Iseult slowly emerged from a deep sleep the following morning, crawling toward a conscious state, but as yet unprepared to crack open her eyelids. She was vaguely aware of the weight of her bones pinning her down to a soft mattress, her muscles and organs floating around within the confines of her skin.

Placing a hand on her chest, she took several breaths, pulling in as much air as she could. Her brain pulsed in her skull, an intense throb that just would not quit. Why was that? What the hell had happened?

Huh. So this must be what a brain haemorrhage feels like.

Despite this flippant thought, she was unnerved by the overwhelming pain. It was only when she began a second round of deep breaths that she caught a scent hanging heavy in the air. The soft, tangy smell stung her nostrils, so unfamiliar and yet familiar all at once.

"What time is it?" She mumbled through cracked lips. "Wine O' Clock. Fuuuucck."

Her voice was low and hoarse, rasping through the cloud of alcohol that filled the room.

Knowing that she could only delay the inevitable for so long, she pulled her eyelids up with great effort and took in her surroundings.

Alright. Not too bad. She had managed to make it to her hotel room last night. That was a positive start.

Pulling back the sheet, she let out a little yelp of panic.

Why the fuck was she naked?!

Wrapping the duvet around her, she sat up and looked around the room quickly, desperately hoping that answers would materialise in front of her. She immediately regretted this action when the room started to spin.

Placing her fingers at her temples, she soldiered on and slowly scanned the floor for evidence, but found none. Relief washed over her when she didn't spot a pair of boxers, or any other item of male clothing.

So, maybe she hadn't slept with a randomer after all.

Or maybe he already left…

"Shut up!" She hissed, smacking the side of her head in an attempt to silence that snide little voice. This only served to increase the ache.

"Owww."

The only way to solve this mystery, and cure her self-inflicted misery, was to get up and seek out some clues (and pills). She hobbled over to the bathroom, still wrapped up in her bed-sheet, and turned on the shower. The water brought welcome solace to her sore, tense body. Her lady parts didn't feel terribly raw this morning – meaning one of two things: (a) mystery man had been a gentle lover, or (b) she had spent the night alone.

As she scrubbed her body, she tried to recall the events of the previous evening. She had definitely been at work, then the usual post-show dinner, and…karaoke. Yes! She hazily remembered singing a Katy Perry song. Stephen was there. Punk, too. And Randy. There had been some words exchanged, it went pretty well, and then he had left…right?

So far, so good. Maybe the gods had smiled on her and allowed her to avoid any embarrassing incidents. Knowing her luck, she remained dubious.

She shuffled back to the bed, drying her body and hair, before opening her suitcase. As she had never had a hangover before, let alone been drunk, she was bereft of 'morning after' cures. She chose to focus on clothing instead, opting for a pair of soft, faded jeans and a white woolly jumper. They hugged her comfortingly, which was exactly what she needed at that moment.

Sighing loudly, she decided to face the world at last. Grabbing her keycard, she headed out to the hallway and proceeded toward the lift. She held the keycard in one hand and flicked it with her fingernail agitatedly as she waited for the lift to arrive.

"I always would have guessed that you were a lightweight," a deep voice said teasingly, startling Iseult. She looked to her left and found three very smug looking men.

"Not now, Ambrose," she groaned, turning back to face the doors.

"Oh, don't be so grumpy," he continued, his deep tone actually sounding quite soothing in her current fragile state. "You were a lot more fun last night…."

She spun around to face the three members of The Shield, wide grins on all of their faces.

"What? I mean, how was I fun? It was just a regular night…"

"If that's what you call a regular night, then I wanna see what a wild night would be for you," he said cheekily, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "You were so game for anything. It's not often that we come across a girl who's able to take on all three of us at once."

Iseult's jaw hit the floor. Her mouth gaped open in what she was sure was an attractive manner, her blue eyes popping open in shock.

"I…all three of you…at once?" She gulped, her heart hammering in her chest. "B-but…I'm not tender."

Yeah, because they needed to know THAT. Thanks for sharing!

"Oh, we started out gentle," Seth chipped in, looking equally pleased with himself. "But you insisted on going hard after a few minutes. We couldn't stop you."

…There were no words.

This was why she had never before been inebriated in all of her twenty-five years.

"Guys, I don't know what to say," she said quickly, her mind blown by this new information. "I've never done that before. It's so unlike me."

She ran her hands through her hair, shaking her head in disbelief. "A foursome?" She whispered quietly to herself.

"Iseult, relax," Roman said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We're just fucking with you. But no, we weren't actually fucking you last night. We did shots at the club and you drank all of us under the table. Even Dean."

The man himself nodded to confirm this, looking slightly embarrassed by that fact.

"You assholes!" She fumed, smacking each of them on the arm.

When that merely caused them to laugh, she reached forward and delivered three sharp nipple twisters. Their smirks quickly disappeared.

Dean made an overly dramatic pained face, complete with his trademark maniacal grunts.

"Why? Oh God, why?"

"That was for every one of your Twitter followers, for refusing to tweet," she sassed. "The other two…well, I just felt like it. How do you like that for justice?"

Three pairs of hurt puppy-dog eyes watched her as they all entered the lift and descended to the dining room.


Having sweet-talked Dr. Sampson into handing over a few Advil, she piled her tray high with food and cast her bleary eyes about for an empty seat. Spotting Stephen at a table by himself in the corner, she lumbered over, setting down her brunch.

She settled herself and picked up a croissant, a serious expression on her face.

"Argh!" He gasped in horror, lifting his head up from his bowl of cereal. "Why aren't you wearing make-up? Oh, it burns! My eyes are burning!"

"You're such a dickhead," she spat out, throwing the croissant at him, and smiling when it landed right in the middle of his forehead.

"Hey! Let's not waste perfectly good food." He bit into the bread, grinning at her through the mouthful.

"I know that I look like shit. I really don't need a reminder. However, if you wanted to give me a few reminders about the events of last night, then I would definitely be okay with that…"

He looked at her sympathetically, unable to hold in his laughter. "You really enjoyed yourself. You had so much craic."

"Well, rather that than actual crack," she reasoned, rolling her eyes. That action alone hurt like a bitch. Picking up her glass of water, she popped two tablets and swallowed them quickly, keen to be rid of the hellish headache.

"Okay, you have to tell me what happened," she stated plainly. "I have very little recollection, and a whole lot of anxiety. Help."

Stephen reached across the table to ruffle her hair playfully. "Aww, it's too much fun winding you up. I'd keep going, but you look so pathetic right now. I'm a sucker for those big blue eyes."

She threw him an unimpressed look, but wisely kept her mouth shut. Information was key in this situation, and it would be stupid to insult her only trusted source when he was on the brink of spilling vital details.

"You had a few with dinner…then a few more at the karaoke bar. By the time we got to the club, you were locked. I tried to get you to hit the water instead, but you're stronger than you look." He pointed to several fading red lines on his arms, which stood out starkly against his pale skin.

Iseult's hand flew up to her mouth in shock, horrified to learn that she was a violent (along with apparently promiscuous) drunk.

"I am so-"

He held up a hand, stopping her before she could apologise, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Only joking! That was some asshole fan that we met on the way to the club. Don't worry, he fared much worse."

When Iseult's expression didn't change, he hastily added, "I gave him a polite yet firm verbal smackdown, I didn't actually deck the guy or anything. You were oblivious to it all, you literally grabbed AJ and made her skip with you to the club."

"Because of course I did," she moaned, letting her head fall down on top of her crossed arms.

"Then you propped up the bar with Ambrose, Rollins and Reigns. I know you consider yourself a lightweight, but you were more than able to hold your own at that point. You did our country proud."

Keeping her head on her arms, she threw a swift middle finger at him. He let out a deep belly laugh and continued munching on the croissant.

"Feeling a little delicate, are we?"

"Nope. Never felt better," she grumbled, slowly rising up, and noting that the pain in her head had started to subside somewhat.

"So, what happened after that? I mean, I know that I somehow made it back to my hotel room in one piece."

"Randy found you on the floor by the bathrooms at the club, he said you were mumbling some things, and then you fell asleep."

A heated flush crept up her neck, while her face simultaneously paled. An uncomfortably large pit had swelled open in her tummy at his words.

"R-Randy found me? Um, did he happen to mention what I was mumbling about?"

A foggy memory rolled through her mind. She just about recalled saying something to him - but for the life of her, she couldn't remember the exact words. But from what she had heard already, she was apparently pretty outgoing, affectionate and honest when wasted.

There was a distinct possibility that she had blurted out her true feelings to him. This thought only caused the pit to expand, reaching up to swallow her heart. It made her feel like vomiting, which would hopefully be followed by a quick death from embarrassment.

"Nah. It obviously wasn't too entertaining if he failed to tell me about it. There's so much monotony involved in being on the road all of the time, so when something juicy happens, everyone wants to know about it. We're one big happy family - there are no secrets here - and we all know the most intimate and hilarious details of each other's lives. Your conversation with Randy obviously didn't make the grade, but don't worry – there's always next time."

"You are taking far too much enjoyment from my suffering," she noted wryly, risking a small bite of toast and praying that it wouldn't add to her already considerable tummy troubles.

"Did Randy bring me back here…?"

"Thankfully, no," he said, shuddering at the thought of what gossip would have emerged this morning if Orton had been near Iseult and a bed.

"He handed you over to me, your resident knight in shining armour, and I grabbed a cab back here. You woke up as soon as your head hit the pillow, weirdly enough. You were full of chatter again, and obviously still enthralled by the effects of drink. And that's when you started to strip…"

Iseult felt some of the stress seep from her body when Stephen announced that there was nothing special to report from her conversation (if it had even been a conversation…?) with Randy. That relief was quickly replaced by mortification when the word 'strip' left his mouth.

Although, at least her nude state this morning wasn't as a result of her having fucked a stranger - or worse, a member of the roster. She had merely ripped her clothes off in front of her best friend. There were silver linings in everything…

Instead of allowing her whole day to be ruined by episodes of wincing and chagrin, she decided to take control of the situation. Her favourite weapon in doing so? Humour, of course.

"Best thank you present that you ever received, am I right?" She smirked, throwing him a filthy wink.

"Meh," he shrugged, before dodging a second croissant. "Stop with the food throwing, or I'll put you in a time out! Anyway, I made my excuses and left pretty quickly after that. Nice tattoo, by the way." He gave her a lascivious wink of his own.

"You are such a bullshit merchant," she chastised. "My tattoo is tiny, and for my eyes only. If you turned away as quickly as you claim, I wouldn't have had a chance to drop all of my layers of clothing in my muddled state."

"True," he admitted. "But thanks for letting me know that you do actually have one. Now, there's something juicy for the roster. 'Hey everyone, Iseult has a tattoo on her arse!'"

As she rolled her eyes, and prepared to devastate him with a witty retort, her eyes travelled the length of the dining room. Her remark instantly died on her tongue, upon seeing the occupants of a table nearby.

Randy was currently eating an apple two tables away, his beautiful jaw working admirably with each large bite. He wasn't alone. A vaguely familiar tanned brunette sat opposite him, sucking suggestively on a plum, her tongue darting out every now and then as she watched him.

Iseult felt like she had been punched in the gut.

And there it was. Proof that Randy was only ever after a piece of ass. He obviously hadn't been hit too hard by her rejection, and had eagerly moved on to his next conquest. What was it with him and trashy women, though? The woman's overtly sexual way of eating made Iseult's skin crawl. Randy was throwing equally hungry looks right back at her.

Feeling masochistic, her eyes remained on the pair. The possibility of their breakfast date being an innocent event was swiftly shot to pieces when she spotted the purple bruise blooming on his neck.

A hickey? What are they, thirteen years old? Fucking hell. Why am I even surprised?

"Looks like Orton made a new friend," Stephen said, breaking into her thoughts.

She turned back to face her food, starting to shred her toast into tiny pieces. "Yup."

"She's not much of a singer, but I suppose she has her charms," he continued.

"Singer? Oh yeah. 'Like a Virgin,' now I remember."

All of the puzzle pieces were starting to fall into place. He had managed to pick her up at the karaoke bar. He certainly worked quickly. An image of the woman thrusting along to her song, before then cosying up to a male companion, flashed through her mind. That man had been Randy…who had ordered two shots at the bar. Fuck. Why did this feel like a knife cutting into her chest?

She was the one who had turned him down. She was the one who insisted that they keep their distance from one another. Randy hadn't done anything wrong.

In fact, he had followed her instructions perfectly, and was now acting like any other human being and moving on. Maybe it was time for her to think about doing the same.


Later that evening, Iseult was limbering up in the locker room, preparing for the next house show. Randy and his mystery skank had dominated her thoughts all day. She had tried to shove away the hurtful images of their cosy domestic scene at breakfast as she pounded out her bad mood on the treadmill but…no such luck.

Finally feeling loose and free, she walked over to her cubby and pulled out her outfit, placing the green top and shorts on the bench. She quickly pulled her shirt up over her head, and flung it into her bag. Slipping off her bra, she tugged on the snug green top.

"Iseult?"

She glanced over her shoulder to see Brie standing there…with Randy's breakfast companion. Unable to move, she continued to stare at the woman, who was smiling at her.

"This is Ashley. She's a Diva from right here in Louisiana. You may recognise her, she was on the roster a few years ago and is now making her much anticipated comeback."

Brie was too sweet. Iseult highly doubted that anyone was eagerly awaiting the return of this nobody. She didn't recognise the woman, and couldn't imagine that many others would. Iseult slavishly followed every event, plan and development relating to the product - not much got past her when it came to the WWE.

"Oh honey, I wouldn't expect her to remember me," Ashley simpered, her Southern drawl sounding extremely pronounced (and grating) to Iseult's ears. "She's far too young." She made that sound like it was a bad thing.

Frowning, she decided to be the bigger woman, and offered her hand. "Nice to meet you, Ashley. I'm Iseult."

Ashley took her hand and limply shook it. "Insult? What an unusual name…"

"Iseult. Yeah, it's not American. But I wouldn't expect you to recognise it."

"Inbuilt?" Ashley tilted her head to one side in confusion, a bitchy little smile appearing on her obviously cosmetically enhanced lips. They perfectly matched her fake smile…and what appeared to be a pair of overblown fun-bags attached to her chest.

"Yeah, that's exactly it." Aside from the obvious, there was just something about this woman that rubbed her the wrong way, but she refused to lose her cool at work. "Lovely to meet you, Ashley. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to finish getting ready."

"Oh, that's right, you're Sheamus' little friend. How nice for you."

She stopped dead, her shorts only pulled up halfway, pissed off by the patronising tone. Yes, she hadn't been given anything significant to do in the ring yet in terms of technical wrestling, but it wasn't for a lack of desire on her part.

'Play the game and you shall be rewarded' was a cardinal rule in the WWE. Surely a former Diva would understand that better than most people. Who had even decided to bring this creature back into the company?

"It really is," she stated as evenly as she could manage, jerking her shorts up the rest of the way and securing them. She swiftly wrapped the layers around her waist, firmly concealing her scar.

"It was nice meeting you, Is…yeah," Ashley drawled, shrugging her shoulders, as if to say who could blame me? "Randy will be grumpy if he doesn't see me before his match. I'm kind of his good luck charm."

As soon as the older woman departed, Iseult let out a little scream of frustration and slammed her fist into the wooden cubby. Grimacing, she gripped her fist with her other hand, still feeling enraged. Brute violence had never really been her thing outside of the ring, but goddamnit if Ashley didn't drive her to that place.

Who was this woman? Why had she suddenly re-appeared in the WWE? It wasn't as if there weren't enough pretty model types hanging around the division already, living off of company money and doing a whole lot of nothing. Ashley was exactly the kind of dead weight that Iseult wanted to see banished from the roster.

Iseult knew that her unparalleled rage wasn't aimed solely at Ashley as a person, but also at her role in this messed up situation. She was 'the chosen one,' the woman who got to enjoy everything that Randy had to offer, without fear of recrimination or consequence.

But why the hell did she have to be such a cow about it? Why did she seem to take such immense pleasure in taunting her? It took everything in her not to storm over to Randy's bus, dump Ashley outside on her ass, and screw him senseless right at that moment. She was that close.

Ignoring the perturbed looks of the other women in the locker room, she rushed outside and began to prowl the corridors. She needed to get her shit together. She couldn't let this affect her, especially at work.

A terribly appealing idea began to form in her mind when she spotted Sean Cleary, the head of Talent Relations. She strode over to him, forcing a sweet smile on to her face.

"Sean, hi, how are you?"

"I'm well, Iseult. How are you doing? Ready for the show?"

"Oh, always ready. I'm doing great thanks, loving every minute of this. I just have a quick question for you. When are we next scheduled to be in Orlando?"

He consulted his Blackberry, pulling up the elaborate timetable that kept the roster constantly on the move.

"We're actually going to be there for a house show on Sunday, and then RAW on Monday. Any particular reason why you ask?"

"Just eager to catch up with my NXT buddies," she shrugged, thanking him before briskly walking away.

Perfect.

In just two days, she would be back on familiar turf, and in a better mental state. Those forty-eight hours would allow her to regain her composure, and set out a little game plan.

By 10p.m. Sunday evening, she would be ready to get exactly what she needed.

At that point, consequences wouldn't be a concern.

And neither would Ashley.


Disclaimer: I do not own, or lay claim to, any of the WWE Superstars/Divas etc referenced in this work. I own Iseult and any other additional original characters that appear throughout this story.

A/N: Thank you to LadyEvil21, Sinistergateslegend, Thoughts in Chaos, batwolfgirl, Awake-the-Dark, Violets in the rain and qxzky for your reviews. It's so fun to read about your reactions and get your suggestions. Also, thank you to everyone who has read, favourited and followed this story.

I hope that this chapter answered some questions…but also raised a few more! I'm jet-lagged, and typed this up from my hotel in San Francisco (it's not a bad life), so if there are any grammatical errors or instances of awkward wording - then that's my excuse.

Let me know what you think!