TITLE: Pathetically Synthetic
AUTHOR: Pepper
RATING: ...PG? Weird.
PAIRING: CM Punk and John Laurinaitis
WARNINGS: swearing, punk being punk, clown shoes, oddly charming clown shoes, etc.
P.O.V: Third person.
DATE WRITTEN: March 3rd 2012 at 3-4:00 A.M originally, fixed March 7th 2012 12:08-2:10 P.M(it took that long because i forgot i was writing so i decided to edit some stuff then i was like )
SUMMARY: CM Punk and John Laurinaitis have a calm talk over lunch one day. How did Punk get suckered into this?
AUTHOR NOTES: Whew this is a short one. I came up with it a while ago and stuff and it came along because of that stupidly cute grin Clown Shoes gets on his face sometimes that makes me aw, then hate him for making me aw. :C Frackin clown shoes making me aw. I hope this doesn't suck either uthrghgskjk ;_;
It was a nice day. Sun was out. No clouds. And they were in some city. New York. Los Angeles.
San Francisco. Hell, maybe even Tokyo. Punk didn't know, really. Sometimes the cities you're in blur into one another after seeing them so many times, and the same blank and despondent or overly animated faces. And speaking of blank, despondent faces, Punk was currently sitting in front of one. The face was yapping about stupid things that Punk didn't care about, and then he got around to the kinds of things he could actually jump in to.
Firings, hirings, storylines, angles. He took his chance to speak finally, instead of drowning in Pepsi.
"So. What about you firing my friends?" Punk offered around his straw with a dark spark in his olive eyes, looking the older man over. John just shrugged slightly, face blank as he began to reply.
"I'm sorry about your friends, Phil-"
"Call me Punk," damnit. He finished the wished sentence in his mind, not willing to be scolded for his 'rough language' by stupid Clown Shoes. Said Clown Shoes put his hands up and nodded.
"-Sorry. Punk." He corrected, then smiled in that annoyingly charming way. "But i'm just doing my job."
Punk snorted and rolled his eyes at the most likely blatantly used cliché.
'Of course. Just doing your job. How pathetically synthetic of you.' Punk scoffed in his head, his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked upon his boss' face. John coughed lightly and took another bite of his sandwich. What was in it?
'Probably plastic, downers, and cough syrup..'
Punk deduced with a smirk now on his face. He bent his head down a little to take another big sip of his drink, looking down at the plate that once held his lunch. He still couldn't believe that he was having lunch with John Laurinaitis. How did he get suckered into this? Who knows? He took his straw out of the drink and put the paper that held it in his mouth..
And blew a spitball right at John's face with a loud laugh at the man's dumpy blank stare.
That was fun to write hahaha~~
Don't forget to review and comment and bla and junk and stuff and andandnanandnandnbanana. : )
