Bulletin: The previous chapter had too many errors for my liking. And also, how am I gonna know what you think of my work if I don't get any reviews?
A/N: I can't believe it's been so long! Time just flew by. I've got more all written, but I have to finish up this part first. I doubt I'll get any reviews, since it's been like five months since I last updated, but who cares, writing is what I do. (PS, check out Anna Vader. She's freaking awesome. And her first fic mentions Batista.)
P.P.S. This chappie's dedicated to Vera Roberts. She's great at what she does, and as soon as I'm done updating, I'm gonna go read some more.
Now, if I recall correctly, Bob Orton was trying to teach Sylvia how to speak.
"'Y'all' can be singular or plural," Bob was saying, "as in, 'Y'all better not be havin' sex with that girl, Randy,' or 'Y'all better not be havin' sex.' 'Y'all's' is possessive, like 'y'all left y'all's tractor at my house last night.' 'All y'all' is plural, like 'I ain't seen all y'all together in years. 'All y'all's' is PAY ATTENTION WHEN I AM TALKIN' TO Y'ALL!"
While Bob driveled, Sylvia had continued her work, namely getting Bob into a bed without, as he put it, "300 pound wrestlers farting."
Bob was clearly about to start berating Sylvia again, when Jacinta swept into the lobby, Chris Masters, Snitsky, and Tomko in her wake. Anyone who saw her then would swear she was just like her Abuela, except not all wrinkly. She was explaining the plan as she walked, and said, "So is everything OK?" as she joined Bob at the counter. The men all nodded, and the Great Key Exchange took place, Jacinta secretly dousing the one she received with hand sanitizer.
"All right, all yours," she said to Bob, then looked serious for a second. "But if some crazy old lady shows up in the middle of the night, it's not my fault."
Bob nodded, not really understanding, then all of them dispersed to check out their new rooms.
When they got to theirs, Jacinta saw Chris giving her a funny look. "What?" she asked. "Do I have something in my teeth?"
"Why are you here?"
"Why does it matter?" she countered.
"It's just, you…you… you look different than I expected."
"I'm fat, you mean." Chris and Jacinta hadn't met before. He'd just heard stories about Randy's awesome friend who was also Rey's little sister. So he pictured a Shakira-esque Latina stunner, not the slightly frumpy fat girl glaring at him.
"Well…"
"Oh, stop sugarcoating. You expected the next Crystal," she spat the word, "because I hung out with Randy." Jacinta threw down her bag and stomped out to surf herself into oblivion on the hotel computers.
Randy, Crystal, and Bob were walking up to a very exclusive five-star restaurant, and Randy was desperately trying to talk some sense into his dad.
"Please, dad, just this once. It's a fancy restaurant, and it's," he glanced at Crystal, "a very special occasion."
"No, absolutely not, boy."
Randy looked divine in a suit, and Crystal was wearing a designer black cocktail dress. Bob had also sprung for a suit, but was still wearing his cowboy hat.
"Please."
"No."
They had reached the entrance where the maitre d,' who had an extremely upturned nose, was waiting for them. "May I help you, sirs, madam?" he asked.
"We're wantin' some fried chikin," Bob said as he swaggered up to the head waiter.
Randy deftly stepped in front of his father. "There should be a reservation. Orton."
"Ah, yes," the maitre d' said, "your table is this way. But might I ask you to remove that…article…" he glanced disapprovingly at Bob's hat.
Randy begging him to take it off—the hat, pervs!—was one thing. But this snob telling Bob to was something totally different. And it pissed him off. "This hat, y'all mean?" He said. "This hat here's my most treasured possession, exceptin' my family, that is, and y'all don't go messin' with a man's most treasured possession. I've kept this hat on for near thirty years," Randy winced and Crystal wondered how Elaine had dealt with it, "and I ain't gonna start by takin' it off now. I'm payin' for y'all to dress y'all's fancy little asses up, so I can wear whatever I damn well please!"
The waiter didn't dignify this tirade with a response, merely said, "Your table is this way," blandly.
Ooh, Vera Roberts posted a new chapter, Jacinta thought.
She was a big fan of Vera Roberts' wrestlefics, even though some were not much more than porn-on-a-page, and checked for updates frequently. She scanned through the new chapter about Dave (Batista) and his troubled relationship with a young Broadway superstar, then frantically reviewed, wanting more updates. Her penname, J Mysterio, had gotten her some comments like, "Don't you know Rey's married?" She got similar comments about her 619-mobile. She really was gonna have to have Rey put her on TV sometime so people would quit assuming she was some sort of stalker. Whatever. She reread her favorite parts of the chapter again, and was startled by a, "Hey," over her shoulder. Whirling, she saw the real Batista, in town for the show, just like she was. Oh, and a quick WrestleMania appearance, not like she was. She quickly closed the window.
"Hey yourself."
He sat in the nearest chair and looked at her. She opened her mouth to say something like, "If this is another you-need-to-get-in-shape talk, you can just leave right now," but his words shocked her into silence.
"That Vera girl has talent."
"…"
"What?" Dave asked.
Jacinta couldn't restrain a giggle. "You read fics about yourself?"
He chuckled. "Tall, dark, and handsome couldn't begin to describe me," he quoted.
"Oh, hush, or people'll start to think you're the egotistical one, not Randy."
They exchanged banter for a little while, causing one fangirl to wonder what her idol was doing talking to a cow. She made it her mission in life to rescue him. She walked over, straddling him just as Melina had. No one ever said she didn't have guts.
"Hi," Dave said awkwardly while Jacinta tried to restrain laughter, with mixed results.
"Hi," the girl said in what was an obvious attempt to sound sultry.
"Do you want me to sign something for you…?"
She pulled up her shirt. "Sign these."
Jacinta laughed like a madwoman, but then decided to do damage control. She walked over to Carlito, who was gawking. "C'mere," she said. "Distract this chick. You know you want to." She dragged him over and a few smooth moves later he was getting some action and Jacinta had her friend back.
They laughed together, and Jacinta decided that if he weren't 37, he'd be ideal husband material. The age difference didn't matter in Vera's fic, but life was different, as she well knew, having written several RandyOC's herself.
His eyes changed slightly, and Jacinta knew that Dave was getting serious. She blocked him before he could even get a word out. "Yes, I know, my fat is slowly killing me, I need to work out, blah blah blah, any new material today?"
From the look on his face, her pants size wasn't what he was there to discuss. "I need your advice. Should I try to patch things up with Angie?"
Angie was his wife. They had been together for a long time, and seemed like the perfect couple, but had recently separated.
Jacinta was floored. "You want to ask me? Why? I…I…I'm nineteen and have never had a boyfriend in my life, and you want me to give you advice about your marriage?"
There was no trace of amusement on his face. "Yes."
Jacinta sighed. "Much as it would please all of your fangirls for me to say no, I think you should stay with her, unless the damage is irreparable. No one's spent as much time with her as you have, though, so it's your decision."
"That steak ain't rare enough!" Bob told the maitre d' for the third time—the head waiter had decided to deal with them himself. He couldn't risk any of the staff resigning. Good help was a terror to find.
"What do you suggest I do, sir? Get it out of the freezer and hand it to you?"
"Naw, that won't be necessary. Just walk it back and forth past the stove a few times."
Randy put his head in his hands. This was not turning out to be the idyllic evening he had in mind for him and his fiancée. Crystal slipped him a painkiller under the table. He snuck it with a sip of water and mouthed, "Thank you," when the drugs started to take effect.
"So I've dumped my problems," Dave said, feeling lighter-hearted, even if the advice he'd just gotten was from a slightly flighty teenager who probably should be on Prozac. "Now it's your turn."
"I have an impossible crush on Randy Orton and I want to kill his fiancée slowly," she deadpanned.
Dave thought she was joking, but then saw that she was completely serious. He shrugged. Advice for advice. He said, "Well, I have a suggestion for you…"