The Impossible Traveler Presents: Conspiracy Theories
Jan 24, 2021 14:46:07 GMT -6
Deana Barrows, Mack O'Connor, and 1 more like this
Post by heavenstobetsy on Jan 24, 2021 14:46:07 GMT -6
1/16/2021
Bills Stadium
Orchard Park, NY
Despite how bitterly cold it happened to be, you couldn’t keep the most die-hard members of the Bills Mafia out of Buffalo that night. The Bills Stadium may have had limited attendance, but the passionate fans present made themselves heard. Among them were a very raucous James Raven and a more subdued Betsy Granger. The People’s GOAT was dressed as though the Buffalo Bills section of NFL.com had vomited all over him. He was on his feet, hollering excitedly at his team.
Betsy, however, sat quietly and just watched James intently. Normally, she’d have been loud and cheering right along with him, but her mind was not in the game. Raven cheers loudly when the Bills pick up a crucial first down. Betsy watches his face light up, a smile playing on her lips. This was the most life she’d seen in him in weeks and it was refreshing. All too aware of the slumps he would fall into, Betsy felt as though she were always watching him at this point.
The spring in his step had disappeared along with the GCWA World Heavyweight Title. Any joy she’d seen in him recently had revolved around her rising stardom. A puff of visible air gives away her quiet sigh. It was hard to believe that this cheerful cheering man next to her was the same broken down veteran that had come to her just the previous night for reassurance. It was like a knife in her heart, remembering the emptiness in his eyes and the sad expression on his face as he asked her if he still had what it takes to compete with the best of them. The swagger of the normally confident veteran had been stripped away. His words still reverberated as clearly now as when he had spoken them. It never ceased to amaze her how shaken he could still get, after all this time.
Touchdown Bills.
James jumps out of his seat roaring as Betsy gets up and claps politely. She can’t help but smile at the beam that lights up Raven’s face. Another cheer as the field goal increases the Bills lead. They both sit and James begins to chatter away enthusiastically about the Bills chances of moving on to the AFC Championship, but Betsy is only partially listening. Still lost in her thoughts, she stares into James’ face and nods to indicate he has her attention.
All of her feelings towards this man once again hit her all at once: The fierce need to protect him from anyone and everything. The desire to comfort him in his lowest moments and rejoice with him in the highest. She knew that she would die for him if it came to that, although she’d prefer that it didn’t. If he found he was too weak to wear the crown and carry the sword, then she as his queen would be more than ready to pick up both. And to be honest, that was about where the two of them were now.
Ever since the Righteous Rumble, James had seemed content to allow Betsy to take the reigns. Even though she knew he was proud of her and amazingly supportive, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some ounce of bitterness that came with it. It had to be hard for a legend of his caliber to step aside and allow the light to shine on his quickly rising girlfriend. Then again, he did seem to bask in the fact that she was proving to be every bit as talented and skilled as he knew she would be when he’d agree to start training her. And he had been the first to come out and congratulate her when he’d realized she’d won the Rumble itself. They were a team; at the core, it was always going to be them.
Two minute warning.
James is on his feet, practically bouncing up and down as each team regroups on the sidelines to discuss their last minute strategies. Betsy also happens to be in her seat, planning the same for Mack O’Connor, who had just barged his way into her head. The image of the knife in his hand, pointed towards James, burned her once more. She was thankful to the bitter cold, as it hid the flush that crept into her cheeks as a brief flash of anger hit. Ever since that night, she’d been consumed with exacting her revenge. It wasn’t just about bringing the World Heavyweight title home to Legacy…
This was about love. Whether he'd meant to or not, Mack O'Connor had made this match very personal.
A roar from the limited attendees as the final play is made and the clock runs down, sending the Buffalo Bills to their first AFC Championship game in twenty-five years. James is beside himself, manly tears streaking his face as he turns and lifts Betsy off the ground in a bear hug. She squeals between laughter, allowing her face to get covered in kisses until his lips catch hers. He knocks her cap off her head as his fingers plunge into her golden locks, his kiss enthusiastic. For a moment, it’s easy to forget everything else in the world as his joy overwhelmed her. Finally, he releases her face, leaving her breathless. He bends over to pick up the hat and places it gently back on her head.
Taking her hand, he starts to lead her out of the stands, but she doesn’t move. He turns around, confusion in his eyes. “You coming?”
“I love you, you know.” Betsy says.
Standing before her, James cups her cheeks and looks deep into her eyes. “I know that Bets, I love you too.” Even though she nods, she doesn’t let go of her grip around his torso. Chuckling, James wraps her up in a hug and kisses the top of her head. “I don’t know what this is about, but how about we discuss this later, perhaps somewhere warmer?”
A giggle escapes and she nods, allowing him to lead her down to the field to greet the retreating Bills players.
Recorded 1/16/21
“You know Mack, I consider myself a tolerant woman. Naturally, there’s a great deal going on in the world that I don’t like, but I firmly live by something my father used to say to me all the time: Pick your battles. It’s a lesson that’s hard taught and even harder to learn. It’s an expression that has got so much wisdom and impact for all its simplicity. So many times have I wanted to leap from the sidelines and wade into war. I see people I care about, people I love, being harmed. Not just physically, because let us be fair: most of the people I roll with can handle themselves. That’s not what concerns me.
No, I can see the mental scars piling up. One after the other, without another thought to the inflicted. Between what happens on the outside world and between those ropes is enough to fuck anyone up. Everyone has a history, some are worse than others. Here’s the thing: It’s how you choose to rise above the challenges. I’ll be honest: I don’t know the details of your sentence. There are always at least two sides to every story and I don’t really know yours yet.
Wait a minute… I just realized I don’t give a single flying fuck about your side of anything.”
As she talks, she walks across the playing field of Bills Stadium.
“I always try to give the benefit of the doubt; it’s my compassionate side. But it can only go so far, and you’ve definitely crossed that line. I never judge someone for any time they spend in jail. Innocent men are wrongly convicted of crimes all the time, a truth that gets swept under the rug entirely too often. And I understand, innocent or not, that one has to do what they must to survive in there. I had hoped that perhaps you were one of the wrongly accused, Mack. That maybe whatever you had or hadn’t done, you were now out of lockup and free to start fresh. And what is the first thing you do?
You pull a knife on my man.”
She stops at the fifty yard line and looks towards the end zone.
“You really brought prison rules to a wrestling match? What the fuck were you thinking about?”
She stares into the camera intensely, her expression changing as her brain works furiously.
“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about your motivations as of late. Considering what in all the universe would possess you to do something so unsportsmanlike, even by this industry’s standards, to your opponent? Were an assault charge and a one-way ticket back to jail really worth it? Or perhaps…”
She begins walking towards the end zone again, digging around in her pockets now.
“There is something more sinister going on.”
She pulls a magnifying glass out of her pocket and holds it up to her face. It enlarges her eye comically.
“I’ve been known to overthink, which is dangerous. When I start to overthink, I begin to turn over theory after theory about a certain subject in my head. Rest assured each theory gets crazier than the last. Whether you want to hear them or not, Mack here’s the shortlist of some of the ideas that rattled about the ol’ nugget.
The first is the easiest: You’re just a low life piece of shit who needs to be tossed back into solitary. I’ll throw away the key myself. But that’s no fun because there’s no intrigue behind it, so let’s move along.
The second is really only a half step up: Someone wanted you brought back to act as the brute you’ve proven to be. Even though we’re a locker full of professionally trained combat athletes, there are those who feel the extra protection wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. And everyone knows criminals can be bought easily, especially if it meant getting you out of the hole a little sooner.
But, if we elaborate on the last theory, we can evolve it to this: Someone higher up wanted you brought back for very nefarious means. If this was a simple job, your employer could have his or her pick of the litter around here. If someone higher up picked you personally, then whatever the job is, it’s messy. And it means they trust you with it, and, in turn, their confidence…
This could, on some level, bring me to my craziest theory: Deana Barrows smelled blood in the water early and made a deal with you in exchange for having someone to hide behind. It’s the same shit she pulled with Legacy. This theory is laughable in the fact that it gives the illusion that Deana is competent in her position. Perhaps she had enough foresight to see that her talon-like grasp on them was slipping away the moment I arrived. She doesn’t strike me as the type to sit around and wait on maybes; then again, she allowed an entire stable to become comfortable in the complacency of having things handed to them. Either way, she’s still big mad at me for unceremoniously kicking her to the curb.”
Betsy slips the magnifying glass back into her pocket.
“It doesn’t matter if anything I just proposed ends up being true. You’ve already revealed your cards, I know how you like to play now. It doesn’t matter to me, because this match goes far beyond the title for me. Of course, I fully intend to bring it back home to the Legacy where it belongs, but that’s merely the physical token of my impending victory. I’m going to make you feel every ounce of cold dread I felt when I saw the light shine off your blade and the intention in your eyes.
Do you have your blade ready for me? Just be aware, I’m pretty good with a knife myself. I’ve also got a really solid family that would just as soon throw you into a wood chipper than allow me to be harmed. A word of advice either way: If you take your shot, you better make it count. Because I promise you this: If you leave me alive, that will be the last mistake you ever make.
Can you feel that cold breeze, the one that spreads goosebumps across your skin? That’s the freezing touch of Death, and I his golden angel of vengeance and fury.”
Betsy reaches the end zone. She pretends to catch a football and throws it down in mock celebration. She does a few dramatic twirls and ends with both middle fingers sticking up.
Fade to Black
