A/N: I have a five day vacation, starting RIGHT NOW. That means, I'll be writing some fics. I am so glad to see I've gathered a handful of followers. For those of you who don't know, go find the prequel to this surely fabulous story, All That's Left of Me.
Don't be shy, let me know if you love it or hate it, if you want me to stop writing or continue. Your continued support makes me smile. Your reviews are like drugs to me. :)
Hallie Rose trudged backstage, her combat boots scraping the pavement as she walked. She knew she didn't fit in here. Everyone was very cookie-cutter, and having come from the slummy part of Venice Beach, she was very different from the women that were employed here.
Hallie's style was unique. Sure, she'd studied the amazing designers out there, but that didn't mean she would wear the runway styles herself. In fact, who would? For the most part, fashion shows were just plain strange. That's why, instead of going the traditional route, she entered in the costume design world. She'd put together some costuming for movies, but her latest gig with the WWE might have been the biggest headache. Right now, she was lucky enough to be helping out the main people, who were extremely nitpicky, everyone wanting to be that top guy or gal...which meant everyone had to be exactly right, all the time. The NXT roster was much more forgiving, and many of them came from the indie scene and already had their costume or gimmick on standby.
The biggest headache so far was when WWE champion, Seth Rollins, decided to switch to a white in-ring suit versus the black. He was crabby, arrogant, and the poor girl that had to deal with his shitty attitude got to hear all about how untalented and stupid she was. Hallie dealt mostly with the divas, though the only real issues she had was when Nikki Bella forgot to bring her red trunks and only had black with her. While the fix was easy enough, it was a firsthand look at how these divas viewed themselves: Queens of the world.
Hallie was stoked to meet the pretty woman called Chelsea Sweetly, though. She'd read about her on TMZ's website a handful of times, then delved into her Wikipedia page once she found out she would be making a guest appearance on one of the shows she regularly watched. She had troubles in the past, but from the bits she had talked to her, she really did seem much less fake than the rest of them. Unfortunately, she would be off TV for a few weeks, which was a little bit lonelier than Hallie wanted to admit.
"Hey, costume girl, can I get you to help me with my cape?" a heavy English accent snapped Hallie from her own self-pity. She turned to see the King of the Ring, Wade Barrett, trying to close the cape around him.
"Make it snappy, would you? I have to get out to the ring after the next commercial break," his eyes weren't angry, but rather frustrated. Hallie didn't say a word, and didn't bother to argue with the man. Even though it wasn't someone she normally handled, she couldn't afford to generate backstage dislike.
Pulling her handy needle and thread out of nowhere, she refastened the snap that was barely hanging on. She imagined it was from the countless times he'd ripped his attire off, eventually wearing down the clasp. She could smell his cologne, mixed with minty fresh mouthwash.
"Thanks, you're a dear," he said as he rushed off, a stagehand waving him towards the curtain.
"You're welcome," she replied, but he didn't hear her. The more she thought about it, he probably didn't even see her. Guys like that don't acknowledge girls like her. She was the gauged-eared girl with some dreadlocks mixed in with her sandy blonde hair. She liked to listen to talk radio and watched more documentaries than what would probably be considered healthy. Vegan and proud of it. But...guys she dated in the past had always said that she came off as kind of intimidating, because she was so strongly opinionated and very well informed.
Whatever, she thought. It's not like I'm here to get a boyfriend.
For the past week, she had been watching any and all trends. Chelsea had informed Hallie that the creative team wanted a new plan for her, but she was scared shitless that it was going to be either managing a tag team or a terrible love triangle, both of which sounded horrible. She loved being in the ring, but at this point had no business stepping in with the likes of Nikki or Paige. It wasn't as if she wasn't awful in the squared circle, but more because her character development had really been put on a screeching halt. It was almost as though nobody had a damn clue how to use the surplus of strong, beautiful women that spent time just as much time busting ass at the gym as their male counterparts.
Deep in her own thoughts, she sat down at the table that had every color glitter, ribbons, and buttons sorted, the sewing machine covered up...at least for now.
"I'm telling you, we've got to figure something out for some of these women," she overheard after awhile. It sounded like...maybe Tom Philips? She wasn't sure.
"I know Chelsea Sweetly declined to manage The Ascension, but she needs to do something or she'll end up..." the end was muffled, and Hallie rocked the office chair back slightly to try to either peek around the wall that was blocking the voice or hear better.
She saw Mark, the talent relations manager that was always kissing the Bella girls' asses. He was carrying around a clipboard, and it wasn't the announcer that he was talking to, but the creative manager.
"You know what? I've got it. We'll put her in the angle with Lana and Rusev. The pair are supposed to break up and really push Lana, but we'll stick Lana with a likable person. Chelsea needs a change of character because she's being overshadowed...why not make her a heel? Put her with Rusev in a twisted love triangle," Mark was the one suggesting this, and Hallie could already hear Chelsea screaming. The last thing most of the women wanted was a tragic love story to get them over. In order to protect her sort-of friend...well, her only friend, she stood up and cleared her throat, both men turning towards her.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt. But I have an idea," she offered, her voice shaking. This was completely out of the ordinary for a costume designer to speak up about anything, let alone a creative issue. Even though in reality she had no ideas or sketches to offer, she might be able to bide time to start one. Otherwise, Chelsea was going to be buried under other talent.
"And exactly who are you?" asked the creative director, annoyance lacing his words.
"That's Hallie, she came from NXT as a costume designer for our divas. Hallie, don't you have some sequins to sew?" Mark's tone matched the other douchebags, but Hallie pretended not to hear, confidence beginning to rise.
"I actually don't, not right now. But hear me out. I've been working on an idea for Chelsea Sweetly for the past few weeks. The last thing she needs is a love story, because everyone in the locker room and WWE Universe knows she has a real-life one. It isn't going to work. I really think there's an overcrowding of face divas, so yes, that's the right move."
"You have a sketch of the ring attire?" asked Mark, defeat almost clear now.
Bingo.
"You bet I do. I would love to meet with you guys and show them. I left them at the hotel with my other sketches, but give me a call sometime tonight or tomorrow. I think what I have can really shake things up for her."
"And it does not include a Diva's title run, right?"
Hallie now grew slightly annoyed. Chelsea's stupid ban on non-title contention had actually been lifted; but unfortunately, it was still clear that the WWE creative team was going to stick it out with Nikki, which was fine, but many other women needed that title to propel them before those two girls did.
"Of course not. With my idea, she doesn't need a title at all."
"It better be good. I'll call you straight away in the morning. If you're not available in the afternoon, make yourself available. Otherwise, we're putting Chelsea Sweetly with Rusev," the creative dude began walking away.
Fuck, Hallie thought. Now I actually need to come up with something.
Roman was admittedly lonely.
Sure, he was back on the road with his best friends, but Chelsea was at home, and he longed to be there with her. She was kicking ass and taking names on that TV show, and had already gotten some other deal lined up for early next year with ABC. But that's something that she was always good at: molding herself into whatever she needed to be.
She'd been freaking out lately about her character on WWE programming, more so after Mark had mentioned to her that her cupcake and black trenchcoat thing had lost it's appeal completely. Chelsea needed a change, her character now too closely resembling Paige. Roman actually thought putting her in a management role was perfect, but being the stubborn woman she always was, she declined that opportunity straight away.
Now, add that crap on top of planning their wedding, and a perfect concoction for a Bridezilla emerged. Still, he wished he could be with her, but that was simply not possible. He had a long road ahead of him to get where he needed to be, both physically and career-wise. He couldn't afford to take time off. Right now, the main event guys were extremely on edge, so many of them believing they deserved the shot. Roman consistently fell short of being The Guy, his popularity way, way down. Dean Ambrose, on the other hand, had a huge fanbase, and scored himself the main event spot a few times during Monday Night Raw.
Roman wished he could say he had come to terms with Dean Ambrose being as close to Chels as he was, but he wasn't. Not at all. Even when they worked in the ring together, the distrust he had for the smaller man was clear. Dean had said numerous times that he didn't want to be a part of Chelsea's life like that anymore; that it was a lapse in judgement. But the history was very clear between the pair, and how could Roman fight a strong past?
Yet, he couldn't find it in him for Chelsea to cease contact with Ambrose completely. While the two used to be great friends before she ever walked into the arena, the truth broke out quickly. They'd known each other for quite awhile before that fateful day.
Sometimes, he missed the days where he courted Chelsea like a true gentleman would. He had been as good to her as he had ever been to a girlfriend, knowing the shit and turmoil her partnership with Jeff Hardy had caused her. He still couldn't believe she was in such a great mindset now given the awful circumstances she'd lived through. Hardy was a bully, and it was very clear the pain she had carried from it early on in their relationship.
Roman had protected her and been her therapist through it all. And even though they broke up for a short period of time, they both couldn't deny the bond they'd formed...
So why was he feeling so very uneasy lately?
"Hey, Romy, what's good?" Kofi Kingston sat down by him at the table in the dining area of the arena, and Roman couldn't have been more grateful. The last thing he needed right now was to think himself into a bad mood. He should be thrilled: finally getting married to an amazing woman...
"Not so good?" Kofi questioned, realizing that Roman was very distracted.
"Nah, I'm good. Chelsea's home planning our wedding with a rookie wedding planner. I wish I could be there to help. The other day that I saw her, she was fucking stressed."
Kofi made a clicking sound with his tongue, nodding. "Yeah, my girl was the same way. Things ain't gonna be perfect though, no matter how hard you try. But anyways, ya'll got phones. You can still be involved enough. If she'll let you," he pointed out, and Roman considered that. He hadn't really put in much effort at all as far as this wedding was concerned...this wasn't exactly his thing.
Dean would probably be helping her out, that nasty voice in his head reasoned with him.
"Yeah, you're right. Weddings are mostly for the women anyways," he told himself, and that stupid voice in the back of his mind.
"You got that, bro. Hey, listen. Me and E are gonna grab a drink downtown after the show. You and Ambrose should come along. Forget what's going on for now, relax and hang out. My game's on, and hell if I'm missing it."
Roman smiled genuinely, and although he didn't like the idea of having a drink with Dean, he figured maybe a good guy's night would be what they needed to smooth over their friendship.
"Yeah, that's cool. Let Ambrose know, and I'll be there."
Maybe it would be fine, after all.
Seriously? Reigns was actually agreeing to go out with him?
Dean's first thought was Chelsea. He wanted to tell her, snitch on his tag team partner so very badly. But he'd learned the hard way that those two trusted each other, and it was something he was just going to have to get over.
He had a hard time getting over his fling with Chelsea, and oftentimes realized he wasn't totally over it. Sure, he'd dated a few women since then. None of them held his attention quite as well; and while many women had interest, he just had zero interest. His latest thing with Renee was alright, but he couldn't see himself getting prepared to walk down the aisle with her. A few weeks back, he had a chat with Wade Barrett, who had broken things off with the lovely Alicia Fox for the exact same reason.
"While she was a fun girl, I just couldn't see myself with her for good. I'm at the point where getting married is a goal, and she is still in a college sorority," he confided, and Dean realized he was beginning to feel that same way. Renee often hung around Nikki Bella, which was whatever, but Nikki was a wild child at heart, directly rubbing off on the cute and shy girl he'd been quietly dating.
Dean was heading to the weight room, knowing he had plenty of time before the show started. The ring wasn't even completely up yet, so it would be probably six or so hours before the Smackdown crowd came rolling in. He was slated to fight Luke Harper, a big guy that he enjoyed working with greatly.
Cutting him off was a massive horde of bodies, among them, Stephanie McMahon. She was sternly yet happily talking to that strange girl with dreads, who carried a sketchbook with her. She was smiling, nodding as Steph pressed for more information. Dean couldn't quite hear what was going on, but the talent relations team and creative team were meshing, which usually meant a big change would be coming.
"How did you come up with it? I've got to know."
"It's just time for something very different, and very strange. And I think Chelsea has the capability to do whatever we throw her way," the dreaded girl responded.
Chelsea?
And then it clicked. This was the girl that had asked him to give Chelsea her number, because she had an idea that she wanted to run by her. Though she wouldn't expand any further, it had stirred up quite the gossip chain in the past week. It was immediately praised and glorified by Mark, but the fact that it went straight to Stephanie McMahon made it gold.
When the people began to disband, he tapped the girl on the shoulder. She whipped around, surprise crossing her face.
"Hey," she said, but she seemed unsure. Like he'd gotten her attention by accident.
"Hey. I'm Dean. I just kind of wanted to see what was going on," he felt awkward, like he didn't have any business speaking to this woman.
"Oh, you mean the same Dean that twenty questioned me about Chelsea? The same one that was worried that I was some crazy groupie? Look, I'd love to stay and chat, but as you can see, I've got quite a bit going on at the moment. Don't you have some ladders to jump off from? Please, find the highest one," she snipped at him, and he felt bad. Yeah, he deserved that. After all, he'd accused her of being a psycho stalker the last time he'd spoken to her.
"I know I was a shithead, and I'm sorry. But I talk to Chels regularly, and I kind of want to know..."
"I've already contacted her. And this is going to be such a big change that nobody else is going to know. She can't even mention this to Roman," she fiddled with her nosering, clearly now uncomfortable. Dean noticed she was actually quite pretty; her face very soft despite the rough appearance she tried to accomplish.
"Okay, fine. But can I at least see the gear sketch?" he nodded towards her book, and her jaw dropped.
"You really are a lunatic. No, you can't. Like, who do you think you are?"
"How's this for a lunatic? I was an ass last week, so let me buy you a drink later. A few of us are going out. Roman, too. And on behalf of Chelsea, it might do good to keep an eye on Roman."
"I truly doubt there's any reason she should be worried. That man loves her more than anything. Like, that's the sort of love people can only wish they find," a pleasant smirk now forming. "But, I still accept your offer. I can't sit in my hotel room for another night watching reruns of I Love Lucy. I scored myself a promotion, so I guess it's about time to make nice with people," she was now beaming, and Dean realized that whatever this idea entailed was good enough to bump her from sewing buttons at the NXT shows to making full-fledged attire, a new but previously missing like between the creative team, talent relations, and the seamstresses.
Maybe with enough alcohol, Dean could get her to open up a little. Besides, she seemed kind of feisty. He sort of liked that.
