A/N: I owe a lot of my inspiration for this chappie to the newest installment to the Under World Series: Rise of the Lycans. Plus my musi have been fighting back and forth whether or not Kane would keep the title for more than a day. And since my brain can't handle any more of their bitching and moaning, I've settled on a compromise. –Rei
P.S I also kept fighting myself about how long I was going to make this chappie, and since I haven't updated in a while I decided just to put this on and let my reader's imagination do the rest .:Smiles evilly:. I promise to update as soon as I can, but right now college papers are whipp'n my ass and I need serious vacation time from my rabbed musi.
WWF Recap
"Goodevening ladies and gentleman and welcometo WWF Recap. I am your host, Michael Cole, reporting to you the happenings of yourfavoritesuperstarsleading up to King of the Ring." The youngest anchor on to roster smiled politely into the camera even as it switched from him standing in front of to pair of barrels sporting the raw logo, to footage of to elder Johns siblings intereference during Kane and Taker's number one contendership match. "A couple weeks ago WWF superstarsMorte and Guerra, two halves of the four horsemen got involved in a match between the brothers of the night, preventing Mankind from leveling the Undertaker with to steel to chair."
The camera switched footage, this time to Guerra sitting across from Jim Ross. "And even though his sister wasn't available for an interveiw, the hammer of the horsemen had plenty to say on to matter." The second eldest horseman was reclined laguidly in a fake to leather to chair, regarding the Oklahoma cowboy through a halfliddedgaze. "Guerra, everyone is wondering, why did you and yourtosisterinterfere in the match last night?" "Well as you know JR, Taker and Morte do have an understanding of each to other," Ross regarded him somewhat inquizitively, everyone still thought that the two wrestlers had dwells romantic leanings in their relationship, under the fact that Guerra wasn' t even alotting to their friendship was saying something.
The light skinned apocalyptic to rider ignored the look and contiued his explaination, "and one thing that they both have in common is that they hate intereference in their business, especially when that business involves family." Guerra let his voice trail off ace if it explained everything. And in a way it did, under nodding JR continued his line of questioning, "but the Undertaker lost that match, aren't you afraid what the deadman is going to do in retailation" The twenty year old shrugged his broad shoulders, "He's probably too pissed with Mankind to pay any attention to me, not to mention that while there Taker is bigger, stronger, and more experienced than I, I have Morte in my camp and she' s a hell of a lot meaner than Taker will to ever be."
JR chuckled, "well the Phenom will sees getting his chance for revenge against Mankind at Judgment day in hell in a cell." Guerra's lip twitched, to whether he was fighting back a smile or to grimace the senior achor could only guess. "It couldn't' t happen to a nicer guy." The second eldest horsman said, his voice hedging on sarcastic. JR didn't' t know to whether Guerra was talkingabout the deadman or his most unfortunate soon to be victim, Mankind. And yet again the camera switched back to Michael Cole whom was watching the interveiw from a monitor slightly off camera. He gave the piece of equipment an asinine smile.
"But for all Guerra's confidence in his lady's supreme ferocity, he probably had never witnessed the horrifying induced terror that is the Phenom's temper."Now video recordings from the raw after Abeebah returned from her near collapse the week before filled the screen. Everyone was on eggshells; the show was already started off as a roller coaster ride with McMahon interviewing Kane. Then there was the match between Road dog and the big red machine. The match lasted longer than anyone expected, but most attributed this to Kane wanting to draw out the beating. Then came Bearer's interveiw, the red haired Texan was home seeing as the week before the Undertaker had beaten him bloody.
The darkest horseman watched his interveiw over the titantron now, her thoughts and feelings impossible to discern. "Morte," The eldest horseman snapped out of her affixation. And glancing over her shoulder was confronted by the worried gaze of her sister's boyfriend. Jeff as usual was dressed in a colorful array of Goth punk attire. His skittle colored hair left hanging in a stringy mass about his shoulders. "Yes?" The darkest horseman's voice was as flat as usual, soft and indifferent to all whom had ears to hear. "Are you sure that you're up for tonight's match? I know it's not my place to – The horsemen's first lady held up a silencing hand, stopping him instantly. "I'm fine Beau, take a deep breath and chill."
The younger Hardy grimaced at the sound of his ill begotten nickname spilling forth from the stoic woman's lips. Crossing his arms the more insane half of team extreme pouted, "Well you must be feeling better if you're being so cruel." All he got in return was dark hazel eyes rolling. The royal purple mask that adorned Morte's face gave nothing else away. McMahon had been a busy little manipulative bastard these past two weeks, coming down hardest on the horsemen. First with a no disqualification match between Guerra and Steve Blackman, and then a handicap match between Viluppo and the head bangers.
To say the least, the results hadn't been pretty. The second eldest horseman had nearly broken his ribs thanks to various shots with a kendo stick. And Viluppo, Jeff couldn't help but grimace. If it hadn't been for himself and Morte then she wouldn't have made it out of the ring. Thus leading up to the match for Morte's punishment, it would be her turn to go up against the rockers tonight. And the younger Hardy had already been warned that his intereference would result in a suspension without pay.
As a result the three elder horsemen had been especially vigilant when it came to their youngest member. Lue might be officially untouchable, seeing as he was technically his siblings' employee, but it wasn't beyond Vince to fight dirty. Shaking his head Jeff focused back on his girlfriend's sister and then at the screen filled with the titantron, and Paul's face superimposed on it. "Where's deadman?"
"How should I- what the hell?!" Suddenly Morte's eyes were trained on the monitor. Jeff choked on a snort that wanted to be a gasp of astonishment as the odious Paul Bearer suddenly squealed in horror. The fat man had not a moment to inhale another breath to scream before the shadow of the Undertaker was upon him, fighting his way through what pitiful security his former guardian was able to dredge up, and knocking over lighting equipment as he made a furious charge at the sickly Bearer. And yet none were able to stop this one man force of nature from beating Kane's bloated benefactor on national television.
The sheer brutality of the attack shouldn't have shocked the often times pragmatic and all too emotionally stunted eldest horseman. But Jeff and those watching the camera feed could see the rigid set in the darkest horseman's shoulders and deathly grip in which her fist clenched. And in their minds it could be nothing else. The clip ended with Morte staring at the monitor eyes frozen in a Technicolor mansard. And for the last time in the segment the camera focused on Michael Cole whom bid the viewers a final salutation before the credits began to roll.
Mark was caught, plain and simple. Caught in those jewel tone eyes harder than diamonds, yet somehow nowhere near as intense as his own gaze was said to be, Mark couldn't help but to pull her deeper into the shelter of his embrace. `Abeebah's stare did not waver a millimeter, even as she felt eyes suddenly on them. She was tired of waiting for the brothers to open their mouths and say what the hell their problem was. The only thing that surprised the eldest horseman was that it was the elder of the two Calloways that had been 'skating on thin ice' with her.
Glen was supposed to be the emotional one, and yet here she was butting heads with the one man in the world who was closest to her in temperament. It no longer mattered that strictly speaking they were in a public place, that they could practically hear what those watching them must think. Abeebah had always been passive, letting any and every assault upon her person bounce off her steely exterior, or be stung by the frosty bite of her even chillier interior. The time for 'the usual' response had long since passed. And in almost desperation she reached deep inside herself for the answers.
And found the inferno that was her younger bond mate burning quietly in the shadows. Unconsciously the grip she had on Mark's jaw tightened, and the glaciers that shielded her eyes melting into something infinitely more dangerous to her red haired 'friend'. "I can't," his rumbling voice gave nothing away, clean and flat as primer paint. He ripped his gaze from hers despite the pain in his chin, and led her farther down the gravel path. 'So much like me, too much like me.' She thought in exasperation. "You won't," she corrected him, knowing the key difference between she and Mark lay in the fact she was a terrible liar both to others and herself and so usually didn't bother.
'Especially when I feel like a rat on a sinking ship,' she mused wryly. Eyes followed them as they meandered on, and the green eyed wrestler mused that they must look like far gone lovers, too absorbed in each other to notice what was going on around them. "What we have between us right now is good; I have no intentions of changing it." Abeebah informed him without preamble, "Whether it evolves or digresses, that's up to you." Mark froze, taking in what 'she did not say' but what his youngest bond mate was not so subtly, if not outright telling him, in the only way he would understand without Abeebah resorting to violence. 'I trust you.'
No more words were exchanged between the two 'not lovers' as they easily meandered their way through the park, taking in the various sights and sounds around them. Many people were out and about. Some guys played Frisbee in the grass with a dog, while others sat on blankets reading books, or like she and Mark, walked the pathways with no destination in mind. But then after what seemed like an eternity something did capture the deadman's eye. A mischievous smirk lifted the corners of his nearly colorless lips as he pulled at Abeebah's much smaller hand. "Come on," the eldest horseman went along without complaint.
There was no point in fighting if Mark was going to show this much life. Then she caught sight of the establishment that her bond mate was pulling her toward. And her face went completely blank, "it's a tattoo parlor." Her red haired 'friend' shot her a look that could dry an ocean, "I hadn't noticed." The brandy eyed beauty didn't even bother to roll her eyes, "you know what I mean. Don't you have enough of them as is?" She asked gazing pointedly at his massive tree like arms.
Mark snorted and abruptly pulled Abeebah's green clad curves into the shelter of his, and deliberately allowed his hands to roam over the exposed skin of her arms and back. Dark skin shuddered under his fingertips and he could experience the echoes of the feeling ghosting down his spine. Mark knew what his 'friend' was doing by allowing him to 'feel' the effect he was having on her, and basked in her minute show of trust. "Maybe I do." He used the drawling tone of voice that immediately set off warning bells in the front of her mind. 'Don't show fear, don't show fear, don't show- aww shit!'
By the time the sun had set Delia was still stunned at what had transpired in the morning. So flabbergasted in fact that she hadn't spoken the entire day, scaring her brothers, and those who knew her well enough to know she never shut up, half to death. Brandon and Evan had tried everything to get their light skinned sister to talk, nothing worked. She was even blank faced and tight lipped to her current lover, the younger Hardy. The three worried males hovered around her all day and all the way to the arena. None of them wondered where Abeebah was.
It wasn't even until they got to the arena the any of the horseman realized that there was a very noticeable lack of their' leader. And after calling the hotel and looking through the entire arena, going so far as to catch Kane alone and asking him, Brandon was a near panicked mess. He paced in the horseman's locker room with the Hardys and his younger brother watching him, and his younger sister staring off into space. All of them ignored the camera that had joined them some time ago. "He's going to worry himself sick if he keeps doing that," Matt observed. Evan didn't disagree, but still kept his silence.
His brother would worry regardless anything he said, and Delia was in no condition to slap some sense into their 'second in command'. And until Abeebah showed up, Evan seriously doubted that Brandon would listen to anyone. And as if somehow she heard her brothers' silent prayers, Abeebah came strolling into the locker room already dressed for battle. Her usually wild curls were pulled up and back into a single ponytail, with the black jaguar mask firmly settled over her dark visage. The eldest horseman's back up ring attire was messy as if she had been in a rush.
And yet his sister wasn't breathing hard, as if she'd had to scuttle at all, "where the hell- "How was your date?" The youngest Johns was cut off mid sentence by a no longer catatonic Delia. All eyes locked on her suddenly alert form, only to skitter right back to the newly arrived. Abeebah maneuvered herself carefully further into the locker room, dropping her gym bag by the open shelves that served as lockers. "Fine," quickly the rest of the horsemen tried to decipher what was expertly hidden under their sister's indifferent tone.
With the dark lady, fine could mean anything from a mind blowing experience, to a toilet worthy time. What made it so frustrating was the fact that either extreme was usually accompanied by the same flat tone. The three Johns wouldn't even bother questing her further were it any other event that she was describing. 'But this is big,' Brandon thought, his eyes suddenly widening to roughly match golf balls in diameter. "You never date," he sputtered out what anyone who dares to even 'claim' to know his older sibling knew.
The darkest horseman didn't even pause, taking a seat on the central bench. She shot a look at her brother that clearly stated what she thought about him talking about something so personal in front of a camera. Brandon shot her an equally pointed look, telling her without words that she didn't give a damn before if anyone knew, so then she shouldn't give a damn now. Their sister butted in abruptly at their silent exchange, "Ok, spill sister, I want the down and dirty." Deliberately Delia interjected herself between her two older siblings, causing Abeebah's eyes to suddenly become trained on her.
"Nothing to tell," she leaned to the side to see around her light skinned sibling, "you have a match in a couple minutes, Guerra I suggest you get to the guerrilla now." It was Jeff who noticed how measured Abeebah's every movement was every shift of that curvy torso progressed in careful increments. 'Not stiff, but definitely sore,' he thought trying to discern whether he should call attention to it or not. What made Morte so dangerous was the fact that you'd never see her coming; she gave no hint of intention until it was far too late for her target to figure it out.
Even now, with Viluppo, Lue, and Guerra trying to tease answers out of her, there was no way to tell if his girlfriend's older sister was really ticked or not. And as crazy as the younger Hardy was, he was far from stupid. Abeebah didn't have to threaten any of Guerra or Viluppo's bed partners, one look from Morte confirmed that the police would never find the body. "Nothing to tell my ass, anybody who could convince you go out with them deserves an award." Evan chorused with Delia.
Morte blinked slowly at her youngest siblings, probably baffled why they were pushing this topic. Jeff couldn't see why she was surprised. In all the time he knew her and all the stories that he heard of her, the darkest horseman never gave her attention to anyone. And there was only one person that Jeff could think of that could even come close. Before a sound could escape his parched throat, Morte's eyes were on him, glaring sub-zero spears into his head. But just as fast as she looked at Jeff, she was turning away.
"Don't be so dramatic." The darkest horseman said without a hint of censure. "I needed to get out and relax a little." Evan shot his eldest sibling a harassed look. Brandon and Delia looked like salivating predators that were closing in on wounded prey. And both the Hardy boys were sure that they could glimpse drool leaking from the lax jaws of the on looking camera men. But no one dared voice the chant that was echoing in their heads' 'Morte got a boyfriend,' it taunted them collectively with a tempting sing song rhythm.
Once again Abeebah attempted to get them to drop the subject by calling attention to the fact that Brandon had a match in the immediate future. And once again her siblings put more emphasis on the importance of her all too frigid heart being melted. The first apocalyptic rider snorted, "What gave you that impression?" This only caused them to be even more bull dogged in their search for answers. But she gave none, and soon it had degenerated down to the younger siblings trying to get a reaction out of her. That too was unsuccessful; as Abeebah's stone still silence was the only answer she would give.
Brandon finally left for his match, Abeebah accompanying the younger horseman to the ring because she didn't feel like dealing with Delia and Evan's speculating gaze. Even as they stepped out into the flashing lights of the arena, the second eldest horseman was preoccupied by his own speculations to really pay attention to the crowd. Thoughts of the possible suitors ran through his mind begging to be questioned out loud when Abeebah would most certainly give no answer. His deathly sister fought the urge to pop him with each step that they took.
Ken Shamrock was already in the ring, bouncing up and down on his toes, obviously impatient to fight Guerra for the first time in months. The second born horseman had defeated the ill-tempered MMA fighter before, but she still very much doubted that her brother would make it to the finals. The fact that he made it to the semi finals when other more experienced wrestlers could not was a source of mild delight in the reticent woman. 'Don't let your guard down though,' she warned herself and her brother silently, all too aware that their employer was still very much a threat in this situation.
Guerra glanced her way as if he could clearly hear the thought as if she said it out loud. Morte snorted under her mask only vaguely glancing at her brother before turning her attention to the ring that they were nearing. The war lord apocalyptic rider did the same. Shamrock watched Guerra approach as intently as the flashing strobes would allow. He knew that while the effect was meant as a scare tactic, it also served to wreak havoc on the opponents' equilibrium. For someone who was usually straight forward, Guerra was surprisingly sneaky.
'But when you think of whom his elder sister is,' he cast his dark gaze toward the horsemen's leader. He had no illusions of who was the more dangerous of the two. Like her younger brother, Morte was honest and simple with her words. But Ken, like many others recognized the brutality being held on a tight leash. The fact that she had yet to completely 'lose it' was very telling. The fact that she could still be one sadistically creative bitch while keeping her head was even more telling; this only reinforced the idea that he would have to watch his back while the ring. Just because Morte hadn't shown any interest in interfering in her siblings' matches before didn't mean she wouldn't now.
Stopping just a few feet away from the apron, the eldest horseman dined to place an encouraging hand on her brother's shoulder, before swiftly moving off to the barricades keeping overzealous fans at bay. Everyone was a little stunned by the minute show of support. For someone like Morte, a hand on the shoulder was like practically hugging them. But while the crowd went wild with the rare show of emotion from the eldest of the Apocalyptic riders, Guerra finally rolled under the ropes and into the ring. There was a match to win, 'I'll think about how weird Beebs is acting later.' He assured himself, tilting his back and to the side so that his neck would pop, releasing the final visages of stress in his spine.