To berry charismatic; there will be a 'love interest' - or maybe two, if I'm feeling naughty - later on in the story although the possible second one has not been decided. Thank you for reviewing, and you too alana2awesome. I should point out that this is not written in a specific time period; namely because I haven't been watching Raw for over a year. It's set roughly April/May and Randy Orton, John Cena, John Morrison and Chris Jericho are all present on the Raw Roster. Any changes I make to the rosters will be added in the author's note before the chapter they appear in.
Amy Dumas's house was not particularly flashy - it didn't stand out from the row of houses on her street. They all had the same stone walls, the same white door, the same gravel filled driveways and the same flower bushes by the front door; although Amy's flowers seemed to shy away from the sunlight and she was left with shrubs. - but it was what she called home. That Sunday night at almost eleven pm, however, it looked far from homely - all the lights were turned off, the curtains drawn tightly and there was no inclination that anyone was in. Even the car was well hidden in the garage. In fact, the only thing which proved that the house was inhabited was the faint light coming from the bedroom directly above the front door.
Amy hadn't left her room in well over four hours, not even to eat, drink or use the bathroom. Instead, she lay motionless, staring at the TV before her, moving images of herself all over the screen. "And that, King," came J.R's southern drawl from the speakers. "Is why Lita is Women's Champion." She smiled softly towards the TV, her eyes focused on the image of her pinning her challenger Victoria. It had been a while since she'd watched her old wrestling tapes - her best bits - and she now remembered why. She was so overly critical, finding faults in the slightest of things. As the sound of Boy Hit Car filled the screens, Amy turned the sound down. Match over. And what a sloppy one it had been, too. Grabbing a notepad and pen - which had just recently been thrown aside - the redhead began jotting down notes. "Dropkicks," she said as she wrote. "Must be more accurate - I coulda taken Lisa's head off…" shaking her own head, she continued to make notes on almost every move she had used, determined that, if she was going to rejoin the roster, she was going to be on top form when she did.
Pausing, the diva tilted her head to the side. She needed something new - something flashy. Something that no diva had done before. She needed a guy's finisher. And it had to be pretty damn powerful. And that was where he would come in - Chris Jericho, the man currently gracing her screen. The Walls of Jericho had always been so trademarked, so definitely his that no one had ever really gone there - but if she could get him on her side, then maybe it could become…theirs. Or at least, she could borrow it for the time being, until she worked up to the Enziguiri, one move she had never been able to master. She would need Chris's help - and fast.
The diva groped around, searching for her cell phone - "I'm sure I had it a minute ago," she said, felling around under her pillows and even checking under McKenzie, who had taken to sleeping on top of her possessions. - for a few seconds before finally grabbing the duvet cover and yanking, sending her notebook, pen, remote control and cell phone - as well as McKenzie - flying. She patted the mongrel as way of an apology before hurriedly grabbing her cell from the floor and scanning her phone book for Chris's number.
"Hey, this is Chris. I can't take your call right now but leave a message after the beep. Beeeeeeppppp! Nah. I gotcha. But really, leave a message," came the dulcet tones of Chris Irvine's voice - the pre-recorded message on his voice mail as idiotic as the man who recorded it and just as aggravating in Amy's eyes.
"Chris," she began, her voice almost quivering with excitement. Her mouth was dry and her tongue seemed to be sticking where it lay. "Chris, it's Amy - I was wondering if you'd meet up with me tomorrow at the Gym. You know, Black's? Down by the arena? It's pretty urgent." She pulled the phone from her ear, ready to press the end call button but changed her mind, hurriedly adding. "And bring your wrestling stuff." And with that, the new diva pressed the end call button and began calmly re-making her bed, certain that she wouldn't get any sleep tonight.
"I dunno man, she's gettin' on a bit, ya know?" John Cena commented, a pair of Nike shorts covering his legs and a pair of high tops on his feet. He was laying flat out on a bench, a bottle of water raised to his lips as he took a well deserved sip. It was barely eight am and yet he - as well as Randy and their new sidekick, John Morrison - had been at Black's Gym for almost two hours. "Yeah she's got a nice rack an' everythin' but…Man she's pushing thirty-five. That's…that's old."
"Says the guy who thinks my mom is hot," Randy commented from beside him.
"I said she looked good in that one photo. Your never gunna let me live that down, are ya?" John retaliated, throwing the almost empty bottle at his friend, who simply shook his head. "All I'm sayin' is that Trish is…she's past it. She's up there with Moolah and Mae now."
"But Amy isn't?" Morrison countered, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "That's double standards, Cena. If anything, Amy's older than Trish - so why is it okay for her to still be considered hot? Why is okay for her to come back to the WWE? Why not Trish?"
"Because, smartass," Randy replied, rather than Cena. "Amy left due to personal reasons. Trish left because her fitness was deteriorating. She couldn't keep up with Candice for Christ's sake. And why is Amy still considered hot? Have you seen her body? Properly seen it?" Randy paused for dramatic effect. "No. Not many guys have. That is why she's still hot." John Morrison stared at the Legend Killer in surprise. Since Samantha had come along, Randy had pretty much ceased to have any opinion on the divas, or any other women for that matter, and yet here he was, quite openly admitting that Amy was hot. "And besides…she has a nice ass."
"Yeah behind those baggy ass pants that she has to wear four belts with…" Cena input, shaking his head. "You can't see it. How d'you know its 'nice'?"
"Bra and Panties matches?" Morrison wondered aloud, still shocked that the most conservative diva of all had managed to rouse Randy from his somewhat catatonic state.
"Uh, yeah," Randy replied, wiping the back of his neck with a towel and walking towards the showers, the image of Amy's ass still playing on his mind.
"He's uh…weird with Amy. She's like his sister, ya know?" Cena spoke in a dramatic whisper, hoping that the younger man wouldn't hear him.
"Bullshit, Cena. You don't say your sister has a nice ass," Morrison laughed, raking a hand through his damp hair. "Was there ever…you know…something between them?"
"Shut up, Morrison," John replied, his face screwed up as though a nasty smell had passed just below his nose. "That is disgustin' and he'll kick your ass if he hears you talkin' like that…"
"It'll be just like old times," squealed the new Mrs. Copeland, her voice quivering as she did so. "I'll call up Alexis and tell her, of course and then - well we both know Trish is gone for good. She'll have a bun in the oven next - but we could always get Barbs in on the little gang? I know she's a little young, Ames but she's ever so nice…"
"Do you ever shut up, Candice?" Amy replied, massaging her temples as she called across the room to her bed where Candice Michelle-Copeland was playing with McKenzie. Her clothes were strewn all around her as she tried to find her old sweats but all plans had been thrown into a state of disarray the moment Candice had turned up The brunette had ditched her new husband within minutes of hitting the tarmac at Hartsfield Jackson Airport and hopped a cab straight to Amy's house. The news of Amy's return had travelled quickly and almost everyone was talking about it - she was the hottest piece of news and everyone wanted to know the real story.
"I'm just excited, is all," the former Women's Champion grinned from the bed, fluffing up McKenzie's fur. "Although I have to admit, I shouldn't be speaking to you at all. Cena knew before me, Ames. That hurt. That hurt a lot. I mean, Orton I can understand, you two were close as hell. But Cena?" The brunette turned her attention back to the dog, shaking her hair absently and cooing, "Your mommy doesn't have a clue does she? She's going to be the star attraction tonight."
"Look, Candice…" Amy said, finally hauling on a pair of faded grey sweats which only reached her calves. She tugged for a few moments before realizing that they were supposed to end there. "I kinda have to be somewhere. Or I shoulda been there - fifteen minutes ago. Can we, you know, catch up later? I just…I promised someone I'd meet them."
"Randy? Ooh I'll come too," Candice jumped from the bed, smoothing down her shirt.
"No. Not Randy. Chris," Amy registered a look of confusion on the younger woman's face. "Irvine. Chris Irvine."
"Why would you want to meet up with Chris Irvine? I didn't think you two were good friends anymore? I mean…after he left, you didn't even seem upset-"
Before Candice could start on another rambling story, Amy cut in. "Fitness, Candice. He's helping me train up."
"Oh," Candice screwed up her face - training up was not high on her list of thins to do. Every time she was 'match fit' she would get in the ring, only to end up injured again - she was sure she was the unluckiest wrestler ever. "Well I guess I'll see you tonight, huh?" Amy nodded and motioned to show her towards the door. "I, uh, I'll get it myself. And Amy?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you're coming back. We've all missed you. Especially me."
"Me too." Amy smiled, grabbing the woman as they reached the door and pulling her in for a tight hug.
"But Randy's a close second, you know…"
