When Estrada is General Manager, things like this are easier-- matches can be made with a little ego stroking, changed with a bit of a bribe, or canceled completely if he isn't in the mood to listen to your complaining.
So when Estrada is fired, and Teddy takes over, the transition period is a bit painful. Most of them know of Teddy from Smackdown, but didn't have to deal with him very much. Only people who were originally on Smackdown know of how he gets when in a place of power-- Miz and Morrison being two of them.
They're avoiding him fine until one day, Miz is wandering through the halls when he spots Hornswoggle all alone, clicking his heels and chattering in his annoying way to himself.
After hours of not seeing his son, Finlay finds the little guy locked up in a storage closet, freaking out due to bad memories from his time as Vince's son.
A quick complaint to Teddy later, and Miz is being escorted from the building, despite both his and Morrison's arguments against it.
"Morrison," Long calls as soon as the door's slammed behind Miz, eyeing his tag partner with something close to a smirk on his lips. "You have a match tonight, playa."
He thinks he knows but he asks anyway, "Who?" No point in wasting time talking to the GM anyway, the demanding older man will do as he wishes either way.
"Finlay." And yes, that is a smirk on Teddy's face as he turns and walks away. "Good luck, holla."
It's times like these he starts to hate green.
--
The match is typical-- Hornswoggle interrupts, Morrison gets drenched with a watergun, and Finlay hits him with a low blow while the referee is distracted, leaving his eyes watering and everything muddled long enough for a quick pin. The only things out of the normal is the lack of Miz, and what happens after the quick pin.
He's used to squinting up in anger as the two Irish freaks dance and put on a show for the audience before leaving, but this time, they're standing off to the side, muttering to each other. He doesn't really care, just wants to get out of here, and find Miz so they can think up some proper retribution for next week, but before he even regains his balance completely, something stabbing shoots up his leg and he goes back down.
Curling up does very little to stop the beat down that follows, or the pain that covers every inch of his body like one of his many coats. He's wondering where the refs are when finally the pain subsides slightly-- or at least doesn't get any worse--and he can open his eyes, recoiling slightly as Hornswoggle dodges between referees' legs and sends the shillelagh slamming down on his chest once more, leaving stars behind in his vision.
The blow's not as strong as Finlay's, for sure, but still leaves him wheezing as finally the refs shoo Hornswoggle and his father away and trainers come to look Morrison over.
He can't help but think Teddy's an idiot as darkness smothers him.
--
Hearing comes back first, as the trainer says quietly, "Bruised ribs. It looks worse than it is. He was lucky."
He wants to open his eyes, confirm the owner of the huffing sigh that brushes through his hair from somewhere overhead, but just listening is exhausting him right now so he doesn't push his luck.
"How long's he been out?" a voice definitely not the trainer's asks, and Morrison relaxes further.
"Not long, a minute or two," no name trainer says lowly. "We brought him back here to keep an eye on him, but he's been stirring so the doc on hand says to give him a minute. He did take a couple good hits."
Footsteps reveal the trainer leaving and Morrison fights harder to get his eyes to open but it's like trying to force a glued door with a dresser in front of it open. Finally it happens, his eyes slip open and he flinches away from the light overhead.
Miz curses slightly, causing Morrison to snicker through the pain of both his eyes and the familiar throb of his abdomen, before going to turn off the lights.
"They let you back in, huh?" John mutters, letting his eyes close for a second before opening them long enough to blink away the moisture that had pooled beneath his lashes.
"Trainer was a Real World fan," his tag partner comments, proud of this fact if the smugness of his tone is any indication. "Snuck me in and back here while Teddy was dealing with the leprechaun. What he's planning on doing, I dunno. They'll probably get more title shots now."
Morrison snorts, instantly regretting it as his ribs shoot pain down to his toes nearly. "Ugh, don't do that," he hisses once he can breathe again.
"Sorry," Mike says in a bored tone, but his eyes are sharply locked on Morrison's face, watching for... anything really. "You wanna get out of here?" he asks finally, running a hand through his hair like he does when he's annoyed, or worried, or both.
"No, I think we should just live here," John responds, grimacing as he presses one hand to his ribs and the other to the side of the cot, levering himself up. "Let's go."
As he walks stiffly to the door, Miz collects their things and follows him. "The trainer'll want--"
"I know. I'll catch him tomorrow," he grits out, pain coursing through his body at the same speed as his thoughts.
The Bash is barely five days away; it's time to end this feud.
