Author's note: I use International English, not American, which will explain why some words appear to be spelt wrong. Any speech from now on that is italicised means they are speaking in French. Also, many thanks to Ellectra and Shadow for reviewing the first chapter - very much appreciated!
René could see the cogs in Sylvan's head working overtime as he digested what René had just told him. His insurance policy, to ensure he got to meet this mystery woman, was to hold one of her bras captive.
"Yes, I suppose she will. You're a sly little one, aren't you?"
"You're the sly one, Sly. I'm arrogant."
Sylvan chuckled to himself as René headed towards the bathroom, with the intention of having a long, hot shower. He knew there wasn't enough hot water left for René to have his usual long, hot shower and he also knew that a long line of expletives -in French - would soon be heard. True to his word, René delivered. He smiled, his dimples making their presence felt.
René re-entered the main part of the hotel room, a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping off him onto the floor. He was clearly annoyed with his tag team partner.
"You did that on purpose, did you not?"
"Yep. You should know me well enough by now. Consider it an initiation."
René didn't want to consider anything apart from thinking of a safe way to kill Sylvan and neatly dispose of his body yet be able to find someone who resembled him in order to wrestle that night.
Throwing the towel to one side, he hunted through some of his gear to find some suitable clothes to wear to the arena. His La Résistance attire (Sylvan's extras) was in a bag, all ready to go so it was a simple thing for him to slip his feet into a pair of shoes, pick up the bag and make his way to the arena.
He tried to think about their match with the Dudley Boyz but his mind constantly wandered. Wandered to the bra hidden under his pillow and to its mysterious owner. Hopefully, Sylvan hadn't discovered its hiding place.
It was René Dupree that entered the dressing room, joking with some of the other superstars in the locker room but it was La Résistance who left it, strutting their stuff, looking down their noses at the other superstars, telling them "N'ayez pas peur", showing off their chests to anyone brave enough to look at them, arrogance oozing from every pore.
Making sure his robe and beret were in place, René picked up the French flag and practised waving it around for a few seconds while he waited for his partner in crime.
A few seconds later, their entrance music began to play and, as they entered the arena to walk to the ring, the crowd gave them a raspberry. None of this perturbed René and Sylvan - they still had their smiles on their faces, René waving the French flag (the Tricolour) around, the tag team championship belts resting where they belonged. Around their waists.
René entered the ring first, still waving the Tricolour around while Sylvan asked for and received two microphones, handing one to René.
"How are you all tonight, New York?"
René smirked as the crowd gave them yet another raspberry. They were American. What would they understand about the French people?
"Please, please. Honour our French flag and let us sing our national anthem. Please start our music."
They readied themselves to begin singing and the music for La Marseillaise began to play.
"Allons enfant de la patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé!"
Apart from the first two lines, they really didn't know the French national anthem and were simply singing whatever came into their heads. As long as it sounded good, and French. That was all that mattered to them.
René was just starting to sing "Aux armes, citoyens," when the Dudley Boyz pyrotechnics exploded, causing the grin to slip away from his face like ice residing on something hot. His grip on the Tricolour tightened and Sylvan moved to stand beside him.
Bubba Ray and Spike stood at the head of the ramp, armed with microphones of their own, with Spike waving Old Glory. Bubba announced that the French national anthem sucked and proposed that the crowd sing the American national anthem after they defeated those French suckers.
The crowd warmed to the Dudleys as they walked down the ramp, towards La Résistance. René and Sylvan moved to the side of the ring, keeping an eye on the people who they had given the Tricolour to before kissing each other on the cheek, making certain announcers wonder exactly what they were doing.
It was decided that Sylvan would start the match for La Résistance. As René stood on the apron, he could see some obsessed fan leaning over the safety barrier, looking at what he didn't know. Then he realised she was looking at him or, rather, his butt.
He knew damn well he had a fine looking butt. All those hours working out sure paid off in the form of a fine looking body. He didn't win a bodybuilding competition by eating junk food and doing no exercise.
After sneaking a glance at her, he got himself tagged into the match where he proceeded to take Spike Dudley to task. In her corner, naturally. She could get her cheap American thrills by looking at pure French dynamite.
While he stood, cockily smiling at Spike, Bubba Ray attended to Sylvan and, once he had been thrown out of the ring, focused his attention to René. Unbeknownst to him, D-Von was now in the ring and, as he turned around to do to Bubba what he had done to Spike, he was given the 3D.
With both members of La Résistance stunned, the Dudleys picked up the win and led the crowd in a rendition of the American anthem.
Slowly getting out of the ring after the 3D, René saw the look of disappointment on that obsessed fan's face. He had to pass her on his way back to the locker room and had to smile, inwardly, when he heard her say that as much as she liked his butt on TV, it was better in the flesh, as it were. In French.
It was inevitable that they would argue over who had lost the match for La Résistance. And they would argue in French. Knowing a language apart from English came in handy at times and this was one of them.
"I can't help it if the fans look at this," René exclaimed, patting his butt.
"She was looking at your butt? You were looking at her! You were distracted by looking at her. Therefore, it's your fault we lost. You were distracted by looking at an American, no less."
"Okay. If you want me to admit that it was my fault we lost. I admit it. But she wasn't to blame."
The angry look on Sylvan's face disappeared as he realised precisely what René was trying to say in a roundabout way.
"Mystery woman's bra distracted you, hmm?"
"Something like that. Something like that."
After showering, René and Sylvan headed back to their hotel room, only to be greeted by someone playing their music somewhat loud nearby. Credit was given where credit was due - it was their entrance music - so they decided not to take them to task over it.
While René looked at himself in the mirror, half expecting it to say something along the lines of "You are the fairest one of all", Sylvan decided to go looking for the mystery woman's bra, the item that had cost them their match. In almost no time at all, he had found it.
"René, René, René, you could at least think of another hiding place for this, you know," Sylvan remarked, flinging the bra at René. He almost, almost, looked horrified that Sly had found it. But he reasoned to himself that there weren't exactly too many hiding places for a bra in a hotel room currently occupied by men. Occupied by the WWE World Tag Team Champions.
"On her, for example?"
Did he really say what he thought he said? The cheeky grin on Sylvan's face told him he did.
"I suppose so. It would look better on her than it would on me. She'd have the body for it."
"True. Still, it's a nice piece of work. You're going to regret handing it back to her."
"If she's not American, I will. Besides, it's French. It's more than a piece of work. It's … gorgeous."
A distraction in the form of white, soft, peach smelling, sensual French lingerie. Who would've thought it would cost La Résistance a match? Who would've thought it would get under René Dupree's skin?