So! I am re-writing WWE Impact, and therefore this is, quite obviously, the first chapter! Enjoy, and sorry for any errors!


"Amazing," John Hennigan began, "that Vince actually agreed to this. I'm surprised, really, I am. I predict a bad end. Don't you, Mike?"

Mike Mizanin simply shrugged, his eyes shifting over to watch as Matt Morgan (known as the "Blue Print" in the TNA locker rooms) strolled by, a cell phone at his ear. He had a suitcase behind him; his knuckles were white from gripping it so tightly. And, unfortunately for Mike, the big man rolled it right over his foot. Jumping out of pain, Mike cursed like a sailor and glared back at Matt. "Damn...! John, I hate this. We've been getting dirty looks from every TNA guy we see! And now this!"

John clapped his companion on the shoulder agreeably, saying, "Yeah, I know, right? Oh well, don't sweat it. I'm sure Vince will get us a great storyline where we can kick Matt's sorry ass." Mike's lower lip jutted out in a pouty fashion, but he nodded and straightened up, sending a dirty look over his shoulder. With that, the two were off and through the parking garage of Orlando's airport. John put one hand in his pocket, the other occupying the handle of his suitcase as he commented, "I think Lola's waiting for us. She said for us to meet her at gate B9 half an hour ago."

To this, Mike snorted. "We'll be fashionably late. She'll understand. She's Lola."

"But Lola's not the most agreeable person..."

Of course, Mike just waved his friend's comment off and the two continued on at a leisurely pace, chatting jovially.

Meanwhile...

"Oh, crap! No... Not Empoleon! Damn..." Lola sighed and face palmed, slamming her elbow down on the armrest of the airport chair. The brunette was playing a rousing game of Pokemon Platinum, and her companion, Michelle McCool, was watching, not to mention the fact that she was stifling a few giggles.

"Lola, calm down!" Michelle said, resting a hand on her friend's shoulder. "It's a video game, not a life or death situation. Just because your...creature...thing, died-"

"Fainted, Michelle, fainted."

"Whatever! Like I was saying, just because that thing fainted doesn't mean you'll die. Chill out."

"But, but... Fine..." Lola nodded and looked down at the DS that was so preciously held in her hands. "Ah, crap. Whatever." With that, the brunette flicked up the switch without even bothering to save the game, before stowing her DS away in the carry on bag that lay at her feet. "Anyways..." She looked down at her watch and gave an exasperated sigh.

And, before she could even speak, Michelle chuckled. "Mike and John are late again, eh?"

"Ayup. Again." She turned to Michelle. "And, Mike is so predictable, that I know he'll give me the 'fashionably late' excuse."

The blonde laughed and patted Lola's shoulder. "Like I said: Chill out."

"Yeah, yeah, commencement of the chilling has begun." Lola pulled off her glasses and jammed them in her hoodie pocket, before placing her sunglasses on her face and tilting her head back. "Ahhh, the chilling feels nice." Michelle simply rolled her eyes and returned her eyes to the magazine which she had been reading earlier.

OxOxO

John and Mike found gate B9 a good half hour later, with the former groaning the complaint, "Why are we on the same flight as those...those amateurs?" Mike nodded as he searched the sea of faces for Lola or Michelle, his brow knitting impatiently. "I mean... I'll probably end up next to Matt Morgan...or...or Jeff Jarrett or something..."

"Hey, maybe we'll see Jeff Hardy," Mike thought aloud, only to gain a punch in the arm from John.

"Pff, don't get my hopes up..."

"I shan't."

"Is that even a word?"

"Is what a word?" Mike responded, looking at his friend curiously. John just shook his head and spotted Lola, who was standing in line at the small Starbucks booth. "I bet she's ordering hot chocolate without us," grumbled Mike, who put on a pouty face and made a mad dash for the open seat next to Michelle, just to piss Lola off. John, on the other hand, walked towards the brunette, thinking about how childish Mike could be at times.

"Lola!" John called, as the brunette's head whipped around.

"John. You're late. Again," she called, as she received a cup of hot chocolate, just as Mike had predicted.

"Yeah, sorry. Mike's fault. You know how he's such a drama queen sometimes. Obsessed with his looks," replied John, who shrugged, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.

"And you're not?" Lola asked, snorting. Neither she nor John noticed her glasses slip out of her pocket and hit the floor, and Lola approached John, taking a sip of her hot coco. "Damn, that's really hot..."

"Thanks for pointing that out, Katherine Obvious."

"What?" Lola's brow furrowed as she looked at John incredulously.

"I said, 'thanks for pointing that out, Katherine Obvious' - don't tell me your hearing is as bad as your eyesight..."

"Dude," she snorted, sipping her coco, "it's Captain Obvious. Not Katherine." John flushed red and turned around, cursing to himself silently, and cursing the television show he had been watching the night before at his hotel. "Jeez, and I thought I was a terrible speaker. Let's go." She tugged on his sleeve and practically dragged him over to sit with Michelle and Mike. The brunette sat on the other side of Michelle, rolling her eyes at Mike's tom-foolery.

Michelle herself was giving Mike the once over, as today he was wearing a white button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows; black jeans and smart black loafers accompanied this shirt, and a gray vest was so fashionably thrown over the white shirt, along with a loose purple, white, and gray striped tie. Lastly, Mike had on a black fedora, which had a purple, white, and gray striped band encompassing it. On his wrist was a snazzy silver Rolex watch. He was the epitome of the word fashion; if you looked it up in the dictionary, his picture would be beside it.

"Lola, why are you wearing shades in an airport?" Mike asked, peering over his own black sunglasses.

"Yeah," John agreed, slinging an arm over her shoulders. "What's up with that?"

"You two shouldn't be talking," Lola shot back, pointing to Mike's and John's sunglasses. "I am not the only one wearing shades in an airport."

Michelle rolled her eyes and stood, plucking the sunglasses from Lola's face, before placing them on her own face. "Problem solved." And she sat down again.

"Jeez, Michelle! You should be a psychiatrist with all of the problems you so expertly solve," Lola return-fired, digging in her pocket. "Shit... My glasses aren't here..."

"You probably dropped them," said Mike, matter-of-factly.

"Figure that out on your own, did you?" Michelle replied, thunking Mike on the back of his head. He winced and rubbed the thunked spot gingerly, whining to John about Michelle's "abusiveness." Lola continued fumbling in her pockets, before thrusting her hot chocolate cup into John's chest; once he took hold of it she whirled around and stepped forward, only to gasp and slam right into a muscular figure.

"Crap, sorry!" she blurted, as she looked up into the face of Shawn Hernandez. John spun around and gave him a dirty look, and without a moment's hesitation, Mike did the same. "I have terrible eyesight, obviously."

Hernandez chuckled and shook his head as Lola stepped back. He held out a hand, in which a pair of glasses were so carefully held. "These yours?"

"Yeah!" Lola replied, beaming. "Thanks man." She plucked them from Hernandez's palm, unfolded them and fitted them on her face. After pushing them up, she smiled. "Yup, I can see now!" John slung an arm over her shoulders and tried to turn her around, but her feet were glued to the ground.

"It's not a problem. I saw you wearing them earlier," the TNA wrestler responded, shaking his head. "Oh, and I'm Shawn Hernandez, by the way." He held out his hand, which Lola took and shook firmly.

"Lola Lombardi. Nice to meet you," she introduced, pulling her hand out of his and jamming it in her pocket. The brunette herself was wearing a black t-shirt, a gray hoodie, black sweatpants and black Chuck Taylors that looked a bit small on her feet. "Again, thanks. My glasses are my greatest allies in the war on terrible eyesight." Michelle sighed in exasperation and threw her head back, putting in her ear buds and blasting a pop song as loud as she could stand, while Mike and John traded glances.

"Well then you may not want to lose them," Hernandez replied, smiling slightly.

"Agreed." A silence followed, with Hernandez and Lola simply staring at each other, which Mike stood up to break.

"Excuse me, but my geeky friend must now get back to her DS or one of her nerdy history books, so if you'll let her get back to her nerd work, that'd be great!" Mike declared, his disdain towards the TNA wrestler dripping off of his voice. John nodded, scowling as he slung his arm around Lola's shoulders.

"Yeah."

Hernandez put his hands up defensively. "Boys, boys, I was just doin' the lady a favor."

"I doubt it!" Mike shot back, his voice rising an octave out of drama. Lola's face reddened as she looked at Hernandez apologetically, who glanced at her in return. "You just want to earn her trust so that you can get all cozy with the WWE stars, and then you'll stab us in the back."

"Mike Mizanin!" Lola hissed, but she was ignored.

"I second that statement!" John cut in, poking Hernandez in the chest with his index finger. The TNA wrestler simply quirked an eyebrow, opening his mouth to say something in reply, but the Shaman of Sexy cut him off. "So, run along, Mr. Hernandez..."

"Jeez, John!" Lola punched his shoulder, but again, she was ignored.

"Sure." Hernandez nodded, narrowing his eyes as he adjusted his baseball cap. "I'll do that. Lola, it was nice to meet you. I hope to work with you sometime soon."

"And I hope to work with you," Lola replied, reaching out to shake his hand once more, but John smacked it down. Lola's eyes went wide as she looked at him, her fist clenching. Mike took her by the shoulders and steered her around, back to the seat.

"To you," John replied, glaring at Hernandez, "it's Ms. Lombardi." And with that, he turned and sat down to the left of Mike. Hernandez just rubbed the bridge of his nose, before turning and walking away without another word, thinking to himself about how difficult the next few months would be.