Jericho and Stratuspatra; A Chyna WP Universe Epic.
Ownership Disclaimer: All Characters here belong to WWE, Titan Sports, Vince, or whoever the hell runs WWE now. I only used to watch it when it was watchable.
Rating: R for naughty language, drug use, catty violence, etc. etc.
Timeline: Set two years after 'The Final Saga'.
***
In a time of ancient gods, warlords and kings, a land in turmoil cried out for a hero. She was Chyna, a mighty Roman Empress Warrior Princess thingie forged in the heat of low blows, drugs and alcoholic beverages. The power, the passion, the danger...her courage will rule the world.
As you might remember from Chyna's final great adventure, the Warrior Princess hooked up with Chris Jericho to become the Empress of Rome...in Thrace, regained Hunter as her sidekick, became the champion of the Cult of HBK and lost the Henbane head Kitty to her arch rival Trish Stratus. Are the adventures over? Well, probably.
Chyna growled menacingly as she rolled onto her stomach, off the blankets and into the cold marble floor. The repeated sharp rapping on the doors of the Senate was very overwhelming at two in the morning, and reaching for her half empty wine skin, she staggered half assed to her feet.
"Coming!" She yawned, dragging her feet across the room and chugging some of the room temperature liquid. Wrenching the door open, she eyed Kurt Angleus Maximus dangerously. The centurion shuddered - that was the look that usually came before a low blow. Her words came in a slur. "Washa want Jerky?"
Hunter stared at them both from his comfy spot in the blankets. "Mind keeping it down? Dammit, I just got to sleep!" He rose and managed to find a Henbane joint. "Eh, better start where I left off then."
"I demand the immediate presence of the empress!" Kurt said, making sure to speak over Hunter's sleep and drug induced drawl. Chyna rolled her eyes.
"Empresses are so passe. Last night I decided that Rome shall be ruled by a triumvirthingie."
"Triumvirate." Hunter corrected. Chyna shrugged.
"Whatever."
"A Triumvirate?" Kurt demanded. "You can't start a Triumvirate!"
"I can do anything I want!" Chyna snapped, moving her muscular forearm in a very suggestive, thrusting manner. Kurt paled, and Hunter rolled his eyes back like the Undertaker just to freak everyone out. "Hunter, Jericho and I are the Triumvirthingie. And seeming Jericho is in Egypt, I take his piece of the pie, so respect my friggen authority. Are we clear, Jerky?!"
Kurt pouted. "Do you think the Triumvirate could see to tidying the senate a tad? The way you've got this place - it's just not cool!"
The Senate was filthy. The once sparkling marble floors were now so littered with empty Steveweisers, wineskins and general filth it was now impossible to see it. Cockroaches had began emigrating to avoid the place. Chyna shrugged, pulled an ancient joint from behind her ear, lit it off a nearby torch and inhaled deeply.
"Sorry, no can do. We're not a Triumvirate today."
"Jericho has gone waltzing up the Nile, 'member?" Hunter said sleepily from his blankets, a torrent of drool breaking free and pooling on the floor. Chyna scrunched her nose in distaste, but continued to watch with a sort of aberrant fascination as it dripped free down the side of his mouth. He wiped it off with the corner of his filthy blanket.
Kurt looked uncomfortable. "Yes, er, well...you have some matters of state to attend to."
"Dawn has not yet broken, numb nuts," Chyna snapped, snuggling back down like a big baked potato. "And you know me, I don't usually rise until late afternoon. How dare you wake me at such an ungodly hour?" She looked at the sundial before realizing there was zero point, then clapped her hand over her mouth. "You've awoken me two hours before I went to bed!"
Hunter scratched his ear. "You're making no sense again."
"I'm the leader of the Triumvirate," Chyna started slowly. "If I say I'm making sense, I AM making fucking sense!" She struggled forward, swimming through the rugs, and pulled forward an empty Steveweiser. Kurt watched her suck on the dregs for a few moments, before snatching it away and looking down upon her like thunder. Chyna's bloodshot blue eyes attempted to focus on the Centurion, but it just wasn't working, and with a tired groan she thrust a bent laurel leaf in her hair and raised a regal arm.
"I now dismiss you Jerky."
"I can't let Rome be ruled like this!" Kurt squealed in horror. Chyna yawned.
"Oh get over it. Rome is just a bunch of ugly men in bed sheets and mini skirts. That's about it." She shot Kurt a dangerous look, and this time he knew the low blow was imminent. He screamed girlishly, rushed through the twin doors of the Senate and slammed them ominously behind him. Chyna looked very self righteous, but her leaf had fluttered to the floor.
***
The next day, X-Pac was hammering on the door as hard as his scrawny wrists would allow. Hunter was almost totally out of it, and sat up pitifully from his blanket pile.
"Get the door Chyna."
"Fuck off golden boy." Chyna's voice came from an oddly shaped lump on the other side of the room. X-Pac knocked again.
"I know you two are in there!" He said, sounding rather imposing and rather like his son Syxx, who was now based in Athens rather than the depths of hell. Chyna grunted in total discomfort as she staggered to the door.
"Don't open it Chy," said Hunter. "He probably wants money again."
"But do we ever give it to him?" Chyna asked sweetly. Hunter looked thoughtful.
"Do we have a choice? All Rome's money went into the beer budget."
"True!" Said Chyna, opening the door. X-Pac stood before her. And he did not look happy.
"We haven't got any money." Said Hunter preemptively. "And I saw a picture of you in an Athenian nudie scroll last night. I'll be having nightmares for weeks."
"I'm sure it was Syxx," Said X-Pac, dismissing Hunter's accusation with a flick of his wrist.
"Sure." Croaked Chyna, breathing in on her opium pipe. "Anyway, what do you want you little weed?"
"Er, about one hundred dinars."
"What?" Chyna demanded, ignoring Hunter's smug 'I-told-you-so' face. X-Pac looked hopeful.
"C'mon, the High Council repossessed the D-Generate Kingdom!" He began to prance about the room. "I'm living in Mr. Asses flower beds!" He flicked a daffodil from his hair to accentuate his meaning. Chyna sighed.
"You can shack up here for one night only, and you sleep in the dirtier side of the room."
X-Pac looked about. "Which side is that?"
Chyna shrugged. "Pick one."
X-Pac stared at Chyna as she cuddled back into her blankets. "It's day time, you know."
"Your point?" Chyna questioned distastefully. "Look, out there. It's LIGHT. Which means sleepy time."
"Then what does night mean?"
"Drinky and passy outty time." Hunter replied.
X-Pac rose to his feet and wandered out towards what appeared to be an auditorium, or at least once was, now it was splattered in filth and scattered alcohol bottles of every description lay strewn along the floor. He gasped. "Chyna, Edge is lying on the floor over here!"
"Well duh," Said Chyna. "He hasn't really moved though since he ate that bad falafel yesterday. I think he may be dead, because he smells like a bad fart, only a fart of epic proportions. Be so kind as to kick him, will you?"
X-Pac stared at Edge, wondering if he did dare to kick him. He was lying in a heap of dirty laundry, using what appeared to be a take away Epic-Mart falafel box as his pillow. His once golden hair now clung to his head in sauce covered dreadlocks, kept in place by some very violated looking laurel leaves. He, like most of the other residents of the Senate, kept a joint tucked securely under his ear. X-Pac found that he was very disturbed by this visual image.
"Um, he's not wearing any pants."
Chyna batted her eyelashes innocently. "Odd."
X-Pac decided to go for it and kicked Edge, who shuddered, yawned and raised his head. "Hey Paccy, is that like...you?" He fossicked around in the box and brought out a two day old piece of pita. "Bitchin'!"
"See how Chyna loves taking in the strays," Muttered Hunter. "That week where the Hardyz were here, that was total hell! They kept on jumping off the roof, they never ate, they never slept, they just threw themselves off that damn roof!"
"That's not totally true. They introduced me to this great new thing called 'speed'." Said Chyna with a broad grin. Hunter shuddered.
"Yeah, like that was fun. You're still catching up on lost sleep after the week long binge on it."
"Well it was fun for ME." Chyna grinned. "I ordered so many Roman invasions and crucifixions that week, it was like all the sunbeams were lolly pops and icecream!" The empress then yawned. "Well, I am still catching up on sleep from it. Night."
"You are so lazy!" X-Pac frowned.
"And?" Chyna questioned from her comfy spot in the filth. She suddenly sat up. "Listen X-Paccy Pac, I'm kinda hungry, kay? I mean, yesterday I had a turnip and a barrel of mead, but I've kind of digested it now, so can you go outside and kill something, huh?" She stuck her bottom lip out as far as it would go. "Pweaseee?"
"And that goes for me too, you positively scrawny bastard." Hunter snorted in warning.
Edge, through a mouthful of old pita, managed to force from his windpipe, "I'm good."
X-Pac grumbled and stomped his left foot irately, then turned on his heel and headed towards the door. "You're lucky it's better here than Billy's, or I would be out of here faster than you can say 'intolerable living conditions'."
"Intolerable living conditions?" Chyna scoffed. "The only thing intolerable here is having to bunk with you three wingnuts."
"I don't know what a 'wingnut' is exactly Chyna, but I still don't appreciate being called one." Hunter stated from his side of the room. Chyna batted her eyelashes innocently.
"I counted X-Pac twice," She turned to said D-Generate. "Now go and kill something, wingnut!"
X-Pac pouted, but complied. It may have been a dump, but it beat Billy's garish hellhole hands down.
Ownership Disclaimer: All Characters here belong to WWE, Titan Sports, Vince, or whoever the hell runs WWE now. I only used to watch it when it was watchable.
Rating: R for naughty language, drug use, catty violence, etc. etc.
Timeline: Set two years after 'The Final Saga'.
***
In a time of ancient gods, warlords and kings, a land in turmoil cried out for a hero. She was Chyna, a mighty Roman Empress Warrior Princess thingie forged in the heat of low blows, drugs and alcoholic beverages. The power, the passion, the danger...her courage will rule the world.
As you might remember from Chyna's final great adventure, the Warrior Princess hooked up with Chris Jericho to become the Empress of Rome...in Thrace, regained Hunter as her sidekick, became the champion of the Cult of HBK and lost the Henbane head Kitty to her arch rival Trish Stratus. Are the adventures over? Well, probably.
Chyna growled menacingly as she rolled onto her stomach, off the blankets and into the cold marble floor. The repeated sharp rapping on the doors of the Senate was very overwhelming at two in the morning, and reaching for her half empty wine skin, she staggered half assed to her feet.
"Coming!" She yawned, dragging her feet across the room and chugging some of the room temperature liquid. Wrenching the door open, she eyed Kurt Angleus Maximus dangerously. The centurion shuddered - that was the look that usually came before a low blow. Her words came in a slur. "Washa want Jerky?"
Hunter stared at them both from his comfy spot in the blankets. "Mind keeping it down? Dammit, I just got to sleep!" He rose and managed to find a Henbane joint. "Eh, better start where I left off then."
"I demand the immediate presence of the empress!" Kurt said, making sure to speak over Hunter's sleep and drug induced drawl. Chyna rolled her eyes.
"Empresses are so passe. Last night I decided that Rome shall be ruled by a triumvirthingie."
"Triumvirate." Hunter corrected. Chyna shrugged.
"Whatever."
"A Triumvirate?" Kurt demanded. "You can't start a Triumvirate!"
"I can do anything I want!" Chyna snapped, moving her muscular forearm in a very suggestive, thrusting manner. Kurt paled, and Hunter rolled his eyes back like the Undertaker just to freak everyone out. "Hunter, Jericho and I are the Triumvirthingie. And seeming Jericho is in Egypt, I take his piece of the pie, so respect my friggen authority. Are we clear, Jerky?!"
Kurt pouted. "Do you think the Triumvirate could see to tidying the senate a tad? The way you've got this place - it's just not cool!"
The Senate was filthy. The once sparkling marble floors were now so littered with empty Steveweisers, wineskins and general filth it was now impossible to see it. Cockroaches had began emigrating to avoid the place. Chyna shrugged, pulled an ancient joint from behind her ear, lit it off a nearby torch and inhaled deeply.
"Sorry, no can do. We're not a Triumvirate today."
"Jericho has gone waltzing up the Nile, 'member?" Hunter said sleepily from his blankets, a torrent of drool breaking free and pooling on the floor. Chyna scrunched her nose in distaste, but continued to watch with a sort of aberrant fascination as it dripped free down the side of his mouth. He wiped it off with the corner of his filthy blanket.
Kurt looked uncomfortable. "Yes, er, well...you have some matters of state to attend to."
"Dawn has not yet broken, numb nuts," Chyna snapped, snuggling back down like a big baked potato. "And you know me, I don't usually rise until late afternoon. How dare you wake me at such an ungodly hour?" She looked at the sundial before realizing there was zero point, then clapped her hand over her mouth. "You've awoken me two hours before I went to bed!"
Hunter scratched his ear. "You're making no sense again."
"I'm the leader of the Triumvirate," Chyna started slowly. "If I say I'm making sense, I AM making fucking sense!" She struggled forward, swimming through the rugs, and pulled forward an empty Steveweiser. Kurt watched her suck on the dregs for a few moments, before snatching it away and looking down upon her like thunder. Chyna's bloodshot blue eyes attempted to focus on the Centurion, but it just wasn't working, and with a tired groan she thrust a bent laurel leaf in her hair and raised a regal arm.
"I now dismiss you Jerky."
"I can't let Rome be ruled like this!" Kurt squealed in horror. Chyna yawned.
"Oh get over it. Rome is just a bunch of ugly men in bed sheets and mini skirts. That's about it." She shot Kurt a dangerous look, and this time he knew the low blow was imminent. He screamed girlishly, rushed through the twin doors of the Senate and slammed them ominously behind him. Chyna looked very self righteous, but her leaf had fluttered to the floor.
***
The next day, X-Pac was hammering on the door as hard as his scrawny wrists would allow. Hunter was almost totally out of it, and sat up pitifully from his blanket pile.
"Get the door Chyna."
"Fuck off golden boy." Chyna's voice came from an oddly shaped lump on the other side of the room. X-Pac knocked again.
"I know you two are in there!" He said, sounding rather imposing and rather like his son Syxx, who was now based in Athens rather than the depths of hell. Chyna grunted in total discomfort as she staggered to the door.
"Don't open it Chy," said Hunter. "He probably wants money again."
"But do we ever give it to him?" Chyna asked sweetly. Hunter looked thoughtful.
"Do we have a choice? All Rome's money went into the beer budget."
"True!" Said Chyna, opening the door. X-Pac stood before her. And he did not look happy.
"We haven't got any money." Said Hunter preemptively. "And I saw a picture of you in an Athenian nudie scroll last night. I'll be having nightmares for weeks."
"I'm sure it was Syxx," Said X-Pac, dismissing Hunter's accusation with a flick of his wrist.
"Sure." Croaked Chyna, breathing in on her opium pipe. "Anyway, what do you want you little weed?"
"Er, about one hundred dinars."
"What?" Chyna demanded, ignoring Hunter's smug 'I-told-you-so' face. X-Pac looked hopeful.
"C'mon, the High Council repossessed the D-Generate Kingdom!" He began to prance about the room. "I'm living in Mr. Asses flower beds!" He flicked a daffodil from his hair to accentuate his meaning. Chyna sighed.
"You can shack up here for one night only, and you sleep in the dirtier side of the room."
X-Pac looked about. "Which side is that?"
Chyna shrugged. "Pick one."
X-Pac stared at Chyna as she cuddled back into her blankets. "It's day time, you know."
"Your point?" Chyna questioned distastefully. "Look, out there. It's LIGHT. Which means sleepy time."
"Then what does night mean?"
"Drinky and passy outty time." Hunter replied.
X-Pac rose to his feet and wandered out towards what appeared to be an auditorium, or at least once was, now it was splattered in filth and scattered alcohol bottles of every description lay strewn along the floor. He gasped. "Chyna, Edge is lying on the floor over here!"
"Well duh," Said Chyna. "He hasn't really moved though since he ate that bad falafel yesterday. I think he may be dead, because he smells like a bad fart, only a fart of epic proportions. Be so kind as to kick him, will you?"
X-Pac stared at Edge, wondering if he did dare to kick him. He was lying in a heap of dirty laundry, using what appeared to be a take away Epic-Mart falafel box as his pillow. His once golden hair now clung to his head in sauce covered dreadlocks, kept in place by some very violated looking laurel leaves. He, like most of the other residents of the Senate, kept a joint tucked securely under his ear. X-Pac found that he was very disturbed by this visual image.
"Um, he's not wearing any pants."
Chyna batted her eyelashes innocently. "Odd."
X-Pac decided to go for it and kicked Edge, who shuddered, yawned and raised his head. "Hey Paccy, is that like...you?" He fossicked around in the box and brought out a two day old piece of pita. "Bitchin'!"
"See how Chyna loves taking in the strays," Muttered Hunter. "That week where the Hardyz were here, that was total hell! They kept on jumping off the roof, they never ate, they never slept, they just threw themselves off that damn roof!"
"That's not totally true. They introduced me to this great new thing called 'speed'." Said Chyna with a broad grin. Hunter shuddered.
"Yeah, like that was fun. You're still catching up on lost sleep after the week long binge on it."
"Well it was fun for ME." Chyna grinned. "I ordered so many Roman invasions and crucifixions that week, it was like all the sunbeams were lolly pops and icecream!" The empress then yawned. "Well, I am still catching up on sleep from it. Night."
"You are so lazy!" X-Pac frowned.
"And?" Chyna questioned from her comfy spot in the filth. She suddenly sat up. "Listen X-Paccy Pac, I'm kinda hungry, kay? I mean, yesterday I had a turnip and a barrel of mead, but I've kind of digested it now, so can you go outside and kill something, huh?" She stuck her bottom lip out as far as it would go. "Pweaseee?"
"And that goes for me too, you positively scrawny bastard." Hunter snorted in warning.
Edge, through a mouthful of old pita, managed to force from his windpipe, "I'm good."
X-Pac grumbled and stomped his left foot irately, then turned on his heel and headed towards the door. "You're lucky it's better here than Billy's, or I would be out of here faster than you can say 'intolerable living conditions'."
"Intolerable living conditions?" Chyna scoffed. "The only thing intolerable here is having to bunk with you three wingnuts."
"I don't know what a 'wingnut' is exactly Chyna, but I still don't appreciate being called one." Hunter stated from his side of the room. Chyna batted her eyelashes innocently.
"I counted X-Pac twice," She turned to said D-Generate. "Now go and kill something, wingnut!"
X-Pac pouted, but complied. It may have been a dump, but it beat Billy's garish hellhole hands down.