A/N: Well everybody this is going to be a short chappie but hey don't worry I'll update soon. Anyway remember to cast your votes on my profile.
As soon as Abeebah got backstage, her siblings and the trainers were descending upon her, each checking the rookie professional wrestler for injuries. The cameramen swarmed around them, hoping to capture the aftershock of Morte's surprise victory. The eldest horseman was hunched over with her hands on her thighs. Under her mask, the dark beauty was gasping for air. Adrenaline be damned but Abeebah could honestly admit to herself that she was more sore than she could ever remember been in her entire life.
"How you feel'n Morte?" Abeebah glanced up at her light skinned brother, taking in the worried glaze in his amber flecked eyes. Beside him Evan stood biting his lip and his hands flexing into fist. Delia was a little further behind them, her casual boyfriend, Jeff Hardy, at her side. Taking as deep a breath as her mask would allow and straightened. "I need a fucking vacation after that shit." She informed him honestly. None of her siblings laughed, knowing that she was (pardon the pun) dead serious. The trainers agreed seeing as she hissed when one of them prodded her abused ribs after she removed her now sweaty gi.
The officials continued to prod at the eldest horseman. Taking in each pained reaction until Abeebah finally had enough. She got them to back off with one icy glare, but they only backed off slightly. They wanted to examine her further but obstinately she refused. The trainers had already said that they would see to it that she would get time off so there wasn't any other reason for her to get a more through examination. Abeebah was just tired, sore, and beat up. She could tell that she didn't have any serious injuries.
"I'm hopp'n on the first plane to our place in Harrisburg," she turned to the younger of two brothers, "call me when McMahon tells you how much time I got off." And without another word she left, heading for the horseman's locker room to change into her street clothes. None of her siblings moved to stop her. Jeff looked back and forth between Morte's retreating figure and the remaining three horsemen. "Shouldn't one of you guy's go with her?" He asked. Delia shook her head, "Morte can take care of herself, plus she can't really relax with us hovering," she told him.
In his own dark corner backstage, Taker brooded, his heart nearly exploding in a symphony of emotions. Fury that he had been beaten by a woman, an amazing woman but a woman nonetheless, pounded at the feeling of pride his 'little sister' managed to do it. Those feelings mixed precariously with the electrical current of pain singing his raw nerve endings. It felt as if someone had unsuccessfully tried to twist his head from his shoulders. Only years of distancing himself from pain of any kind prevented the deadman from collapsing.
It was only a small consolation that his bondmates were probably in as much if not more pain as he. 'That isn't nice ya know.' Abeebah's mind voice was flat even as her own aches, pains, and confusion joined his own. The veil of shadows and ice fell before the strength of their' connection, drawing Glen's emotions and thoughts into the mix. Unable to control the storm, the trinity surrendered to it momentarily, before each of them determinedly fought to regain control.
Finally, after what seemed like eternity Glen, Abeebah, and Mark did manage to regain control. And to make sure it didn't happen again they each retreated as far as they dare from what they had dubbed their' 'shared mindscape'. 'Let's not try that again, em?" The younger Calloway's mind voice seemed to echo from a great distance, his gallows humor causing his brother and the eldest Johns to give minuscule grins. They all knew that it would happen again. These overloads as Mark called them, were a clear show of just how fragile their' emotions were.
The demon of Death Valley was more than aware that he and his little brother were especially susceptible. 'Stop it old man.' Abeebah's voice was a mere threaded whisper across his skin now, almost completely shut off from both he and Kane. 'We'll survive this.' Her words were absolute in her conviction. The steel in Abeebah's nature shone through at that moment and without conscious thought, Mark found himself agreeing with her. Glen did the same, seemingly chastened for his own unconscious doubts.
Idly the deadman's thoughts turned back to the amazing feet of athleticism that Morte achieved with her high knee reverse elbow combination. It was an astonishing move, executed with such smooth precision that had he not known better, Taker would have sworn the girl was born doing it. 'Where the hell did you learn that from little girl?' He rumbled, supremely curious about the technique which had all but taken him out. He could faintly sense Abeebah's smile, 'Thai boxing is a brutal sport,' she said simply. Glen snorted in the confines of his own mindscape.
'And you used it against Taker knowing we would all feel it, why exactly?' The chrisom demon asked. The eldest Johns minor irritation tingled against their' senses. 'You'd rather I let my ass get kicked?' His and his brother's matching agitation at her doubt in them was tangible. They had both made leaps and bounds in effort for the sole purpose of not hurting the youngest member of their' trinity. Abeebah knew this, knew that she shouldn't push them anymore than they were willing to consign, but damn it, even her patience had its limits.
The only thing that the darkest horseman wanted was security, the certainty that these men who had forced their way into her life wouldn't tear them all apart. However she knew that it was impossible. Whether it was from Undertaker's drive to be the best, or Kane's need to hate his brother, neither brother were going to make peace with each other. Abeebah thought that she had made her own peace with this fact months ago. 'Apparently not,' Kane retorted. The hot tempered man retreated further into his own mindscape. Too drained both emotionally and physically to deal with them anymore, Abeebah did the same, leaving Mark alone with his thoughts. Deadman abruptly shook off the cobwebs and headed to the showers.
Vince smiled as one of the chief trainers delivered the news that the leader of the horsemen would be out for a few weeks. With Morte no longer there, there was no longer anyone to interfere with his plans for the brothers of the night. A few weeks were a short timeframe to work with, but the millionaire was able to work more extreme miracles on a tighter schedule. He thanked the trainer, and immediately told one of his many assistants to get Paul Bearer.
It didn't take the fat tub of lard long to show up. Surprisingly, his son wasn't with him. "Ye wont someth'n Mr. McMahon?" The sports entertainment tycoon smiled with all the suave skill of a shark, and tried his best not to be disgusted with the man he had come to deal with. Paul Bearer was one of the worse bottom feeders the McMahon patriarch had come to associate with. And being in the business for as long as he had, that was saying something. "I'm just wondering how Kane is doing, he's up for Monday night?"
For a moment the big red machine's porky benefactor looked surprised. Vince smiled wider, moving to place a friendly arm around the shorter man's shoulders. It was a calculated move to keep the greedy bastard off balance. And while he led Bearer further into his 'office' the former mortician's mind was working a mile a minute. "Monday," He said questioningly as Vince guided him to sit on the plush leather couch. The manipulator knew perfectly well that there wasn't anything special going on the upcoming Monday, or at least nothing special that involved his ward.
"Yes," McMahon took his time in taking his own seat on the opposite couch, across from the obese man. "Monday night, Kane versus The Undertaker for the number one contendership against Stone Cold Steve Austin," said McMahon with his grin becoming wider than almost humanly possible. Bearer was silent, his brain working even faster than it ever had before. Why was the businessman rushing to have the match? Something important had changed, and Paul scrambled to grasp what it was, while responding coherently to his employer's question.
"Course Mr. McMahon, Kane is eager to take what 'is brother covets." His voice was higher pitched than normal, grating harshly against the exceedingly acoustic walls. "Yes, well with Ms. Morte no longer here to keep the peace between the brothers there won't be anything to stop this match from happening." The business tycoon said with a certain amount of satisfaction. Suddenly the red haired Texan's mind ground to a halt. He had heard of the darkest horseman, and only had the displeasure of meeting her on two occasions.
Neither incident were forgotten, or forgiven. First the disrespect that she showed for him when she interrupted his spiel against Taker, then when she got between the brothers and then kneed him. But when he thought about it, Bearer could recall how Kane backed down to the woman on both occasions, and there were the rumors that Morte and Taker were fucking despite the very public and empathic smackdown of them being in a relationship.
'A smackdown that included that jezebel leav'n McMahon a bloody mess in his own office,' he thought with a sudden clarity. Kane had been in a tag match against the harlot that night, and though Undertaker was his partner, they were both competing against her. 'Apparently she was injured enough to take a vacation,' his grin growing along with his boss's. It grew even larger when a plan began to formulate in his mind. "But what about the other horsemen," he asked deliberately, "don't cha think that someone still might interfere with this match?" Intelligently Paul let Vince draw his own conclusions so long as he followed Paul's line of thinking.
Immediately the businessman's expression soured as his thoughts turned to the most likely suspects of Bearer's not so innocent question. Austin would in all likelihood do as the round manipulator was implying, and cheat to retain his title. This was unacceptable in the tycoon's mind, seeing as he was tired of seeing the redneck with the belt. And he was damn sick and tired of having his authority undermined weekend and week out. It was well past time to bring the championship to heel and under his power.
It didn't matter who did it as long as Austin could no longer call himself champion and the one who did become champion was easily molded. Currently the one that fit the bill of the two candidates vying for the championship was Kane. Thinking this over, Vince gave Bearer another conspiring grin, "well I think it only think it would be fair that there be an equalizer, of sorts." Kane's 'father' leaned back, glad that McMahon was seeing things his way. Vince did the same. "Tell me Paul, have you've been speaking to Mankind lately?"
A few days later found Abeebah in the rather expensive property that she and her siblings had purchased in one of the little towns outside of Harrisburg Pennsylvania scant months before. It might have cost an arm and a leg, but the amount of land that went along with the house was well worth it. No neighbors for miles, which equated to much needed privacy in Abeebah's humble opinion. 'Or at least as much privacy as one can get when one is being followed around by one form of press or another.' She thought with just a touch of annoyance.
Time on the road and in the public eye during her matches hadn't prepared the eldest horseman for what it would be like for people to know who she was outside the ring. It seemed that the video of she and Mark in the graveyard had spread during her time on the road. And no one forgot the beauty under the mask. So when the local reporters got wind of her coming, they descended upon the property with a surprising zeal, and determination. 'Mores the pity,' she thought putting the finishing coat of dragon's gold paint on her bedroom wall.
Unlike her room in Philadelphia, the walls of her room here were not dank or cold, nor infested with spiders, or too loud from the basements water heater. The days of calling the sorry excuse of a laundry area her bedroom were gone, and in its place was a somewhat lavish existence. It was what possessed Abeebah to start decorating, after getting a full day of sleep once she first arrived. Yes, having paparazzi bug her every time she left the house was a hassle. And people constantly asked for her autograph and picture as she went from shop to shop was almost annoying enough to commit homicide, but that was the price of being famous.
Setting aside the paintbrush Abeebah moved to install her roman shades. The texture of the blood red fabric was supple against her fingertips as she hung them from the two windows. They contrasted nicely against the deep near black bronze of the curtain rods and gauzy lilac of the curtains. Next she set up her bed frame. It only took Abeebah minutes to assemble the whole thing, but once she was done the darkest horseman couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of satisfaction as she looked at the finished product.
Espresso lacquered wood gleamed under the light of the paper lantern hanging from her ceiling. The head board composed of three slates screwed horizontally to two vertical supports behind them, which anchored to the base of the frame. It elevated the bed only slightly off the floor, but enough that Abeebah was comfortable with. The horsemen's first lady now set to furnishing her bed with satin sheets, and purple, gold, and red pillows. She had no idea why she picked these colors for her room but it felt right.
Finished with that particular piece of furniture, Abeebah went to arrange her vintage Victorian dresser and vanity opposite each other almost touching the still drying walls. She draped a long scarf of gauzy fabric over the rounded mirror of her vanity. Against the dark grain of her classic piece, the purple fabric appeared even softer. She decorated the vanity even further by adding a dark plate filled with three blocks of red candles. After she placed a bench in front of the vanity, Abeebah then moved the nightstands she had bought to flank the newly assembled bed.
Suddenly the only phone currently in the house rung shrilly, disturbing the quiet afternoon air. Gritting her teeth in annoyance, the dark beauty moved to retrieve it. "What?" Not the most polite greeting she could have given, but after having people constantly interrupt her vacation Abeebah felt entitled to her irksome mood. "Hey chill that tude' Beebs, its me." Still the eldest Johns didn't smile as she heard Brandon's voice come through the receiver. The tension in her hand only eased minutely. "Hey Brandon, what is it?"
"Jeez Abeebah, what's got in your craw?" His sister could imagine the pouting expression that he was most likely sporting. No one was probably around to see it, thus preserving his manliness, but his only elder sibling still snorted at the mental picture. "Never you mind little brother, let's just say my patience is being worn thin by the locals." When her brother didn't quip back with in his usual dry manner, the leader of the horseman became suspicious, "what is it Brandon?" The light skinned Johns cleared his throat uncomfortably.
"McMahon moved up the date for the number one contendership." He informed her abruptly. The eldest horseman was very still, the last few weeks and all their' happenings going through her mind. "So that was the bastard's plan." Abeebah didn't mean for her voice to take on the edged stalactite fury to take hold, but could no more stop it anymore than she could stop breathing. "Yeah well, it just got a little bit more complicated than that Beebs; Bearer's been courting Foley's favor." 'Son of a bitch,' Abeebah's breath escaped her lungs with a hiss. "Guerra, we have some counteractive measures to plan."