Disclaimer: own nothing as usual, but it will all be mine one day, oh yes
it will be mine.
A/N Thanks also to the amazing jadedvixen for her lovely reviews. I love ur stuff as well girl and am honoured that u dig this story. I guess you're the only one apart from me who does! I have one more chapter left to write and that's it. Thanks for your support
*
"I've told you before Rob about hitting the mat like that" sighed the trainer
"No sweat Jake, I mean you're always here to patch me up right?" Rob replied
Jake shook his head and gestured for Rob to take hold the ice pack that he was currently pressing against Rob's bruised knees. He went over to the counter and picked up a sheet of paper, running his eyes over it.
"Rob, you've heard Mr Mcmahon's new policy about high risk moves right" Jake asked
"Sure, not so much high risk since its injuring superstars and costing us all money" replied Rob with a shrug "what about it?"
"If you don't clean up your act then you may not be here for me to patch up" Jake answered
"What do you mean?" Rob asked urgently
"The amount of people you cut up or injure in the ring is beyond reason" Jake said slowly "so many people limp in here saying they just had a match or run-in with you, it has got to stop Rob or you might be out of a job"
Before Rob could retort anything back, Jake moved over to a bench where Lance Storm, Rob's good friend from ECW was waiting silently, patiently. Rob sighed and resisted throwing the ice pack across the room. He'd heard about Vince's new policy about the extreme style of some competitors. Rob had thought that people like him would be excluded, bringing a bit of spice to the show but maybe he wasn't. Glen, his tag team partner known as Kane on-screen, had told him that he'd have to tone down a bit if they really wanted to gel as a tag team. Rob had refused until Glen showed him show to soften his edges to perfection. Now they were seamless and tag team champions. But was it enough?
He'd always cut people up when he wrestled. That probably came from the no- holds-barred approach of his trainer The Original Sheik. He'd been a hardcore legend, famous for the bloodshed in his matches. It was probably due to him that Rob had been so successful in ECW; he knew exactly how hardcore the crowds liked it and how to provide the perfect blood-soaked entertainment. Paul Heyman, ECW's owner, had told him he perfectly embodied ECW in all its barbed wire, chair swinging glory. It was the highest compliment. Now he was in WWE where things were definitely toned down. Even more so since the Hardcore title belt was retired and Vince had administered the warning. Jeff Hardy, one of the most extreme athletes, had left only recently. There were whispers it was because of a drugs test or because he refused to tone down his wrestling style which had made him so famous.
His knees were screaming in pain. Every time he landed from a split-legged moonsault or Van-Daminator or Five-Star Frog Splash, his knees took the brunt of the damage. And every night he came to the trainer's room for some ice. He didn't use to, it was natural for him to carry on injured or not and a sign of shame to the go and see the trainers for help. Unfortunately, Vince found out about it and told him to start looking after his body. So now Rob asked for the barest minimum; ice, cold cream, elastic bandages. Anything that could be quickly applied or barely noticeable. Anything that would relieve the pain quietly. Tommy completely disagreed with surgery or any form of help, saying it was for quitters. Mind you, Tommy had been bust up and broken more times than any other wrestler Rob knew. Maybe there was a lesson somewhere in that.
When he'd started cutting people up and making them bleed, it hadn't been noticed that much. When it had been noticed, that was when Rob had noticed his sliding status to the opening card. He'd always been told he was a main- eventer but he found himself being shuffled out of way. But the office couldn't disagree with the cheering he got, the pops he got walking down the ramp or the 'RVD' chants that always started up in his matches. Even against the ultra popular Jeff Hardy at Rob's first PPV he'd got the chants. If that didn't say something then nothing did. But the WWE had held him back because of his attitude. Rob had refused to change his style, no compromise; the Sheik had helped create it and now Rob was going to continue. Why change it when he knew it drew in the crowds? It was even worse now that the Hardcore title belt was gone. The audience wouldn't be so accepting of his violent style the office told him. But they made him tag team champ on Raw with Glen didn't they? Maybe it was to stop him being World Champion. Rob had heard the whispers that he would be some day.
"Drop this?" a voice piped up suddenly
Rob looked to his left. An ice pack was being offered to him by a tall scrawny guy, Rob estimated his age at about nineteen. He wore a long sleeved grey tee with a sleeveless black jacket over the top and old worn black jeans. He was grinning at Rob as though at a hidden joke. Suspiciously, Rob accepted the ice pack and held it against his knee again. It must have slipped from his hands while he was thinking.
"Rough night out there?" the guy asked, producing a roll of gaffer tape from his pocket and beginning to play with it
"As always" Rob replied
He watched the way the guy played with the tape. He was probably a member of the local crew or something, come to find wayward technical crew. But he wasn't leaving. He leant against the wall, watching Rob intently out of unidentifiable eyes.
"Ever think of slowing up a little in there? You know, stopping that pace?" the guy asked suddenly
"What is this? A conspiracy?" Rob asked loudly, throwing his hands in the air causing the ice pack to fall to the floor again "have you been sent here by Vince or something to convince me not to wrestle my style?"
"Nothing like that, just curious" the guy reassured him
He picked up the ice pack from the floor and grinned slightly at the 'RVD' adorned wrestling boots Rob had strapped to his feet.
"Interesting" was his only comment before straightening out and handing the ice-pack back to Rob "keep it on the sore knees champ, that's how healing works"
"Oh really?" cracked Rob sarcastically "I had no idea"
"That much is obvious" the guy replied with a glare at him
Rob bristled at the patronising tone of the comment. Maybe it was just the British accent that made the words sound like that. It was certainly a distinct voice that Rob had never heard much before. He shifted the ice pack around on his knees. He could still hear Jake muttering quietly to Lance as he worked on him
"Why aren't you out de-rigging the lights?" he asked
"They have people to do that in the crew" the guy answered "I'm here to speak to you"
"What about? My medical insurance?"
"Very humorous, it's a pity I haven't got my usual amount of time for a battle of wits but no it's about your attitude in the ring"
"What about it? It's got me the gold" Rob nodded towards the championship belt lying on the bench beside him
The guy picked it up, looking at it curiously. He stroked the surface, frowning slightly
"So this is what you 'fight' to win" he said before wincing painful and glaring up at the ceiling "alright, I'll stop the snide comments"
He dropped the belt back onto the bench and turned back to Rob, the gaffer tape again juggling in his hands. He was beginning to give Rob a headache with all his fiddling and juggling. Could someone die from being hit hard in the head with an ice pack? The guy began speaking as though he hasn't noticed the death glares he was receiving from Rob
"So you want to be star ok? So you do the indies, the Sheik teaches you some stuff, you become..what is it they called you? 'The whole f'n show'? well anyway, you become a big star in ECW before it closes down and end up here, the last one left and they don't like your style so what do you do?"
"How much is the answer worth?"
"My peace of mind and possibly my job"
"In that case, I pass"
"An American with a sense of humour and I find him when I have limited time the guy rolled his eyes "just answer the question, it'll make both our lives easier"
"Fine, I continue the way I am, exciting the crowds and getting the job done in the ring, happy?"
"About as happy as you look, why don't you just change?"
"Because its got me this far, it makes me different and I like how the crowd reacts to my moves, they like it, I like it and people always remember my match at the end of the show, no matter what the main event is"
The guy smiled satisfied and slipped the role of tape into his jacket pocket.
"See that wasn't so hard"
"On who? I still have to change my style or be fired probably from what Jake was saying"
"So modify, evolve, that's what road agents are here for or so I'm told, do you want to end up like your old comrades Raven and Justin? Have some hope. Just be yourself and evolve into the product, oh and stop being so damn arrogant, its killing to watch"
"Anyone ever told you that you sound like Yoda on a bad British day?"
"Only you and I'll take that as a compliment, think about it"
Rob sighed and closed his eyes, drawing his hands over his face to gather his thoughts. He could modify he guessed, change a bit to make it more accessible for the office. He'd have to if he wanted to keep his job. If need be, he could only change slightly but still keep the important parts in. He'd been thinking of trying to get the Hardcore belt reinstated, maybe now was the time to try it. It would certainly make explaining his style a lot easier. He opened his eyes to talk again but the space in front of him was empty. No one was there. He hadn't heard the door open but that guy had gone completely.
As he looked around the room for other possible places of exit, the door opened and Glen walked in, peeling his Kane mask off as he did.
"How's the knees doing Rob?" he asked "you've gotta get some sort of clean- up surgery done on them"
"Maybe"
Rob's mind was still on the mysterious disappearance of the guy. Glen frowned; taking in Rob's spaced out expression
"Rob? You ok in there?" he asked
"Uh yeah, Glen did you seen like a lanky guy about twenty or nineteen come of this room before you walked in?"
"No, why?"
"I think I've just been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come"
Glen grinned at his friend and hit him on the back lightly before walking back to where Jake was still helping Lance. Rob stayed where he was, his thoughts still reeling. Who knew who that guy was? Rob grinned and shifted the ice pack onto his other knee. It was definitely one of the weirder conversations he'd had backstage. Who cared? He'd probably imagined him anyway.
A/N Thanks also to the amazing jadedvixen for her lovely reviews. I love ur stuff as well girl and am honoured that u dig this story. I guess you're the only one apart from me who does! I have one more chapter left to write and that's it. Thanks for your support
*
"I've told you before Rob about hitting the mat like that" sighed the trainer
"No sweat Jake, I mean you're always here to patch me up right?" Rob replied
Jake shook his head and gestured for Rob to take hold the ice pack that he was currently pressing against Rob's bruised knees. He went over to the counter and picked up a sheet of paper, running his eyes over it.
"Rob, you've heard Mr Mcmahon's new policy about high risk moves right" Jake asked
"Sure, not so much high risk since its injuring superstars and costing us all money" replied Rob with a shrug "what about it?"
"If you don't clean up your act then you may not be here for me to patch up" Jake answered
"What do you mean?" Rob asked urgently
"The amount of people you cut up or injure in the ring is beyond reason" Jake said slowly "so many people limp in here saying they just had a match or run-in with you, it has got to stop Rob or you might be out of a job"
Before Rob could retort anything back, Jake moved over to a bench where Lance Storm, Rob's good friend from ECW was waiting silently, patiently. Rob sighed and resisted throwing the ice pack across the room. He'd heard about Vince's new policy about the extreme style of some competitors. Rob had thought that people like him would be excluded, bringing a bit of spice to the show but maybe he wasn't. Glen, his tag team partner known as Kane on-screen, had told him that he'd have to tone down a bit if they really wanted to gel as a tag team. Rob had refused until Glen showed him show to soften his edges to perfection. Now they were seamless and tag team champions. But was it enough?
He'd always cut people up when he wrestled. That probably came from the no- holds-barred approach of his trainer The Original Sheik. He'd been a hardcore legend, famous for the bloodshed in his matches. It was probably due to him that Rob had been so successful in ECW; he knew exactly how hardcore the crowds liked it and how to provide the perfect blood-soaked entertainment. Paul Heyman, ECW's owner, had told him he perfectly embodied ECW in all its barbed wire, chair swinging glory. It was the highest compliment. Now he was in WWE where things were definitely toned down. Even more so since the Hardcore title belt was retired and Vince had administered the warning. Jeff Hardy, one of the most extreme athletes, had left only recently. There were whispers it was because of a drugs test or because he refused to tone down his wrestling style which had made him so famous.
His knees were screaming in pain. Every time he landed from a split-legged moonsault or Van-Daminator or Five-Star Frog Splash, his knees took the brunt of the damage. And every night he came to the trainer's room for some ice. He didn't use to, it was natural for him to carry on injured or not and a sign of shame to the go and see the trainers for help. Unfortunately, Vince found out about it and told him to start looking after his body. So now Rob asked for the barest minimum; ice, cold cream, elastic bandages. Anything that could be quickly applied or barely noticeable. Anything that would relieve the pain quietly. Tommy completely disagreed with surgery or any form of help, saying it was for quitters. Mind you, Tommy had been bust up and broken more times than any other wrestler Rob knew. Maybe there was a lesson somewhere in that.
When he'd started cutting people up and making them bleed, it hadn't been noticed that much. When it had been noticed, that was when Rob had noticed his sliding status to the opening card. He'd always been told he was a main- eventer but he found himself being shuffled out of way. But the office couldn't disagree with the cheering he got, the pops he got walking down the ramp or the 'RVD' chants that always started up in his matches. Even against the ultra popular Jeff Hardy at Rob's first PPV he'd got the chants. If that didn't say something then nothing did. But the WWE had held him back because of his attitude. Rob had refused to change his style, no compromise; the Sheik had helped create it and now Rob was going to continue. Why change it when he knew it drew in the crowds? It was even worse now that the Hardcore title belt was gone. The audience wouldn't be so accepting of his violent style the office told him. But they made him tag team champ on Raw with Glen didn't they? Maybe it was to stop him being World Champion. Rob had heard the whispers that he would be some day.
"Drop this?" a voice piped up suddenly
Rob looked to his left. An ice pack was being offered to him by a tall scrawny guy, Rob estimated his age at about nineteen. He wore a long sleeved grey tee with a sleeveless black jacket over the top and old worn black jeans. He was grinning at Rob as though at a hidden joke. Suspiciously, Rob accepted the ice pack and held it against his knee again. It must have slipped from his hands while he was thinking.
"Rough night out there?" the guy asked, producing a roll of gaffer tape from his pocket and beginning to play with it
"As always" Rob replied
He watched the way the guy played with the tape. He was probably a member of the local crew or something, come to find wayward technical crew. But he wasn't leaving. He leant against the wall, watching Rob intently out of unidentifiable eyes.
"Ever think of slowing up a little in there? You know, stopping that pace?" the guy asked suddenly
"What is this? A conspiracy?" Rob asked loudly, throwing his hands in the air causing the ice pack to fall to the floor again "have you been sent here by Vince or something to convince me not to wrestle my style?"
"Nothing like that, just curious" the guy reassured him
He picked up the ice pack from the floor and grinned slightly at the 'RVD' adorned wrestling boots Rob had strapped to his feet.
"Interesting" was his only comment before straightening out and handing the ice-pack back to Rob "keep it on the sore knees champ, that's how healing works"
"Oh really?" cracked Rob sarcastically "I had no idea"
"That much is obvious" the guy replied with a glare at him
Rob bristled at the patronising tone of the comment. Maybe it was just the British accent that made the words sound like that. It was certainly a distinct voice that Rob had never heard much before. He shifted the ice pack around on his knees. He could still hear Jake muttering quietly to Lance as he worked on him
"Why aren't you out de-rigging the lights?" he asked
"They have people to do that in the crew" the guy answered "I'm here to speak to you"
"What about? My medical insurance?"
"Very humorous, it's a pity I haven't got my usual amount of time for a battle of wits but no it's about your attitude in the ring"
"What about it? It's got me the gold" Rob nodded towards the championship belt lying on the bench beside him
The guy picked it up, looking at it curiously. He stroked the surface, frowning slightly
"So this is what you 'fight' to win" he said before wincing painful and glaring up at the ceiling "alright, I'll stop the snide comments"
He dropped the belt back onto the bench and turned back to Rob, the gaffer tape again juggling in his hands. He was beginning to give Rob a headache with all his fiddling and juggling. Could someone die from being hit hard in the head with an ice pack? The guy began speaking as though he hasn't noticed the death glares he was receiving from Rob
"So you want to be star ok? So you do the indies, the Sheik teaches you some stuff, you become..what is it they called you? 'The whole f'n show'? well anyway, you become a big star in ECW before it closes down and end up here, the last one left and they don't like your style so what do you do?"
"How much is the answer worth?"
"My peace of mind and possibly my job"
"In that case, I pass"
"An American with a sense of humour and I find him when I have limited time the guy rolled his eyes "just answer the question, it'll make both our lives easier"
"Fine, I continue the way I am, exciting the crowds and getting the job done in the ring, happy?"
"About as happy as you look, why don't you just change?"
"Because its got me this far, it makes me different and I like how the crowd reacts to my moves, they like it, I like it and people always remember my match at the end of the show, no matter what the main event is"
The guy smiled satisfied and slipped the role of tape into his jacket pocket.
"See that wasn't so hard"
"On who? I still have to change my style or be fired probably from what Jake was saying"
"So modify, evolve, that's what road agents are here for or so I'm told, do you want to end up like your old comrades Raven and Justin? Have some hope. Just be yourself and evolve into the product, oh and stop being so damn arrogant, its killing to watch"
"Anyone ever told you that you sound like Yoda on a bad British day?"
"Only you and I'll take that as a compliment, think about it"
Rob sighed and closed his eyes, drawing his hands over his face to gather his thoughts. He could modify he guessed, change a bit to make it more accessible for the office. He'd have to if he wanted to keep his job. If need be, he could only change slightly but still keep the important parts in. He'd been thinking of trying to get the Hardcore belt reinstated, maybe now was the time to try it. It would certainly make explaining his style a lot easier. He opened his eyes to talk again but the space in front of him was empty. No one was there. He hadn't heard the door open but that guy had gone completely.
As he looked around the room for other possible places of exit, the door opened and Glen walked in, peeling his Kane mask off as he did.
"How's the knees doing Rob?" he asked "you've gotta get some sort of clean- up surgery done on them"
"Maybe"
Rob's mind was still on the mysterious disappearance of the guy. Glen frowned; taking in Rob's spaced out expression
"Rob? You ok in there?" he asked
"Uh yeah, Glen did you seen like a lanky guy about twenty or nineteen come of this room before you walked in?"
"No, why?"
"I think I've just been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come"
Glen grinned at his friend and hit him on the back lightly before walking back to where Jake was still helping Lance. Rob stayed where he was, his thoughts still reeling. Who knew who that guy was? Rob grinned and shifted the ice pack onto his other knee. It was definitely one of the weirder conversations he'd had backstage. Who cared? He'd probably imagined him anyway.