Chapter 2
That also worked and he sat down in the newly vacated spot, stretching his long legs out before him. "What's your job again, DC?"
"You will address me by my name if you want me to talk to you, Mr. Calaway." Emery narrowed her sky-blue eyes at him, not believing the audacity of this prick and could only imagine what DC stood for. She didn't want to know or care. "Actually, your time is up because I have a job to get back to. It was so nice talking to you. We really must do this again sometime." Her tone dripped with sarcasm.
Snorting, she turned and walked out of the cafeteria, rolling her eyes. Most men looked right past her because of the glasses and her look, which suited her just fine. It wheedled out the jackasses and kept them away from her. Mark Calaway might've been the locker room leader, but he was also arrogant, pompous and downright childish at times. She'd known him, or of him, far too long to be intimidated by him.
He let her walk out of the cafeteria then he followed, his longer legs easily catching up. "Wrong, sweetheart," Mark caught Emery by the back of her shirt and easily pulled her back. Picking her up by the t-shirt back, he hauled her bodily into the first empty room, shutting the door behind him before setting her down. "I have all the time in the world." He folded his arms over his chest as he stared down his nose at her. "Where's your boss? Matthew? The little bastard has been hiding from me all fuckin' night and I want a word with him."
"Couldn't tell you, Neanderthal." Emery muttered, checking her shirt to make sure he hadn't stretched it too badly with that stunt.
This was her favorite Kingdom Hearts t-shirt and if he so much as tore one thread, she would find a way to hurt him. This man had never approached her like this, not once, and she wasn't about to give away Matthew's location. It looked as though Mark wasn't happy with idea for his WrestleMania match…she immediately bit back a smirk, knowing he had no clue it was her behind the scenes. She was the puppet master for every single idea this man ever had in his career.
"And even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you."
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"
John Bradshaw Layfield sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose at Vince's incredulous look. "I said… the Undertaker spray painted HAVE U SEEN MATTHEW," Pausing, he emphasized that by raising his voice and doing air quotations with his fingers. "On Emery's shirt front, and she is… upset and out in the hallway."
"Oh, sweet Jesus…" His star had issues, lots of them. Taker was respected, sure and when it came to the boys, he was stern, but God help them all if the man was pissed off. "That's… that's all, right?"
No, Mark had used his black pen to autograph her forehead.
To DC, XOXO Neanderthal.
To say Emery was NOT happy would've been the understatement of the CENTURY! She regretted writing Neanderthal winning the Royal Rumble, gritting her teeth. When she refused to give Undertaker what he wanted, he'd resorted to bully tactics. High school bullshit she thought she was passed since she'd been bullied heavily throughout school. When JBL gestured her inside Vince's office, Emery couldn't look the man in the eye, but it was clear as day on his forehead.
"Emery…"
"I want him fined, Vince." Her voice was deceptively calm and low, sky blue eyes nothing more than ice behind her glasses. "Fine him…and I want him to stay away from me. Matthew is to deal with the wrestlers, that was the deal."
"I understand." Vince couldn't lose her. She was way too invaluable and had worked here too long to be treated like this. "I will speak with him…and give him a fine."
"Good." She hoped it was a hefty one for the Neanderthal.
"JBL has a t-shirt for you to change into…" Vince said lamely, not sure what else to say to his lead script writer.
Storming out with the WWE logo t-shirt, she went straight to the bathroom to try to scrub away the message on her forehead and shed a few tears in the process, changing her shirt.
Matthew was well paid for his job. He dressed the part, handled the wrestlers and everything else and got all the credit for Emery's ideas. He also got all the crap spewed at him. When he heard he needed to go calm Taker down and why… he was suddenly considering finding employment in Russia. He had dealt with the man through some bad ideas, according to Taker at least and the last blow-up that came to mind was the Ministry of Darkness angle. Taker had been onboard, up until it came time to align with the Corporation, then he had gotten pissed. He hadn't enjoyed that then and he wasn't going to enjoy this now.
"How… what?"
"The line isn't being changed. You can tell him that."
Bradshaw, or John as he preferred these days, sighed. "I'll come with you." Mark and he went way back. "And I'll give him the fine, and remind him to keep his… hands to himself."
"What the hell happened to you?" Randy Orton, a third-generation superstar, and one of the fastest rising stars on Smackdown asked, staring wide-eyed at his friend the moment she walked out of the women's bathroom.
"Don't ask." The black ink had barely come off as Emery put a hand over her forehead to hide what it said. "Where is the trainer's?" She needed rubbing alcohol in order to get rid of what was written on her forehead by the Neanderthal.
"Follow me." Randy guided her down the hallway toward the trainer's room, curious to know what her forehead said. "Just let me take a quick look, please?" His blue eyes pleaded.
"No, don't ask again." Rapping on the trainer's door, Emery stepped inside after hearing 'come in' and rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly in front of a bewildered Larry. She rarely visited the trainer's room. "Hi Larry, do you have some rubbing alcohol? I need to…get something off my forehead."
"Yeah, of course." Larry blinked in confusion, procuring it along with a few cotton balls. "Do you want me to…?" He held them both out, gesturing at her head. When Emery affirmed in the negative, he sighed and passed them over, turning his back on her so she could do whatever it was she was doing in peace. "Everything okay?" Very rarely did they have to deal with the writers, unless it was Matthew, but the man was well compensated for the beatings he sometimes got.
"Sure, everything's great." Or would be after she got her revenge against Undertaker, scowling at the message still clear on her forehead.
"Who is Neanderthal?"
Emery felt her cheeks turn a deep crimson while scrubbing the words away hastily, using 10 cotton balls until it was gone. "Nobody. Thanks Larry." She walked out of the trainer's office and suddenly pulled Randy into a nearby dressing room, closing the door behind her. "Neanderthal is Mark 'I just fucked with the wrong writer' Calaway and I need your help to get him back. You game?"
Randy's eyes widened, his jaw on the floor and saw the ice in her eyes, swallowing hard. "What did you have in mind?"
"First of all, how good are your artistic skills?"
When Undertaker walked out of the arena later that night after the show, ready to head back to the hotel, he found his Titan motorcycle, he brought on the road from his personal collection, desecrated. There was a picture of a dick and a head spray painted in neon green on the side.
Under any other circumstances, he would have pegged the culprits instantly as DX – Triple H and The Heartbreak Kid Shawn Michaels. Those two had been a pain in his backside for years. However, they were also on RAW, and RAW was not anywhere near their current location. Also… he knew who he had a run-in with today and it was a geek in a kiddie t-shirt with stupid glasses. Sighing, Mark dropped to one knee to take in the damage, aware his face was slowly turning a shade of red only the devil wore well. This was his bike. Not a prop owned by the WWE, but his and someone had just signed their own death warrant. Growling, he straddled the seat and immediately regretted it, dismounting just as quick and stared down at it along with his pants.
In his defense, Randy also had to pee.
After her 3 days off, it was time to head back on the road for the Smackdown! house shows. Instead of a live show, Smackdown! had an extra house show on Mondays and then taped Smackdown! on Tuesdays for it to air on Thursdays. Wearing a Yoshi shirt from her favorite Nintendo brand, Emery made her way inside the building with bag in hand, her black hair braided over her shoulder this time. Immediately, she was bombarded by Matthew.
"What the HELL did you do to the Undertaker?!" He demanded, breathing heavily and could hear the man growling from a distance, shivering. "Emery, he is PISSED. Someone fucked his bike up and he's demanding answers from EVERYONE." Especially him.
"Damn that sucks." Emery didn't sound the least bit sorry or scared, walking past her proxy to head to her office. Nobody would be able to pin the deed on her and Randy because, unlike Taker, she hadn't put XOXO DC with the artwork, though she was tempted to.
It was interesting. Matthew, the lead writer, worked from a room with other writers and his little DC had her own room. There was no name plaque or anything, but she had it. It was also interesting how Matthew ran in and out of that room, always looking around cautiously and Mark knew why. Matthew was avoiding him. They had a run-in earlier in the evening and the little bastard had kicked him in the knee to escape. He was livid. First his bike, then being kicked by a midget in an ugly suit. Bradshaw had already informed him, if he messed with anyone tonight, his fines from last week would seem like a child's allowance compared to this week's.
He had given his friend the finger.
Mark was out for blood.
Technically, Emery didn't have her own office per say, but Vince did allow her to choose from the empty rooms unoccupied. She didn't want to work with the other mindless writers they had hired and made it crystal clear. Most of their ideas were changed to her liking and then sent to Vince. Emery had worked there for 10 long years, had never left and was completely loyal to Vince. Throughout the war with WCW, she was an asset to him and irreplaceable. The only thing she had asked for was a quiet place, alone, where she could work her ideas out and he'd granted her request. Finding a room down one of the empty hallways, and one the wrestlers weren't using, Emery walked in and set up shop for the evening.
"Hey!" Matthew squeaked out.
He had been bringing some of the other writer's horrible ideas to Emery, only to find himself being picked up by the back of his neck. He was a small, wiry guy, so he supposed he was easy to lift. Nevertheless, being picked up like he was a kitten was a blow to his manly pride.
"What?! I didn't do it."
"I know." Mark leaned against the wall, right outside that door, dangling Matthew in front of him. "But I know your little… loner…. assistant did, or she had someone do it."
"I don't know anything about that either!"
"Let's just focus on us, hmm? You and me." Mark held Matthew eyelevel with him, adjusting his grip ever so slightly. "I'm onboard with the Royal Rumble. Thank you, I like this idea."
"Okay? You're welcome?"
"WrestleMania, not so much."
Matthew swallowed hard at the way Taker's voice had gone from friendly and congenial to something dark and sinister.
Emery could hear his dark voice clear as day behind that door and rolled her eyes, not giving a damn what he liked or didn't like. He wasn't the lead script writer, she was! He would put over Dave Batista and deal with it, like he dealt with the Corporate Ministry. Another low blow in her career, though she would never admit it to the Neanderthal. The idea had looked great on paper, but when it actually came to fruition, it fizzled drastically and the Unholy Alliance had been formed with Big Show to save Undertaker's character. Feeling bad for Matthew, Emery decided to go save her proxy before he had his backside handed to him and opened the door, pushing her glasses up on her nose.
"Mind letting him go, Neanderthal? We have a meeting regarding OTHER scripts besides yours." Or she would report him to Vince again.
Matthew blinked when he was actually dropped and scurried into the room past Emery, letting her handle the Deadman.
"Have a nice night, Neanderthal." She slammed the door in his face and got to work with Matthew. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, but… why… why did you interfere?" He asked, rubbing the ache out of the back of his neck. "Not that I'm not grateful, because I am… I just… he's scary."
Matthew wondered if she had ever even found out what happened when Taker lost interest in lines, or hated them. That hadn't been an issue since… the Corporate Ministry line, but back then, Taker had gone out of his way to tank the idea, at house shows and live television. He had acted bored, ignored everything around him and it had just been foolish as hell. The man had no regard for others, or how it would affect them.
Mark was not amused and somewhat offended by that little dyke that thought she could order HIM around. Maybe, he'd go bug Vince and see what info he could dig up. Or… maybe he'd just 'sacrifice' her one of these nights, on live television for the world to see. Might be a fun way to mess with Batista once that ball got rolling.
"Because I'm sick and tired of you getting your ass handed to you because of me." Emery spoke quietly, not wanting the Neanderthal to overhear them and held her hand up before Matthew could utter another word. "I know it's your job to handle the wrestlers, but you also need to defend yourself against them. You can't let anyone, not even the almighty Undertaker, push you around. He's been fined heavily for destroying my t-shirt and writing some obnoxious bullshit on my forehead in black pen." At Matthew's wide eyes, Emery folded her arms in front of her chest. "He wanted to know your whereabouts and I told him no, in my own way. Now are these the ideas?" She snatched the papers from him, looking over them and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on.
It was going to be a long night.
Letting Emery have the night from him, Mark wouldn't be a week by week trick pony. He'd let her relax. Let her friend Matthew relax and he'd just wait. He had gone to see Vince and the old bastard had told him she was just Matthew's underling, who also preferred to work alone. Helpful as a pet rock that one. He'd focus on this little thing with Kenny boy -Mr. Kennedy- and then David.
"Deadman!"
Speak of the devil, maybe he would kill Matthew after all.
"Man, did you hear the news?! Of course, you probably did, you're the Deadman after all." David grinned, holding the world championship over his shoulder and he was dressed to the nines in a crisp grey suit. "Thanks for this opportunity, I won't let you down. And I'll always be grateful to you for letting me break the streak." He blinked when the man stalked away from him, wondering what he'd said and shrugged, going to do a photoshoot for the upcoming magazine.
