Uncommon Sense Chapter 5

By Batistafan

Rating - NC-17 for violence

Distribution: If you would like to add this story to your site that's fine, just let me know.

Main Characters include: Batista, Triple H, Chris Jericho, Christy Hemme, Nancy Adams (Original Character).

Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains violence, coarse language, as well as mature sexual situations (some may consider explicit), and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers.

I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.

I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing.

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"Never explain--your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway."

Elbert Hubbard
US author (1856 - 1915)

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"Hurricane Christy has hit landfall…" Max said giving Nancy a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder as they both stood watching The Diva stomp off down the hallway.

"You know…those were my sentiments exactly." Nancy was surprised how much she and Max could think alike. She turned and flung the curtain out of her way as she ducked back into the make-shift wardrobe area. "I can't figure out why she hates me so badly…all I did was bump into her and I got just as much coffee on myself as I did on her." Nancy tossed the shirt onto the table by the sewing machine. "And even that was an accident…I never meant for it to happen." She flopped down into a chair and propped her feet up on one of the trunks. "She wasn't exactly paying attention to where she was going either." Nancy's irritation was easily noticeable by the frown on her face and the slight angry hitch in her voice, punctuated by the sharp crossing of her arms over her chest.

"I know…I know." Max sympathized with her. He had heard the entire one-sided attack on his friend in the hall just seconds ago, from behind the curtain where he had been eavesdropping. The wheels in Max's head began to twirl but he said nothing. Max had considered Christy Hemme a waste of human skin, even before she had won the coveted Quarter-Million Dollar Competition, and watching her treat his closest friend badly was giving him a sour taste in his mouth. Christy Hemme didn't know it yet, but she had just made herself an enemy. And if Nancy didn't feel the need to seek retribution, then Max would do it for her.

"How in the world am I supposed to expect you to protect me from the witch in the make-up department, if you won't even nut up to a teensy, little thing like that witless, quarter-million dollar, walking bulimia billboard? I just guess I'm gonna have to fire you and get myself another bodyguard." He laughed when she shot him a dark glare. "Nancy, seriously…I really, truly believe if you would just say something to her, when she's reaming you…she'll stop."

Nancy just shrugged in contemplation and remained in her seat.

Max lifted both of the massive pin-cushions off of the supply table. Each was shaped like round pillows with weighted bottoms and filled to the brim with sewing pins. Max lifted one eyebrow sharply and stood on tiptoes to mimic someone wearing high-heels, taking a few steps forward with his hips shaking back and forth. He then raised both pincushions up to his chest and began to impersonate Christy Hemme.

"Look at my breasts, Batista…" He brought his voice up to a high pitch, very near that of woman's. "Do you wanna touch 'em?" Max began to sashay left and right. "I may treat everyone like shit, but I sure look good while I'm doing it…" He twirled around and shook his generous derriere. "I'd like to thank all the little people…whose backs I stepped on to get to the top…"

Nancy began to grin and snicker as she watched Max, barely noticing the massive shoulders edging between the curtains as John Cena stepped inside the wardrobe area. Max was still doing his dead-on impression of Christy and was so absorbed with nailing it that he didn't notice Nancy's wide-eyed stare, or the subtle shake of her head, warning him to cease. Cena had come up behind Max and was nodding his head, apparently amused by the comedy act.

"Shave your legs and you'd be a dead ringer." John said, his deep voice, a low pleasant rumble. The comment caught Max off-guard, and he whipped around so quickly that he dropped one of the pin cushions on the floor, while mishandling the other, clamping it between his forearm and stomach, managing to jab several of the pins at an odd angle through the side of the cushion and into his tummy. The sharp stab of the tiny pins caused him to gasp and jerk making his belly jiggle out of reflex. That action, in turn, forced the huge, snaked up, tangle of piping string that he had been using for hair, to fall down the front of his face and land on the floor in a hopeless pile at his feet. The entire scenario was akin to something out of a Three Stooges movie, only with one helplessly, ham-fisted buffoon, able to do the job of all three.

Nancy immediately looked down at her shoes to avert the raucous laughter that was bubbling up in her throat, threatening to burst forth. She then turned her head away to prevent anyone from seeing her blushing embarrassment, and the slight tears of mirth forming at the corners of her eyes from the exertion of holding it all in. As hilarious as it all appeared to be, Nancy hoped that John Cena wasn't good friends with Christy, or else she was destined never to have resolution with the rancor that the Diva had against her. Surely he would go straight to Dave Batista and tell him what he had seen and heard, and then Christy would know in mere minutes.

Max coughed, to clear his throat and then tried to disguise a grimace of pain as he extracted the one pincushion from his ample belly. He kicked the tangle of piping sideways, out of his path and fumbled for the other pincushion that had rolled across the floor, finally placing them both gracelessly on the table and then mumbling a short, indecipherable apology.

All the while, Nancy noticed that John Cena seemed to be watching Max's conundrum with perplexed hilarity. A slight smile wrenched at his lips, despite the exhausted look in his eye. He walked the distance of the wardrobe area to where Nancy sat and extended his hand in salutation.

"I hear that you do some work on the side…design work for some of the Divas." He confirmed.

"I do…You in the market for a bathing suit too?" Nancy asked in jest, smiling.

John Cena grinned "Naw, Not today…" He pulled a piece of paper and a soft cloth wad out of his pocket. "I was wondering if you could do something for me." His voice floated out with a slight catch in it as he spoke and his eyes, though clear and bright, seemed cheerless. "I have a friend, from my old neighborhood and he passed away recently." He clenched his jaw and swallowed. "I'd like to do some sort of tribute to his life. If I showed you something, do you think you could do something special with it for me?"

John pulled open the wad of cloth which was nothing more than a handkerchief covered with words and symbols. It looked like the artistic work of a couple of pre-teens, faded and practically indistinct, the hankie looked as if it had been through countless years of being handled and passed back and forth. There were signatures on it and different cartoon-like figures. It was almost like a token of sorts passed from person to person with all of the different facets of each brother's personality immortalized forever on fabric.

Nancy noticed that John Cena was reluctant to hand over the handkerchief completely. It must have had great meaning to him. "I can sure try." She said kindly. "Do you have an idea of what you'd like?"

Nodding, wordlessly, he handed her the piece of paper. He didn't seem to be able to speak at the moment.

"Max?" her gaze met with his, in an unspoken question and he acknowledged her with a nod, holding up Christy's red shirt with a questioning look. Nancy simply nodded giving him silent consent to sew up the front of the shirt, knowing that he had heard Christy's demand for exactly what she wanted, and he would have it ready for 'Her Highness' so she could wear it for next week's RAW.

"Come on…I'll buy you a cup of coffee and we can work up something for you." She followed him out of the Wardrobe area toward the table full of complimentary beverages, leaving Max behind.

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Max smiled wickedly once Nancy was out of sight, glaring at the shirt in his hands as if it were Christy herself.

He immediately strung the sewing machine with the appropriate shade of red thread. Instead of closing the shirt and re-sewing it shut, straight along the stitch-line, which would turn the expensive Egyptian cotton button up into a mock button-up, tailor made for a Diva, Max opened the shirt to the button hole side and stitched straight down the line. This didn't sew the shirt shut, but instead would make it appear, at first glance as though it had been. He then laid several strips of fusible webbing, or 'no sew' tape, on the button side of the lapels.

Max looked nervously toward the entrance flap of the curtains, several times, knowing that he had to work quickly or else he ran the risk of being caught. He buttoned the shirt shut, lining up the lapels perfectly over the 'no sew' tape, pinned it together tightly and then laid the hot iron, sans steam, on the lapels and pressed them. This caused the tape to fuse and create the semi-permanent bond needed to make the shirt appear as if it had been stitched and would hold tight. The sad fact was, that it would not hold…sure, it would slip over Christy's head, but likely, a good jerk or a bold move, like those common to Christy Hemme, could cause her shirt to pop open. Max's only prayer was that the shirt would burst open while she was in the ring.

Max chortled devilishly…as he took a small pair of manicuring scissors and snipped the threads of the buttons, until little more than a double strand held each in place. He grinned at his handiwork, removing the pins and then cleaning off the stray threads, he then pressed the shirt like a professional. Slipping a hanger inside of it, Max held the shirt high up in the air. "And that…ladies and gentleman…is how you fix someone's 'little red wagon'" He said with an evil glare. Nancy might not have been willing to make Christy pay for her deeds. But there was no way that he could live with himself if he stood by and let someone stomp all over his friend.