Edge: Oh God.
???: No, no. Just a delivery. From FedEx.
Edge looked out into the entryway and all around. The man before him was dressed in a plain black t-shirt and jeans, no delivery truck in sight. He looked the man up and down, and then cocked his head.
Edge: I…
Flabbergasted, beside himself, completely caught off guard. What in the blue blazes was Lance Storm doing standing at his door.
Edge: Okay. Well, this… this gimmick was over years ago, and I’m not sure that your deliveries ever ended well for people. Um, where do I sign?
Lance stared blankly at the disheveled Adam Copeland, his messy demeanour not phasing his fellow Canadian at all.
Lance Storm: A gimmick? Sir, I have been working for FedEx for the better part of 10 years. I made that quite clear - I advertised them on television for quite some time. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to my life’s calling as a ‘gimmick’.
Edge: Of course. Of course, forgive me. Lance… what are you doing? In Tampa?
He pointed to the cardboard envelope Lance was holding.
Edge: I mean I know Jericho is the GM but surely he isn’t making you deliver the mail.
Lance Storm: Firstly, of course he is making me deliver the mail. I am his FedEx. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you but this is my job. Secondly, this is not mail - this is a package. Do I look like the US Postal Service?
Lance turned around and started laughing hysterically, bending over and slapping his thighs. He turned back around around 20 seconds later with a stern expression on his face.
Lance Storm: Insult me like that again and I’ll tell Christopher.
Edge: Right, sorry. So, um, my package?
He pointed again. Lance looked down at what was in his hand and smiled.
Lance Storm:This is the best part right here.
He lifted the envelope above his head as if it were some kind of baby lion, then presented it to Edge.
Lance Storm: Another FedExceptional delivery I think you’ll agree.
He winked at his former colleague.
Lance Storm: That’ll be $500.
Edge: Would you settle for a $50, and a Labatt Blue?
He took the envelope and began to tear open the perforated edge. He removed the single sheet of paper and read it.
Edge: My God, no wonder I’m on Television. It’s King of the Ring season. Wait… what year is it?
Lance Storm: Judging by my haircut it’s 1993, am I right?
He turned and began to laugh hysterically again, slapping his thighs rapidly. He turned back around, his face as stern as before.
Lance Storm: They told me to start being more light hearted with my deliveries after the incident at the library. It’s 2017. Jesus, do you not have a calendar on your wall?
Edge: Great, 2017. Neither one of us is relevant.
He squinted at the page.
Edge: Who the hell is Marty Scurll?
Lance leant in to have a look at the page.
Lance Storm: I don’t recognise any name on this list. This seems to be relating to a sport which I have no knowledge of. Oh wait - Eva Marie? I took her to my favourite owl sanctuary once. Didn’t call her back, though. Bitches be cray, am I right Jay?
Edge: Lance, I’m Adam. You know this. I’ve known you for over half my life. You know everything about wrestling, if not in one of your absurd moments of dementia! You seriously have no idea who Scurll is?
Lance took a moment to think, squinting asif every cog in his brain moving was causing him great distress. Then, something apparently hit him. He turned towards his van.
Lance Storm: LARRY!!!? LARRY!
The window wound down… but nobody was there.
Lance Storm: LARRY! I need a check on a ‘Marty Scurll’, stat. Our customer has made a QUERY!
There was around 2 minutes of awkward silence as Lance patiently waited for… something. Then…
Lance Storm: LARRY! You’re a star. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
He turned back to Adam and jumped backwards.
Lance Storm: HOLY SHIT hey Adam. It’s me, Lance! Anyway, Marty Scurll is a villain from England, as far as I’m aware. A young man seasoned in the ye olde British style of technical wizardry. He’s a crafty one for his age… Kind of like a young Lance Timothy Evers! You’re probably going to be made a fool of live on television.
Lance took a step forward and rested a comforting hand on Edge’s shoulder.
Lance Storm: Adam, you’ve known me half of your life. I keep telling you this. Sometimes you need to hear the truth… You’re in for a rough ride, my friend. He’s a star in the making.
Edge: Is that what you told Eva to get her to go to the owl sanctuary?
Lance turned and erupted in another fit of laughter. 30 seconds passed this time before he turned back, sternly.
Lance Storm: Owl sanctuaries sell themselves, idiot.
Edge: If there’s nothing else, Lance, I’ll thank you for the vote of confidence and get back to my… um… afternoon.
Lance Storm: It’s 8:30 in the evening. Take a shower. BYE!
Lance forced a smile at Edge then proceeded to run away from the door, straight past his van and down the street.Adam sighed loudly.
Edge: And now I have a van…
Adam looked down at the lineup in his hand again, and then closed the door, shutting himself up in his house once again.
The Air Canada Centre in Toronto was like a second home to the Rated R Superstar. He’d wrestled there numerous times since it’s opening in 1999, not to mention the countless Maple Leafs games he’d witnessed from the stands. Walking toward the the talent entrance of the arena, Edge felt a sense of great peace wash over him. Shouldering his bag, he reached for the door only to be confronted by an angry sounding voice.
Security: Halt! Excuse me! Your credentials please.
Edge looked around as though the security officer must be speaking to anyone but him. His right index finger came to point to his own chest.
Edge: My...credentials?
Security: Yes, name, reason for being on the premises.
Edge: Yeah, right, okay. Tell Randy this was really cute, but…
Security: Sir, I need your credentials or I’m going to have to ask you to leave.
Edge: Okay, I’m Edge. The Rated R Superstar. One half of Rated RKO. The longest reigning EBWF Champions in all of history. Edge.
The man flipped through a clipboard.
Security: How are you spelling that?
Edge: How do I spell, Edge? Copeland. Look for Copeland, Adam Copeland.
Security: Where are you coming from?
Edge: Toronto? I’m from Toronto!
Security: No, I’m asking what your business is here.
Edge: I am. A professional wrestler. I am here to work.
Security: If you’re a professional wrestler, why haven’t I seen you on TV?
Edge: Because I was hibernating through the winter! Now it’s MAY, and this is when they trot me out! I’ll be on TV for at least the next three weeks.
Security: Be that as it may…
Edge: No! You don’t understand. I go to the final four of this thing every year, and then every year I’m defeated soundly by PJ Black and…
Security: He’s the World Champion, standoffish guy.
Edge: I KNOW WHO HE IS. I work here.
Security: Well, Edge… if that is your real name…
Edge: It’s not. I told you my real name.
Security: You’re not on the list.
Edge: This is. Outrageous.
Edge reached for his phone.
Female Voice: It’s okay. It’s fine. He’s with me. Come on Edge.
Adam spun around toward the voice.
Security: If you’re sure Miss Young.
Renee Young was walking in from her vehicle. She wasn’t carrying anything, and had obviously been here earlier in the day. The security guard held the door open for her, and Adam followed inside.
Edge: I suppose you’re going to want an interview after helping me out of that jam.
Renee Young: But of course, you supposed correctly.
Edge: Fine, fine, just let me change my shirt.
Renee Young: I was wondering if maybe you could…
Edge: I am not bringing Randy to the interview.
She stammered.
Renee Young:: I uh, um, that wasn’t…
Edge: Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the help Renee. I’m looking forward to that interview.
Edge adjusted his bag and headed off down the hallway. He hadn’t been on the list, but he hoped someone had had the presence of mind to get him a damn locker room.
Renee Young:Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome, The Rated R Superstar, Edge!
EBWF was emanating live from the backstage area of the Air Canada Centre. Edge stood next to Renee Young in a black t-shirt with the familiar “Rated R” symbol aligned to the left and the words “Language. Sex. Violence.” to the right. Edge, thanks for agreeing to speak to us today.
Edge: Of course, Renee. You know I’m a sucker for any leggy blonde who wants to talk to me, so here I am.
Renee Young: So tonight, after a long hiatus from EBWF television you return to Warfare for the first round of the King of the Ring tournament. How does it feel to be back on Warfare?
Edge: I have had a bit of a house show schedule, helping some new EBWF upstarts learn the ropes, and while I like that role it is great to be back at Warfare and in the first round of the King of the Ring tournament. I pretty much have this thing in the bag, Renee. I go to the final four practically every year.
Renee Young: You didn’t last year.
Edge: You’re just full of delight and helpfulness today, aren’t ya, Renee? Listen, I’m the Rated R Superstar, and while that might not carry the clout it once did, it means something here in EBWF. It means greatness. It means the pinnacle of EBWF Superstardom. You aren’t ANYBODY until I’ve signed on the dotted line and agreed to a match with you, so welcome to the big time Marty Scurll. What is this, your first match in EBWF and already you’re going to be dismissed and forgotten, floundering for a spot on the next pay-per-view. Typical.
Renee Young: Edge, don’t you have any concern that having been out of the spotlight for so long might have made you a little… rusty?
Edge: I may have been out of the spotlight, but I’ve always been in a wrestling ring. So don’t count me out, just yet Renee. When you’re born to do this, there’s no such thing as ring rust, and I’m a mainstay in this tournament. I don’t lose in the first round. It’s not going to happen tonight either.
Renee Young: Edge, with the tag team division heating up, is there any…
Edge put up a hand.
Edge: Tonight, we’re just going to focus on King of the Ring. I may be a tag team pioneer, but I became a star all on my own. Remember that, Renee.
With that, Edge turned away from her and walked away from the camera. He knew he’d ended the interview prematurely, but he wasn’t about to answer questions about Rated RKO. As bizarre as his visit from Lance Storm had been, he was still a little apprehensive about the things the elder statesman of Canadian Wrestling had had to say. A young, hungry kid. Talented. Poised for greatness. Adam had become the Jannetty to Randy’s HBK. He was probably going to take the loss here, and put over the new kid. As he returned to his locker room, he was surprised to see his best friend standing just outside the door, muscular arms crossed at his gray t-shirt clad chest.
Randy Orton: How did Russ do?
Edge: Russ?
Randy Orton: Russ. The security guard. I gave him a twenty to pretend he didn’t know who you were.
The look on Adam’s face looked more like relief before it turned to humor.
Edge: Such a dick, Randy!
Then they were both laughing.
Randy Orton: My matches aren’t up yet. Who’d you get?
Edge: Some kid. Marty Scurll?
Randy Orton: Who? Skull?
Edge: Girl?
Randy Orton: Squirrel?
They laughed together again, and Randy leaned back against Adam’s door and opened it.
Randy Orton: You should come in. We have a lot to talk about.
Adam nodded, and followed Randy into the locker room. He wasn’t sure what the King of the Ring tournament would hold, but one way or another, he knew he was about to find out.
