Can You?

Los Angeles International Airport. Not even a fun part of it either. Killing time while waiting for boarding to Acapulco, RIA Lockhart sighed while her right hand rested on her hip. Traveler after traveler scrawled on by. Dressed in tattered black skinny jeans, a very loud New World Trash tank top and a pair of worn in Converses, Lockhart found her vision drawn elsewhere. And who could blame her?

Statuesque. Commanding charisma. Success with a coat of indifference slathered over top. Even in a basic gray T-shirt, shorts and flops, anyone with even a minor bit of wrestling knowledge could easily identify the individual. Former PRIME Universal, Five Star and Intense champion. The one and only Event Horizon; Hayes Hanlon.

“Hayes fuckin' Hanlon…” RIA practically spat his name. “They get you a first class ticket or do you have to fly with the rest of us common peons in commercial?”

Despite the less than friendly tone from Lockhart, Hanlon seemed rather apathetic while perusing his phone.

“I buy my own first class tickets. I'm too big for coach. But hey, if you ‘peons’ are happy with it, then go to town.”

“Too big, huh? You talking physically? Cuz I'm like a fuckin’ foot shorter than you, so I'd have to take your word for it.” RIA allowed a smug smile to slide across her lips. “Or are you talking your ego? Cuz I dunno if there's a plane that could fit the damn thing.”

Hammerin’ Halon huffed, shoving his phone aside gently.

“Jesus. Hi. Nice to see you, too.”

Lockhart's arms moved to cross on her chest. Any amusement, feigned or otherwise, quickly faded.

“Uh huh. Cuz you and I see each other that often, yeah? We've never exactly ran in the same circles.” The Rainbow Riot’s eyes narrow, lips curling like she just got a whiff of spoiled milk. “Even before the Glue, you were the golden boy while I was dicking around in the gutter.”

The arrogance that was radiating off Hanlon dissipated. In its place? A balloon of frustration, growing with each word from Lockhart’s mouth.

“Is this how you greet everyone you see in the airport? Shit, Ria, it's not show night. Or is it Lockhart? Or RIA? Or Nightshade? I can't keep up.” Hayes sneered with a flippant hand wave. Would a fight with an upcoming teammate in a public airport be forgiven by PRIME management? Was it worth the fine? Perhaps de-escalation was the right choice here.

“Well you ask Anna Daniels, Nightshade has been dead a long time. Call me whatever you want, dude. I've heard that joke enough that it doesn't bug me at this point.” The Psychoberry said with an eye roll, giving her nails more attention than the insult. “Anyway, I guess I'm supposed to be all respectful and shit just cuz we somehow ended up on the same team?”

Hayes scoffed, stopping short of getting seeking validation of RIA’s ridiculousness from any nearby eavesdropper. A thick finger went to his well defined chest.

“Respectful of who? Me? Whatever-the-fuck for? I didn't ask for that shit.”

Lockhart gave the Event Horizon her best ‘golden retriever that doesn't understand a damn thing you're saying’ look.

“Kinda makes a team run better when there's SOME amount of it.” RIA’s arms flung up almost flailing. “What? You think we're just gonna stumble around like a buncha morons and back into a win? Or do you even care about that?”

That insufferable smirk popped back up on Hanlon’s face, his fantastic mustache doing little to hide the high confidence. He gave her a lackadaisical shrug.

“Can't seem to buy a win these days, so maybe not.” Hayes' eyes travelled. Was he… appraising her? “But hey, we can stumble around each other all we like, in the ring or at the after-party. I won't give a fuck either way.”

Lockhart couldn't tell you what caused her face to start steaming. Hayes being… Hayes. The mild complaint about his record. Maybe the fact that she had to share a side with him? Realistically, it was probably a combo of everything.

“YOU can't buy a win?!” RIA snorted, her being practically on fire. “Dude, I'm to the point where I'm starting to think I'm gainfully employed cuz people have fun kicking the shit outta me. Also, I'm taken, so I ain't looking to stumble around anyone else at the moment.”

Another shrug, still with the least energy the Comeback Kid needed to expend for the action.

“Don't let me tell you how to have a good time. Did you have a point to make or something?”

Lockhart inhaled. It was the only thing that came to mind to ground the woman. A dive into a cold pool might quell her fury, but alas, such an option wasn't available.

“Okay, listen… We're both clearly not happy with recent results, yeah? Now we're on a team where you hate at least one member of said team, if not more.” The Rainbow Riot reasoned. “So, what? We just gonna let whatever be? Potentially get ourselves embarrassed? Regardless of how I feel about you, I don't need to get humiliated in the first fuckin' main event I've been in since I joined PRIME!”

That last statement? A curveball that swiped the smirk off Hanlon’s lips.

“And how do you feel about me, exactly? You still holding a grudge about something I said on Jabber three years ago?” A valid question from Hayes, if nothing else. Was Lockhart’s face growing to match the ends of her hair in color? If not, it sure felt like it.

“How do I feel about you? You have everything I never had! Size. Natural talent. A cool charisma without any other kind of hang-up. You're practically the polar opposite of me!”

The outburst of rage was quick to chill. RIA’s line of sight locked to the floor. Nerves, embarrassment, she could feel the philosophical hand of emotion clutching her throat. Words, ones she'd rather have contained in her inner prison, push their way out. Her tone? Strained, sullen.

“And it makes me feel inadequate as fuck.”

Hanlon’s black, well maintained eyebrows raise by centimeters for just a moment. The previous hostile energy morphed, slipping into something uncomfortable. What would follow? Mockery? Dismissive disgust? Or…

“What are you drinking?”

That… That was unexpected. A drink with Hayes Hanlon. Such a thing was certainly not on Lockhart’s bingo card. But his words, the way he just spoke? Maybe not pillow soft, but it was an improvement to the snark and division the two had been engaging in.

“Shit… I'd be fine with a rum and coke. I'm not unfamiliar with drinking cheap.” The Psychoberry couldn't help herself. A small smile, heavy but genuine, found a spot on her mouth.

Grabbing their carry ons (damn near forgotten in their bitchfest), the duo walked a few minutes to the closest bar. Bags are set down, but before they can take their seats, RIA felt the massive arms of Hayes engulf her in a tight hug. She was practically wooden initially. But in a matter of seconds, her muscles slacked and she let her arms wrap around the man's barrel chest.

“This business is fucking hard. There's nothing inadequate about you.” He lets Lockhart free from the embrace, but keeps her at arms length. A smile, not all that different from the one RIA wore after the drink offer, appeared on Hanlon’s face. “Just wish you didn't get so far up my ass about Angel.”

The Rainbow Riot laughed. She had to. Things were getting a bit too soft now and she knew how she reacted to such situations. No crying, not right now.

“Yeah, well, now I'm up my own ass about her. I wanted the best for her… and honestly? I wanted the best for you at one point.” Lockhart sighed, ruffling the back of her hair. ”I'm starting to think I'm getting bitter and jaded. I'm fighting through it as best I can, but shit… Maybe I kinda get your detachment, to a degree.”

That confident smirk was back. But this time? RIA didn't hate it. It almost came off as playful.

“It's an acquired skill.” His words only continue to lighten the mood. One glass for each; gin on the rocks for Hanlon and the requested rum and Coke for Lockhart.

“I didn't want to be a part of this Squad shit. At all. But if you try, then I'll try.” The Event Horizon expelled an exaggerated huff, as if being asked to go back out to the store cuz the dumb bastard forgot milk. RIA rolled her eyes yet again. The tongue? Firmly in cheek with both of them.

“Well… We're up against a group of some of the scummiest motherfuckers in PRIME. They ain't gonna take it easy on us. So you got my back? I got yours. Cuz we ain't gonna survive otherwise.”

Another shift. But this time? Same page. Two members of PRIME, less than a year apart in age, yet almost contradictory in every other facet. The threat that lay in the future was serious. A band of miscreants, some of the most morally wretched men in wrestling would be standing across from them. This was no mere ‘match’. This was not for simple bragging rights. There would be pain. There would be suffering. But together? Their whole team? They could survive. They had to. Hayes leaned to his left, a beefy arm enveloping RIA’s surprisingly toned shoulders. This time, she subtly leaned into the contact. He spoke, the confidence that permeated his smile extending to his voice.

“I got your back.”

Lockhart felt the water sloshing gently to and fro against her ankles while the sky sparkled, tiny bright lights against a deep blue, near black sky. Quiet. Something she had in limited doses for a number of reasons. Her conversation with Clay seemed to be the only thing breaking the peace. Survive. The word she used with Hayes. Same word spoken by Byrd. Her train is thought derailed when unexpected company strode up next to her.

“Oh, Youngblood. What's up, big guy?”

There was darkness despite the stars, but even still, the subtle sway of The Diamond did little to hide him. His manner, however, was different than what she might have anticipated.

“Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiia.” The long drawl gave away that something was amiss. The young woman had heard such cadence in the past. Time to put up deflectors, and if what was most feared happened.

“You, uh… You good?”

She knew better. But still, ask the question anyway. Let the information flow like the ocean; what was meant to would wash up. The rest would float out to sea.

“Like, I know you got a lot on your plate at all times. You wanna bitch or talk or whatever, I'm happy to listen.”

“Sorry. I’m...” a bit of a laugh. “Hayes gave me some molly. You want a bit?”

Lockhart chuckled, head softly turning side to side.

“I'm good, but thank you. I try not to go much higher than weed or alcohol nowadays. Bad past with shit, ya know? Ain't looking to judge anyone for it. I guess… I feel like I have too much I'm not willing to sacrifice now. Wasn't always like that for me.”

We're being serious, apparently. Pink highlights, piercings and tattoos be damned.

“I...respect that.” For his part, Youngblood took a few steps forward, then, took a seat directly in the water. That he was in combat shorts didn’t seem to register. “I used to take somas and drink heavily. Downers. Had a lot of rough shit I tried to not feel. Probably old hat though, everyone knows that stuff.”

Despite knowing Youngblood was not in his right mind and that taking a seat in water would be a very silly thing to do… Lockhart took a seat next to him. Still in jeans. This will be potentially chaffing later.

“Just cuz people know doesn't mean it should stay unspoken.” RIA pulled her knees towards her chest, looking over at the large man. “Someone like you? The influence you got? People listen when you speak, ya know?”

She can't help but scoff, her voice near as soft as the waves tickling them, teasing, then retreating.

“It's something I've always wanted. Have a voice, one loud enough to enact change. People talk about the less fortunate or the underprivileged without doing shit. I should do more. But I was hoping I could be that in wrestling. In PRIME. Feels like I'm not even close.”

“Can I level with you?” Brandon started, his hand instinctively reaching for her shoulder, but then, falling to his side. His fingers strummed along the brine. “Only reason anyone gives a shit what I got to say is because I won a bunch of matches. Won a lot of titles. And Lindsay looked at me as a big, important person to set up the ReVival.” Fingers, running along his scalp. “I have people invent my motivations. My expectations. Who and what I am, based on what they want and need it to be in that moment. And that’s fine. Make them guess, I suppose.”

RIA’s eyes narrow, a scowl on her lips.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You think it's just cuz you won matches?” Her tone carried an edge. “Dude, fuck you! Won some matches… Motherfucker, you were, ARE the standard of excellence! Nobody gave that to you! You earned that shit! Grit. Determination. Talent. You got all that!”

This was now less about ruminating, though Lockhart would surely do so further in her room. No, there was a bigger issue right now.

“Time and time again, you've told guys like Colton and Hayes to get on your level, to prove they deserve that mantel and everything that came with it. You held them to that. So stop acting like you're just a fuckin’ pawn when you're the goddamn bogeyman a good chunk of the roster practically pisses themselves at when in the ring with you!”

His head lolled, his eyes meeting hers. “You’re mistaking me...no pawn about it. It’s force of nature. That’s what I am. I just think it’s funny that people got to create some mythology for it all.” A careful snort. “You know...you can be important to a lot of people, with your background. Your life. Your story. But the reality is...the hoping...the boundless hope...that’s a survival instinct. Like...cornered. You don’t want to just survive. You...want to thrive.” Survive. That fucking word again. The Psychoberry let out a sputtering sigh. “That's the problem… Surviving? Been doing that my whole life. Kinda at my core at this point. Practically a cockroach in human form over here. And I don't even have the benefit of whatever bullshit Kael has. I get hurt, I have to heal. But it feels like the hurting never stops. Thrive? I dunno how to do that. Thought I was getting a handle on it awhile back. But here I am. Still struggling. Still surviving, but little else.”

“Demand more of the sport,” his response is tarse. “At a certain point...the reality is...you have to reach out and you have to take. And that’s not some...manifest your dreams to success shit. At a certain point...you have to attack the sport. You have to make it the thing that is surviving you. The world is an economy of suffering. And look at the people at the table who eat well.” Finally, his hand reaches her shoulder. “Why the fuck should their bellies be full while you starve?”

She chuckled. Sounded similar but different to advice from someone else.

“I'm far better at giving than taking. Guess that's my problem. I know this much at least… Jiles? Diamonds? Kael? Gamble? Ain't looking to give them shit at Culture Shock outside of a bloody exit!”

“Then get a rumble in your gut, woman.” He stood up in the ocean. “I want you to go out there and focus on taking. I want you to have a goddamn feast!” A hiccup.

“Pancakes…optional.”

Hell. I ain't sure where to even start with you shitbags. Outside of Captain Crumb, you other three have all caused me some kinda strife. Tony Gamble, you've been a thorn in my ass since the moment you popped back up in PRIME. Yeah, still holding a grudge over Great American Nightmare 2022. But that's not where it stopped with us, is it? Let's take Jabber out of the equation entirely. Even without that, you hit me with a fuckin' wrench! And even after securing a win, you still held onto your weird ass submission. Hurts like hell when you're conscious, by the way, would not recommend.

Then we got Daytona Diamonds New Game+. Hey, remember when you stole that win over Bobby Dean from me? Eh, not that big of a deal in hindsight. No no, but that ain't the last time we crossed paths, is it? You remember what I'm talking about? Cuz I barely fuckin' do. I know you fuckers wanted to set me on fire, though. And you hit me with a flying chair cuz you're a reckless dick with no regard for safety! I'd say we should send you to anger management, but I feel like you'd still find a way to snort and/or inject it.

Max Kael. What can I say to you that I haven't already said? You're such a self-absorbed piece of sentient garbage that you spent months shit talking me without even knowing who the fuck I was! Still only my second favorite ass stabbing, though. I don't exactly know what to expect from you cuz you're batshit insane. I'm not far off myself, so maybe I should tap into that? But then maybe you'll expect that and you'll dial back the insanity or maybe even turn it up? Then I'll have to move my pawn to B8 or you'll blow up my Cruiser and… Wait, what the fuck was I talking about?! Anyway, I'll probably keep a fork handy, just to be safe. And I'm not calling you the next day either!

Then we got the last. The least. Cancer Jiles. You seem to constantly find a way to stick near the top of the card, no matter what happens to you. Guess you're appropriately named, yeah? Real talk? I don't respect you. Even with what you've accomplished, I see you as a worthless fuckstick wearing stupid glasses that does NOTHING but take! You take from PRIME! You take from wrestling as a whole! A selfish, callous stain that nobody can seem to get rid of. But hey, everything ain't perfect for you, yeah? Lost what remained of the Bandits to Ivan. Pretty sure your ho still makes eyes at him. How do you say ‘cuck chair’ in Russian? Anyway, Mr. Maneater, you're gonna need to adjust your taste buds for me. I promise you I'm of a higher quality than what you've been munching. Ha.

Joking aside, I know the stakes here. As much Trash as I might talk, there's gonna be danger standing across the ring. So what can I do? What can we do? Me? I'm gonna do what I do best; no touchy feely shit, no positive message, no honest effort being enough… I'm gonna survive. That, surviving, it's what's defined me no matter what's happened.

No matter how many goddamn stones life throws in my backpack, I keep pushing, keep fucking moving! My waste of space sperm donor couldn't be bothered with me! My abusive, drunken stepdad beating the shit outta me and my younger brother… And I couldn't do a fucking thing to protect him! Getting bullied in school cuz being poor is reason enough for kids to be cruel. And even after THAT got better, my journey to discover myself deserved ridicule too! That's just life without even going into the shit wrestling has done to me!

But I survive. That's what I do. No matter what awful crap I've put into my body, no matter what form of torture I've suffered in the ring, I survive. My question is can you boys do the same? Can you survive the megaton diamond tipped drill bearing down on you? Can you survive the horns of a pissed off, red eyed bull stampeding towards you? Can you survive the pressure of facing THE premier power hitter without pissing your pants in fear? I'll make you all a promise. I'll bury you under a rainbow… One proceeded by a torrential downpour that strikes your asses down with unholy vengeance!

We will survive. And we will take. Do your best to stop us if you can.

Can you?