As much as I love Matt in real life, I don't love him in this story. Simply because he'd be too much of another loose end to incorporate. So we move on with our usual bad guys, Evolution, they that everyone loves to hate. Now I shall continue.
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Lita woke up in the backseat of a limo, flanked by Orton and Batista. Flair and Helmsley were across from her. "Ah, Ms. Dumas, lovely of you to rejoin us."
She flipped him off.
"Now, such crude behavior from such a beautiful lady? That certainly won't do."
She gingerly touched the aching spot below her left eye. Oh yeah, that was gonna bruise. "Like you're one to talk about crude behavior," she countered. "Walking around in a $3,000 suit ganging up on a woman. It appears that, despite your expensive clothes and sweet ride, you're still the truck-stop low-life that walked around in a denim and leather jacket for the better part of last year. No one ever bought all that 'blue-blood' crap, anyway. You're just Hunter. The guy who's steroid use is second only to Steiner's."
Triple H leaned toward her, trying to be intimidating, and Lita laughed in his face. "Trying to prove my own point for me? You know it won't do to hurt me. To even prove that you have me, you'll have to show me on the video screen to the boys, let me talk to them. And if I look all beat up, there'll be no deal. They'll hunt you, then. They'll hunt you down like the dog you are. And they'll put you out of your misery."
"You don't even understand what's going on?"
"Don't I?" Lita pondered philosophically. "You're 'The Champ', which you like to think makes you something great. But you only hold onto that belt so desperately because it's all you have to show anyone you're worth anything. You don't even trust your followers here; how could you after your disastrous break-up with the Billion Dollar Princess, Daddy's little girl? So you don't even trust the rest of your team because you know that the very second you lost your influence, your strength, they'd turn on you."
"Shut up."
"I bet your big boy Batista here would be the one to make the first jump at a hostile takeover," she patted the bicep of the man sitting next to her, and he looked away out the window. "In fact, he looks a bit bigger than you, *definitely* in better shape. I'm sure he could take you out if he wanted." She snickered. "I doubt you've given him a shot at sparring with you, for that very reason. But he sticks with you, follows your orders, I guess 'cause the money's good, but not only that, he's stupid, and he's a coward."
Batista turned and glared at her and she nodded. "It's true. He's stupid to think that you'll ever do any more than throw him a bone here or there, to think you'll ever let him rise to your position. And he's a coward that he won't challenge you for it. He won't because, he's relatively unknown in this business, and he thinks teaming up with Evolution will keep him from slipping through the cracks. And what about your little whipping boy here, Orton," she turned to the man she was referring to. "'Legend Killer'? You look like a 12-year-old on steroids. I keep expecting your tattoos to rub off during a match. But we all know why *you* stick around."
He looked desperately to their fearless leader. "Please just let me shut her up." Lita continued on, ignoring him.
"You're a third-generation wrestler. So of course you grew up watching it, and around that tender time of puberty, someone," she nodded towards Triple H, "made his way onto the scene. You admired him, didn't you? He was big, and tough, and cold; what'd your father had always laid out as the definition of a man. So you watched him, and hero-worship starting running a little too deep. Did you have a DX poster on your wall, perhaps right over your bed, beside your pillow, so that you could look at it as you went to sleep? So that you could-"
Orton backhanded her. Lita whipped her face around at him. "I'm warning you. Hurt me and there'll be no deal. And I'll unleash all of ECW on you at once, and you'll all be on the shelf for a long time...those of you who survive, that is."
Triple H smirked at her. "And why should they listen to you anymore, anyway? Why should they care? You betrayed them."
"Pretty sh*tty logic coming from the guy who kidnapped me to use as a bargaining chip with the very group you're referring to. Besides, ECW is loyal. Not like your old man sitting beside you." She turned her focus on Flair now. "Sure, he used to be something great. But that 'used to be' refers to a *very* long time ago. Back when the world didn't recoil in pity and disgust every time he took his robe off for a match. Now, dreaming for the days far behind him, he clings desperately to you, hoping you can keep him alive in this business. A drowning man will push another underwater, anything for just another breath. And that's what he does to you. Is he even really helping you any? This geriatric who can hardly take a few steps without his face turning tomato-red, much less wrestle? You know, I think you keep him around for the same reason that Orton sticks with you. You grew up admiring him, and it's like a dream now, to work with him. But his glory days are long gone. Yours will be soon, too."
Having finished her rhetoric, Lita looked around at the four men she sat with in the back of the limo. Triple H looked stunned, Flair's face was almost purple with fury, Batista was thoughtful, and Orton seemed very, very uncomfortable. She smirked back at Triple H. "Not so much fun when the mind games are used on you. Turnabout's a b*tch, ain't it?"
"You're the only b*tch I see here."
She tsk-tsked. "So uncreative. Not to say I wasn't expecting it. So..." She stretched, making herself more comfortable. "Does this limo fit in the pick-up lane at Bojangle's? I'm starving."
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heeheehee...I really had fun writing this chapter. So, it's not that crucial to the plotline. Big deal. Who said story had to be pure plot? Then we wouldn't have lovely little one-shots and vignettes. Anyway, I hope y'all liked it as much as I did.
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Lita woke up in the backseat of a limo, flanked by Orton and Batista. Flair and Helmsley were across from her. "Ah, Ms. Dumas, lovely of you to rejoin us."
She flipped him off.
"Now, such crude behavior from such a beautiful lady? That certainly won't do."
She gingerly touched the aching spot below her left eye. Oh yeah, that was gonna bruise. "Like you're one to talk about crude behavior," she countered. "Walking around in a $3,000 suit ganging up on a woman. It appears that, despite your expensive clothes and sweet ride, you're still the truck-stop low-life that walked around in a denim and leather jacket for the better part of last year. No one ever bought all that 'blue-blood' crap, anyway. You're just Hunter. The guy who's steroid use is second only to Steiner's."
Triple H leaned toward her, trying to be intimidating, and Lita laughed in his face. "Trying to prove my own point for me? You know it won't do to hurt me. To even prove that you have me, you'll have to show me on the video screen to the boys, let me talk to them. And if I look all beat up, there'll be no deal. They'll hunt you, then. They'll hunt you down like the dog you are. And they'll put you out of your misery."
"You don't even understand what's going on?"
"Don't I?" Lita pondered philosophically. "You're 'The Champ', which you like to think makes you something great. But you only hold onto that belt so desperately because it's all you have to show anyone you're worth anything. You don't even trust your followers here; how could you after your disastrous break-up with the Billion Dollar Princess, Daddy's little girl? So you don't even trust the rest of your team because you know that the very second you lost your influence, your strength, they'd turn on you."
"Shut up."
"I bet your big boy Batista here would be the one to make the first jump at a hostile takeover," she patted the bicep of the man sitting next to her, and he looked away out the window. "In fact, he looks a bit bigger than you, *definitely* in better shape. I'm sure he could take you out if he wanted." She snickered. "I doubt you've given him a shot at sparring with you, for that very reason. But he sticks with you, follows your orders, I guess 'cause the money's good, but not only that, he's stupid, and he's a coward."
Batista turned and glared at her and she nodded. "It's true. He's stupid to think that you'll ever do any more than throw him a bone here or there, to think you'll ever let him rise to your position. And he's a coward that he won't challenge you for it. He won't because, he's relatively unknown in this business, and he thinks teaming up with Evolution will keep him from slipping through the cracks. And what about your little whipping boy here, Orton," she turned to the man she was referring to. "'Legend Killer'? You look like a 12-year-old on steroids. I keep expecting your tattoos to rub off during a match. But we all know why *you* stick around."
He looked desperately to their fearless leader. "Please just let me shut her up." Lita continued on, ignoring him.
"You're a third-generation wrestler. So of course you grew up watching it, and around that tender time of puberty, someone," she nodded towards Triple H, "made his way onto the scene. You admired him, didn't you? He was big, and tough, and cold; what'd your father had always laid out as the definition of a man. So you watched him, and hero-worship starting running a little too deep. Did you have a DX poster on your wall, perhaps right over your bed, beside your pillow, so that you could look at it as you went to sleep? So that you could-"
Orton backhanded her. Lita whipped her face around at him. "I'm warning you. Hurt me and there'll be no deal. And I'll unleash all of ECW on you at once, and you'll all be on the shelf for a long time...those of you who survive, that is."
Triple H smirked at her. "And why should they listen to you anymore, anyway? Why should they care? You betrayed them."
"Pretty sh*tty logic coming from the guy who kidnapped me to use as a bargaining chip with the very group you're referring to. Besides, ECW is loyal. Not like your old man sitting beside you." She turned her focus on Flair now. "Sure, he used to be something great. But that 'used to be' refers to a *very* long time ago. Back when the world didn't recoil in pity and disgust every time he took his robe off for a match. Now, dreaming for the days far behind him, he clings desperately to you, hoping you can keep him alive in this business. A drowning man will push another underwater, anything for just another breath. And that's what he does to you. Is he even really helping you any? This geriatric who can hardly take a few steps without his face turning tomato-red, much less wrestle? You know, I think you keep him around for the same reason that Orton sticks with you. You grew up admiring him, and it's like a dream now, to work with him. But his glory days are long gone. Yours will be soon, too."
Having finished her rhetoric, Lita looked around at the four men she sat with in the back of the limo. Triple H looked stunned, Flair's face was almost purple with fury, Batista was thoughtful, and Orton seemed very, very uncomfortable. She smirked back at Triple H. "Not so much fun when the mind games are used on you. Turnabout's a b*tch, ain't it?"
"You're the only b*tch I see here."
She tsk-tsked. "So uncreative. Not to say I wasn't expecting it. So..." She stretched, making herself more comfortable. "Does this limo fit in the pick-up lane at Bojangle's? I'm starving."
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heeheehee...I really had fun writing this chapter. So, it's not that crucial to the plotline. Big deal. Who said story had to be pure plot? Then we wouldn't have lovely little one-shots and vignettes. Anyway, I hope y'all liked it as much as I did.