Disclaimer: Randy won't return my phone calls, so I guess he's still not mine (nor is anyone else who is not an original character).
A/N: I want to say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review. It really does mean a lot that you've submitted your input to a first time writer. I've been putting a lot of effort into this, and your comments (both positive and negative) are most welcome. Thanks so much! PS to fourlane: I can't come up with titles, either, obviously; maybe it should just be 'What the Hell Happened to Jim?'
Live shows are usually only as good as the audience watching: the fans create the atmosphere required to make a good show great and a great show legendary. One couldn't help but be caught up in the excitement and sheer urgency of the live television broadcast; wrestlers running to and from their locker rooms, having their make-up applied, ring attire attended and getting into character before stepping out in front of the thousands of people that paid good money to be entertained for two hours. The fans cheered and booed their favorites that graced the ramp or even just appeared on the TitanTron.
Leigh sat in the back, near the gorilla position, watching the broadcast from a monitor with a set of earphones so she could hear the commentary of the legendary Jerry Lawler and Jim 'JR' Ross. She took notes on the show as she watched the men and women prepare themselves for the ring: steeling themselves to step into whatever persona they had created to connect with the fans. Watching them come back after a match was also an experience: men who had fought 'to within an inch of their lives' according to JR, and had been carried into the back on stretchers would immediately pop back up once behind the safety of the curtain. They would attempt to stretch out whatever had been hurt and simply limp back to the trainer's room. They really were superheroes; they lived their lives day in and day out with pain that would sideline even the toughest of the more mainstream athletes. The fans know this, accept it, and respect their favorite wrestlers all the more for it. They appreciate how much each of the wrestlers give of themselves every night, and Leigh knew for a fact that every wrestler in WWE wouldn't have it any other way.
There was so much tension and excitement in the air that at times Leigh found it hard to breathe. Each segment in which she had participated in creating had gone off successfully; Randy and Triple H had performed one of the best vignettes in recent memory. Leigh marveled at how good Paul Levesque was at his job: he had the ability to produce seething hatred among the fans, yet they still cheered wildly whenever he appeared before them. He didn't even feel the need to speak much of the time, but just allowed his presence to alter the mood of the room. He had studied tapes of Ric Flair for years, analyzing the Nature Boy's matches and promos. Paul emulated the way Ric spoke, his mannerisms, his movements, even using much of the same ring psychology. Paul had learned from the best of the best, and now he was trying to pass along some of that wisdom to Randy Orton.
The self-proclaimed Legend Killer was born into a dynasty of the wrestling world; Vince McMahon may have brought wrestling to the forefront, but the Orton men had been the backbone of the industry, shedding their blood, sweat and tears in every ring throughout the country. Randy could have easily coasted by on his name alone, but he had history to live up to. He had worked harder and asked for nothing that he didn't deserve. In fact, he had been reserved when being told of his recent push to the top, having resigned himself to be in the hunt for the Intercontinental Belt for at least another year. Many of the boys in the back thought he was too young to have this much responsibility and had yet to prove himself worthy of this top honor. The people that mattered though, the brass in Connecticut and more importantly, the fans, knew that Randy had it in him. This was his destiny.
The waste of time that is the Diva Search 'talent' show was the next scheduled segment, so Leigh pulled off her headphones and sighed. Getting up from her chair and stretching, she picked up her empty bottle and tossed it in the trash, planning on getting another bottled water before the segment ended. She could hear Jerry Lawler screaming about puppies even without the earphones, although she wasn't sure if it was because Lawler was so loud or just that the crowd was that dead.
"This idea is almost as bad as the whole XFL debacle." Leigh turned around at the voice and saw Chris Jericho with a grin on his face.
"I noticed that even you couldn't get it over. Sorry I got you roped into it on the Highlight Reel; usually I count on you to make every angle at least tolerable. This is just plain painful," Leigh said wincing.
"I'm guessing you're Leigh and you're the reason I'm getting so much work lately?"
"Part of it; the other being just your amazing God-given talent," she confirmed as unscrewed the cap on the water and took a sip. "You're lucky I don't let Steph know you missed the meeting this afternoon."
"I was part of the stragglers. And my wife would probably like a word with you when you meet her; she's been complaining that I'm not home enough with my son."
"If you weren't on the road with us, you'd be on the road with the band. Or we could take you off television altogether, and then where would you be? Home, yes, but broke."
"My merchandise does okay. Besides, the Jericholics would never let me go hungry," Chris grinned.
"Yeah, well if the t-shirt sales ever go down we could always make a killing with the Prince Charming dolls that can be modeled after you," Leigh shot back and raised her eyebrow.
"Too wholesome, huh? Jess thinks I should go back with the goatee; she's been wondering where her rock star husband went."
"If you do go back to it, it'll be a dead giveaway that you're turning heel. We should probably just get you back into another damsel-in-distress storyline; that worked well for you last time."
Chris laughed at this. "You're coming to Gabe's with us, right?"
"Yeah, I'll be there. I'll see you later, okay?" Leigh said as she moved back to her monitor to resume her duties.
"Absolutely. Enjoy the rest of the show, m'lady," Chris replied with a bow as he headed back towards his dressing room and a shower.
Leigh settled back into position just as the 8 remaining wannabe-Divas filed into the back wearing their bikinis. Knowing she had three minutes before they came back to a live-feed for the main event, she began going over her notes of tonight's show. Eugene had been welcomed back by the fans, but Leigh was having a hard time convincing the rest of Creative that he didn't need to be involved in every other television segment. She knew they were running the risk of overexposing Nick Dinsmore and she was trying to keep that from happening; Nick was a good guy and a good wrestler. He might have been the only person to get this ridiculous gimmick over, but lately they'd been bordering on overkill with him. Leigh sighed again and re-crossed her legs as she heard footsteps approaching her from behind.
"You enjoying the show, darlin'?" She looked up to see Ric Flair and Dave Batista nearby, readying themselves for the training match with Randy. Further down the hall, she caught sight of the figures of Paul and Randy walking to catch up to them.
"Hi Ric, it's good to see you again," Leigh smiled as Ric leaned over and kissed her cheek. She had met Naitch the day of her interview with Steph and Vince as he had been in Stamford with his son, David. Luckily, meeting the man that initially hooked her on wrestling allowed her to get over her stage shock before she had to meet any of the other superstars. Vince had been impressed that she felt so at-ease with the men, but he didn't realize that after Leigh met Ric, the rest was a cake walk.
"Okay, Naitch—Batista. We're back on in 10 seconds. Climb on up," Marty the stagehand called.
"We'll catch up later. I'm planning on buying you a drink tonight," Ric winked and pointed at her before he left, as Dave nodded good-bye.
"Don't hurt yourself," Leigh murmured under her breath. It was hard to believe that Ric was still taking the bumps he was at his age. 55 year old men shouldn't allow themselves to be thrown from turnbuckles and hit in the head with folding chairs. On second thought, men of any age shouldn't be doing that, but it's the nature of the beast and Leigh knew that anyone involved in this industry is happy to do it. She put her headphones on and smiled at Paul as he and Randy walked past. They were both in character and weren't in the mood for idle talk, for which she was greatful. Leigh made herself comfortable for the remaining 20 minutes of the show, not believing that her first live event was almost over. She was drained, both mentally and physically, the day having been much longer than anticipated. These were much easier to do from the comfort of her plush office in Stamford; she wanted nothing more than to soak in the tub at her hotel room and go to sleep, but she remembered that she was supposed to meet up for drinks after the show. Leigh twirled the unfamiliar band on her finger while watching Randy Orton and Triple H proceed to the ring with a purpose.
In the arena, Ric and Randy met in the center of ring, looked one another in the eyes and began speaking. What they were saying, Leigh could only allude to; she assumed Ric was taking the young phenom to school and was breaking out all his old psych-out maneuvers. In actuality, though, it might be that they were talking about grocery lists. The content didn't matter at this point; all that mattered was that Randy was about to be taught a lesson on greatness by the man who wrote the book.
The fans seemed to hold their breath in anticipation, knowing that they were watching the past and future collide. Most got up to their feet and screamed before the two grapplers had even laid a hand on one another. Thousands began yelling the Nature Boy's signature call: whoo! The cheers and hollers were deafening while Ric Flair looked at Randy Orton and smiled. Leigh didn't need to guess what he was saying now: he was telling Randy that this is what it's all about, baby. At last, the two men shook hands as a sign of respect and began with a simple collar-and-elbow tie-up.
Leigh was riveted to her chair as she watched the two men beat each other. The match was a back and forth battle; each man on the receiving end of some truly punishing blows, but always coming back for more. She was excited to see that, even though this was billed as a 'training match', neither wrestler was phoning it in; they were taking this seriously. Triple H and Batista were outside the ring, cheering on the combatants, offering encouraging words and a hand up to both contestants when they were thrown to the outside for a breather. There were no ref bumps, no low blows, no cheap shots and no interference. This was a match for the true wrestling fans. JR had stepped up his game on commentary and was the best he had been in a long time; he had been squandered for so long with crap angles and spread himself so thin with his other duties backstage and at the offices. Once some of the burden had been taken off his shoulders, he had renewed his love of the sport.
Leigh glanced around to see several of the wrestlers standing behind her, watching the monitor as well. They, too, were entranced with the violent, ballet-like performance that was occurring in the ring just a few hundred feet away. They watched with anticipation, making note of certain moves that were being used in ways not before thought of. Ric Flair has a tendency to bring out the best in a wrestler when he sees something within him. He obviously saw something in Randy Orton.
After the match concluded, with Randy picking up the win, Leigh knew his push would most likely not be questioned anymore by the boys in the locker room. They would have to admit that he was ready, that he could carry the company into the resurgence of popularity everyone was hoping for. Leigh knew that even casual fans would react to Orton positively; the men would appreciate his arrogance at being the best, and the women would swoon whenever he appeared on camera. After these RAW matches and the Chris Benoit battle at SummerSlam, the die-hard fans would, too, see that Randy Orton was the new big dog.
A/N: I want to say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review. It really does mean a lot that you've submitted your input to a first time writer. I've been putting a lot of effort into this, and your comments (both positive and negative) are most welcome. Thanks so much! PS to fourlane: I can't come up with titles, either, obviously; maybe it should just be 'What the Hell Happened to Jim?'
Live shows are usually only as good as the audience watching: the fans create the atmosphere required to make a good show great and a great show legendary. One couldn't help but be caught up in the excitement and sheer urgency of the live television broadcast; wrestlers running to and from their locker rooms, having their make-up applied, ring attire attended and getting into character before stepping out in front of the thousands of people that paid good money to be entertained for two hours. The fans cheered and booed their favorites that graced the ramp or even just appeared on the TitanTron.
Leigh sat in the back, near the gorilla position, watching the broadcast from a monitor with a set of earphones so she could hear the commentary of the legendary Jerry Lawler and Jim 'JR' Ross. She took notes on the show as she watched the men and women prepare themselves for the ring: steeling themselves to step into whatever persona they had created to connect with the fans. Watching them come back after a match was also an experience: men who had fought 'to within an inch of their lives' according to JR, and had been carried into the back on stretchers would immediately pop back up once behind the safety of the curtain. They would attempt to stretch out whatever had been hurt and simply limp back to the trainer's room. They really were superheroes; they lived their lives day in and day out with pain that would sideline even the toughest of the more mainstream athletes. The fans know this, accept it, and respect their favorite wrestlers all the more for it. They appreciate how much each of the wrestlers give of themselves every night, and Leigh knew for a fact that every wrestler in WWE wouldn't have it any other way.
There was so much tension and excitement in the air that at times Leigh found it hard to breathe. Each segment in which she had participated in creating had gone off successfully; Randy and Triple H had performed one of the best vignettes in recent memory. Leigh marveled at how good Paul Levesque was at his job: he had the ability to produce seething hatred among the fans, yet they still cheered wildly whenever he appeared before them. He didn't even feel the need to speak much of the time, but just allowed his presence to alter the mood of the room. He had studied tapes of Ric Flair for years, analyzing the Nature Boy's matches and promos. Paul emulated the way Ric spoke, his mannerisms, his movements, even using much of the same ring psychology. Paul had learned from the best of the best, and now he was trying to pass along some of that wisdom to Randy Orton.
The self-proclaimed Legend Killer was born into a dynasty of the wrestling world; Vince McMahon may have brought wrestling to the forefront, but the Orton men had been the backbone of the industry, shedding their blood, sweat and tears in every ring throughout the country. Randy could have easily coasted by on his name alone, but he had history to live up to. He had worked harder and asked for nothing that he didn't deserve. In fact, he had been reserved when being told of his recent push to the top, having resigned himself to be in the hunt for the Intercontinental Belt for at least another year. Many of the boys in the back thought he was too young to have this much responsibility and had yet to prove himself worthy of this top honor. The people that mattered though, the brass in Connecticut and more importantly, the fans, knew that Randy had it in him. This was his destiny.
The waste of time that is the Diva Search 'talent' show was the next scheduled segment, so Leigh pulled off her headphones and sighed. Getting up from her chair and stretching, she picked up her empty bottle and tossed it in the trash, planning on getting another bottled water before the segment ended. She could hear Jerry Lawler screaming about puppies even without the earphones, although she wasn't sure if it was because Lawler was so loud or just that the crowd was that dead.
"This idea is almost as bad as the whole XFL debacle." Leigh turned around at the voice and saw Chris Jericho with a grin on his face.
"I noticed that even you couldn't get it over. Sorry I got you roped into it on the Highlight Reel; usually I count on you to make every angle at least tolerable. This is just plain painful," Leigh said wincing.
"I'm guessing you're Leigh and you're the reason I'm getting so much work lately?"
"Part of it; the other being just your amazing God-given talent," she confirmed as unscrewed the cap on the water and took a sip. "You're lucky I don't let Steph know you missed the meeting this afternoon."
"I was part of the stragglers. And my wife would probably like a word with you when you meet her; she's been complaining that I'm not home enough with my son."
"If you weren't on the road with us, you'd be on the road with the band. Or we could take you off television altogether, and then where would you be? Home, yes, but broke."
"My merchandise does okay. Besides, the Jericholics would never let me go hungry," Chris grinned.
"Yeah, well if the t-shirt sales ever go down we could always make a killing with the Prince Charming dolls that can be modeled after you," Leigh shot back and raised her eyebrow.
"Too wholesome, huh? Jess thinks I should go back with the goatee; she's been wondering where her rock star husband went."
"If you do go back to it, it'll be a dead giveaway that you're turning heel. We should probably just get you back into another damsel-in-distress storyline; that worked well for you last time."
Chris laughed at this. "You're coming to Gabe's with us, right?"
"Yeah, I'll be there. I'll see you later, okay?" Leigh said as she moved back to her monitor to resume her duties.
"Absolutely. Enjoy the rest of the show, m'lady," Chris replied with a bow as he headed back towards his dressing room and a shower.
Leigh settled back into position just as the 8 remaining wannabe-Divas filed into the back wearing their bikinis. Knowing she had three minutes before they came back to a live-feed for the main event, she began going over her notes of tonight's show. Eugene had been welcomed back by the fans, but Leigh was having a hard time convincing the rest of Creative that he didn't need to be involved in every other television segment. She knew they were running the risk of overexposing Nick Dinsmore and she was trying to keep that from happening; Nick was a good guy and a good wrestler. He might have been the only person to get this ridiculous gimmick over, but lately they'd been bordering on overkill with him. Leigh sighed again and re-crossed her legs as she heard footsteps approaching her from behind.
"You enjoying the show, darlin'?" She looked up to see Ric Flair and Dave Batista nearby, readying themselves for the training match with Randy. Further down the hall, she caught sight of the figures of Paul and Randy walking to catch up to them.
"Hi Ric, it's good to see you again," Leigh smiled as Ric leaned over and kissed her cheek. She had met Naitch the day of her interview with Steph and Vince as he had been in Stamford with his son, David. Luckily, meeting the man that initially hooked her on wrestling allowed her to get over her stage shock before she had to meet any of the other superstars. Vince had been impressed that she felt so at-ease with the men, but he didn't realize that after Leigh met Ric, the rest was a cake walk.
"Okay, Naitch—Batista. We're back on in 10 seconds. Climb on up," Marty the stagehand called.
"We'll catch up later. I'm planning on buying you a drink tonight," Ric winked and pointed at her before he left, as Dave nodded good-bye.
"Don't hurt yourself," Leigh murmured under her breath. It was hard to believe that Ric was still taking the bumps he was at his age. 55 year old men shouldn't allow themselves to be thrown from turnbuckles and hit in the head with folding chairs. On second thought, men of any age shouldn't be doing that, but it's the nature of the beast and Leigh knew that anyone involved in this industry is happy to do it. She put her headphones on and smiled at Paul as he and Randy walked past. They were both in character and weren't in the mood for idle talk, for which she was greatful. Leigh made herself comfortable for the remaining 20 minutes of the show, not believing that her first live event was almost over. She was drained, both mentally and physically, the day having been much longer than anticipated. These were much easier to do from the comfort of her plush office in Stamford; she wanted nothing more than to soak in the tub at her hotel room and go to sleep, but she remembered that she was supposed to meet up for drinks after the show. Leigh twirled the unfamiliar band on her finger while watching Randy Orton and Triple H proceed to the ring with a purpose.
In the arena, Ric and Randy met in the center of ring, looked one another in the eyes and began speaking. What they were saying, Leigh could only allude to; she assumed Ric was taking the young phenom to school and was breaking out all his old psych-out maneuvers. In actuality, though, it might be that they were talking about grocery lists. The content didn't matter at this point; all that mattered was that Randy was about to be taught a lesson on greatness by the man who wrote the book.
The fans seemed to hold their breath in anticipation, knowing that they were watching the past and future collide. Most got up to their feet and screamed before the two grapplers had even laid a hand on one another. Thousands began yelling the Nature Boy's signature call: whoo! The cheers and hollers were deafening while Ric Flair looked at Randy Orton and smiled. Leigh didn't need to guess what he was saying now: he was telling Randy that this is what it's all about, baby. At last, the two men shook hands as a sign of respect and began with a simple collar-and-elbow tie-up.
Leigh was riveted to her chair as she watched the two men beat each other. The match was a back and forth battle; each man on the receiving end of some truly punishing blows, but always coming back for more. She was excited to see that, even though this was billed as a 'training match', neither wrestler was phoning it in; they were taking this seriously. Triple H and Batista were outside the ring, cheering on the combatants, offering encouraging words and a hand up to both contestants when they were thrown to the outside for a breather. There were no ref bumps, no low blows, no cheap shots and no interference. This was a match for the true wrestling fans. JR had stepped up his game on commentary and was the best he had been in a long time; he had been squandered for so long with crap angles and spread himself so thin with his other duties backstage and at the offices. Once some of the burden had been taken off his shoulders, he had renewed his love of the sport.
Leigh glanced around to see several of the wrestlers standing behind her, watching the monitor as well. They, too, were entranced with the violent, ballet-like performance that was occurring in the ring just a few hundred feet away. They watched with anticipation, making note of certain moves that were being used in ways not before thought of. Ric Flair has a tendency to bring out the best in a wrestler when he sees something within him. He obviously saw something in Randy Orton.
After the match concluded, with Randy picking up the win, Leigh knew his push would most likely not be questioned anymore by the boys in the locker room. They would have to admit that he was ready, that he could carry the company into the resurgence of popularity everyone was hoping for. Leigh knew that even casual fans would react to Orton positively; the men would appreciate his arrogance at being the best, and the women would swoon whenever he appeared on camera. After these RAW matches and the Chris Benoit battle at SummerSlam, the die-hard fans would, too, see that Randy Orton was the new big dog.