Acquiescence

Chapter 1

Pushing the glasses up her nose, her fingers flew over the keys on her keyboard, sky blue eyes focused on the screen. Her long black hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck in a bun, a few strands framing her forehead and cheek. It was early morning hours on a Monday and she had a deadline she had to meet. Her boss would not be happy with her if she didn't make it. Never had she missed a deadline and Emery wasn't about to start now. Smirking, she typed even faster on her laptop and nodded, hoping the boss enjoyed what she had in mind for one particular wrestler.

Since 1996, she had worked for the World Wrestling Federation -it was now known as World Wrestling Entertainment- as a creative writer for the company. Emery had worked her way up the ladder until she became the top lead script writer, which only took her 2 years to achieve. Vince McMahon had been ecstatic over the ideas she came up with – the Undertaker having a long-lost brother, for instant. The whole storyline between him and Kane had been her idea entirely. Emery didn't want credit for it though because she was a woman living in a man's world. A man's business.

Vince respected that, setting up a proxy for her, which was a man by the name of Matthew.

His job was to calm the wrestlers down when they didn't like their ideas or storylines, so she never had to deal with any of them directly. It was a sneaky way to do things, but…Emery just wanted to see her ideas come to life on-screen and didn't need any kind of credit or recognition for them. Once she finished a few hours later, with 3 cups of coffee inhaled, Emery dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a Kingdom Hearts t-shirt, her favorite video game franchise, before heading out the door to go deliver her current idea to the boss.

Vince had been the one to suggest she have a proxy. A person with a face to take the 'credit' as lead script writer; someone who could claim the ideas and put in at the meetings with the actual wrestlers. However, she had been adamant that it be a man. He had respected that, knowing not being able to claim the credit was probably hard, but she had also known that no one would take her seriously, not his boys, that was for sure. He could recall many times when her poor proxy had gotten threatened, assaulted a little and knew, if the boys had realized it was this tiny little woman who was giving him these delicious soap opera lines, they'd up their game and try to intimidate her, or worse. So, she posed as just another staffer, and nobody had given her a second glance. Well… maybe some did; she was an attractive woman, but most people never looked past her glasses and graphic t-shirts. Probably a good thing.

"Hello, Emery." He greeted after calling out 'come in'.

"Mr. McMahon."

Emery nodded her head in acknowledgment with a soft smile, never having an issue with her boss. He was terrific and the fact he understood why she wanted a proxy was a lifesaver. It saved her a lot of headaches, that was for sure. Emery was not a confrontational person, not a fighter and only stood a mere 5'7 weighing around a buck and a quarter, if that. She was small, but had a very large, vast mind full of ideas and enjoyed watching them portrayed on television.

"As requested." She handed over the newest idea her devious brain had come up with, sky blue eyes lighting up while he read over the words and waited to receive his input – yes or no.

He had to read it twice, contemplating the potential outcome of letting this one roll. Hell, he had done worse and allowed worse. What was beautiful is Emery had all these great ideas and then, when he'd offer his input, she always found a way to work it in. She always took his suggestions seriously and was invaluable to him.

"Hmm…" Vince finally nodded, beckoning his assistant from her corner and handed it to her. "We're running with this. Make the arrangements."

"Yes sir."

Emery wasn't surprised when Vince handed the script to his assistant, keeping a soft smile on her face. He rarely turned her ideas down, not even the GTV one. Not one of her finer ideas, but nobody was perfect. He ran with it the best he could and some of the things shown were hilarious.

"I know this is a huge risk to take, Vince, but if you want to build new stars, I feel this is the best way to do it." She watched him nod in agreement and left the room, not needing to say much else. Whipping her cell phone out, speed dialing her proxy, Emery informed him there would probably be a very angry Undertaker headed his way before the day was out.

Groaning after getting off the phone with Emery, Matthew wondered why he took this job in the first place and shook his head. Why did he have to take the fall for Emery all the time? Oh wait, that's right, that's what he was paid to do! Emery was a great woman, smart and funny, but some of her ideas were OUT there. Such as this one. Was she insane? He wondered if sometimes she didn't care about the consequences he had to suffer because of her ideas. Sighing, Matthew suddenly dreaded going into work tonight because it was Smackdown! and he knew there would be trouble with Undertaker, thanks to Emery.

The problem was convincing Taker that this was in the best interest of the company. The man had done a lot for what was 'best for the company', because Taker was usually a company man. However, Taker had also been less than impressed with Bautista. In fact, Vince was pretty sure he had referred to the new guy as 'all show, no substance', with an explanation concerning those muscles being easy targets. Taker probably wasn't going to take this one very easily and Vince sighed, knowing he'd manage somehow.

Vince looked up a knock sounded at his office door a few hours later at the arena, smiling at the sight of Undertaker and squared his shoulders. "Taker, we came up with your next storyline and I think you're really going to like this. It involves you doing something and achieving something you've never done before in the company." At the man's arched black brow, Vince handed over the script. "You will be winning the 2007 Royal Rumble and go onto WrestleMania to be in one of the two championship matches."

The Undertaker, or Mark Calaway, depending on which one he felt like answering to that day, slowly raised an eyebrow as he took in his boss. He had learned long ago, when Vince had that gleam in his beady eyes, good was a relative term. He had been a cornerstone of the WWE/WWF for over a decade; he was recognized as a locker room leader, the judge when there were disputes between the boys and, sometimes, the executioner as well.

"I'm onboard, so far." He agreed, folding his heavily tattooed arms over his chest.

This is where things would get a little tricky.

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. Now Taker, I know you've always done what's best for business. You've always put the company first, correct?" At the man's curt nod, he continued. "After having a meeting with the lead script writer, we've decided that it's time for the new blood to shine at WrestleMania. What that means is, you will lose at WrestleMania this year against…Batista." Who was the current world heavyweight champion on Smackdown!. Raw had a separate champion since the brands were split. "But you'll still get that Royal Rumble win you never have, so it's a win-win for both of you…"

Mark considered that, his emerald eyes flashing pure venom for a moment before settling back to their normal shade. "And to who, do I owe this brilliant idea to?" He asked casually, planning on beating down the writer. And Vince. And Batista. Sure, he had never won at a Royal Rumble, but to lose his streak to that punk?

"Matthew."

He'd wait and bide his time; Mark did want that Royal Rumble win, but afterwards, Matthew would get his head knocked off his shoulders.

Winter was her favorite time of the year, but damn was it cold! Emery walked inside the arena, carrying her bag at her side and shook some of the snow off her shoulders. It was nearing Christmas time, just a few weeks, along with the Armageddon pay-per-view event, which she had to finish. There were great matches on the card, the talent was amazing on Smackdown! compared to Raw. Then again, she was biased. Humming under her breath, Emery walked into her office and began setting up for the night, taking her winter coat off to drape it over her chair. She looked up when a knock sounded at her door and smiled at Matthew, who looked apprehensive.

"How's it going?"

"Just tell me why, Emery. Why do you insist on pissing off the wrestlers with these ideas? Do you realize what's gonna happen when the Deadman gets here tonight?" Matthew was TOAST.

"That's for me to know and you to find out. Don't worry, I'm sure Vince smoothed everything over with him and he won't hunt you down." She hoped anyway.

Lies, all lies.

Mark walked into the arena, his hair hanging down around his face. He wore black jeans and a black thermal, his hands covered in his leather biker gloves, boots on his feet and his duffel over his shoulder. He was still not amused, but would bide his time. Obviously, the lead writer, Matthew, had lost his mind and was gay; that was the only explanation because David Batista, while having the look and some moves, was a joke as a wrestler, performer, sports-entertainer, whatever one wanted to call it.

In truth, Emery didn't like David Batista either. She didn't think he had what it took to make it in this business and she'd been around a long time. 10 years, actually. She'd seen the best and the worst – he wasn't in the Undertaker's league. However, it made sense to her to let the new blood go over the veteran. That was how the business worked and why it continued having the insurmountable success it did year after year. Undertaker did put guys over he felt were worthy, but this time it was out of his hands. Matthew voiced his concerns and she listened, but then sent him on his merry way to do her bidding like he was supposed to. It's what he was paid for. When Smackdown! began, she stood up and stretched, deciding to head to the cafeteria for a quick bite to eat.

The problem with people these days, and all these young ones, was while they needed the veterans to help them get over sometimes, they didn't know the struggle anymore. Not of making it, by paying dues and working Indies; those territories were fast drying up and the only opposition these days was some company called TNA. They kept trading that talent back and forth it seemed. WCW and ECW were nothing more than a figment of people's imaginations – though Vince had brought back ECW as one of the three major shows currently going with all of them having different wrestlers. Hell, even OVW was out of business! Vince had consolidated all the major players under his belt; what did he care about those who had been here forever, helping him hold onto what was his company? His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the cafeteria, taking in all the old familiar faces and the newer ones.

"Hey Em, how's it going?" Sandra, the main seamstress in WWE, greeted with a smile, grabbing some food while she had a minute to herself.

Emery had known Sandra for close to 5 years and loved her spunky attitude, smiling back. "It's going. Looking forward to my days off though." She received the same ones – Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays – like the wrestlers off along with the other employees of the company.

"Oh, I hear ya, girl! I can't wait to get home and see my grandbabies!" Sandra was in her 60's and had the most beautiful grandchildren, though she was biased and didn't bother denying it, showing off pictures whenever she could.

"Join me and you can show me some updated pictures of them." They headed to a table near the back and sat down, Sandra immediately whipping the pictures out while Emery ate her salad. "Your grandson into video games?"

"Yes." Sandra didn't sound happy. "Rotting his brain, I tell ya."

Emery didn't comment, just smiled and nodded.

Once he was done taking inventory of the wrestlers, he began eyeballing staff. Technicians, they ran the production booth. Medics, self-explanatory. Some security, headed up by Big Jim; he had tussled a time or two with them. Ring crew and the drivers. Assistants to those higher ups who traveled. Seamstresses, head one included, sitting next to… either she was one of the underwriters meant to fill in the smaller junk, or she was an assistant to a writer. Mark didn't know. She was a dork, that was about all he did know. No Matthew. Well… he began smirking, dork chick it was.

"Look at this one – oh hello, Mark." Sandra had to tilt her head in order to look up into his eyes, her own dark eyes sparkling. "Need another order on tights done, honey pie?" She had absolutely no fear and was probably the only woman that got away with calling the Undertaker 'honey pie'.

Emery had looked away from the picture, thinking Undertaker wanted something from Sandra and continued eating while they conversed. Taking her phone out, she began scrolling through her email to see if anything interesting had popped up. She smirked, seeing her preorder for a game she'd been waiting to come out was finally ready to be picked up once she arrived home tomorrow.

Sandra was THE only person, man or woman, who could call him that and be left standing alive. Anyone else, and he didn't care about gender, would wind up being choked the hell out. "Not right now, darlin'. Soon though. I'm thinking something special for when the Rumble rolls around." His emerald gaze moved from the seamstress to the dork. "Mind if I borrow…?"

"Her name is Emery. You know everyone, how do you not know her name?"

"It's a guy's name."

Mark didn't usually associate male names with chicks. It suited her. Those glasses… he inwardly rolled his eyes when Emery looked up finally, taking in the t-shirt. He flashed her a grin that usually knocked the panties off most woman, though there was a hint of something feral in it and she just blinked. A geek and a dyke, apparently.

What this man didn't realize was Emery had worked for the company a LONG time, longer than Sandra. She didn't associate with very man people though, keeping to herself. Most of her acquaintances called her a hermit, which she had no problem with. Hotels, arenas and home were her usual spots to go besides GameStop whenever a game came out she wanted to check out. Since when did the famous Undertaker want to talk to her? He was an asshole and everyone knew it, but they also respected him for what he'd contributed to the business.

"Emery is actually a boy AND a girl's name, Mr. Calaway." She corrected him with a cool smile, pushing her glasses up her nose again, not taking offense to what he said.

"You're the first chick I know with that name."

Mark knew, had known, a lot of women in his time. He had been quite the whore in his younger days and felt zero shame over it. He wasn't above slutting around these days either, being more cautious and selective about who he took to his bed.

"Anyway, I don't care, DC." He gestured for her to stand up. "I want to talk to you."

"Oh, take a moment you two, I'm being waved at," Sandra frowned as she took in the trunks being waved at her, sighing. "You know, if those boys would just pick a weight and size and stay at it… or wear spandex. I miss spandex, it was so easy and it stretched…" She stood up, taking her photos with her, leaving the two alone.