Disclaimer: This is a non profit fanfiction. I do not own anything associated with the trademark WWE and am purely writing this fic out of fan-appreciation. In other words: Please don't sue!
He had just asked her a question and she had trouble answering it. Internally she berated herself for not being any good at situations like that. She had no clue how to deal with authority. As the years went by, she had learned the she would never master the talent of brown nosing or pretending she was someone she was not. Despite of her initial hesitation upon first hearing the question, she started to regain confidence. If her character didn't agree with them, if they found her too obnoxious, too loud mouthed and whatnot, then they just might have to deal with it. If, however, they chose to give her the job, she would work her ass off to proof everyone her worth. She stuck out her chin and subconsciously sat a little straighter in the chair as her short trimmed fingernails dug into the leather of the armrest.
"You want to know what I'm thinking about the storyline? I think it's been milked for what it's worth. Why don't you let him wreak some havoc once in a while? After all he has the word warrior printed on his T-shirt. Right now things are sort of lukewarm. I say, let's spice them up a little."
The man regarded her over the rim of his glasses. She stared right back at him. It was unnerving how to see her own image reflected back at her through the glasses of his spectacles. The man cleared his throat, the air conditioning was buzzing above their heads. "So what you are saying is that we haven't maxed out the potential of his character yet?"
"I'm saying you've strayed from the original idea, which was brilliant, mind you, but right now there's something missing," she explained, scooting to the edge of the seat. In front of her, on the table, there was a carafe filled with ice cold water, condensation drops were trailing down its sides, next to it some empty glasses. She'd figured it was one of those mind games companies liked to play. The first poor interviewee who poured himself a drink would immediately be disqualified or something like that. She had just criticized the company and the storyline they had worked out for one of their major players, so she might as well take a sip. Her throat was still dry anyway. With shaking hands she poured herself a glass of water, spilling some of it one the desk in the process. Her eyes grew large when she noticed her mistake and she muttered an embarrassed apology as she wiped at the water stain with the sleeve of her shirt.
"So Miss Stewart, what do you think qualifies you better than the person currently assigned to the job?" the man folded his manicured hands on the table surface in front of him, ignoring her little mishap. And here she had thought she would meet up with a guy in a muscle shirt and a fake suntan. Apparently wrestling was a multimillion dollar business machinery and its CEOs didn't look like a cloned down version of Triple H.
The question was still hovering in the air and judging by the look on the man's face, he was growing more and more impatient for her to answer it. She took a deep sip from her glass of water before placing it back on the table in front of her ever so gingerly. "That's a tricky question," she chuckled, her nerves showing, "I'm aware I'm supposed to say something confident now like 'Because I'm the best at what I do', but that would make me sound rather conceited and what's even worse, like the female version of the Wolverine," she paused waiting for him to smirk at her joke. He didn't. Tough crowd. "Anyhow, let me be honest with you. The job I do, it's not just a job. I'm a writer because I love writing. You don't stop being a writer when you go home at night. You can't switch it off. It's there. Always. You give me an assignment, I will do it. Not reluctantly. I'll do it and I'll give it a hundred percent. Because either you do something or you don't. There are no halfway inbetweens."
During her little speech she had been staring at her vis-a-vis like she wanted to hypnotize him; now she averted her gaze and lowered it to the carpeted floor, fearing she had said too much. It was possible that he mistook her as a crazy chick, some hard-liner. In reality she was just determined. And a little driven.
Well, if he did think she was crazy, he never let any of it show. He rose from his chair, adjusting his neat, dark-blue business suit. Holding out his hand to her, he said the following words: "Thank you, Miss Stewart, you'll be hearing from us."
As she was ushered out of his office and passed a line of waiting candidates whose eyes followed her as she walked down the corridor, she couldn't help but fear she had messed up her job interview. Little did she know that precisely because of what she had said, she would join the creative staff of the WWE at Stamford in only a couple of weeks.
"And that's your office. You'll be sharing it with two other people, Luke Parker and Maria Menuzzi," the middle-aged woman, whose name tag read Margaret Newton, announce. She stumbled a bit over the difficult pronunciation of that Italian surname. Her smiles were a little too bright. Her neatly pressed business outfit, consisting of a pencil skirt, a tailored jacket and a blouse, intimidated Nina a bit. On her first day at work, unsure of what office policy was about work clothing, she had opted for a business outfit as well. She was wearing some dark slacks, a white pinstripe blouse and ballerinas. The whole ensemble added to her discomfort because it felt like a disguise. This was not her, not at all. But since this was her first day at work, she was willing to compromise.
"Where are they?" she enquired.
"Lunch break. We get 45 minutes by the way," Margaret informed her cheerfully, about to turn around and walk off. Since she worked in human resources, she probably had places to be, other people to lead around, paperwork to file...
"Erm," Nina started. "I'm sorry to keep you, but can I ask you a couple of questions, please?" she looked at the other woman imploringly, tugging at the too tight collar of her blouse.
"Sure," one more of those bright, fake smiles, "That's what I'm here for."
"Alright," Nina tried to smile herself. It turned out a little terse though, so she gave up pretending. Her smile disappeared altogether. Her eyes flitted from the high windows of the office, over the Extreme Rules and Wrestlemania posters on the walls, to the tables of her future, for now faceless, co-workers. On one of those desks there were various little gizmos like bobblehead figures and tiny spaceships. "So we are allowed to decorate our workspace with personal objects to make us feel more at home?"
Margaret gave her a curt nod. "Anything else you wanted to know?"
"What about dress code. Is there one?" Nina wanted to know.
"Casual clothing is allowed as long as you don't dress like you're about to head to the gym, the beach or to a nightclub," Margaret informed her with a smile. Apparently that was her version of wittiness.
Nina secretly breathed sigh of relief. This was her only blouse. She had last worn it at Cousin Elise's wedding. It would have been such a bother if she had had to wash and iron it every day or worse yet, get more of those annoying clothing articles.
"Thank you very much, Mrs Newton. I appreciate it," she said. Apparently keen to get away from her, the other woman left her standing there and walked away, but not without flashing her another one of those smiles. The scent of her expensive and a bit too flowery perfume lingered in the air for a while, even minutes after she had left.
Nina closed the door to the office behind her and stepped closer to her desk. She placed her bag on the table surface, clawing her fingers into the backrest of her chair. Now that she could allow the tension to fall off of her, she no longer suppressed a relieved exhale. On the same note she immediately started tugging at her blouse, opening its first three buttons and rolling up its sleeves to her elbows. A knock at the door let her jump. It swung open and revealed two people, probably the aforementioned Luke and Maria.
Luke gave her a weak smile. He was tall and lanky. A mob of blonde hair sat on his head. He wore glasses and some witty T-shirt that said something about Schroedinger's Cat. Maria looked odd standing next to Luke, because she was about one foot smaller. She had something about her that made Nina like her straight away. Maybe it was that mischievous glint in her eyes or her exuberance that didn't make her hesitate to grab Nina's hand and shake it while she instantly started to chat away. "I'm Maria, that's Luke," her voice was ever so slightly accented, but Nina found that endearing. "You must be Nina. We're so excited to meet you." Having said that last sentence, she flipped her neatly coiffed long black hair over her shoulder. For a second, but only a second, Nina was overwhelmed by envy and regretted having had her own hair chopped off on the spontaneous whim of looking like the woman from 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo'.
"Hey," Luke nodded at her, shoving his hands into his pockets, not looking half as excited as Maria had made him out to be. Nina smirked.
"Hey, nice to meet you. I like your office. I hope you don't mind me invading your territory," she said trying her best to master an art she sucked at: small talk.
"Totally fine," Maria beamed. "Depends," Luke said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"On what?" Nina couldn't help but ask almost out of reflex.
"Here we go again...," Maria sighed.
Luke paid her no heed and seized Nina up with his eyes instead. "Classic Star Trek or TNG?"
"What? Why do you want to know?"
Instead of Luke, Maria decided to clear up the confusion. "It's this thing he does with every newbie he meets. Just be quick about it and answer his questions, okay?" she stage-whispered to a slightly fidgety and worried Nina.
"Do I have to choose?" Nina replied, unsure of what he wanted her to say.
He snorted. "It's a good start you didn't ask what TNG is. And yes, you have to choose."
She sighed. "Okay. TNG."
"Superman or Batman?"
"Seriously?" Nina shook her head with a smile. "Batman. Hands down."
Luke fired his question at a more rapid interval now.
"Connery or Craig?"
"Connery."
"Marvel or DC?"
"Marvel."
"Star Wars or Doctor Who?"
She paused, then shook her head, at first hesitantly then more determinedly. Maria watched their exchange with unmasked amusement. "I'm sorry, Luke, but I won't answer that. Seems like a touchy subject now. Haven't you heard about those fan clubs beating each other up?"
Luke was looking at her with his eyes wide and his mouth forming a perfect 'o'. "This isn't Candid Camera, is it?" He looked at her in total disbelief. Nina shook her head. He grinned at her - this time with added enthusiasm. "She may stay," he proclaimed.
"As always I haven't understood anything you've been talking about, but that's okay," Maria told Luke, touching his shoulder in a patronizing, yet teasing 'there, there' gesture one would only dare to make after having spent an eternity working together with someone.
"Soooo," Nina stretched out the vowel of that little word to buy herself some time, "who are you writing for?"
"Me?" Maria indicated herself "Mainly Santino, Del Rio and Rey Mysterio. Seeing as I speak both Spanish and Italian, I'm the only one who can argue with those handsome fellows in the languages of their mamas if they decide they want to channel their inner drama queens again."
Nina let out a soft chuckle at Maria's words, then threw Luke a pointed look, curious to know who he had been assigned to. "Rhodes Scholars," he stated reluctantly, rolling his eyes, "And Team Hell No, don't ask."
"Hey, you'll hear no complaints from me. Those are great teams, at least from what I've heard," she tried to placate him. Apparently it worked because he smirked before he launched the inevitable question at her.
"You?"
"Sheamus and Wade Barrett," Nina told them.
"Sheamus!?" Maria's voice sounded somewhat shrill in her disbelief. Luke just stared at her blankly like she had just wetted her pants in front of them.
"Is that bad?" Nina asked in her naivety.
"Hmm? No, no, bad is such an extreme word," Maria tried to downplay her reaction, while Luke nodded emphatically.
"So if it's not bad, what is it?" Nina enquired further, not being able to shake a feeling of dark foreboding.
"Maria, I think it would be only fair to tell her before we head off to the group bow-wow or else it's going to be like total carnage when she meets him. Like entrails flying all over the place. Splat! Splat!" Luke deemed it necessary to dramatize his words with sound effects and emphatic gestures.
"Meet who?" Nina's eyes had grown large at Luke's words.
"You don't know? Mike? The guy whose job you've stolen from under his ass?!"
"Wait a second! I haven't stolen someone's job, have I?" She looked at her two colleagues expectantly. Their facial expressions said it all. They displayed a mixture of discomfort and pity. Apparently that Mike fellow was one scary guy.
"I'm not going to throw up," was Nina's new mantra she kept whispering to herself while she trotted after Maria and Luke reluctantly. They had dissuaded her from her original idea of heading over to Mike's office and clearing things up with an apology and a heartfelt talk. "This is such a bad, very bad, stupid idea," she muttered to herself as she rounded the last corner that separated her from the conference room into which most of the writing staff were filing for the first of their twice weekly meetings.
Maria and Luke had informed her that it was there, among that elite group of roughly 20 people, that storylines were created. So in a couple of minutes she would meet the people who would shape her day to day routine from now on and the guy who would hate her guts on first sight. On a normal day the promise of making new acquaintances would have left her thrilled, but today she only felt dread. Best she kept a low profile in there.
Nina scurried through the door and took a seat next to Luke and Maria. She sporadically raised her eyes to briefly scan the room. Writers were a rather eclectic and eccentric crowd. While some proclaimed their affiliations by wearing their respective charges' t-shirts, others sported quirky clothing and grooming styles, ranging from hipster to the more subdued and company-suitable versions of Goth and flower child.
Unsurprisingly women were a minority in that particular branch of industry. Just imagine a gap-toothed little girl with ribbons in her hair telling her daddy: "I wanna grow up to be a writer for the WWE and make up stories for a big, ugly wrestler." Despite her current predicament, Nina had to smile at the thought as she got out her smart-phone, a pen and a notepad to prepare for the meeting.
The place at the head of the table had remained empty until now. She half-expected Vince McMahon to breeze in, except that he didn't. In her surprise she whispered an inquiry to Luke who informed her that the top honcho only came in for those meetings when something big was looming on the horizon like PPV or Wrestlemania. Instead of Mr McMahon, a middle aged, white-haired man in chinos and a polo shirt sauntered through the door a couple of minutes later and closed it behind himself. Any latecomers would find themselves in a predicament now, having to sneak in under the eyes of the entire writing team.
The meeting took off. The white-haired guy, called Richard Dickson, as Maria whispered to her as a quick explanation, brought order to a procedure that would otherwise have been chaotic. Dickson called up a few names, the names of the wrestlers involved in next week's storyline; and the respective writers then proceeded to present their ideas to the group. If those ideas met with general approval, there was a quick nod from Dickson, if not they were tweaked and prodded with by the entire team until they were good enough to be accepted.
Suddenly she heard the names "Sheamus and Randy Orton" being called. Like a bolt of electricity excitement shot through her system. She was all at once wide awake and bubbly with energy. Since no one had acknowledged her presence yet, she raised her hand. "Ah, the new girl," Dickson nodded at her with a professional smile. "How much do you know about the storyline?"
She cleared her throat. "Sheamus and Randy Orton have come to establish an alliance against the Shield. Sheamus still isn't much of a fan of Big Show, especially since Hell in a Cell..."
"Good girl! You've done your homework," Dickson nodded. "As you said, Sheamus and Orton are currently being threatened by the Shield..." At that a groan of exasperation and some whispered sarcastic jokes went through the crowd. "Yeah, I know, apart from their writer Dom over here," a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a chiseled chin waved to the others benignly at the mention of his name, "...nobody's that keen on the Shield right now. Regardless of that, how are we gonna help the boys out? Any ideas for Orton, Mike?"
Nina's eyes widened as a very handsome dark haired man with an olive complexion spoke up from his seat somewhere left of Dickson. "I think we have to build up that friendship between Randy and Sheamus further. For Wrestlemania in a couple of weeks I'm thinking three men tag team match against the Shield."
"Sounds good. Who's the third man, Mike?"
"Ryback," Mike shot back, fixing her with a cool and rather challenging gaze across the room. It was almost as if he was daring her to say something. Nina gulped. Unfortunately there was actually something she wanted to say.
"How about we have Ryback back out at the very last moment and have them team up with someone else. Haven't we agreed that we wanted to build up Ryback as a monster just ten minutes ago? Sorry, Mike, I think the tag team idea is excellent, just not with him," she finished on a more diplomatic note and flashed the other writer an apologetic smile.
He waved her off with a hand gesture. While his posture appeared to be relaxed, there was something tense about the way his jaw was set. "And who do you want to bring in?"
She smiled. "The Big Show." A murmur went through the room. Her proposal was met by nods of approval and headshakes equally. "Hold up! Hold up! Of course he's going to back-stab them in the end..."
There was moment of silence. All eyes turned to Dickson, awaiting his verdict. "I like it. Sounds very Greek tragedy to me. Classy. Mike, Nina, get together and work out the details."
Nina groaned inwardly. Seriously? The guy already looked like he wished he could shoot red lasers from his eyes and kill her with them. Why give him more ammunition by exposing herself to his company for an indeterminate period of time?
"And Nina?" her head snapped up again as Dickson's voice called her back to the present. "Meet up with me immediately after this here is over, I've got a treat for you."
She nodded mechanically and just like that she was off the hook again for the time being. Thanks to her nervousness from before she was parched, so she reached for the empty glass in front of her on the table and poured herself some water. She emptied it in one go and then refocused on the meeting. Nina had to speak up again when Wade Barrett's name came up, but this time around things went more smoothly, probably because her writer counterpart seemed to be a relaxed sort of guy.
By the time the meeting was slowly closing down, she had emptied another glass of water and a familiar pressure was starting to build up in her bladder. Silently she exited the room and crept towards the restrooms opposite of the conference room. As she was anxious not to miss the end of the meeting, she kept looking over her shoulder all the time and more or less stumbled through one of those doors, because she was not paying attention where she was going. She closed her eyes for a second, annoyed with herself and her clumsiness, praying that this was the ladies'. Promptly, upon turning around, she collided with a very muscular and distinctly not female chest. She could tell with so much certainty because her nose briefly dug into said chest, precisely at the height of the other person's sternum before she bounced back. She would have fallen, had it not been for a pair of hands which momentarily steadied her, just long enough for her to regain her balance.
"Ow!" she protested and automatically covered her nose to protect it from further onslaught. Her eyes wandered up those pectoral muscles covered in a shirt and vest. She dimly registered that an amused male voice was giving her a scolding for her impulsiveness. "Now watch where you're going. You've almost speared me there." Nina had always been one to be quick on the uptake, so before her eyes actually connected with the stranger's face, she was able to tell who she had collided with. That thick Irish accent was a dead-give-away.
"Fuck!" She swore. A pair of surprised blue eyes settled on her and she saw dimples, a red beard and pale skin. A cap covered his red hair, but there was no doubt it was him. Her eyes finally fell on that face she had familiarized herself with in the last couple of weeks. It had smiled at her from the covers of all those magazines she had leafed through, reading countless articles about him and his wrestling career. Panic took a hold of her and she hurried to amend her mistake. A second f-bomb lay already waiting on the tip of her tongue, so what she actually said sounded a bit like that: "Fu... Sorry. I could try to pull off total confidence now and say that you're wrong here and this is the ladies', but that's not true, huh?"
The Irishman shook his head and chuckled at her antics.
"Maybe my colleague Luke was right before. This is has got to be Candid Camera. Hello? You can all come out now!" she called out into the seemingly, apart from them, empty restroom, trying to turn the awkwardness of the situation into a funny moment.
Quite inevitably a "hello" echoed back from the stalls which grew more and more enquiring. "Fuck!" she swore again and immediately covered her mouth with her hands after, completely embarrassed with herself and her behavior. Right now the only way for her to keep face consisted in resigning herself to blushing and slowly backing out of the room. She chose to do a mixture of both. "Are you sure you're not concussed? I hear it affects short term memory sometimes, which, let's face it, would be a good thing right now," she said hopefully, briefly taking her hands away from her mouth.
"No," he shook his head and smiled, "you just hit me chest. And that not very hard."
"Damn! I was counting on that temporary memory loss..." She joked, searching desperately for the door handle behind her back.
"That bad?" he laughed. "Come on. Relax. It's not that big a deal. I'm Stephen, by the way. And what's your name?" he held out his hand to her still smiling.
"You have no idea. It actually is." Her comically widened eyes took in his outstretched hand and then they settled back on his face. The countless times she had imagined this moment in her head, it certainly hadn't looked anything like this. "Nice to meet you," she said finally and grinned a little too brightly. His hand remained outstretched between them. She reckoned that once she did take it, would make it official that this was their first meeting, so she didn't even make a move. "And sorry, but I'm not going to tell you my name... Yet. This is so not a place for first meetings."
He shot her a funny look and let his hand sink down. The smile from before was fading. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose while he regarded her with a look that said he was torn between finding her behavior strangely endearing and considering calling security. "Don't you sometimes wish you could pull off one of those Jedi mind tricks? Man, I know I do right now," and with those words she scrambled out of the door and flung herself into the ladies' room as if it were her last escape from a red dragon and not a red-haired Irish wrestler.
Unbeknownst to her, she left behind a very surprised, but smiling Irishman in the men's room. Nina, on the other hand, was busy trying not to die of embarrassment. She leaned against the closed door behind her and let out a long and shuddering exhale. Well, that had gone well! She turned her head and looked at her reflection in the mirrors to her left. Her face was flushed. She stepped closer and took inventory. Normally of fair complexion, her face was now beet-red. Even the tips of her ears seemed to be glowing. She growled softly and grimaced before she stalked off to the stalls with a curse on her lips.