FUNERAL PROCESSION
There’s nothing extravagant about what we see when the camera fades into a shot of the backstage area. Just a woman dressed to fight, her half of the PRIME Tag Team championships, and a wall. There’s not even an interviewer, because sometimes simple is best. and when your partner is Jared Sykes, simple is also exceedingly rare.
Justine Calvin paces a slow path as the camera follows. Her jaw is set. Her eyes are focused. She looks like a woman with a mission who’s hellbent on seeing it through to completion. When she speaks, there’s an intensity to her words that’s been thus far caged over the course of her time in PRIME.
Justine Calvin: I’m having a little trouble finding the words right now, but I guess that’s to be expected. How does somebody process the last twenty-four hours? Hell, how does somebody process the last three months? I have tried, and tried, and tried to wrap my head around it, but do you know what I’ve come up with? Nothing.
She adjusts the title belt that’s slung over her shoulder. In a few minutes, she’ll defend it for a fourth time. If she’s successful, she sets a new record. This fact, among everything else that the weekend has thrown her way, is not lost on her.
Justine Calvin: Maybe I’m overcomplicating it. Maybe, I dunno, maybe I’m giving people too much credit when I try to find a reason for anything that goes on here aside from someone being completely fucking unhinged. I used to look at people like Vickie, like Jonathan-Christopher, and I would think, damn, whatever their issue is I hope they get through it. I hope they figure their shit out. I used to feel bad, because they seemed to care so much about their “Hallmark journey”. Even when you take into account how insufferable they seemed, I used to want them to succeed.
She pauses, stares directly into the camera, and cocks her head slightly.
Justine Calvin: I used to.
She starts pacing again.
Justine Calvin: Then things got really interesting, didn’t they? The Love Convoy came barreling back into PRIME like it was driven by a drunk who could barely reach the pedals. Jared and I? Yeah, we got run over and left for dead in a ditch on the side of the road.
She glances over her shoulder at the camera and offers a wicked grin.
Justine Calvin: Problem is, you didn’t bother to check for a pulse before you rode off.
The belt is off her shoulder now, set off to the side so she can once again address the audience directly.
Justine Calvin: So now we’re here, and yeah, things aren’t great. My partner, my friend, one of the people I care most about in this fucking world might as well be a corpse right now. Is he in any condition to wrestle? Fuck. No. Is he going to do it anyway? You’re goddamn right he is. You want to talk about commitment? You want to talk about what it means to be an “amazing life partner?” Well take a good, long look, because this is what that looks like. And, I really hate to be the one to break it to you, but the unfortunate truth, you incel asshats, is there are some people you just can’t kill. Sorry, but you found a couple of us.
She shrugs for the camera as if she actually is sorry. Spoiler alert: she’s not. Not even a little.
Justine Calvin: The truth is that no matter the condition, tonight you’re stepping into the ring with the best fucking tag team this company has ever seen. Tonight, you’ve been called into the court of the Kings, and we’ve issued a decree to carry out your execution.
Justine raises a single finger from a heavily-taped hand and beckons the camera closer, almost as if she’s got a secret to share.
Justine Calvin: Tonight… the Love Convoy turns into a funeral procession.
A beat.
Justine Calvin: And when it’s all over?
She brings both hands up, loosening her wrists and cracking her knuckles. The grin is back, wicked and sinister.
Justine Calvin: We’ll see how I feel then.
Darkness.