"Just how hard can it possibly be to come up with one lousy name for a summer rock festival, anyway?" the youngest McMahon muttered darkly to herself, as seated across the table from her, one of the writers proposed, "Let's call it Farmstock--a combination of Farm Aid and Woodstock!"
"Lollagagoogles," another one called out, tripping over the syllables and winding up stuttering out his suggestion.
"OzzKozzB'Gozz," a third writer put forth, smiling pleasedly that he'd thought of such a smart name.
"I have to pee," one of the junior assistants whined at that moment, earning himself a glare from Stephanie just as Paul Heyman started to suggest, "Why don't we forget about ripping off existing festivals, and aim for another, untapped group?" Stephanie rose slightly from her slouched position, asking without much enthusiasm, "What are you saying, Paul?"
"What we need here is a title that'll be immediately associated with rock n' roll in people's minds, am I right?" the former owner of ECW pointed out, and at Stephanie's nod, he went on, "Then there you have it: let's rip off the name of one of the biggest acts in rock history!"
"Rolling Stones?" Stephanie guessed.
"Led Zeppelin," a writer in his early thirties suggested.
"AC/DC," another one cheered.
"Kiss," a third one put forward.
"Milli Vanilli!" a petite bottled blonde squealed happily, playing around with her hair as she called out the particular duo's name.
"Huh?" At this suggestion, all heads turned to gawk at her, causing the little blonde to whimper and duck under all the eyeballs fixed on her as she sniveled, "It was just a suggestion..."
"Well,
I was actually thinking more along the lines of Spinal Tap," Heyman chose
that minute to quickly reinsert himself into the conversation, causing
Stephanie to shoot straight up and screech, "Spinal Tap?! What the
hell kind of laughingstock do you want to convert the tour formerly known
as Woodfest into?!" Heyman winced under the supersonic attack, his measly
little ponytail being blown straight back from the force of Stephanie's
rebel yell, as he hurriedly explained himself, "Well, Spinal Tap is an
easier-to-rip-off name than the others. I mean, how are we going to mimic
a name like Rolling Stones or Led Zeppelin?"
"We
can substitute Hiss for Kiss," the writer who'd suggested Kiss offered
so very helpfully. Stephanie rolled her eyes, muttering in a dry voice,
"Yes, that will really associate the festival with rock music and
Kiss."
"Red
Elfin for Led Zeppelin," another writer called out eagerly.
"Again,
nothing to do with music--am I right, Steph?" Heyman spoke hurriedly. Stephanie
sighed, conceding grudgingly, "As pathetic as this sounds, yes, you're
right."
"But
with Spinal Tap, we can easily substitute in Vinyl Act--vinyl's immediately
associated with records, while concertgoers can make the connection between
Vinyl Act and Spinal Tap as soon as they hear the two names pronounced
in the same sentence," Heyman pitched.
"God,
I can't believe the best name we've been able to come up with in all these
days is Vinyl Act," Stephanie groaned to herself.
At
that moment, a bunch of EMT's led away one of the wrestlers-turned-rockers
toward the nurse's office, causing Stephanie to look up suspiciously and
demand, "What happened to him?" One of the EMT's paused long enough to
disclose, "He got hit in the head with one of Test's flying drumsticks,
and suffered a minor concussion. He'll be all right, though." They both
watched then, as Kurt Angle blabbed away, "Flying like the bumblebee, stinging
like the leech! No one can touch me! I'm Kurttiiiiiiiiieeeeee!!!"
"Uh,
after Nurse Helmsley bonks him on the head with a sledgehammer to cancel
out his concussion, that is," the EMT quickly improvised, causing Stephanie
to sigh and smack her forehead in frustration.
"What
kinds of music-ignorant simpletons do I have working this festival, anyway?"
she sighed exhaustedly. At that moment, there was a loud thwacking sound,
followed by a deep male voice yelping, "Owie! My other eye!" The EMT who'd
informed Stephanie about Kurt's condition looked back with a tired groan,
before speaking into his walkie-talkie, "Yeah, we're going to need some
back-up here. That's right, Test just took out his other eye with his drumsticks!"
Over
at the other end of the amphitheater, which Vince McMahon had rented out
for his wrestlers-turned-rock-stars to rehearse in until the real bands
could arrive to kick off the tour, the newly reinstated Jeff Hardy was
trying to teach his bandmates some alternative rock fashion.
"Honestly,
it's the latest rage these days," Mr. Skittle Xtreme was babbling enthusiastically,
dipping his camel-hair brush into his can of rainbow-colored body paint
as he spoke. "And besides, chicks love the icky gooey factor." Shane glared
suspiciously at his fellow North Carolinian, forcing himself not to shudder
in disgust as Jeff slathered on a generous helping of paint onto the superhero's
arms and neck, before grumbling, "Holy gross-outs, Citizen Hardy. Are you
positive
girls actually go for this type of thing?" Jeff nodded happily, his hair
flying back and forth as though he were headbanging, while sitting beside
him, the newly-painted Matt grumbled, "I feel like the poor man's Picasso
right about now."
Jeff cheerfully ignored his brother's comment, concentrating instead on turning Shane into the poor man's Frida to complement Matt's poor man's Picasso, being torn away from his important job only when a hysterical Shannon came careening toward the terrible threesome from the direction of the unisex restrooms, nearly in tears as he cried, "I'm breaking out! I think I'm allergic to your disgusting body paint, Hardy!" Jeff blinked in confusion, mumbling, "That can't be, it's all-organic paint--litchi, guayaba, jalapeño peppers, goat cheese, fungi mold..." Matt and Shane turned green when they heard the ingredients of the multi-colored slime they'd just been bathed in, while Shannon glared at the younger Hardy and groaned sarcastically, "Gee, how could I possibly be allergic to that toxic waste you call paint?!" Jeff shrugged, trying to find a silver lining and muttering defensively, "Hey, at least you got to see some pretty hot stuff in the unisex, right?" Shannon rolled his eyes at Jeff's impish wink, whining, "Yeah, you won't believe what a turn-on it is to see Rikishi and Albert washing underneath their armpits in front of the toilet sinks!"
"Morons!"
Matt, who'd been pretty quiet until then, suddenly exploded when he could
take no more of all the intelligent conversation around him. Tearing at
his long, black hair, he proceeded to add, "I'm surrounded by morons!"
"Thanks
a lot, Citizen Hardy," Shane sniffed huffily, looking insulted that he'd
been lumped into the same category as Skittle Jeff and everybody's favorite
MF'r. At that moment, Rob happened to wander past them, overhearing Matt's
outburst and calling out encouragingly, "Dude, take a chill pill. It'll
all be better once the real bands get here...right?"
Camryn
frowned as she stuck her head into the long, white stretch limo and found
out who would be her and the rest of Scarlet Rage's chauffeur for their
trip to the airport.
"Move
over, Cutler, I'm driving," the tall, raven-haired lead guitarist spoke
bluntly, annoyance evident in her cold emerald eyes when Deron remained
happily planted in the driver's seat and blew her a raspberry to convey
his response.
"Aw,
c'mon, Cruise, lighten up already," the blonde Miami native chirped brightly,
absently playing around with the steering wheel as he spoke. "I don't drive
that
badly, do I?"
"Yeah,
Camryn, let's just get this show on the road already--we have to get to
Stamford by this evening," Raven chimed in from where she was, seated behind
Deron and absently applying a new layer of magenta nail polish over her
old burgundy coat. Camryn flashed her an irritated glare, then focused
back on Deron as she reminded him frostily, "The last time you drove a
car, it wound up compounded for three months, remember?"
"And
the last time you drove a car, oh gorgeous guitar goddess, it
wound up crumpled in a ditch, remember?" Deron sang back, mimicking her
tone of voice and narrowly avoiding getting punched in the nose for his
tongue-in-cheek reply.
Raven,
for her part, had gotten bored of playing peacemaker, and was now blowing
on her nails to dry them, just as Shannon and Rusty stalked over to the
limo and pulled the doors open to get inside. Shannon got in wordlessly
as usual, while the normally laid-back Rusty actually glared impatiently
at where Camryn and Deron were bickering back and forth, before snapping
in a huffy voice, "Will both of you just shut up and drive?" Deron's dark
blue eyes widened in surprise at hearing the tone of Rusty's voice, as
he leaned back and asked Raven, "Jeez, what crawled up her pants and bit
her in the ass today?" Rusty's left eyebrow shot up angrily at this remark,
and as Raven started to reply, "Oh, it's her pre-time of the month, if
you get what I mean," the second guitarist of Scarlet Rage promptly wound
up and bitch-slapped the taste right out of Deron's month.
"You
might want to put some ice on that," Camryn sneered, but Deron just stuck
out his tongue at her and breezed, "It's only a little slap, I'm not incapacitated
or anything, and can still drive. Now get in already, we're going to miss
our flight if you keep going off on this idea that I'm a bad driver." Camryn
scowled, before angrily crossing over to the passenger's side of the limo
and jerking the door open so hard, she nearly yanked it right off its hinges.
Seating herself beside Deron and crossing her long legs in front of her,
she shot him one last glare before slamming the door shut. Deron grinned,
before starting the engine and shifting the gear stick into Drive to peel
off the curb at one-hundred-and-twenty miles per hour in a twenty-five-mph
zone. Inside the limo, Shannon screeched out a startled string of curses
at being so rudely tossed back in her seat, Camryn's scowl darkened even
further, Deron whooped and pumped his fist joyously in the air, Rusty continued
to bristle in her PMS-induced bad mood, and Raven cheerfully sang along
to the Aerosmith disc still stuck in the car's CD player. Too caught up
in their individual reactions, none of the Ragers seemed to notice that
nobody was wearing a seatbelt.
Deron
had driven all of two hundred yards when the loud, shrill wail of police
sirens broke into Shannon's cursing and Raven's screeched duet with Steven
Tyler on "Dude Looks Like A Lady." Camryn leaned back in her seat, a satisfied
little smirk on her face as though her point had just been proven, while
Deron merely frowned, confused and wondering out loud with a sulky pout,
"But I didn't do anything wrong..."
"Pull
over! This is the L.A.P.D., I repeat, pull over!" a distorted, metallic-sounding
voice came over the loudspeakers of the black-and-white tailing their limo,
and Deron had no choice but to slam on the brakes, nearly sending Camryn
flying right out the windshield while giving the rest of Scarlet Rage concussions
from banging against the backs of the front seats. As the limo obediently
screeched to a halt and the police cruiser behind them stopped as well,
a furious Camryn turned to Deron and proceeded to strangle him with a rebel
yell of, "Cutler, you motherfucking idiot!" The rest of the band seated
in the back slowly began to recover their wits as well, before Rusty and
Shannon teamed up to simultaneously smack Deron in the head for nearly
giving them amnesia, while Raven anxiously whipped out her compact and
checked to make sure she hadn't gotten any unattractive purple bruises
from her conk to the head.
A tall,
rather handsome officer with thick dark brown hair and cold charcoal-gray
eyes walked over to the limo, tapping on the tinted window of the driver's
side with the end of his flashlight and waiting impatiently for somebody
to answer. An automatic lock was popped and the power window soon rolled
down, to reveal a tanned blonde youth in his early twenties seated behind
the wheel, being throttled by the furious raven-haired young woman beside
him as two additional brunettes abused the back of his head from behind.
"Can
I help you, dude--uh, I mean, officer?" the blonde man wheezed with some
difficulty, his face beginning to turn a rather interesting shade of blue
that nearly matched the color of his eyes. The policeman frowned, directing
his words to the three women who were brutalizing their fair-haired companion
as he requested curtly, "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you--all three
of you--to stop assaulting your friend here." The trio of brunettes ignored
his words, while their hapless blonde bandmate assured the policeman, "Oh,
don't worry about it--they'll stop once they get the sadism out of their
systems."
As
if to prove his point, Camryn, Rusty, and Shannon finally let go at that
moment, and Deron leaned back against his seat and rubbed tenderly at his
bruised neck and head, pointing out with a wince, "See? Just like I said.
I'm Deron, by the way--and you are...?"
"Brest,
Officer Brest," the policeman supplied, causing Deron to explode into a
fit of high-pitched giggles, occasionally slapping at his exposed knees
through their ripped faded blue jeans in his mirth. Officer Brest arched
an eyebrow at this, before Camryn scowled and pushed Deron's head into
the car horn so that she could speak directly with the policeman, snapping
rudely, "Listen, just ticket us and piss off already, would you? We're
going to be late at the rate you're flirting with Cutler over here!" The
officer frowned at her words as the limo continued to let out a long, stretched-out
beep, before Deron finally freed his head from Camryn's grasp and argued,
"No, don't ticket us--we don't have any money on us right now!" Turning
to the dark-haired woman beside him, he quickly urged, "Here, Cruise, flash
the guy already so that he'll let us off the hook." Camryn's eyebrows slanted
sharply across her forehead, before she scowled and swung with her fist.
Deron was smart for once and ducked this time, and the guitarist wound
up socking Officer Brest right in the stomach.
"Ooh,
nice upper cut there, Cruise," Deron whistled, as the officer's eyes popped
out from the impact and he clutched at his abdomen.
At
that moment, Raven caught sight of the officer doubled over in pain and
decided to join in on the festivities.
"Camryn,
how could you do that to him?" the blue-eyed bassist complained, scrambling
over to get as close to the policeman as she could while asking sweetly,
"Are you all right, Mr. Brest?" At that, Deron started snickering again,
but Raven ignored him as she asked the officer instead, "Do you want me
to kiss that boo-boo and make it go away?" The officer scowled and stepped
back a couple of inches, snapping, "No, I don't want you to kiss it!" Whipping
out his handy little notebook, he began scribbling out the first of several
fines while muttering, "Let's see...erratic driving, speeding, failure
to wear seatbelts, hitting an on-duty policeman, hitting on an on-duty
policeman..."
"She
had every right for hitting you," Rusty grouchily chipped in her two cents.
"You
dumb shit," Shannon muttered under her breath. The officer's eyebrows twitched,
before he turned the page and continued writing out fines. Raven, meanwhile,
was saying, "Are you sure you don't want to reconsider that?" while batting
her eyelashes seductively at the cop, who ignored her and turned his attention
to Rusty and Shannon instead.
"Care
to add anything else while you've got the chance?" he demanded dryly.
"Yeah,
you stink," Rusty muttered, training glassy brown eyes on him as Shannon
added, "Jerk-off." The officer frowned suspiciously as he noticed Rusty's
slightly slurred speech and glazed expression, before pointing to the coffee-haired
guitar player and ordering, "All right, Miss, get out of the car."
"Hey,"
Raven started to complain, as Rusty shrugged before lazily stepping out
of the limo and batting away the officer's hands when he tried to search
her, "how come she insults you and you grope her, yet here I am flirting
away and you won't even notice me?" Everybody ignored her and focused instead
on the officer and Rusty, and when the former finally turned up a little
plastic bag containing a powdery white substance resembling flour, Raven
finally lost her patience and exploded in a huff, "Oh, come on! What do
I have to do here--flash you to get you to flirt back?!" The officer barely
spared her a glance as he disclosed, "Ma'am, I'm gay, so there's no reason
for you to try and flirt with me." As if to prove his point, he turned
around and winked at Deron while he spoke, causing the blonde frontman
to gulp and shrink back in the limo, trying to hide behind Camryn's taller
but more slender frame while whimpering, "Camryn, I'm scared now..." Officer
Brest, meanwhile, had turned his attention to Rusty and was saying, "Ma'am,
I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'll have to arrest you for cocaine possession."
Rusty scowled.
"I
just took a couple of hits to get rid of my writer's block," she grumbled.
"What's the big deal there, it's not like I inhaled a whole pound up my
nose." The policeman didn't budge, as he replied stiffly, "Tell that to
the judge. My job is only to arrest you for transporting an illegal substance."
At
those words, Camryn, as well as Shannon, both got out of the limo, stalking
over purposely toward the officer, with the six-feet-tall lead guitarist
towering a good couple of inches over him in her high-heeled leather boots.
"You're
not throwing her in jail for this, are you?" Shannon demanded menacingly,
cracking her knuckles as though preparing for a fistfight. The policeman
stood his ground, unfazed by her hidden threat as he repeated, "The law
is the law, ma'am."
"I'm
afraid you don't understand, Brest," Camryn growled in a deceptively quiet
voice, gritting her teeth in annoyance when behind her, Deron again burst
into giggles. "A Troublesome Triplet never goes to jail alone."
"You
mess with one Rager, you mess with us all, so you'd better take us to jail
with her," Shannon ordered. The officer glanced up and examined their dead-serious
expressions, before sighing and explaining, "As tempting as that offer
may be, the answer would have to be no. I can't arrest you for no reason."
"Oh?"
Camryn and Shannon exchanged meaningful glances, before reaching into the
limo and yanking out Deron. Positioning him between them like a battering
ram and ignoring the Floridian's outraged squawks, the two women promptly
hauled back and slammed him against the officer, knocking him backwards
onto the concrete sidewalk where he was nearly run over by a group of teenagers
on Rollerblades.
"That
good enough reason for you?" Camryn drawled coldly, as she and Shannon
released their hold on Deron, who rolled onto the grass, clutching painfully
at his head and whining that he was bruising like a tomato...albeit quite
the handsome tomato, of course.
Connor tapped his foot impatiently on the tiled airport floor, leaning against his luggage and glancing up at the nearest clock every five minutes as he wondered what was taking his bandmates so long to arrive. Due to some personal problems that had required his immediate attention, the blonde Irish bassist had had to leave two hours before the rest of the band were scheduled to go to the airport, so the members of Urban Trash had collectively agreed to rendezvous at the airport lobby half an hour before their flight to Connecticut was to take off. Now here he was, two hours and twenty minutes later, and still no signs of either Melody or Max. Connor grunted under his breath, absently raking a hand through his disheveled blonde hair as he continued to wait, and mentally debated whether he ought to go on the flight alone if his bandmates failed to show up before takeoff.
Just
as Connor had given up on Melody and Max ever arriving and reluctantly
pulled up his luggage that the sound of hurried, rather erratic footsteps
dashed madly toward him from across the lobby. Connor glanced up, relief
evident in his dark blue eyes...relief which was soon replaced with dismay
and mild indignation when he saw that the terror twins had come from the
direction of the airport bar and were obviously, blatantly drunk out of
their minds. Melody and Max staggered and stumbled toward him, leaning
on each other for support, the latter wearing her dark red hair in a long
black-tipped braid, the former carelessly clutching an opened bottle of
vodka, which was sloshing its contents onto nearby people.
"Ah
feel puhr-tty, so very puhr-tty," Max was hollering in a hideous Southern
drawl. "Ah feel puhr-tty, and hah-ppy, and gaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyy!" Melody
giggled and hiccupped, before twirling back her chocolate-colored hair
and singing out, "I'm the Queen of the World!"
"And
I'm the Jester of the World!" Max countered, before collapsing into a hiccupping
fit and thankfully shutting up for the moment. Connor clapped both hands
against his cheeks, gritting his teeth as he went to work on the duo, stalking
up to them and demanding acidly, "Have ye two been drinkin' again?" Melody
tried to focus her eyes on him, giggling something about how his two heads
looked funny before replying innocently, "Not since we each had a drink."
Connor
sighed in frustration as he looked at this new problem he would have to
tackle, disbelieving that the two girls would allow themselves to get so
wasted again when they'd both solemnly sworn sobriety and sanity just two
weeks earlier.
"Listen,
Melly, our flight's leavin' in less than ten minutes, and--" he tried to
explain, gently nudging both girls in the direction of the airport's check-in
center.
"I'm
not Melly," Melody cried loudly, nearly taking out one of his eyes as she
raised one fist into the air and declared, "I'm Mel Gibson, hear me roar!
Lookie, here's my Braveheart face!" And she scrunched up her features
in her best attempt at a scowl.
"And
I'm the reincarnation of Sid Vicious, woo hoo!" Max declared triumphantly,
pulling back a corner of her upper lip in her best Sid Vicious sneer. Connor
rolled his eyes.
"Tis
drunk that both of ye are," he corrected them crossly, yanking on both
girls' arms as though they were his disobedient children and dragging them
toward their plane.
"The
hills are aliiiiiiiiiiiive...with the sound of muu-muus..." Max sang out
obnoxiously, still giggling as she was pulled away. Melody hiccupped, before
speaking up guiltily, "I have to pee-pee." Connor felt like tearing his
hair out.
Ten Incredibly Long Minutes Later...
Connor gratefully thanked the flight attendant who'd helped him lug in his comrades and settle them into two seats, before sitting down himself and buckling on his seatbelt, reaching forward for a magazine to peruse. Opening the glossy front page of an old issue of Sports Illustrated, the punk bassist glanced to his left at a sleeping red-haired girl, who would have looked almost childishly peaceful and innocent had it not been for the loud snore that suddenly erupted from her throat and nearly sent Connor rocketing right through the airplane's roof. Having regained his composure, Connor settled down in his seat and concentrated on his magazine, immensely thankful that Max had fallen asleep as soon as she'd put one foot into the airplane. Good thing too, he thought wryly to himself, considerin' how if Shorty were awake right now, there'd be plenty of paper cups and peanut bags flyin' all around us! Shrugging as he began flipping idly through the magazine pages, Connor decided that this must be God's way of making things up to him after having the security guards staunchly refuse to let the band onto the plane on account of Max's long, sloppily-woven braid looking like a disguised noose.
Connor
was nearly done with his magazine, having stopped only to look at the pictures
and read their captions, when he sat bolt upright, suddenly aware that
the second half of the terrible twosome was nowhere in sight.
"Damn
it," he swore quietly under his breath, disregarding the flight attendant's
instructions to stay seated and unbuckling his seatbelt as the plane began
to taxi around the runway. "Please don't have Melody gettin' herself into
any trouble at this moment!" Ignoring a nearby flight attendant's orders
that he return to his seat, Connor began walking down the long, narrow
passageway of the airplane, mentally running through all the places that
Melody might have hidden herself in.
Melody,
for her part, had managed to sneak away unnoticed while Max was snoring
and Connor was distracted by the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated,
and had somehow found herself wandering into the pilots' cabin. Turbulence
caused the plane to suddenly jolt and shake before she could open the door
and go inside, and Melody paused with her hand on the doorknob, stumbling
around for something to steady herself with and beginning to look somewhat
sick. Finally, after she felt she'd recovered, the twenty-seven-year-old
Australian native twisted the doorknob and boldly stumbled inside, wearing
a wide, silly grin on her face and waving at the two pilots as though she
were some celebrity on a parade float.
"Hi,
I'm *hic* Melody," she chirped brightly, sheepishly apologizing for her
hiccups when she'd finished introducing herself. One of the pilots gave
her a suspicious glance, asking, "Miss, what are you doing here?" Another
wave of turbulence rocked the plane before Melody could answer, and as
the pilots exchanged wary looks while awaiting her reply, one of them noticed
that their unexpected guest seemed to have turned a rather ill shade of
yellow-green in the face.
The airplane heading for Stamford, Connecticut continued ascending, flying steadily until another jolt wracked its entire metallic body. This time, however, turbulence wasn't the culprit, as from inside the plane, a horrified male voice cried out in a thunderous Irish brogue, "MELLY, HOW COULD YE THROW UP ON THE PILOTS?!!!"
That Evening...
Stephanie
gazed, stupefied, at the three female figures standing at the amphitheater
doors and beaming brightly up at her.
"I
don't understand," she muttered to herself, rubbing her ice-blue eyes for
the second time in two minutes and wondering whether she was seeing double
after having had to spend a whole maddening week with a hopelessly incompetent
creative team and even more hopelessly incompetent and accident-prone
WWE rock bands.
"What's
there to understand?" Amanda chirped loudly, as behind Stephanie, Christian
dashed across the room, gleefully waving a wide banner and yodeling, "Welcome
to the Peep Show!" Beside Amanda, Caitlin's eyebrows shot up and nearly
off her forehead, as the pretty blonde asked curiously, "What's he talking
about? What peep show?" Stephanie sighed, smacking her forehead with the
heel of her hand and muttering, "They're trying to come up with a catchphrase
for the Vinyl Act tour. You know, like how Guns N' Roses had their "Welcome
to the jungle," and Christian's the self-proclaimed Peeps' Champion?"
As
Caitlin stood there and digested this new bit of information, Stephanie
cleared her throat pointedly before jerking her thumb toward a second brunette
standing a few feet behind Caitlin.
"So
who's the new girl?" the Smackdown! general manager demanded, adding
bluntly, "There were only two of you on the audition tape that you sent
in a couple of weeks ago."
"Well,
yeah, but Verbena's not supposed to just have two members, duh," Caitlin
explained, as though that solved every problem Stephanie could throw at
her. "I mean, sure, Amanda and I are the founding members, but aside from
us two, do you know just how many girls have been in Verbena at one time
or another? Twelve total, over the course of two-and-a-half years. We just
fired a bunch of back-up singers last month, and I guess we must have hired
K-Girl before we shot our audition tape, which is why you didn't get to
meet her then." Turning to the medium-height, slender brunette behind her,
Caitlin pushed her forward and added, "Her name's actually Kyrie, by the
way."
"I
can introduce myself, Cait," Kyrie spoke up with a smile, before extending
her hand to Stephanie and shaking it. "Hi, I'm Kyrie Ann Jates, and I'm
a big fan of your show. Honestly. You, ah, wouldn't happen to have some
of your Smackdown! Superstars here in this building, would you,
Miss McMahon?"
"As
a matter of fact, I do," Stephanie answered. "And it's Stephanie, not Miss
McMahon. We're all equal here, after all. Come with me, and I'll introduce
you to the WWE bands who'll be on the Vinyl Act tour with you."
The trio was about to head off into the stage area, when Kyrie suddenly noticed something and spoke up tentatively, "Hey, weren't there four of us just a while ago?" Stephanie and Caitlin stopped as well, and the latter muttered thoughtfully to herself, "Hmm, I could have sworn that Amanda was with us up until that weirdo peep show guy streaked past." Stephanie swept the half-full amphitheater in one expert glance, and had no trouble finding the missing third member of Verbena, as she fixed her eyes on the water cooler and spoke up dryly, "Looks like your friend's doing perfectly fine without any introductions from me." Caitlin and Kyrie glanced up in confusion, wondering what Stephanie was hinting at, before also looking in the direction that the Smackdown! GM had her eyes trained on and doing identical double takes.
Amanda
sat pertly on a tall crate that had previously contained Test's drum set,
swinging her legs back and forth and smiling brightly every other minute
to consciously deepen her dimples. Gathered around her were at least half
a dozen of Steph's male wrestlers, hanging on to every word Amanda spoke.
To her left, Christian gently held her hand because supposedly her little
finger had gotten strained from too many dance rehearsals, while in front
of her, Randy was in the process of taking off his shirt upon Amanda's
request that little old her might get a glimpse at his abs of steel. To
Amanda's right, Sylvan and René were none-too-subtly jostling with
each other for the seat closest to the Verbena vixen, and a few feet away,
Jeff was so entranced by the way her bristly black lashes fluttered coyly
in his direction that he forgot to watch what he was doing and ended up
painting a long, diagonal glow-in-the-dark blue band right across a loudly
protesting Shannon's butt.
"How
very nice of you to hold my hand, Mr. Peep--despite being Canadian, you
demonstrate true Southern chivalry," Amanda was flirting loudly from her
seat, adding, "And I ought to know about Southern chivalry, after all;
don't you go believing Caitlin when she tells you I'm actually a Yankee--ugh,
as if! In truth, my father's ancestors were all Georgian plantation owners
during the days of the ant--anta--anteball--"
"Antebellum?"
Jeff guessed, and the rest of Amanda's little entourage looked shocked
that Mr. Skittles actually knew such a big word existed, let alone was
able to pronounce it. Jeff glanced around at all the eyeballs fastened
on him, muttering in clear annoyance, "What? I'm from the South also, remember?
Give me some time and I'll learn to play "Dixie" on my guitar for you all!"
"Anyway!"
Amanda cleared her throat loudly, unable to endure a conversation that
wasn't focused entirely on her. "As I was saying, for a Southern belle
like me, it's no trouble at all to identify signs of Southern chivalry
in all of you, and--Wow! Randy, you must work out a lot, those abs are
even better than Janet Jackson's!" Randy uncertainly lowered his shirt,
frowning and mumbling, "Gee, thanks...I think." Turning to Sylvan beside
him, the third-generation Superstar whispered loudly, "Was that a compliment
or an insult?"
"Insult,"
Sylvan whispered back, at the same time that Christian piped up loudly,
"Ooh, that was definitely a compliment! I mean, have either of you peeps
seen
Janet's abs?"
Everyone
turned to stare at him, but as Christian started to blush bright pink and
Amanda began to sulk that once again, the limelight had been stolen from
her, Stephanie walked up to the group, with the rest of Verbena at her
heels.
"Well,
I see we've all gotten acquainted here," the youngest McMahon drawled sarcastically,
while somewhere behind her, Caitlin tried to stop Kyrie from tripping up
to a glow-in-the-dark Shannon and make a fool out of herself in front of
him. "Now, if only the other two bands will just arrive already--"
Just
as Stephanie started to get herself all worked up again, Edge came running
over to her, speaking urgently, "Stephanie, I've just gotten off the phone
with the representatives of the two final acts on this tour." Stephanie
turned around, replying, "About time! Go on."
"Well,
Urban Trash will be here shortly," the tall Canadian began, looking somewhat
apprehensive while running a hand through his long blonde hair. "Their
flight was delayed due to a little "incident" onboard, but their bassist--that
Anus guy--has told me to assure you that the band will definitely be here
no later than midnight." Stephanie sighed, deciding that she didn't even
want to know what that little "incident" involving Urban Trash might be.
Just
as long as they get here, I don't care if they set fire to their hair and
had to be airlifted to the nearest county hospital, she thought darkly
to herself. That still left one last band unaccounted for, and Vinyl Act's
supposed headliners at that.
"What
about Scarlet Rage?" Stephanie asked, as an uncomfortable expression began
creeping up Edge's features.
"Yeah,
um, about them." He cleared his throat. "Scarlet Rage--all five of them--are
currently sitting in a Los Angeles jail right now. Apparently, they've
been charged with a massive list of legal offenses, including but not limited
to speeding, erratic driving, failure to wear seatbelts while in a moving
vehicle, transporting an illegal substance, defamation, sexual harassment,
and assaulting a police officer. But I'm sure they've already posted bail
as we speak, Steph."
