this a little cliche?” I said while pointing towards the door to the club. “Isn’t this really a day for college kids to get hammered so they don’t have to sit at home with their families the day before thanksgiving?”
“Sure is, cunt.” Noah beams while smiling ear to ear.“Yeah I’m not going to be spending my thanksgiving without being hungover with you two always talking about business.”
“Yeah this is right in Noah and I’s wheelhouse. Just let’s all go in there, get hammered and have a good time.” Jackson takes the lead towards the door as the rest of us follow.
“Still doesn’t make a lick of sense. Raven being here I get….” I said before Raven quickly cut me off.
“Fuck you. I’m still in the right age bracket you old fuck.” A quick grin comes across his face.
“How is Betsy tonight?”
“She’s busy, and knows that with the three of you this was bound to happen.”
“What exactly is that?” Noah chimes in from behind.
“Well a night of debauchery, drinking, the two of you chasing after every female in the building.” James says while pointing to Noah and Hart, “And making sure this asshole doesn’t tear the building apart like he did last time. I’m a glorified chaperone tonight.”
“That was one time, after some tainted weed.” I stated matter of factly.
“Yeah and somehow you still managed a convoluted series of death traps for Jackson and I.” Raven said while raising an eyebrow towards me.
“Please those traps were set up for weeks ahead of time.” *Obligatory fourth wall break: James and Jackson did a promo where I tried to kill them. It’s fire, and you should all watch it.*
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“What can I say, I plan ahead.”
As the four of us reach the door the bouncer gives us one look over and shakes his head.
“What gives cunt? Don’t you know who we are?” The bouncer just shakes his head and laughs. “Oh you think this is funny? Dad!”
I walk up to the bouncer as he points to the back of the long line leading around the building. The four of us look down the line and all shrug.
“How much?”
“It doesn’t work like that tonight fellas.” The bouncer lifts up his clipboard and taps on the sheet of paper on there. “You’re either on the list or you’re waiting in line.”
“Yeah that doesn’t work for us.” Quickly I grab the clipboard and crack it in half over my knee. I hand it back to the man and reach into my jacket pocket and pull out a wad of cash. Rolled tightly and secured by a rubber band. It’s quickly placed in his hand. One head nod later and we are walking into the club.
Raven and Hart head off towards the VIP section, as Noah and I make our way towards the bar.
“Dad, I didn’t realize you were rolling like that tonight cunt?” I give Noah a quick laugh and Pat him on the back.
“Noah we’ve got all night, or at least until that guy's shift is over.” Noah crooks his eyebrows and looks at me puzzled.
“Why the fuck do we care about that guys shift ending?”
“Oh…” The bartender slides the two of us a drink. I quickly down mine and turn towards the VIP section. “That’s when he will realize that it was a roll of singles wrapped in a twenty.”
“You know you could actually afford to not do that right?” I begin to walk away from the bar as Noah follows behind me.
“Yeah of course. Listen closely...you don’t stay rich by spending money all the time.”
“Fuck that. You’ve wasted more money in the past year on stupid shit than I’ll ever see in my life.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right…” We reach the velvet ropes of the VIP section. “Fuck that guy anyways. He seriously wasn’t going to let us in here.”
“Yeah fuck that cunt.”
Noah smiles as we walk up to James and Hart who are in a thrilling conversation, when Hart looks up to me.
“So which one is weaker?”
“Excuse me?”
“Which chaser is weaker? Vortex or Debris?” Hart asks matter of factly.
“I dunno…. I guess if I had to say….. neither.”
“That’s a cop out.” Noah says while sitting down and kicking his feet up on the table.
“Not really. I mean when you actually stop and think about it, it actually makes sense.” As I sit down next to Noah and pour a drink. “When you’re standing across the ring from two Andy Dick impersonators you’re bound to take it easy on them. And much like the mighty possum that’s when they will strike. When they are belly up and facing near certain defeat…” I leap up from my spot causing glasses and bottles to go flying in all different directions. “BAM! Now you’ve got rabies.”
“Yeah I get that but they can’t be any more difficult than Urinary Tract Infection?” Noah asks while standing glasses upright on the table. James raises a hand to correct him but stops short.
“Well I guess that’s one thing we can all bank on… At least these two will show up. I don’t know if people realize that when it comes to being at the top of the industry the first step is always… showing up. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that these two will do that.” As I stand up and give Noah a nod. Quickly he pulls out his phone. “Noah hit me with the facts about these two.”
“Come on man… I’m trying to have a nice night out and you’re going to cut a promo?” Hart says while throwing his arms up.
“Obviously not. It’s not like there is a camera here or anything.” *Obligatory Fourth Wall Break as I wink towards the camera.* “I just want the rundown.”
“Right cunt. Here we go.” Noah feverishly swipes on his phone. “Uhh first thing, Oklahoma is where they are from.”
“Well that sucks.” I said despondently.
“Why?”
“Well I was going to take the whole route where I make fun of how inbred the entire state is, and how no one in the state does doggy style because the state motto is you don’t turn your back on family.” I roll my eyes. “And that’s just the tip of the circular family tree. There are quite literally dozens of these people out there that chase storms. The biggest thrill of their miserable existence, is chasing after and failing to capture something THAT WE KNOW IS ALREADY COMING! How pathetic do you have to be to not be able to follow a simple radar? Oop…. that must be the thing that is broken in their DNA.”
“Ok fine Oklahoma isn’t the route. Uhh.” Noah pinches and zooms in on the page. “Apparently they are former tag team champions of Fight 1.”
“Wait!”[/i[ I hold a hand up towards Noah. “You mean THE FIGHT 1?!?”
“I guess cunt. Why does that mean anything to you?”
“Nope not at all. Actually I’ve never heard of the fucking place before and if these two were running around with their tag team titles it doesn’t really strike me as a place that I would want to call home. Even if it was just to dethrone the champs of the Rocky Denis All Drag Queen Invitational.” I quickly shake my head. “No, sorry that’s a bit too far. Neither men nor the women want anything to do with these two morons. The two of them are like two moths flying towards a light in the summer air. They see something bright and shiny, and are immediately driven towards it. All sights set on the glowing orb. Then boom, glass ceiling, or in this metaphor's case, glass encasement.” I quickly slam my hands against one another rapidly. “As the two of them bash their skulls against the glass, suddenly it is turned off. They are left in the dark vast void of nothing. Adrift with nothing to show, but you have to ask yourself the question… who killed the lights?”
“Oh god if this isn’t right on the nose.” Hart chimes in as he takes a drink from his glass emptying in the process.
“Too true Jackson. I guess saying that we are the human in control of the lights is too on point.” I begin to tap my chin, deep in thought I Light up like a Christmas tree. “Y'all ever see that movie A Bug’s Life?”
The three of them give me a crooked eye and tentatively nod.
“Well they are like the ants in that movie, and we are like the rain. Get it? It works because they are the Storm Chasers….”
Nothing but blank looks from the three of them.
“Fuck you. An ant can drown in one single rain drop and these two clowns are ants compared to James and I.” Once again I am met by blank stares. “Fuck you guys. The metaphor plays.”
The three of them Shrug in unison as I shake my head. The rest of the night goes about as well as you could think. Noah and Hart trying to hit on anything that moves. James checks his phone every so often while drinking and talking about The Storm Chasers, and I sit there watching the wonder twins get shot down at every opportunity. I pull out my phone and see that there are no new messages.
“Hey James….” I snap a few times to get his attention. “I think I’m going to bail.” I hand him the valet ticket and stand up.
“You sure?” He asks while grabbing the ticket.
“Yeah. There isn’t much for me here right now anyways. I’m just gonna head home. Make sure those two don’t kill themselves.”
“No promises.”
I give James a quick wave and head out towards the entrance. A brisk cold air hits my nostrils as I step outside, one Uber order later and my phone buzzes. My face lights up from the pale glow of the screen.
“Hmm, would you look at that.”
A small smile comes across my face, as I quickly respond to the message. The car pulls up and just as quickly is pulling off, as a scene transition that’s sicker than Charlie Sheen after a five day bender happens.
In principle, I can respect a Storm Chaser.
There’s a certain courage that comes along with it, I suppose, and I will respect anyone that gets up off their couch and puts their ass on the line… even if it is in some dumb shit sort of capacity.
However, there is a difference between your sort of courage and my sort of courage. We are not the same.
You, by label and definition, are a chaser. You are an observer. You record from the sidelines, a safe distance, and expect to be heralded by the masses for your bravery and dedication. You hide in armored cars, customized and welded together like the body of a Kardashian sister, and you study your instruments and scientific calculators because you realized at an early age that elbow grease and real, true, honest WORK were not your areas of expertise.
You, like a minor on a tax return form, are a dependent. You rely on the catastrophic mayhem that you yourself cant cause to give you purpose and to keep you relevant. It’s OK. Don’t feel badly about things, at least you’ve found your niche… but have you found everything else you were looking for when you signed your ridiculous names on the dotted line, and joined Project Honor?
Have you found your storm?
Legacy. IS. The Storm.
We are the tempest that howls and beats violently against shuttered windows. We are the hurricane squall that rips street signs from the ground and sends them hurtling down the street faster than Jacob Steele was bounced from the active roster, and the cloudburst over your head that unleashes the fury of the heavens upon you. We are the ensuing downpour.
Am I putting this into a language that you two can understand?
While you study the cyclone from a half mile away, shoveling Sonic tater tots and cheeseburgers into your gullets, sitting in some shitty souped up Subaru and talking about how impressive and deadly the gusts are… Shawn Warstein and I stand in the eye of the storm, middle fingers to the rest of you cowardly fucks and blowing into the wind to try and speed it up so that we can really get the party started.
We.
Are not.
The same.
Are you two getting any of this? Am I breaking it down simply enough, and painting a vivid enough picture? I’m not being condescending by the way, it’s just legitimately tough to tell what two men that grew up in Tornado Alley are comprehending… I mean, if you had any sense at all, you’d have moved the fuck out of Tornado Alley… if you were raised with any sort of guidance at all, your parents wouldn’t have let their college-enrolled children become GODDAMN STORM CHASERS!
Can they call you Vortex and Debris with a straight face?
Are they filled with pride at this time of year, when they go to send you a Christmas card and have to call and ask which Supermarket your RV is parked in front of this week that they can send it to?
These are serious questions, guys. The people need to know.
Are your respective fathers capable of suppressing their eyerolls when you call them every three months and ask for a few shekels because you blew all the money you got from doing Craigslist medical trials on chasing a few tornadoes that you NEARLY got some sick footage of?
It’s a true head scratcher that you two haven’t broken through in your field yet, and I mean that sincerely. Not because you two are any more skilled than the competition, but because frankly… is there even any real competition?
Who the fuck is still chasing storms these days?
That Discovery Channel show got cancelled, like, a decade ago… and with good reason. Then those three Team TWISTEX chasers dying in 2018 seemed to take a lot of wind out of the businesses sails… pardon my pun. Are you two actually being beaten to sites by anyone? Are you getting scooped, or submitting inferior footage? Or are you really just so bumbling incompetent and self sabotaging that you can’t break through the glass ceiling when handed a sledgehammer and a hydraulic lift?
In a field of only you two, somehow you both consistently find a way to rank third.
You hate to see it.
All bull shit aside, kids, don’t let anyone stomp on your dreams. Not even me. If you want to dedicate your life to a dying business, living on four wheels in a cramped space with your hetero lifemate, pinching pennies and getting your ass beat by icons for pocket change to put gas in your tank with… you fuckin’ give that shit everything you’ve got.
Be different from the rest of us. Be individuals. Be outliers.
Steady if not exorbitant income? That shit is for the birds, Ravens specifically.
Public recognition and relevance to modern society? Who the fuck needs it?! Not the Storm Chasers!
I literally fought a pair of Vikings in round one of this tournament, and somehow they felt less out of touch and dated than you two do. We have talents on the Project Honor roster who side-hustle baking cupcakes, and they lap you in every measure of finance and success. WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING WITH YOUR LIVES?!
Has it sunken in, yet? Vortex? Debris? Are you hearing the words that are coming out of my mouth? I labeled this shit a wrestling promo to get your attention and lull you into a false sense of security… but what we’re doing here is an intervention.
Find anything, LITERALLY ANYTHING, else to do with yourselves moving forward. Please. Hock me some shitty fast food on a national TV commercial campaign. Model polo shirts and fleece pullovers in some magazine marketed to young hip fathers. Pump gas for minimum wage for all I fucking care, that still puts you two on an upwards trajectory!
I don’t know what Fight One was like, or how you two won their tag championships, but the game has changed since then and the athletes have evolved. Project Honor isn’t the sort of playground that you’re used to, boys, and with honest concern for your well being I am suggesting that you turn and run along home. You will get hurt with the big boys.
Neither of you is Dickie Watson. Neither of you is Aidan Reynolds. Neither of you is Elena Dedraca or the Indy Darling or Myojin.
You sure as fuck aren’t Shawn Warstein and I.
You know it, whether deep down or worn proudly on your sleeve, so what is it that you’re hoping to accomplish here? What was the endgame?
I guess it’s like I was saying earlier, by name and definition; you’re chasers. You came to observe and to study. You came to get as close as you could to the destructive hands of the gods, tuck your fear boners away in your corduroys, and feel like you were a part of something immense and powerful. You wanted to be complimented and applauded for your bravery to sit at a safe distance.
Consider this your compliment and applause. You two were super brave to come here.
But you are no longer at a safe distance.
You chased us, but the storm found you.
Batten down the hatches, boys. Legacy is here and the rumbling in the sky has just begun. The lightning strikes are ripping towards earth with the frequency of hail pellets, and there is nowhere left to hide.
We.
Are not.
The same.
And you will fear the Raven- no, you will fear Legacy, forevermore...
There’s a certain courage that comes along with it, I suppose, and I will respect anyone that gets up off their couch and puts their ass on the line… even if it is in some dumb shit sort of capacity.
However, there is a difference between your sort of courage and my sort of courage. We are not the same.
You, by label and definition, are a chaser. You are an observer. You record from the sidelines, a safe distance, and expect to be heralded by the masses for your bravery and dedication. You hide in armored cars, customized and welded together like the body of a Kardashian sister, and you study your instruments and scientific calculators because you realized at an early age that elbow grease and real, true, honest WORK were not your areas of expertise.
You, like a minor on a tax return form, are a dependent. You rely on the catastrophic mayhem that you yourself cant cause to give you purpose and to keep you relevant. It’s OK. Don’t feel badly about things, at least you’ve found your niche… but have you found everything else you were looking for when you signed your ridiculous names on the dotted line, and joined Project Honor?
Have you found your storm?
Legacy. IS. The Storm.
We are the tempest that howls and beats violently against shuttered windows. We are the hurricane squall that rips street signs from the ground and sends them hurtling down the street faster than Jacob Steele was bounced from the active roster, and the cloudburst over your head that unleashes the fury of the heavens upon you. We are the ensuing downpour.
Am I putting this into a language that you two can understand?
While you study the cyclone from a half mile away, shoveling Sonic tater tots and cheeseburgers into your gullets, sitting in some shitty souped up Subaru and talking about how impressive and deadly the gusts are… Shawn Warstein and I stand in the eye of the storm, middle fingers to the rest of you cowardly fucks and blowing into the wind to try and speed it up so that we can really get the party started.
We.
Are not.
The same.
Are you two getting any of this? Am I breaking it down simply enough, and painting a vivid enough picture? I’m not being condescending by the way, it’s just legitimately tough to tell what two men that grew up in Tornado Alley are comprehending… I mean, if you had any sense at all, you’d have moved the fuck out of Tornado Alley… if you were raised with any sort of guidance at all, your parents wouldn’t have let their college-enrolled children become GODDAMN STORM CHASERS!
Can they call you Vortex and Debris with a straight face?
Are they filled with pride at this time of year, when they go to send you a Christmas card and have to call and ask which Supermarket your RV is parked in front of this week that they can send it to?
These are serious questions, guys. The people need to know.
Are your respective fathers capable of suppressing their eyerolls when you call them every three months and ask for a few shekels because you blew all the money you got from doing Craigslist medical trials on chasing a few tornadoes that you NEARLY got some sick footage of?
It’s a true head scratcher that you two haven’t broken through in your field yet, and I mean that sincerely. Not because you two are any more skilled than the competition, but because frankly… is there even any real competition?
Who the fuck is still chasing storms these days?
That Discovery Channel show got cancelled, like, a decade ago… and with good reason. Then those three Team TWISTEX chasers dying in 2018 seemed to take a lot of wind out of the businesses sails… pardon my pun. Are you two actually being beaten to sites by anyone? Are you getting scooped, or submitting inferior footage? Or are you really just so bumbling incompetent and self sabotaging that you can’t break through the glass ceiling when handed a sledgehammer and a hydraulic lift?
In a field of only you two, somehow you both consistently find a way to rank third.
You hate to see it.
All bull shit aside, kids, don’t let anyone stomp on your dreams. Not even me. If you want to dedicate your life to a dying business, living on four wheels in a cramped space with your hetero lifemate, pinching pennies and getting your ass beat by icons for pocket change to put gas in your tank with… you fuckin’ give that shit everything you’ve got.
Be different from the rest of us. Be individuals. Be outliers.
Steady if not exorbitant income? That shit is for the birds, Ravens specifically.
Public recognition and relevance to modern society? Who the fuck needs it?! Not the Storm Chasers!
I literally fought a pair of Vikings in round one of this tournament, and somehow they felt less out of touch and dated than you two do. We have talents on the Project Honor roster who side-hustle baking cupcakes, and they lap you in every measure of finance and success. WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING WITH YOUR LIVES?!
Has it sunken in, yet? Vortex? Debris? Are you hearing the words that are coming out of my mouth? I labeled this shit a wrestling promo to get your attention and lull you into a false sense of security… but what we’re doing here is an intervention.
Find anything, LITERALLY ANYTHING, else to do with yourselves moving forward. Please. Hock me some shitty fast food on a national TV commercial campaign. Model polo shirts and fleece pullovers in some magazine marketed to young hip fathers. Pump gas for minimum wage for all I fucking care, that still puts you two on an upwards trajectory!
I don’t know what Fight One was like, or how you two won their tag championships, but the game has changed since then and the athletes have evolved. Project Honor isn’t the sort of playground that you’re used to, boys, and with honest concern for your well being I am suggesting that you turn and run along home. You will get hurt with the big boys.
Neither of you is Dickie Watson. Neither of you is Aidan Reynolds. Neither of you is Elena Dedraca or the Indy Darling or Myojin.
You sure as fuck aren’t Shawn Warstein and I.
You know it, whether deep down or worn proudly on your sleeve, so what is it that you’re hoping to accomplish here? What was the endgame?
I guess it’s like I was saying earlier, by name and definition; you’re chasers. You came to observe and to study. You came to get as close as you could to the destructive hands of the gods, tuck your fear boners away in your corduroys, and feel like you were a part of something immense and powerful. You wanted to be complimented and applauded for your bravery to sit at a safe distance.
Consider this your compliment and applause. You two were super brave to come here.
But you are no longer at a safe distance.
You chased us, but the storm found you.
Batten down the hatches, boys. Legacy is here and the rumbling in the sky has just begun. The lightning strikes are ripping towards earth with the frequency of hail pellets, and there is nowhere left to hide.
We.
Are not.
The same.
And you will fear the Raven- no, you will fear Legacy, forevermore...
About an hour has passed since Shawn disappeared for the night, and Noah has long since vanished into the shadowy corners of the nightclub to chase after any woman in the club that showed him the slightest flash of interest. Jackson Hart and I sit together at opposite ends of a u-shaped booth, lost in our respective thoughts and sipping slowly.
I feel Jax’s eyes lock onto me, but I ignore it.
I survey the club; watching the bodies twist and bump on the dance floor, studying the people as they weave to and from the bartender with fists clenched tightly around crystal glasses and twenty dollar bills. His eyes never leave me, and still I ignore it.
He escalates things.
“So how’s it going?” he asks me vaguely.
“You’ve been with me all day,” I return blankly.
“That’s not what I mean,” he grumbles, “Project Honor. How’s it going?”
“Good. We’re winning. Shawn’s in their top five. I don’t see any of that changing any time soon. It’s good.” I take a sip of my drink.
“Yeah, well, that’s what we all expected when you signed up…” he says, voice trailing off as his dissatisfaction with my answer practically drips from him, “... and what about what we talked about before?”
“We talk about a lot of shit, Jackson,” I deflect with a shrug, “You need to be more specific.”
“Oh stop being such an asshole!” he spits at me, “Like, two weeks ago! On the bridge! We talked about what you were going to Project Honor to do… to… you know…”
He looks around to make sure nobody is listening in, and whispers;
“... expand Legacy?”
I shake my head in disbelief.
“Who the fuck do you think is listening in on us right now, Jackson? The CIA? The fucking Storm Chasers? You don’t need to whisper. These aren’t government secrets,” I chide, taking another deep sip of my drink to chase the bad taste he’s leaving in my mouth.
“Fine. I’ll shout it from the rooftops next time,” he promises sarcastically, “but what’s up with that?”
“Nothing is up with that, Jax,” I assure him, “You’re twisting my words. I never said I was going there to expand. I said I was open to it. I was looking at it and considering it. I’m not going to rush anything, though. Legacy isn’t McDonalds, looking to franchise to anyone who can write a cheque that clears… I know the kind of person we’d want, and I won’t compromise those standards… after all, I’m the one that found you.”
He says nothing.
There’s nothing he could say.
He stares across the dance floor for a long while, drinking deeply from his own glass.
Finally he breaks his silence.
“You’re still looking to do it, though?” he asks.
“I’m looking at every opportunity that benefits Legacy,” I tell him, “Just like I always have, and always will.”
He nods slowly. He doesn’t seem reassured.
“Serious question, dude,” he says, leaning across the table towards me, “Do things feel like they’re changing? From the day we started Legacy to now, do things feel different?”
“Things change, Jackson,” I say dismissively.
“I don’t mean normal changes, though,” he pushes, “Our standing in GCWA after debuting, compare it to now, are we looked at how we want to be? Even just the group itself. Noah isn’t wrestling, Shawn seems detached, Atty wasn’t a member but she’s not around anymore… you’re off in another company chasing tag team titles without me… now I gotta look over my shoulder for some new person to get added to the group and spread us all out even more? Or bump one of us out of the picture?”
“That’s crazy, it’s never going to happen,” I assure him.
“You say crazy, but it’s how I feel!” he affirms, “It’s how it looks from the outside.”
I look him in the eye.
“Nobody is getting replaced. You don’t need to be looking over your shoulder. I’ve never even committed to the idea that I’m going to try and bring another member in. The only reason you know about this to be concerned in the first place, is that I fucking told you. No, I ASKED YOU. The whole thing was a hypothetical, a what if, a ‘can you see the vision that I can see’...” I sigh, “I shouldn’t have said a goddamn thing.”
“No, no…” he finally relents, “You’re right. You told me up front. I just want to stay in the loop, that’s all. Don’t let me get caught in some sort of surprise storm, that’s all.”
I nod my head.
That was always understood.
“Just tell me one thing,” he pries, “Do you have anyone in mind yet?”
Stone Faced, I watch the bodies dancing on the floor. He reads my silence.
“Have you talked to Shawn about it, yet?” he asks.
“Not yet,” I mumble, “We have a tournament to win, championships to secure. We need to get past the Storm Chasers, and then we need to win in the finals. Everything else can wait until later.”
He nods.
He turns and stares out at the dancers with me.
We sip our drinks in silence.
I feel Jax’s eyes lock onto me, but I ignore it.
I survey the club; watching the bodies twist and bump on the dance floor, studying the people as they weave to and from the bartender with fists clenched tightly around crystal glasses and twenty dollar bills. His eyes never leave me, and still I ignore it.
He escalates things.
“So how’s it going?” he asks me vaguely.
“You’ve been with me all day,” I return blankly.
“That’s not what I mean,” he grumbles, “Project Honor. How’s it going?”
“Good. We’re winning. Shawn’s in their top five. I don’t see any of that changing any time soon. It’s good.” I take a sip of my drink.
“Yeah, well, that’s what we all expected when you signed up…” he says, voice trailing off as his dissatisfaction with my answer practically drips from him, “... and what about what we talked about before?”
“We talk about a lot of shit, Jackson,” I deflect with a shrug, “You need to be more specific.”
“Oh stop being such an asshole!” he spits at me, “Like, two weeks ago! On the bridge! We talked about what you were going to Project Honor to do… to… you know…”
He looks around to make sure nobody is listening in, and whispers;
“... expand Legacy?”
I shake my head in disbelief.
“Who the fuck do you think is listening in on us right now, Jackson? The CIA? The fucking Storm Chasers? You don’t need to whisper. These aren’t government secrets,” I chide, taking another deep sip of my drink to chase the bad taste he’s leaving in my mouth.
“Fine. I’ll shout it from the rooftops next time,” he promises sarcastically, “but what’s up with that?”
“Nothing is up with that, Jax,” I assure him, “You’re twisting my words. I never said I was going there to expand. I said I was open to it. I was looking at it and considering it. I’m not going to rush anything, though. Legacy isn’t McDonalds, looking to franchise to anyone who can write a cheque that clears… I know the kind of person we’d want, and I won’t compromise those standards… after all, I’m the one that found you.”
He says nothing.
There’s nothing he could say.
He stares across the dance floor for a long while, drinking deeply from his own glass.
Finally he breaks his silence.
“You’re still looking to do it, though?” he asks.
“I’m looking at every opportunity that benefits Legacy,” I tell him, “Just like I always have, and always will.”
He nods slowly. He doesn’t seem reassured.
“Serious question, dude,” he says, leaning across the table towards me, “Do things feel like they’re changing? From the day we started Legacy to now, do things feel different?”
“Things change, Jackson,” I say dismissively.
“I don’t mean normal changes, though,” he pushes, “Our standing in GCWA after debuting, compare it to now, are we looked at how we want to be? Even just the group itself. Noah isn’t wrestling, Shawn seems detached, Atty wasn’t a member but she’s not around anymore… you’re off in another company chasing tag team titles without me… now I gotta look over my shoulder for some new person to get added to the group and spread us all out even more? Or bump one of us out of the picture?”
“That’s crazy, it’s never going to happen,” I assure him.
“You say crazy, but it’s how I feel!” he affirms, “It’s how it looks from the outside.”
I look him in the eye.
“Nobody is getting replaced. You don’t need to be looking over your shoulder. I’ve never even committed to the idea that I’m going to try and bring another member in. The only reason you know about this to be concerned in the first place, is that I fucking told you. No, I ASKED YOU. The whole thing was a hypothetical, a what if, a ‘can you see the vision that I can see’...” I sigh, “I shouldn’t have said a goddamn thing.”
“No, no…” he finally relents, “You’re right. You told me up front. I just want to stay in the loop, that’s all. Don’t let me get caught in some sort of surprise storm, that’s all.”
I nod my head.
That was always understood.
“Just tell me one thing,” he pries, “Do you have anyone in mind yet?”
Stone Faced, I watch the bodies dancing on the floor. He reads my silence.
“Have you talked to Shawn about it, yet?” he asks.
“Not yet,” I mumble, “We have a tournament to win, championships to secure. We need to get past the Storm Chasers, and then we need to win in the finals. Everything else can wait until later.”
He nods.
He turns and stares out at the dancers with me.
We sip our drinks in silence.
FADE
TO
BLACK
TO
BLACK
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