The schedule for the night was a list of blank opponents to every title-holder on the roster. Cody Rhodes had only just entered the locker room when he was told.
"You've got to be kidding me," he answered, setting his things down next to Ted DiBiase. He misjudged the bench and dropped everything of his and Ted's on the floor. Ted shook his head, muttering something as he bent over to pick things up.
"No. Everyone with a title is defending tonight, per our new General Manager's request. She's a fireball, that one. John Cena gave her a little lip and he got mauled by Tensai and The Big Show," Ted replied, sitting down and lacing his boots. He and Tyson Kidd were the current tag team champions, so he had reason to worry. Cody was unconcerned. Since he'd lost his intercontinental title last month, he had shown up late to every show; usually a little drunk. It was a low point in his career, he knew this. But at the moment, he didn't care.
"Drunk again, loser?" CM Punk said as he passed them by, pushing Cody by the shoulder.
"Fuck you," Cody replied, standing up and shoving Punk. Punk laughed.
"That all you got, with all that liquid courage in you? That everything you're worth? Sit down; I'll get you a nice bottle of jack to drink while you watch my match tonight from the sidelines," Punk said. Cody moved to cross over the bench and let Punk have it, but Ted grabbed his arm.
"It's not worth it, Cody. You don't want to bring that kind of attention to yourself," Ted said, pulling Cody back towards the lockers. Punk laughed, muttering something profane and walking back to his locker.
"Is Cody here yet?" A frightened stage-hand was at the door, looking around cautiously.
"Too late," Ted muttered.
"I'm here," Cody answered, raising his hand up. His stomach was feeling uneven, and when he moved it gave a sickening lurch.
"Miss Lesnar would like to speak with you, immediately," the stage-hand said, ducking out the door as soon as he delivered the message.
"You're in for it," said CM Punk, as he passed by Cody.
"Shut up," Cody snapped, pulling up the hood of his jacket and stomping out the door.
Where was her stupid office anyway? Cody didn't know this damn place from any other he'd been to. His bitter face reflected on anyone he asked, none of them even willing to talk about her let alone direct him to her office. He finally crossed paths with a banged-up looking John Cena; who was himself looking for something in every door he passed.
"Cena," Cody stopped him by his shoulder. Cena spun on him. He was bleeding mildly from his nose and was holding his left arm close to his chest.
"What the hell do you want?" he growled.
"I'm looking for the new general manager's office," Cody replied, losing his balance for a moment and recovering subtly. He had definitely had one too many at the hotel bar.
"It's down the hall this way. The medic gave me some vague directions after I shoved him into a crate when he tried to treat me. You'll have your moment when I'm done, kid," Cena was unabashedly callous, continuing on his path without another word to Cody. He followed behind Cena, a little slower and just out of arm's length in case Cena wanted to preface any of his frustration on someone. When they reached the door, it said simply: Lesnar, B. and was guarded by two large men and Paul Heyman.
"John, you look a little… beaten down. Perhaps you should see a medic," Heyman said with a devious smile as the two approached him.
"You'll need a medic when I'm through with you if you don't let me in there, Heyman," John said through grit teeth, wiping the blood that had dribbled from his nose to his lip while he spoke.
"Somehow, I doubt that. You were not asked to this room. Mr. Rhodes was. Now, if you'll excuse us, John, we have business to tend to," Heyman reached out and grasped Cody by the arm, his stomach giving another sickening lurch as he squeezed past the broad shoulders of two larger than life men and through the slight opening of her office door. John was left outside, shouting obscenities until he was driven away by security.
She was sitting in her chair; couches surrounded her desk like a round table to the throne. She was filing through something in a drawer, paying no mind to either of them as they came in. Heyman cleared his throat, as though it would change her opinion of their importance.
"Cody Rhodes is finally here to see you," Heyman said quietly. Was he too afraid of this woman? I glanced up, not at them but at the picture framed on my desk. And then she went back to rifling. She didn't seem frightening just yet, but she did know how to make a room feel uncomfortable. When she found what she was looking for, she set it on the table and stood, locking a pair of chilly grey eyes on Cody that made his spine tingle uncomfortably. Now he understood why everyone was afraid of her. A look alone with those dark eyes could kill a weak man in his stride.
"Get out, Heyman," she said, not sparing Cody a moment of her steely gaze. Heyman swept out of the room quickly, and no doubt gratefully.
"Mr. Runnels. How wonderful of you to finally join us here at the venue. You missed my introduction, so I will repeat myself just this once. My name is Bryony Lesnar, and I am Raw's new General Manger. I have something here. A hotel bill, run up in every city we've been to in the last month by over $500 by one Cody Rhodes," she fished a piece of paper out from what she'd drug out of her desk, in the process knocking her photo frame onto the floor before Cody. He was too locked into her stare to move. He felt like a child in the principal's office, only detention here could ruin his career. He'd not given second thought to it when he'd been in those hotel bars, because Laurinaitis hadn't given a damn about him or anyone on the roster who wasn't John Cena or CM Punk. But now, with her as the new GM; he figured he was done for.
"This bill is for alcohol, enough to give the entire roster a good buzz," she waved the paper in her hands, crumpling it and tossing it at him. It hit him in the chest, and fell to the floor beside the photo frame. He felt the lurching liquids in his stomach begin to churn over and over. This was coming to a head and he deeply regretted footing those bills to John Laurinaitis about now.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Runnels?" she said, moving around her desk to stand before him. He wanted to speak, to tell her he was sorry because those cold, malevolent grey eyes made him feel very sorry. To tell her even that if she valued her cute little pencil skirt and blouse that she needed to step aside. But the feeling building in his throat made no space for words to squeeze past, and as he choked back the bile long enough to push past her and hit the trash-can beside her desk. He retched the contents of his stomach more quickly than he'd drank all of it. She didn't seem fazed, just spun quickly along with him and knelt down on one knee to grab the hood of his jacket before it became a casualty of his ways. Her other hand rubbed his back gently, surprisingly; her acrylic nails rubbing soothing patterns across his back that made the stinging tears and running nose a little less embarrassing.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" she said quietly, her voice touched with sympathy. He nodded, feeling another round coming up again. He coughed, spitting the remnants of his vomit into the can and closing his eyes. His head was spinning, not that it was an unfamiliar feeling but this time he had an audience. Her words echoed a few times in his head. He was an idiot. He did know it. And her light fingers rubbing circles on his back may as well have been spelling it out for the world to see.
"I'm sorry," he managed with a raspy voice. She laughed a little.
"Your pay has been appropriated to cover the cost of those bills. And I can always get a new picture frame," she replied. Cody recalled the crunching under his feet as he dove for the trash can. He'd broken her picture frame.
"I'll get you a new one, what size is the photo?" he sat back and picked up the crushed frame. Between the pieces of glass was a picture of a young woman and man in a Prom photo. The banner above them said, A Night to Remember. They were both smiling; the girl was a beautiful little blonde with similar grey eyes as Bryony, though this girl's was filled with happiness and love for the man they reflected upon. The man was easily a younger and much smaller Brock Lesnar. She calmly took the photo from him, and when his hand pulled away he felt the warmth of blood dripping from his fingertips. He'd cut himself on the glass. Of course he had, broken glass was sharp and he was not disproving her idiot theory this evening.
"Who were they?" he asked, trying to hide his injury. She shook her head at him, pulling his hand into her view.
"You're playing with broken glass and other broken things, Mr. Runnels. I suggest you do not pry and please hold still," she rose up quickly and went back to her desk, grabbing a small white box and opening it. She grabbed a small bottle and a roll of gauze and knelt down beside him, pouring rubbing alcohol directly into the cut on his palm and wrapping it quickly.
"You're a mess, Mr. Runnels," she said, tying off the wrap. Why was she babying him? Was she going to kiss his boo-boo and send him to nap time too? Even being nice she made him feel pathetic, and he should feel pathetic. What the hell was he doing sitting on the floor of his new bosses office shitty and drunk, being wrapped up by her because not only did he ruin her trash-can but her picture too? He was getting off to great start with this woman. He expected she was absolutely going to fire him now.
"And your father need not know about this if you clean up and beat Randy Orton tonight," she added, standing again and pulling him up with her. For a girl as small as she seemed she was quite strong. She began to unzip his jacket, yanking it off around his arms.
"What're you doing?" he asked.
"You need to sleep this off. And also, I didn't manage to completely save this jacket so I need to get it washed. Take a seat. My couches are great for napping," she led him to one of her large couches, and when he sat down he felt his body slump with tiredness. She was right, he wanted to shut his eyes and take a little nap. He lay down and watched her through sleepy eyes as she walked back and forth out of his view, draping a blanket over him and pulling his head up to throw a pillow under it. He could hear a knock at her door as he drifted off, and Heyman's voice.
"What is he doing?"
"Sleeping. Now please, Heyman. We have a lot to cover tonight. I'm changing this place around for better or worse and…"