The odd couple continued loitering around the airport lobby, Jeff having moved from Nirvana to Alice in Chains, Randy debating whether it was worth getting thrown in jail for strangling everybody's least favorite annoying little brother, when out of the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of a petite bleached blonde standing several yards away. Not too shabby, he observed critically to himself, as the blonde girl stood up on tiptoes to whisper something into a security guard's ear. Kind of chunky, and could use a better bleach job that'll cover up all those dark roots, but I guess I could date her...once I'm through with all the seven hundred other women lined up for the next three months, anyway! Randy snickered at that thought, silently congratulating himself on what a ladies' killer he was, when at that moment, the security guard began stalking purposefully toward them, making a beeline straight for the clueless Jeff just as the most Xtreme Skittle must have reached a particularly rocking riff in his song and began headbanging away. The tips of his turquoise-and-magenta-dyed hair flew rapidly back and forth, smacking against the already surly-looking guard's mouth and leaving a rather prominent colored streak in their wake. Randy none-too-softly poked his partner in crime in the ribs, causing the smaller youth to grunt and painfully rub at his sore spot, before whipping over to practically headbutt the airport security guard.
"Uh, can I help you, Mr..."
Jeff's eyes traveled to the guard's uniform, struggling to read his name
tag before he ventured uncertainly, "Can I help you, Mr. Sexy?" Randy's
eyes goggled out, as the security guard harrumphed and dryly corrected
Jeff, "That's Sexton." Jeff gave a sheepish grin in reply, before mumbling,
"Heh, sorry. I must have left my contacts at home today, Officer, um, Anglo-Saxon,
was it?"
"Sexton," Randy hissed,
before deciding that if he allowed Jeff to deal with the guard any longer,
they'd both wind up in the county jail before the day was over, and reluctantly
shifting the responsibility onto his own shoulders. "Have we done anything
offensive or illegal, sir?"
"Not you, kid," the guard
replied, then pointed with his nightstick at Jeff's homemade sign and growling,
"But you, son--you've got a lot of nerve coming over to this airport and
waving around a pro-SARS sign fifteen minutes before the afternoon flight
from Hong Kong is scheduled to land."
"Oh, that," Jeff airily
waved his hands back and forth, rambling in a rapid string of words before
Randy could intervene and do some damage control, "Don't worry, Officer
Sexist, me and my friend here were forced to pick up this rock band, see,
and they happen to be called that name." The guard frowned suspiciously,
his eyes alternating back and forth between Jeff's sign and Randy's, before
he pointed out bluntly, "Then how come yours says "SARS Race," while the
taller musclehead's reads "Scarlet OBlah?"
"Huh?" Jeff blinked back
stupidly at the guard, while Randy hastened to reassure him while putting
on his most angelic face, "We must have heard the band's name wrong, then.
But honestly, Mr. Sexton--"
Before he could spout any more excuses, a sudden and shrill feminine cry of, "There he is! Oh, he's so incredibly, unbelievably yummy!" broke into Randy's words, causing him, Jeff, and the security guard to all turn around. Spotting a growing group of excited young women with adoring looks splashed over their faces, Randy began to grin and loosen the top three buttons of his light blue dress shirt, drawling to himself, "Ah, I see--my devoted worshippers have arrived." He'd barely gotten those words out of his mouth before the group of fangirls promptly let out a collective high-pitched squeal and proceeded to stampede toward Randy and Jeff...and then ran them both over, along with the hapless Sexton, in their mad dash to get at some other "incredibly, unbelievably yummy" stud behind them.
"Gahck!" Randy coughed, spluttering
in the dust trail left behind by the fangirls as he painfully stumbled
to his feet. Beside him, Jeff also pulled himself up, although with some
effort, and took a few minutes to check his appearance in a nearby tinted
window to make sure he hadn't gotten any bumps or bruises.
"Oh, no! My hair! Those
dumb groupies just gave me split ends," the horrified Hardy wailed, his
fingers combing through his precious dyed locks while beside him, Randy
rolled his eyes heavenward and mumbled something about Jeff always having
had split ends.
"Come on, let's go see what
kind of mindless pretty boy gigolo suckered in all those lousy chicks,"
Randy grumbled, beginning to stalk over to where a growing cluster of females
was gathering. Jeff glanced down at the squashed and flattened security
guard, before speaking up uncertainly, "Uh, shouldn't we peel that Saxophone
guy off the floor as well?" Randy gave him an incredulous look, scoffing,
"What, and have him fine us for your SARS blunder? Forget it, Hardy!" With
one final glance at the luckless Officer Sexton, Jeff shrugged before hastening
to catch up to Randy.
Standing in the middle of
the circle of adoring girls and taking in all their shrieking and groping
with easygoing grace, Deron was smiling goofily in the direction of every
flashbulb that went off, showing off his pearly whites and tossing back
his golden mane of hair while laughing loudly at some joke that only he
apparently had heard.
"Well, you girls do
know that Rage is going out on tour this summer," the Floridian babbled
on, grinning and making the "Rock On" sign with one hand while using his
other to run casually through his longish dark blonde hair. "Hell, we're
going to be hitting all the major rock markets--L.A., New York, Chicago,
Philly--but don't worry, I'll make sure that the tour stops by some of
the smaller towns, just for all you nice corn-fed country babes out there!"
Beside him, Raven rolled her eyes heavenward, before suddenly remembering
that her own beloved Josh Hartnett could also be lumped into the "corn-fed
country babe" category and quickly wiping the smirk off her face.
"Hey, aren't you guys that
SARS band?" a distinctly male voice spoke up from somewhere within the
wall of young women, and Raven glanced around, intent on huffily correcting
him with a snap of, "That's Scarlet Rage, you idi...you...you..." Her lips
parted slightly as a sudden dreamy look came over her eyes, and as the
guy who'd completely butchered her band's name struggled to catch a glimpse
of her face from amidst all the other women's, Raven quickly pushed her
way to the forefront and flashed him her brightest smile.
"Hi, I'm Raven!" she chirped
happily, brilliant blue eyes dancing with delight when he returned her
smile with a mile-wide one of his own.
"Hi, I'm Jeff," the colorful
young daredevil bubbled goofily, equally entranced by the heavy metal bassist
as she was by him.
"I'm Raven," Raven repeated,
for lack of anything better to say.
"I'm Jeff."
"I'm Raven."
"I'm Raven."
"Oh, well then, I guess
I'll be Jeff."
"All right. And I'll be
Raven."
Randy, standing beside his fellow wrestler, observed all the intelligent conversation flying around with a scornfully bored look on his features, as he rolled his eyes before turning to the nearest Rager and greeting her with, "So then, I guess you guys are that one band..." Realizing that the chances of a heavy metal band calling itself Scarlett O'Hara were slim to none, he took to scrutinizing the band T-shirt she happened to be wearing, assuming she was wearing one of her own band's shirts and trying to decipher the logo. The PMS-ing Rusty, meanwhile, glared at the handsome but rather arrogant young man who suddenly seemed fixated on her top, slapping his chin upwards so that he was looking at her face rather than her chest and growling, "They're called boobs, kid, and if you want to remain a man, I'd suggest you back the hell off from them!" Randy frowned, too used to having attractive young women grovel at his feet to know how to handle one spilling over with threats to castrate him, and opted to shoot back, "Jeez, what's your problem, lady--is it that time of the month or what?" Rusty, her dark eyes snapping fire, gritted out through clenched teeth, "In point of fact, yes!" Randy blinked, startled by her response, before taking a few discreet steps back from the grumpy guitarist and inadvertently bumping so hard into another brunette that he nearly catapulted her into the wall.
Shannon whipped around furiously
when she recovered, spotting the culprit--namely, Randy--and punching him
so hard for his mistake that her own hand stung with the blow, while she
thundered angrily, "What the fuck do you think you're doing, you musclebound
jack-off?!"
"Ow," poor Randy, bewildered
that two attractive young women in a row had attacked him rather than slipping
him their hotel room keys, clutched painfully at the purple welt that was
beginning to emerge on his tanned cheek, and wound up stumbling into the
final member of Scarlet Rage. Anticipating some form of violent response
from the tall, raven-haired young woman, the so very cocky and gallant
Evolution member cowered against a wall and whined, "Don't hit me! I'm
too gorgeous to have scars!"
Camryn, preoccupied with
fumbling around in her long leather coat for her near-empty pack of Marlboro's,
turned around when she heard the terrified little squeak spoken in a surprisingly
masculine voice, and murmured a greeting of, "Hey, just because I wear
leather and Spandex doesn't make me a dominatrix. Go hit yourself, kid."
Randy stopped shielding his face by crossing both arms above it, daring
a peek at the willowy green-eyed vixen he'd bumped into and relaxing when
he saw that her right arm wasn't raised in preparation to attack him.
"Hey, I know you," the third-generation
Superstar perked up, his eyes lighting with recognition as he said excitedly,
"You're that guitar chick...from the Maxim cover...with the legs
and everything..." Turning around to slap Jeff's elbow and beckon him in
Camryn's direction, Randy fired off, "Hey, Hardy, look--it's that Maxim
guitar babe...!" Jeff made no attempt at a response, his eyes still glued
on Raven's cornflower-blue ones as he babbled goofily, "And I'm Jeff-or-Raven-or-both."
Randy sighed, using the insides
of his knuckles to slap at his temples in dismay as he glanced around at
his surroundings. Somewhere in the center of women, Deron was happily laughing
away as he signed autographs, posed for pictures, and allowed himself to
be groped and pinched all over by his adoring fans. Camryn occupied herself
by turning to face a wall and sticking a cigarette into the corners of
her lips, struggling to light it with a lighter that absolutely refused
to work and letting curses fall freely from her burgundy lips with each
failed attempt. Rusty, off in a corner by herself, was glowering at everyone
and everything in sight in all her PMS glory, while to the guitarist's
right, Raven and Jeff were still dopily introducing themselves to
each other over and over again. Finally, somewhere at the edge of the crowds,
Shannon seemed to have somehow inveigled her way into a furious argument
with a security guard who was positive that the Scarlet Rage drummer looked
just like an
America's Most Wanted husband-slayer dubbed the Little
Lolita.
"Why me?" Randy groaned
to himself, cursing his luck at having been stuck with the highly unwanted
task of hauling this motley crew back to the amphitheater. "Why do I have
to be the only sane one in this group?"
"All right, let's try this again," Stephanie dictated through her loudspeaker. Positioned on a makeshift stage a few yards away, John and Jericho exchanged glares, while sitting behind them on a too small drum stool, Test groped around blindly, both eyes snugly covered with black patches after his little I'm-going-to-be-the-next-Tommy-Lee-just-watch-me incident. Randy was still nowhere in sight, having been harassed by Stephanie into picking up Scarlet Rage at the airport in case Jeff got lost and drove to Mexico instead, but Christian and O'Haire were unfortunately present, and doing as pathetic a job as ever on bass and guitar duties.
"Come on, let's just rehearse,"
Test grunted, causing Jericho to frown before flipping back his long golden
locks and sniffing haughtily, "All right, but this time, I'm starting
the song off." Test whipped around in the opposite direction when he heard
his fellow Canadian's voice, calling out uncertainly, "Uncle Barbara? Is
that you? I can't see too well with these pirate patches over my eyes..."
Christian leaned in to whisper in John's ear, "Did he just say he has an
uncle
called Barbara?" John shrugged, before hissing back, "Dat would
make him one wacked out Testicle." O'Haire leaned over to succinctly chip
in his two cents.
"Word," the ex-Devil's Advocate
agreed, causing both John and Christian to gawk boggle-eyed at him in shock.
In response, O'Haire merely raised one eyebrow, before demanding, "And
just what is so strange about that? Do I really look that white?"
"Ahem-hem-hem!" Jericho
pointedly cleared his throat. "Can we please begin rehearsing now, before
Scarlet Rage gets here and blows our metal band right to Kingdom Come for
being so shitty?" John made some hip hop gesture that definitely looked
obscene to Jericho, Christian and O'Haire settled for merely rolling their
eyes and shouldering on their respective instruments, and the fearsome
foursome settled into rehearsing, sans one of their hapless guitarists.
"Backstroke lover always
hidin' 'neath the covers/'Til I talked to your daddy he say," Jericho began,
in a surprisingly tolerable voice as he led the WWE band known as Twisted
Thugonomics into its cover of Aerosmith's "Walk This Way"...at least, until
John pushed him away from center stage and rapped out the next line.
"He said you ain't seen
nothin' 'til you're down on a muffin/Then you're sure to be a changin'
your way," the Bostonian fired off, barely managing to get the last word
out before Jericho happily swooped back to hog up the spotlight all for
himself.
"I met a cheerleader was
a real young bleeder/Oh the times I could reminisce--hey!" Jericho hollered,
when John viciously shoved him back, with such force that the hapless blonde
Canadian went hurtling down the stage and right into a startled O'Haire,
bouncing off his muscular chest and torso before finally landing on his
butt a few feet beside the highly amused John.
"Cause the best things of
lovin' with her sister and her cousin/Only started with a little kiss--oof!"
John never got to finish rapping, when Jericho tackled him back with a
vengeance, knocking him away from the microphone stand and sending him
flying toward Christian, bowling over the unfortunate Intercontinental
Champion in the process.
Standing a good distance away from the Fab Four and clustered together with two of the WWE bands, Sunflower and Enigma, the three members of Urban Trash continued to lounge around, having seen far worse during their various eclectic gigs, which had ranged from punk clubs to keg parties, to really be bothered by any impending catastrophes about to occur around them. Melody was sitting quietly in a corner by herself, caught up in the unrequited love of a gallant but unfortunately ugly Frenchman for his delicate lady, occasional tears of enjoyment and emotion flowing down her cheeks at the play's tragic final act.
"Hi there," a high-spirited,
friendly male voice chirped from above her, and Melody started up, closing
her book as she hurriedly and embarrassedly wiped away any remaining tears
with one deft flick of her fingers, before looking up and into a pair of
the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. The friendly-looking, happy-go-lucky man
who'd startled her out of her silent enjoyment grinned brightly as a greeting,
earning himself a shy smile from Melody as he added, "Are you reading?
You must be smart, which book is that? Oh, and by the way, I'm Kurt Angle."
Melody smiled again, with a bit less timidity this time, as she replied
quietly, "I know, congratulations on winning the championship title...and
yes I am reading, as a matter of fact."
"That's great," Kurt grinned
encouragingly, before repeating "Which book is that?"
"It's a play, actually,"
Melody corrected him. "Cyrano de Bergerac." She pronounced the play's
name in its original French language, causing Sylvan and René a
few yards away to perk up and smile at her, much to Amanda's sullen consternation.
Melody, meanwhile, stared up at Kurt's dumbfounded expression when he tried
to repeat what she'd just said, before the pretty Australian native patiently
repeated the play's name, only in its Americanized title this time.
"Oh, that Cyrano,"
Kurt's face lit up, and a smile of recognition flashed across his wide
blue eyes. "Cool, I saw the Wishbone version of that play once!"
"Did you now?" Melody replied
graciously, then brought a hand up to her forehead and gasped, "Oh, no,
I can't believe I've forgotten to introduce myself all this time! I'm sorry
if this seems rude to you."
"Not at all," Kurt replied
in an easygoing tone of voice. "At least you didn't sneak in some flippant
remark about me being an Olympic bald eagle or anything, like most people
would have done!" Melody laughed, before tucking a strand of chocolate-brown
hair behind her ear and introducing herself with, "I'm Melody, Melody Turner.
My band and I are delighted to be playing alongside you on this Vinyl Act
tour"
Gathered around a small round
table a few yards away, a group that included three-fourths of the North
Carolina crew as well as Urban Trash drummer Max and Verbena singer Kyrie
were absorbed in a game of strip poker and completely disregarding Stephanie's
orders that they get some rehearsing in before Scarlet Rage arrived and
the tour could be kicked off.
"All right, what've you
got?" Matt demanded, the smug smirk on his face indicating that he obviously
had a great hand. Which was probably a good thing for the Innovator of
Mattitude, seeing how he was already sans both his jacket and his shoes,
and another loss would strip him of his shirt as well and leave him at
Max's mercy. Shannon Moore resolutely threw down his hands, grumbling,
"I have the worst of luck at these games, it just isn't fair."
"Honey, come on," Max cooed
teasingly, her eyes carefully studying her own cards. "No use stalling."
"Yeah, take those pants
off, baby, woo!" Kyrie beside her cheered with a laugh, pretending to wave
around a handful of dollar bills. Shannon shot both women a sour look,
before heaving a morose sigh and resolutely placing down his eclectic hand
in the middle of the table: a two of clubs, a four of spades, a ten of
hearts, an ace of diamonds, and a jack of clubs.
"Aw, Shan, you know what
that means," Kyrie giggled, exaggeratedly batting her eyelashes in his
direction. Shannon groaned, before reluctantly reaching down to his belt
and beginning to unzip his jeans. Both Matt and Shane winced and averted
their eyes, while Max and Kyrie snickered and exchanged low fives.
While Max and Kyrie were having their fun over Shannon's striptease, Stacy and Gail were observing the last member of Urban Trash fiddling with his bass a distance away from them, before the leggy blonde turned to poke her friend in the ribs and remarked scornfully, "Yuck, have you ever seen a guy that scruffy-looking?" As the Korean diva shook her head and wrinkled her nose in distaste, Lita caught the two's whispered exchange and decided to join in on the fun, wisecracking, "Yeah, talk about a fashion disaster who's in serious need of some help from Queer Eye For The Straight Guy's Fab Five!" The three divas had a nice little laugh over that, before Gail paused and muttered, "Seriously, though, somebody ought to tell him that the grungy flannel look went out in the early nineties, or he'll never get a date with any self-respecting girl!" Stacy rolled her eyes, guessing laughingly, "Oh, please! Mr. Anus Cobain over there? Some guy that hideously dressed couldn't possibly be interested in having a love life! I'll bet he probably doesn't even notice any women unless she's Courtney Love! Ew!" Lita grinned, apparently very much up to the challenge, as she singsonged, "In that case, Keibler, watch and learn!" And the redheaded diva sauntered confidently off, Gail and Stacy eagerly watching her moves to see what she was up to.
Lita casually sashayed up
to Connor, asking in a saccharine little schoolgirl voice, "Hi, there,
big guy. I'm Lita." Connor glanced up from his bass guitar strings, startled
at his unexpected visitor, before a strange expression overcame his features
and he replied in a voice so low that it was almost a whisper, "Hi. I'm,
er, Connor."
"I know," Lita smiled brightly.
"You're that grungy McAnus guy John and the other boys keep making fun
of, aren't you?" But she giggled flirtatiously and batted her eyelashes
in his direction as she said those words, causing a moment of speechlessness
for the punk bassist, before he coughed and cleared his throat in an effort
to re-find his voice.
"Erm, right," he finally
mumbled with a mouth that suddenly felt as dry as cotton. "Tis actually
McManus, though."
"That's absolutely fascinating."
And then Lita played her trump card, girlishly clasping her hands behind
her back so that her ample chest was deliberately thrust out and toward
his face, causing his eyes to widen and a faint blush to wash up his neck
and face.
"So...whatcha doing?" Lita
purred, putting on a deliberate air of innocent curiosity.
"Uh, tuning me bass strings,"
Connor mumbled, scratching uncomfortably at the back of his neck as he
spoke and trying not to gawk at her two little friends pushing through
the thin mesh material of her shirt.
"Thrills and chills. By
the way, Connor, I really like your long, hard..." Lita began murmuring
seductively, causing his eyes to widen further, "...neck."
"Wha...?" Connor's voice
trailed off in confusion, as he stared up at the feisty redhead, who ran
her tongue over her upper lip and explained sultrily, "The neck of your
bass, I mean. It's so sexy." She then deliberately let her bracelet slide
off her wrist and clatter to the floor, giving her an excuse to bring a
hand up to her lips and exaggeratedly pout, "Oops. Guess I better retrieve
that." Lita began to slowly bend down to get her jewelry, causing Connor
to swallow hard before he hurriedly and clumsily tripped away from where
he'd been previously standing, stammering awkwardly, "I, er, have to go...somewhere!"
He hastily turned around...and promptly tripped against a metal folding
chair somebody had left in his path, his legs flailing wildly before he
hit the ground with a solid thud, his nose cracking against the floor.
Lita, meanwhile, straightened up and winked back at the other girls, mouthing
the words, See? Nothing to it! as they giggled and cheered enthusiastically.
Shane groaned and threw down
his cards in dismay, cursing both his bad luck and his even worse poker
hand. Beside him, Shannon tossed his fellow bandmate a sympathetic look,
murmuring, "Don't worry, I know how you feel." Shane rolled his eyes, replying
dryly, "You would, Citizen Moore-on." Shannon looked offended at the insult,
then glanced down at his form, stripped of virtually every article of clothing
save his boxers, and heaved a sigh, conceding grudgingly, "All right, so
I guess I am a moron when it comes to playing strip poker!"
"Come on, quit stalling
there, Helms," Max goaded, a triumphant grin on her face that the only
pieces of clothing she'd been forced to shed so far were her black platform
sandals.
"Yeah, the only guy we have
to bring down now is Matt," Kyrie chimed in, as once again the two girls
exchanged low fives. Matt puffed out his chest in an exaggerated act of
machismo, declaring proudly, "You'll never take me alive--or with my pants
off, for that matter!" A burst of laughter erupted around the table, causing
Shane to shoot the more fully-clothed poker players a sweeping but good-natured
frown, before the superhero reluctantly began to peel off his jeans
as well.
At that moment a pair of
slender hands encircled around his head to cover his eyes, while the girl
they belonged to laughed in a clear, sunny voice, "Guess who, Shaney?"
Shane stopped in the middle of unzipping his jeans, immensely grateful
that the process had been delayed for a few more minutes, while he guessed
with a shrug, "I don't know...Molly?" The girl standing behind him rolled
her clear emerald-green eyes, before singsonging, "Uh uh--it's your other
favorite girl in the whole wide world!" Shane jumped up, nearly upsetting
the small poker table in the process as he whirled around, disregarding
the girl's hands over his eyes and sweeping her up in a huge, big-brotherly
bear hug as he cried out, "Holy surprises! Kelly! I can't believe you actually
made it!" Kelly Marie Helms winced in between her older brother's arms,
croaking out, "Shane...I can't breathe..." Shane sheepishly let go of his
sister, allowing the pretty twenty-two-year-old North Carolinian to step
back and smooth down her perfectly crimped dark brown hair. Kelly then
swept the rest of the poker players in a bright smile, opening her green
eyes their widest when she caught sight of the three men all in various
stages of undress.
"Shane Gregory Helms," she
began to chastise her older brother in a bossy tone of voice while placing
her hands on her hips, "what exactly do you think you're doing?!" Shane
shot his baby sister a sour look, grumbling, "Oh, please, like you came
here with the most innocent of intentions!" Kelly laughed, consciously
showing off her dimples as she admitted in a carefree voice, "Yes, well,
at least I'm not going to be topless--and, in Shannon's case, bottomless
as well!--" the blonde cruiserweight blushed crimson--"when I meet all
my potential future boyfriends!" Her green eyes sparkled impishly, as she
added, "Speaking of which, when are you going to introduce me to all those
available WWE hotties?" Shane rolled his eyes, grumbling cheerfully, "And
to think I'd deluded myself into thinking that you'd dropped by because
you missed your bigger brother!"
"Not a chance," Kelly breezed
with a smile. "You know the WWE's pretty much recruited all the hotties
from the South--the Hardyz, Shannon, Randy Orton from the Missouri area...speaking
of which, where is that ladies' killer, anyway? He's such a hunk!"
"At the airport, picking
up a batch of competition for his affections," Shane wasted no time in
replying smugly. Kelly frowned, before shrugging off the inconvenience
and declaring, "Yes, well, there's plenty of other hotties around! I'm
bound to meet my Prince Charming somehow!" And she tossed back her headful
of glossy chestnut hair and sang out laughingly, "Matchmaker, matchmaker,
make me a match; find me a find, catch me a catch!"
Kyrie perked up when she
heard the pretty brunette's singing voice, calling out, "Hey, you're pretty
good, you know!" Kelly smiled back none too modestly.
"Thanks," she preened, toying
around with her silver Hurricane lavaliere. "I'm sure you've got a pretty
good set of pipes yourself, if your band's been selected for this tour."
Kyrie shrugged dismissively, before suggesting, "Well yeah, but you, girl,
could really give Christina Aguilera a run for her money! How'd you like
to join Verbena? Caitlin and Amanda were just talking on the plane about
how they'd still need a fourth member, and I'm sure you'd be perfect."
Kelly's eyes widened, her dimples deepening in a bright smile as she asked
happily, "You're really offering me a spot in your band? Wow, I'm so in!"
"Kel..." Shane's voice trailed
off warningly, before he reminded her, "You know how Dad feels about you
singing professionally." Kelly waved his warning off, saying airily, "Yeah,
well Dad's stuck all the way in Raleigh, isn't he? Besides, I'm a big girl
now, I can make my own decisions." Kyrie was chattering excitedly, "Just
wait till I talk this over with Amanda and Caitlin, all right? I'll be
right back!"
"I'm coming with you," Kelly
called out, scurrying to follow the shorter brunette as she scurried off
in the rest of Verbena's direction.
"All righty then," Max harrumphed, commanding the attention back to their poker game. "Helms, you lucked out this time, considering how God knows I wouldn't subject your poor sister to seeing you in your boxers on her first day here!" Shane shot her a frosty look, remarking dryly, "Gee, thanks. How very generous of you, Citizen Winters." Max then turned her attention to the other dark-haired North Carolinian at the table, challenging, "Lay 'em out, Hardy, let's see what you've got!" Matt leaned back confidently in his seat, spreading his cards over the table while declaring with a smirk, "Flush." At that one word, Max's grin grew wide enough to match that of the Cheschire Cat, causing Matt's confidence to waver as he asked uneasily, "What? What's so funny?" Max then proceeded to slam down her own cards in the middle of the table, revealing, "Royal flush! You know what that means, Hardy!" Matt shot her a sour look, before grudgingly beginning to peel off his black V1 tank top as she whooped and gloated.
Kyrie, meanwhile, had dragged
Kelly to the first Verbena girl she could find, who just happened to be
Caitlin, sitting intently on a couch with her back to them as she viewed
something on her widescreen TV with round, fascinated green eyes.
"Hey, Cait, I think I've
just found the last member of Verbena for us," Kyrie began her pitch.
"Mmm hmm," the blonde Texan
on the couch mumbled distractedly in reply.
"No, seriously, she's a
great singer," Kyrie persisted, as Kelly beside her got bored of her "audition"
and began to wander off in the direction of the hottest guy she'd seen
ever since Vince had stolen the Hardyz from her home state.
"Mmm hmm," Caitlin mumbled
automatically, still keeping her eyes glued steadfastly on the TV screen.
"Caitlin, are you even listening
to me?" Kyrie complained, her voice beginning to take on a whining note.
"Mmm hmm," came the predictable
reply, causing Kyrie to huffily cross her arms over her chest and blow
away a stray piece of hair that had fallen into her eyes.
"Caitlin, your new perfume
smells like men's deodorant," she teased, just for fun.
"Mmm hmm," Caitlin gabbled,
refusing to turn around.
Kyrie clicked her tongue
impatiently, before an idea occurred to her as to how to wrench Caitlin
away from her TV, and she let out a sudden squeal of, "Oh, my God! Rob
Van Dam's bending over to do stretches right in front of us! Doesn't he
have the cutest--" She never got to finish her sentence, when Caitlin rocketed
up from the couch, trampled over her bandmate, and pirouetted around eagerly
in a circle, wondering, "Where? Where? Where is he?" Kyrie groaned, grumbling,
"Thanks for the concussion there, Cait. Now that I've finally got
your attention, can we please discuss some really important band issues?"
Caitlin, disappointment written all over her face when she finally saw
Rob sitting down and trying to fix his dead microphone instead of stretching,
settled back on the couch and returned to her TV.
"Take it up with Amanda,
Kyrie, I'm really busy right now," the San Antonio native spoke absentmindedly.
Kyrie sighed, rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath, "All right,
jeez. I guess it must be something really important and groundbreaking
on that TV to keep you so entranced." As she began to slowly walk away
in Amanda's direction, Caitlin's voice could be distinctly heard fretting,
"No, Jerry! Don't take that piece of cheddar--it's the one Tom's attached
to his newest mouse-trapping invention!"
Amanda frowned and pouted
when she saw a gorgeous brunette with light brown and blonde highlights
in her perfectly crimped chestnut hair flirting away with two men the self-proclaimed
Southern belle had already staked out as her own beaus, helpless infuriation
evident in her blue-gray eyes when she saw them flirting back.
"Thanks for the offer,"
Edge was saying, "but do you really think that a personal massage could
help me recover faster from my surgery?" Kelly batted her long, dark lashes
back at him, cooing innocently, "Anything to return one of
Smackdown!'s
brightest and most handsome Superstars to the ring,
ne?" Edge laughed
uneasily, and Kelly flashed her sweetest smile at him, before turning her
attention to Sylvan and standing up on tiptoes to laughingly whisper something
into his ear. Amanda glowered and sulked further when she saw that her
fair-haired French beau was grinning and whispering back into Kelly's ear,
sending her into coy peals of giggles while her cheeks colored faintly
with a pretty pink blush. Amanda scowled in outrage, ignoring Christian's
hopeful smile as he snuck away from the battlefield that was the Twisted
Thugonomics stage, where Jericho and John were apparently trying to jab
each other's eyes out with their respective microphones. Before the new
IC Champ could scuttle over in her direction to adoringly spoil her rotten,
the blue-eyed Verbena girl had stalked off to where Kelly had gathered
around herself a circle of admiring men--Amanda's admiring men!
Rushing up to René, who seemed to have thankfully avoided Kelly's
sphere of influence--at least for the moment--Amanda quickly hooked her
arm through his and spoke up haughtily, "Let's get away from here before
that ungainly Yankee corrupts all of us with her utter lack of decorum!"
Kelly failed to even hear
her remark, or to point out that she actually was from the South
whereas with Amanda it was just wishful thinking, because at that moment,
the wide doors to the amphitheater were slammed open with a clang, drawing
everyone's attention, including the bickering John and Jericho's. Randy
stood at the forefront of the group underneath the arching doorway, an
exhausted and somewhat pitiful look on his face, his hair sticking up in
rather unattractive clumps and his clothing completely disheveled to match
his haggard expression.
"SARS Race...Scarlett O'Hara...Scarlet
Rage...the band from Hell...has finally arrived!" he announced in a tired
croak. And with that, his eyes rolled into his head, and he collapsed in
a heap in front of Stephanie's two-hundred-dollar designer pumps. Behind
him, Deron was trying to discourage a pair of particularly feisty groupies
from pinching him in a rather inappropriate area, as Camryn and Shannon
yelled at their lawyers via cell phone for failing to prevent Officer Brest
from suing their collective asses off, Rusty's eyes lit up when she spotted
something--or someone--in the room and quietly snuck off...and Jeff and
Raven continued to dreamily repeat their respective names to each other.
