Best Served Cold? I Have A Jalapeno In One Pocket And A Ghost Pepper In The Other

Being an older sibling has a range of emotions one deals with during the passage of time. Frustration. Anger. Jealousy. Negativity can define the bond of blood if one so chooses. Tom Battaglia can tell you as much. Such things don't have to be. Friendship. Understanding. Trust. When fate smiles favorably on a pair of siblings, the bond they form can be one of beauty, one of the strongest humanity is capable of.

Brendan Lockhart wasn't exactly the upper crust of the adult world. The 28 year old had a one bedroom apartment, habitable but certainly not extravagant. Employed as an assistant manager of a nursing home kitchen, when he wasn't at work, he was usually found at his computer. Gaming was his passion, the thing that kept him sane in a world he hated venturing out into. He had dropped out of high school at the age of 16 due to bullying, getting his GED online near the time he would have graduated.

He was an intelligent man, but not necessarily one that valued social interaction. The less he had to deal with people, with their judgment and expectations, the better. His mother had secretly contemplated if he might be high functioning autistic due to certain behaviors he exhibited. She wouldn't have loved him any less, but time had moved to a point where such a thing was irrelevant.

She wasn't the only one with that attitude. Brendan had always been close with his older sister. They shared a bedroom growing up, the routine lasting well into their teen years. Any time word got back to her of any bullying towards her brother, she would fly off the handle in a rage. She was protective of him. Always had been, always would be. It made it a bit ironic that by the time the two were done growing, Brendan was two inches taller and 20 to 30 pounds heavier than his sister. Even as the smaller of them, she was the protector. That's just the manner in which their relationship unfolded.

When they could, the adult brother and sister would get online together to play games or talk, at the very least. Brendan had grown used to her being away from home. When she was 16, the sister would make the occasional trip hours away. After graduating high school, she stayed away longer and longer. He wasn't happy that he missed her during her recent visit, but that was part of being an adult; sometimes you miss out on things that matter more than your paycheck should. At least they had this time together. It was better than nothing. Seated at his computer, Brendan slid his headset on, pushing his long black hair back in the process. He switched his monitor input over, tapping the icon on his controller to power on his PS5. Moments after logging in, he joined a party with one member in it.

“Yo!” The voice of RIA cheerfully called out from the other end. Yes, the sister was RIA. You clicked on this, you already knew that! This would be the last time the two would game together before RIA's schedule ramped back up with PRIME. She had been making appearances on ReVival, but she would soon be stepping foot back into the squared circle. More time in the gym, more traveling, a heavier burden than goofing around backstage.

“Whaddya want?!” Playful anger was the response from Brendan. They had the weird in-jokes and behaviors that come with forming a close knit link with another person. Feigned anger was one such example.

“I got on to play something with you, bitch!” The eldest Lockhart impishly retorted. “So what's it gonna be?”

Lately, the two had settled on fighting games. The result was almost always the same; Brendan kicks the crap out of RIA. Rinse and repeat. When they were younger, there was a streak of competitiveness that would slink its way into their games, like mold slowly spreading over what should be fun. As they grew, RIA found herself less and less concerned about beating her younger brother. She'd put forth her best effort, no doubt, but the result started meaning less and less. It was the time spent together, enjoying each other's company, that's what really mattered.

“Street Fighter 6?” Brendan offered.

“Sounds good.” RIA answered, booting the game up. Minutes later, after a few loading screens, menus and invites, the two were facing off. RIA selected her favorite, Chun-Li, while Brendan went with Juri. Frantic mashing of the directional pad and face buttons followed. RIA considered herself a decent enough fighting game player, but she was somewhere between a casual and the experienced online player. Hit box, frame data and other such terms meant little to her. Her brother? He was acutely aware of them. Another W in the column for Brendan.

“So you been following PRIME?” RIA floated the question out during the downtime of the game loading. The two had watched a lot of wrestling growing up. Brendan considered following RIA into the sport, but his previous trauma kept him from pursuing that. She knew he still had an eye on wrestling, though the scrutiny of that gaze was unknown.

“I watch clips now and then.” Her brother answered. With some people, responses like this would need to be taken with a grain of salt. A veil to hide excitement, to temper potential embarrassment if the other party doesn't approve. Brendan was unique in that he couldn't bring himself to lie. It was a noble quality, one RIA quietly admired him for. Even the little white lies most of the population throws out from time to time were beneath him. It wasn't a matter of misguided moral superiority. He just didn't like lying. “Watched some clips of Anna Daniels.”

He had admitted to RIA long ago that he was a fan of The Muse, citing her casual snark and awesome moveset as the primary reasons. During Christmas of 2022, she had gifted Brendan an Anna branded T-shirt. To this day, he still wore the garment when the mood suited him.

“Gonna have my first match back soon.” The casual tone with which RIA delivered that line belied the excitement she felt inside. She had been clean of hard drugs for over four months now. This, pro wrestling, an almost life long love, was helping to fill that void. “I'm looking forward to it.”

“Hope it goes better than last time.” Brendan bluntly replied. Yes, on top of lacking the ability to lie, he was a bit of a pessimist. It wasn't that he didn't believe in his sister. Their mother, Gina, had revealed to RIA that her younger brother secretly gushed about how proud he was of her, how he looked up to his older sister. That's how it had always been between them. The love was there, but it was silent, unspoken.

“It will.” The Psychoberry assured him. “Imma kick names, take ass and get all the shinies!”

Brendan chuckled. She was always good at getting a laugh out of him and vice versa.

“I'll have to check it out when it happens.” The sentence seemed so non-committal. RIA knew better. He would watch. He might even text her about it after. She could feel her heart swell, a sponge of joy taking in all the liquid of love that such an act meant for her.

“First though, the ass I'm gonna kick is yours. In this fight. Right now.” The older sister gleefully taunted. A snort came in response.

“Sure. Let's see how that goes.” Brendan deadpanned. He couldn't see it, but she had the widest smile on her face. It wasn't because she genuinely believed she was going to win the fight. It's because, regardless of the game or the result, she already had.

TAP TAP TAP

RIA stood back after politely rapping on the door of a house. It had been almost two years since she first laid eyes on it. She could feel the fluttering in her stomach. If those butterflies were real, they'd be trying to escape out of any orifice they could manage right now. An eternity later (real time: 30 second), a woman opened the door. Middle aged, graying black hair pulled into a loose ponytail, with a light olive complexion, she peered just past the edge of the door. Whether it would be any protection from the neon gremlin standing in front of her would be a question left unanswered.

“Can I help you?” The woman's voice was laced with concern. The Psychoberry made an attempt at putting on her sweetest smile, which probably only terrified the woman further.

“Is Krystal home?” RIA inquired, pouring enough verbal syrup on the question to make even FLAMBERGE potentially yak. The older woman seemed all too happy to make a retreat into the house. Soon after, she appeared.

Krystal Ortega, the young transgender woman Ria Nightshade had helped so long ago, the one the RiIP version of Lockhart had been so callous towards. The surprise she had been wearing on her face at having a visitor switched to cold fury in an instant.

“I don't want to talk to you.” The door slammed. That was it, end of this interaction. At least it would have been if RIA hadn't put her left arm up to halt the action.

“Please…” The Technicolor Comforter of Wrestling pleaded, with both her tone and her eyes. “Give me a chance to explain myself.”

The look that Krystal gave her in return… If those butterflies were real, they'd all be dead from the metaphorical gut punch RIA felt from the way the young woman looked at her. The silence gnawed at the wrestler’s confidence. Maybe it was too soon? Maybe there was no fixing this? Just as doubt began to make itself comfortable at the dinner table…

“You have two minutes.” Krystal stated flatly, opening the door while keeping her feet planted at the threshold. RIA took in a deep breath. Fuck off doubt, you weren't invited to this party.

“I wanna start off by apologizing.” She began. “I was in a pretty dark place when you saw me last. It felt like I was losing control of everything; my life, my career, nothing seemed to be going right. So I made some choices, most of which I regret now.”

Though the Psychoberry's words were genuine, young Miss Ortega seemed unmoved thus far. RIA continued.

“I tried to push my friends away, tried to harden myself cuz I thought the outside world was too cruel. In the end, if it weren't for a friend, I'd be dead right now.”

There it was. A glimmer of concern, ever so briefly, flashed across Krystal’s face.

“What do you mean?” Ortega asked. Caution seemed to trump concern in this inquiry. Fool me once…

“I overdosed on heroin.” THAT did it. The matter-of-fact, straight tone RIA delivered that line in left the young fan’s mouth agape. “If it weren't for a friend I tried to shut out being too damn good for me, I wouldn't be here.”

Krystal’s eyes fell to her feet. It was hard to conjure up anger at someone after they drop that kind of information on you. Still… the wound from months ago was just shy of raw.

“What does that have to do with me?” Ortega just wanted this to end. She didn't want to forgive Lockhart. She didn't want to get her hopes up, only to have her heart shattered like a porcelain doll once more.

“I was in a coma for a minute. Didn't have the greatest effect on my brain meats.” Funny term, meant to lighten the dour mood. Goal failed. “I remember some stuff clearly, other things are hazy, certain memories are completely gone. There's one, though, that my mind keeps going to… That meet and greet.”

Krystal’s gaze shifted up, locking onto the Psychoberry's face. She felt her pulse surge. Where was RIA going with this?

“I failed you.” the former Lockhart stated bluntly. “I failed you as a role model, I failed you as a positive influence, I failed you as a friend. I won't lie and say I regret it every day or something. But I legitimately stop, once a week, and ask myself why I did something so shitty? You didn't deserve that treatment.”

The girl tried to steady her shaky breathing and slow her pounding heart.

“Are we done here?” Krystal tried to sound strong, forceful, but it came out almost as a whimper. RIA nodded gently. Not the desired result, but she had said her piece.

“One last thing.” The Psychoberry said. “Before I go… Can I have a hug?”

Ortega felt her breath get caught in the roadblock that was now her throat. This was a bad idea. She should say no, tell RIA to leave now. Get this malignant woman out of her life. She wasn't worthy of such an affectionate gesture. So why were Krystal's feet moving? Out on the porch now, the shorter RIA wrapped the lithe young adult in a tight embrace. Ortega could feel the warmth of the Psychoberry's body, smell the sweet perfume wafting off her person. She clutched the back of RIA's shirt, burying her head in the older woman's shoulder. The sobs were soft at first, but grew in intensity every few seconds. All the while, RIA cradled her head and gave her the physical reassurance needed to let Krystal get all of this confused emotion out of her body. Minutes passed before the girl finally began to calm down and compose herself. When they separated, the former Lockhart kept her left hand gently rested on Ortega’s shoulder while her right wiped the girl's reddened cheeks free of tears.

“You still have my number, right?” Krystal nodded weakly in confirmation. “Good. I wanna make things better. I wanna fix this. I also have an idea I wanna run by you for the future. I think you'll like it…”

One of the activities RIA and Kohime Mori regularly took part in was dinner preparation. Young Kohime was well versed in many talents, one which happened to be cooking. This night, the meal they were preparing was chicken stir fry. Mori had rinsed the chicken, working diligently to cube the raw bird after. For her part, RIA was peeling a carrot.

“Are we adding mushrooms?” Kohime questioned.

“Fuck yeah, we're adding mushrooms!” Why even ask that? Kohime nodded with a smile while “Make My Story” by Lenny code fiction bopped in the background from a Bluetooth speaker. Mori was always in control of the music while they cooked but RIA didn't mind. The mix of Japanese, Korean and American pop music certainly kept things light.

“You see who I'm facing on Rev 44?” The Psychoberry asked, sightline turned towards her friend. Kohime shook her head, focused on her chicken chopping. RIA didn't wait for further reaction. “Tony fucking Gamble!”

Mori froze like she had been hit by a Sub-Zero ice blast. The Mortal Kombat character, not an act of nature. Past trauma came flooding back into her head, torment she had tried so hard to relinquish. It didn't take a trained professional to read her body language. RIA continued peeling the carrot after a peek towards her friend.

“Imma smack the gabagool outta him!” The Psychoberry stated confidently. Mori set the knife she'd been using down on the counter sideways, hand still over top of the handle.

“Miss Ria…” Her voice trembled ever so slightly, a level or two louder than a church mouse.

“Yeah yeah yeah…” RIA had grown to know Mori well enough to see where this was going. “He's tricky.”

“He's not just tricky.” Kohime kept her gaze affixed to the cutting instrument. “He's devious. The things he did with Morty, the way he manipulates people…”

Even with her feelings for Nate Colton, the Moé Monster still remembered Mortimer Kjedelig. She wouldn't call him the other name, the one that came after his Alias title win. Mori wanted to remember the good times, not what followed. The sigh that came from RIA's person wasn't sad or disappointed. Annoyance, annoyance at the fact that her compatriot should know better by now.

“Kohime, listen.” The Psychoberry began. “Tony? He's a schemer. He schemes. That's what he does. The problem is that for schemes to work, the person has to play along. They have to go left if that's what you've plotted for. I ain't going left. Hell, I'm not even in the room!”

Mori tilted her head curiously, her eyes having fallen upon her roommate.

“You can't plan for crazy, ‘Hime. You can try but it's futile. That's not even the worst part for ol’ gnarled grin!” RIA cackled.

“What is it?” Kohime wondered aloud. RIA smirked, lips stretched and eyes wild.

“I owe him.” RIA said. “I owe him for a whole lot. Great American Nightmare ‘22. The shots at my mental health. Everything he ever did to you! The shit he's done to all of my friends! Plus, I'm starting with a fresh slate. So I'm looking to start strong. Imma leave that motherfucker wishing he was still attempting to read receipts back at Costco!”

“Do they read receipts there?” Kohime asked authentically.

“I don't fucking know, ‘Hime! That's not the important part here!” RIA huffed. “This is about teaching a lesson. One that's a long time coming for Gamble and maybe one for Rose, if her ass is paying attention. Right Steppy?!”

Sitting propped up in the corner is Steppy. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just… stared.

“You always know what to say, Steppy!” The Psychoberry smiled brightly. Kohime shook her head while finally resuming cutting the chicken.

“Is everything gonna turn out okay with Rose?” Kohime put forward. RIA's started on peeling a new carrot.

“Dunno.” The former Lockhart shrugged. “She seems to wanna use anger to push her forward. Bitch doesn't realize that rocket is chained to the ground. She needs to let that shit go or it's gonna swallow her whole. Imma try to teach her that, but this is PRIME. So I'm gonna have to use my fists and feets to do it!”

“Wrestling is kinda weird sometimes.” Mori tossed the cubed chicken into a pan.

“I was gonna violate a mannequin owned by a guy who wore a fruit themed mask that I once jabbed in the ass with a lockpick. There was a funeral for a god damn car. The Troy Boys? Yes ‘Hime, wrestling is weird sometimes.” RIA listed out. Silence blanketed the kitchen for a brief moment.

“I like it, though.” Kohime smiled softly. The Psychoberry snorted and mirrored the expression of her friend.

“Me too, babe. I'm glad to be back.”