Hello everyone. So this story wil be a complete revamp and rewrite of my original fanfic, Cry Wolf. This story has been given a new name, Young Blood. As I do want to keep the original posted here as well, it may help avoid confusion.
I know what you are probably thinking. Why would I want to revisit an old story from over a decade ago? Well, as I was posting the last forgotten chapters of the sequel, I went back to reread the original as well and well, as you can probably imagine, I just wasn't happy and I felt the story had a lot of potential of done in a not so cringy way ( but probably not). Anyway, I know a lot of people actually do this. There will be quite a few differences from the original as well.
So I do hope you enjoy this if you are reading.
"I will tell you what she was like. She was like a piano in a country where everyone has had their hands cut off." - Angela Carter, Black Venus
"Okay, let's do it again, and this time, don't screw it up!"
"Yeah, cause I totally did that on purpose," the girl snipped at her older sister.
"Whatever," the older girl snorted, "Just find your spot."
The younger girl's fingers plodded over the keys of the electric keyboard searching for the right note. "Okay," she said, adjusting herself on the edge of the bathtub where she sat.
"Three, two, one," the older girl counted down as she hit the button on the analog recording device. Smiling big, she watched and listened as her sister's nimble fingers pushed out the awesome drum loop on the synthetic instrument. When she was in her element, her sister was so graceful. Usually.
All of a sudden there was a horrific pounding on the door. The girl at the keyboard gave a start, tumbling backwards into the tub. The other huffed and switched off the recorder with a look of contempt clouding her face.
"What the hell? Open the door," a voice boomed from the other side.
The older girl got up, unlocked the door and sat back down on the closed toilet seat.
The door inched open, but was halted by the object stuffed underneath it. The tall, burly figure was trying to force his way inside when he looked down to the floor. "Aww, hell," his deep, Texan accent said as he yanked a hotel towel out from under the crack of the door.
He made his way fully into the bathroom, looking at the two faces staring back at him. One was glaring at him, already out of patience, a trait she no doubt inherited straight from him. The other, though mildly annoyed, looked meekly up at him with wide eyes.
"What the fuck are ya doin' now?" he inquired in a stern voice.
"We were recording a song," the older girl crossed her arms in agitation.
Mark Calaway sighed heavily as he rubbed his eyes, dragging his hands down over his face. Why, oh why, did he let his wife talk him into this? Teenagers were hard under normal circumstances. This? This was a nightmare sometimes.
Mark was one of the top guys in World Wrestling Entertainment, the most dominate wrestling corporations in the world. Despite the fact that his character, The Undertaker, was one of the most fearsome entities to ever step foot inside the squared circle, he was convinced the teen years were a curse, straight from Lucifer, with the sole intent of torturing parents.
He loved his girls, more than anything, but truth be told, he prayed daily they would tire of traveling and tell him that they wanted go home. As evidence, so far, he had no luck.
The two girls peered up at their father. He certainly was fear inducing at six foot, ten inches tall. He was built like a brick wall, covered in tattoos and always wore a somber expression on his face.
"So, what's up, Dad?" the elder sister asked, hoping he'd be brief.
"I'm going to lunch with a couple of old buddies who've rejoined the company. Was wondering if you wanted to come with me, or if you wanted to stay here and I'll order some delivery for you," he said.
Both girls' faces fell.
"Can't we see a movie?" the younger girl finally spoke up.
"No. I have to head to the arena afterword, so there's no time. Besides, downtown can be a dangerous place and you're not going out by yourselves."
"Doesn't matter any other time," the older girl grumbled, low.
Mark's head snapped towards her. "You wanna run that by me again, missy?"
She shook her head, her continence neither fearful nor challenging.
"You can watch something on HBO. But we're going to that sushi restaurant we ate at the last time we were here. You liked that, didn't you?"
The sisters looked at each other, mulling it over. Sometimes, their dad's friends could be real jerks, or just plain weird. Always regaling who had gotten the most plastered during the last run or who could get the most "pussy".
Still, they were tired of being trapped in these hotels all the time. Sure, they got to hang out at the arenas, but so many times, they would get dropped off after the show, so their dad could go out with his friends.
Why were they even there, the older girl wondered? Oh yes, he was relieving his guilt. Good job.
The younger sister looked at her with that "sympathy for the devil" expression and shrugged her shoulders. She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Ok, let's go."
"Alright. We'll be leaving in about ten minutes," Mark warned them and left.
"Perfectly ruined. Again," the older sister griped, padding her hands against the keys in a disorderly fashion.
"We'll try again later. You loved that sushi, remember?" the younger girl cooed, running a brush through her hair.
"Yeah, yeah," she replied dismissively as she approached the mirror to touch up her makeup.
As they approached the restaurant, Mark told the girls, "Heather, it's okay to talk. And Rev, you can be yourself, but with less of an attitude."
"Where's the fun in that?" the older girl asked.
Mark simply gave her the look and they continued on.
They entered the restaurant and were greeted by the hostess. Mark informed her they were meeting friends and she led them towards the booth where the other men were seated.
As they walked, Heather, the younger daughter, felt her anxiety rising. She didn't like meeting new people and found herself wishing they had stayed in the room.
The hostess gestured them to the booth letting them know a server would be with them promptly.
"Hey yo," a man with a rugged looking five o'clock shadow and long, dark hair pulled back into a braid greeted them with a small wave. His dark hair matched his deep brown eyes.
Another, larger man, about Mark height and build, also had a long mane, except blonde. He sported a goatee similar to Mark's as well. He lifted his head and smiled. "What's up, brother?"
"Not much, man. Bustin' my ass, as always," Mark replied with a laugh. "Oh, uh these are my girls. That's Reves and this is Heather." He gestured to each of them in turn. "Girls, this is- "
"Scott Hall and Kevin Nash," Reves interjected with her arms folded across her chest, impatiently.
Mark's eyes flashed in anger. He was about fed up with the girl's attitude. If not for Scott and Kev sitting there, he probably would have let loose on the girl. How long was she going to punish him? "Just sit down," he told her, swallowing his rage.
As this occurred, Hall and Nash took the girls in. It was evident by Reves' sour visage that this was not her idea of fun. As soon as they approached, her aura was that of contempt. They could tell she was the rebel. At least, that's what she was in her mind, complete with leather jacket and all.
She stood about five foot six inches tall, with waist length, ash blonde hair that bordered on a platinum tone. Her ocean colored eyed were like two icy pools staring back at them. She had a pert nose and her full lips were pursed as if she were giving her best Stephanie McMahon impersonation. Her eyes were encircled with more eyeliner than should be legal for any one person the wear. Her skin was pale and smooth. She was beautiful – if she would wipe off that sour puss look and some of that eye make-up, Scott had thought.
The younger sister, Heather, was equally as beautiful but almost the polar opposite. Aside from a few shared features, it was hard to believe they were related, let alone, related to Mark. Heather was a petite five-foot one inch with a tiny frame. Like her sister, her hair cascaded in long tendrils down her back. However, instead of ash blonde, Heather's hair was a deep ebony that she had accented with purple streaks.
Her head had been bowed as they approached and when she raised it to look at them, Kevin was taken back a bit by the striking emerald eyes that glanced at them from behind a pair of black framed glasses. They were Mark's eyes, unmistakably. Yet, unlike the stern seriousness that Mark exuded, there was an unnamed sadness peering out at them that was completed by her full lips in a frown. Her complexion was even fairer than that of her sister's. An identical nose to her sister's sat in the middle of her round face.
Somehow, she reminded Kevin a little of Snow White in her appearance and meekness. He laughed at himself internally. He was pretty sure she wouldn't be boarding with seven other men anytime soon, not as long as the Deadman was walking around above ground.
When Mark instructed them to sit, Heather obediently scrambled in first. She sat, pretending to fascinated by the scenes of paper temples and tree cutouts housed between two plates of glass.
With a huff, Reves slide in next and Mark was on the end.
Just then, the server came up to take their order.
"I'll have some hot tea. And I'd like some Miso soup too," Reves said without hesitation.
"Same. Please," Heather mumbled.
Everyone placed their orders and the server left to put them in.
"So, you lazy fucks finally decided to come back to work, eh?" Mark joked.
Kevin snorted, "You mean to tell me if you were paid a year's salary to sit on your ass, you wouldn't fuckin' do it?"
Hell no, he wouldn't, Reves thought.
"Damn, it'd be nice to have more time for my other projects, but I think, I'd go outta my mind being at home all the time," Mark answered while scratching his chin.
See? Reves asked mentally.
"I don't know, man. A lot of people got fucked by giving up their paydays," Scott said. "Look at Page."
Heather and Reves were aware he was speaking of Diamond Dallas Page, also known as DDP for short. He was a part of the whole stalker angle from last year during the Invasion which involved their mother, Sara. Dallas was not a bad guy by any means, but the entire ordeal had left a bad taste in everyone's mouth and his career was never truly able to recover.
"Guess I can't blame you there," Mark shrugged. "But you guys are Vince's boys. I don't think he's gonna do that shit to you."
"No, not after he gets in a good ass pounding, without the courteous of spit." Nash joked.
Heather's eyes bulged upon hearing that and dawned a crimson mask. She turned towards the wall once more. Reves suppressed a snicker.
"Dude!" Mark narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the left.
"Shit." Kevin cleared his throat. "Sorry."
"So, is it true you guys killed WCW?" Reves asked, elbow propped on the table, chin resting in her palm. "Not so much you," she said to Scott. "But dirt sheets are pretty harsh on you." She directed her statement to Kevin.
Kevin glared at her. Cute. Another fucking mark tagging along with Daddy.
Scott on the other hand, grinned back at her. "Now what do you know about this business, little lady?"
"Only what I hear," she replied with a wry smile. "And see." She nodded her head in his direction.
"Hush, girl. You don't know nothin," Mark chided her.
At that, the raven-haired girl stole a glance at her father. A slight grin creeped across her face.
The older girl looked at her and recognized her intentions. She stifled her laughter. "Don't," she warned her.
"Don't what?" Mark inquired suspiciously.
Reves glanced at her sister, then turned to her dad. "She was just going to correct you on your use of a double negative," Reves stated matter of fact.
Not looking at her father, Heather pushed her glasses up on her face. A reflex of silent conformation.
Mark rolled his eyes and leaned forward to speak to his youngest child. "Girl, when I need a college degree to be a pro wrestler, I'll take that into consideration."
Remembering the others were there, Heather shrunk back inside herself.
Their food was delivered and as they ate Scott asked, "Yo, how did these two beautiful girls come from your ugly ass?"
Mark laughed, "Fuck you, man." A moment later he became austere. "Those are my daughters, by the way. I'd watch your mouth." He gave Hall a stone-cold glare.
Heather glanced up. So that was the way it was going to go? Another couple of creeps to contend with? She opened the small plaid backpack sitting on her lap. She slipped on her headphones and switched on her portable CD player. Next, she pulled out a copy of The Great Gatsby from her bag.
Kevin watched her, a little surprised. Most girls her age only read fashion magazines. Then again, she didn't strike him as the type to concern herself with the latest runway trends.
"So, what are you listening to?" She heard him ask after a few minutes. She had felt his eyes on her, but she fought the overwhelming urge to crawl under the table. Instead, she paused her music, pulled her headphones off and let them rest around her neck. Her eyes darted around quickly, as if wistfully thinking there was someone else, he could be talking to. She always found it agonizing when her dad's friends - or anyone from the business for that matter – engaged her in conversation.
"Veruca Salt," she finally answered after a painful minute. "Currently. But this a mixed compilation I made. And this," she said holding up the front of the book, "is The Great Gatsby." Her face immediately turned crimson. Well that was idiotic of you. I'm fairly certain he can read, she told herself.
"That's all that one does is read books," Mark commented, bringing a spicy tuna roll to his mouth.
Heather's blush became even brighter as she pushed her glasses up on her nose again.
"And what do you do?" Scott directed towards Reves.
"Everything in her power to put me in an early grave," Mark quipped.
Reves shifted her eyes. "Says the Deadman."
Mark raised an eyebrow at her and she gave him a cheeky grin.
"So, how is Sara? Are they planning to use her anymore on TV?" Scott inquired.
"She's good, but they aren't planning to use her for anything else right now. They got me in this 'Big Evil' gimmick at the moment, so we'll see, I guess."
"What about the boys?" Scott questioned.
"They've been looking after the bike shop for a while now. They both love bikes and classic cars. Bought 'em a '67 Mustang as a project they're working on right now," Mark told them.
"That's fucking sweet," Kevin said, nodding.
"Bet they'll be pimpin' in that," Scott laughed.
Heather and Reves exchanged glances at one another. Why did everyone seem to know Marcus and Steven, a set of twins who were the spitting image of their father? It seemed obvious to the sister's that they were treated as if they didn't exist before coming on the road. They were sure the reasoning behind it, though the sisters had differing opinions. Still, Marcus and Steven got to go on the road a lot more when they were younger. For all they knew, it was chalked up to the notion that boys got more excited about the fact that their dad beat people up for a living.
"I didn't remember you even had daughters." Kevin admitted.
Well, of course you didn't! Reves sneered inside her head as she folded her arms over her chest and fell back against the bench.
Heather sat quietly, grateful to have been past recollection.
"It's been a long time, man. Running on different circuits doesn't give a lot of time to catch up," Kevin said.
"I suppose we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, if you fucks stick around, that is," teased Mark.
"Oh, we will. WWE is the place to be," Scott beamed.
"I don't think we have anywhere else to go," Kevin turned to him with a smile.
They finished their meal. Then it was time to head to the arena to be briefed on the show's events.