A/N: Hey everybody, sorry I haven't posted in so long. But here's a chapter meant as a christmas present just for my readers and reveiwers. Its a long one so prepare for a lot of content. -Rei
Mark shouldn't have been surprised to see her, but he is. In fact he should have expected her years ago. Frozen and unable to move the red haired demon of Death Valley stared without compunction. Jodie looked more weathered than he could ever remember her being. The once curvy figure of his 'high school' sweetheart was now nearly thin as a twig, bones almost jutting out painfully under taunt skin. Her black curly hair was pulled back and away from her face, pale features which were even more aged in the harsh light of fluorescents. Long almost spidery finger wrung at long blue sleeves, a nervous gesture he never thought he ever see from her.
The woman regarding him now was a far cry from the fierce fille he left behind in New Orleans nearly ten years ago. And looking at her now, it was all he could do not to run to her, hold her, and never let go again. Lips, chapped and cracked, suddenly thinned with agitation. He had left Jodie; he had wanted to leave her. So why was he suddenly feeling as if the earth was swallowing him whole and she was its center? It was better for the both of them that he had gone, with Bearer back then, he wasn't what she needed, and she couldn't handle the secrets and drama that made Mark who he was.
But just as the plants gravitate toward the life giving sun, Mark's guilt tugged heavily at his heart, he moved. Unmindful of the terrified stage hands around him, Taker approached his once girlfriend. They probably thought the woman was just another ring rat anyway, and those who didn't, didn't have the mind or the stones to ask. Mark could feel Abeebah's questing orbs on him, but the Deadman avoided her gaze at all cost. Putting his focus back entirely on Jodie he fought himself over what to say as soon as he reached arm's length. Jodie beat him to the punch, "we need to talk."
The eldest horseman watched her elder bond mate go, with awful feeling rolling in her gut. She knew that whatever it was that was going on with Taker was none of her business, but it didn't stop the sick feeling she got watching him with the other woman. 'I am not jealous,' she told herself firmly. And why would she be? Abeebah had seen Mark occasionally leave with different pieces of tail before, and hadn't felt a thing, save the red haired man's lust for said piece of tail. Yet something about this woman was setting off instincts Abeebah never knew she had.
And making matters worse the darkest horseman was finding it near impossible to make any sense of what Taker was feeling, let alone being able to disentangle it from her own. 'What was that damn rolling in her stomach' Abeebah wondered furiously. And couldn't help that she felt all the more helpless because she didn't have a clue as to what she was experiencing. 'Get your head back in the game Morte,' forcefully shaking her cranium the dark woman turned her attention back to the verbal sparring occurring between her siblings and the headbangers.
Amusement shoved aside the confused bundle of emotions that her elder bond mate had evoked. Insults flew fast and furiously back and forth between the three horsemen and the headbangers. The eldest horseman took note of the lewd innuendo Mosh sent her way, along with her youngest brother's scathing retort in her defense. Yet with each exchange the epithets grew more venomous and colorful. So much so, that for a moment Abeebah honestly considered joining in, it would be a great distraction from where her mind seemed to want to forcefully bend.
The look Mark gave his current 'guest' flashed across her psyche. Suddenly plunged back into a crappy mood, Abeebah glared at her and Delia's opponents. Thrasher and Mosh's laughter became nervous. Morte never glared, never. McMahon could have cut her pay in half, and Morte would never lose her cool, and yet now her eye held their death sentence. They backed away, calling for their entrance to be cued. Not bothering to say a word, Abeebah pointed to Delia, then to the curtain which their rivals were exiting through. The chaotic horseman visibly gulped.
Then nodding, the willowy young woman moved to have the stage hands to cue up her own entrance. The eldest horseman turned her glare on her younger brothers, "stay here." Despite her obvious foul mood, both Evan and Brandon were ready and willing to argue. "You are out of your mind." "They're going to cheat." "McMahon's still a threat." An upraised finger was their only warning, a warning they took to heart, with jaws automatically snapping shut. "I know, I don't care, and feel free to join us when the shit hits the fan."
Short, concise, and borderline belligerent seemed to be the name of the game tonight. Abeebah was obviously not of a pleasant temperament, and was intent on taking it out on anyone who provoked her. The temper wasn't unexpected, though no less threatening in its indiscriminate nature. Knowing this, both Morte's brothers still wanted to quarrel, as nothing good could come of their amber eyed sister's current state. But there was no way that either of them could win an all out argument with her. Not when she was annoyed to the point of ignoring common sense.
Viluppo came strutting out to the ramp, her head bobbing along to the music, the words of her theme sounding being belted out by the spectators. Long brown curled locks were pulled back revealing the third horseman's marred visage. The most vicious diva ever to enter the ring looked stunning in a black sports bra and matching booty shorts. Fingerless gloves adorned small hands, along with heavy elbow and knee pads, and knee high command boots. Yet the horse theme that was usually prevalent on all of the apocalyptic riders was curiously absent in her attire. Both JR and Lawler speculated on the change in apparel, curious as everyone else as to why she wasn't wearing what she usually did.
Stopping just a few scant feet away from the ring Viluppo continued to vibe along with the blaring music. She, like everyone else in the arena was anxiously waiting for Morte. Hands crossed behind her back, with feet firmly planted shoulder width apart, the third born horseman did her best to focus on this instant, rather what had already past, and what would hopefully be. Namely, Vince being a bloody smear under a pile of dog shit. The raucous taunts being flung her way from the ring meant nothing and the unimaginable suffering that she, and her dispassionate sister were about to inflict meant everything. Morte wasn't a violent person, despite her aptitude for violence. She'd always go the quickest way to win a fight rather than the most 'fun'.
Viluppo never won a bout of any kind against her, and more often than not, why the light skinned wrestler always tried to annoy her sister into losing control. It was a testament to Abeebah's frigid heart that she never did. A smile nearly spilt the second youngest horseman's face, thinking about the last few months, and the shift in her sister's behavior. As detached as Abeebah might still be, she had finally learned 'to feel', she laughed, she got mad, she even learned to live beyond the scope of getting through the day.
As the 'igloo' suddenly plunged into darkness, the chaotic horseman's smile got wider. She could all but feel the biting frost flood into the immediate area, sending anticipatory chills down Viluppo's spine. She watched, with almost clinical interest as the headbangers backed away from the ropes facing her. And wondered at her sister's seemingly new ability to strike fear into the hearts those facing against her. Abeebah had always creped people out, her siblings included, but it wasn't until the Johns siblings came to the WWF that Morte began to be feared.
The boom of the Chellos that marked Morte's coming abruptly signaled icy lights to illuminate the arena. Viluppo didn't look back already knowing what she'd see. Morte stood at the top of the ramp, loose limbed and ready for a beat down. Like her younger sister the darkest horseman had forsaken her horse motif attire, and instead wore full body tights, with a mini tee-shirt over top of it, and a pair of knee high boots. She still wore her iconic Jaguar mask, yet her hair was free, a river of dark hair spilling around her masked face and shoulders.
And for some unexplainable reason this only made Morte appear more dangerous, as no one could see the steel trap that were the eldest horseman's eyes through the fringe of raw chocolate curls. Her approach was slow and methodical. But her temper was well into its shattering point, making for an interesting dynamic on how she would be able to still fight without being consumed by the fury slicing through her resolve. Everyone knew of the attacks upon all the horsemen, and they all wondered, how this will affect Morte's judgment in this match?
She gazed at him, concrete eyes studious on both his features and physique. This was nothing new, but somehow it still made him uncomfortable. Idly Mark wondered if Abeebah's easy acceptance had left him mildly spoiled. Or had it made him more sensitive to the harsh world outside of their trinity? Mark didn't know and he supposed that it didn't matter. This wasn't his younger bond mate, and as observant Jodie was, he seriously doubted she would notice.
But she did, or more accurately she noticed there was something different about her once lover, 'besides being older?' The Cajun wanted to snort. They were both ancient when they met the first time almost fourteen years ago. Both of them were aged beyond their years by experiences, which led to them mistaking their attraction for each other for love. She recalled with only a slight bit of morose wistfulness that they had made so many mistakes together.
'One of which I'll never regret,' she thought now that time had taken the sting out of the bitterness she once felt toward the man now standing before her. Once a boy that she thought she loved, but now a man that she didn't even know, Jodie could only hope that boy still existed in this man. "Gunner's sick." Mark froze, 'don't breathe, don't you dare fucking think.' Jodie forged on, determined not to give her once lover time to react. "Doctor said its leukemia." She nearly choked on the words, "it's really bad Mark." Automatically denial rose like a black cloud blanketing the vast landscape of his mind, nearly unmanning his common sense.
But worse still were the strained and sickly eyes of the once fierce femme fatale and mother of his child, proving his denials false. Angry tears wanted to fall, hot with the indignant fury of years of abuse. Things were bad enough as is with McMahon's scheming; he didn't need for things to go wrong with his estranged lover and their sickly child. "They gonna be able to fix it?" "This ain't no easy fix- "Are they able to fix it?" He interrupted her, his voice powerful and threatening. The Deadman was in no mood to mince words. Jodie flinched, suddenly aware that this man was far from the quiet giant that she once dated. "Mark we need your help." He knew damn well what it was costing Jodie to admit this to him. That knowledge only scared him more
"Kane!!!" Everyone in the immediate vicinity of the shrill call winced. All of them would like nothing more than to choke the life out of the little worm, but they dare not say a word for fear of the giant whose favor he curried. For all his many faults, Paul Bearer knew how to pick his protectors well. First Undertaker, then Vader, Mankind, and finally Kane, and it was wondered by a great many how could a fat strident little toad like him could control any one of these famously unstable men at all? Charismatic he was not, not by any sense of the imagination.
"Kane!!!" Paul would have smiled in satisfaction at every wince his call produced, if not for the disquiet of his missing 'client' had not been consuming him. He could afford to be unpleasant as he pleased, as long as things were the way they were. Free to have what he thought was his due as one of the world's castaways, in a world filled with ignorant and blind fools. But the former mortician was many things, but he was far from stupid. He knew all too well that his survival so to speak depended upon the good will of his 'clientele'. It was part of the reason why he had betrayed one of his biggest money makers' the Undertaker.
For all his seemingly stoic and aloof manner, Mark Calloway was just a young man when he came to the WWF. But as Mark became more confident in himself, and more victories and popularity amassed, Bearer feared his influence would not be able to hold for much longer. The manager wasn't arrogant enough to think that he was all powerful. And in his conniving little mind, Taker's betrayal was a foregone conclusion. Now Kane was showing signs of independence of his own, 'which means its bout dat time.' He thought with a contemplative grimace.
Mosh and Thrasher stared at their opponents, nervous apprehension fighting to consume them. This was supposed to be an easy match, if at all. McMahon had played the four horsemen beautifully, taking out the eldest in the early goings in the night. The hammer of the horseman disappeared with his sister, protecting her from any further attacks. Too bad he didn't think to keep an eye on his younger siblings because the two younger horsemen were taken down, or so it would seem. But here Viluppo and Morte stood, both whole and mostly healthy, and both pissed beyond all reason.
Viluppo bared her teeth, her growl being drowned out by the crowd. She jumped up onto the apron and then over the top rope. The light red bruising of on her face was offset by the more severe blue and orange ones littering her arms and stomach. To say the least Viluppo was not in a good mood, and she wanted to start. Morte moved, walking up the steps to take her place on the apron. The headbangers shot each other looks now unsure of what to do. They argued amongst themselves until the bell rang, forcing Mosh to step up and face off against the younger horseman.
"Well JR, this is definitely going to be the end, there's no possible way Viluppo and Morte can win." Lawler proclaimed from his place at the announce table. "I wouldn't count those two young ladies out just yet king." His partner retorted. Inside the ring, Mosh had already taken the early advantage, sending the younger horseman flying to the corner opposite of her sister. But the referee made no moves to admonish the wrestler as he followed her in with a clothesline, then bouncing back, came at her again with meaty fist. This was a no holds barred match after all. The light skinned diva covered up as best she could, trying to think passed the blows being rained down on her head and torso.
From their respective places on the apron, both Thrasher and Abeebah egged their partners on. And yet the dark woman's calls went unheeded, as the third born horseman continued to get pummeled. Everyone knew that the willowy horseman's bird like frame could not take a prolonged amount of abuse, Viluppo included. But it was quite blatant that the head banger wasn't going to let up. She grunted as another shot connected through her defenses. Growling, the younger horseman finally decided on a course of action, and pitching forward Viluppo's forehead connected painfully with Mosh's nose.
As he fell back the horseman grasped his arm, reversing the wiry man's impetus and sending him careening into her up raised knee. The official didn't see the fact that her knee connected with Mush's nuts. Thrasher however did, and tried to interfere as his partner fell. Rushing through the top and middle rope, Thrasher tried to get to his partner only to be stopped by the referee. Viluppo smiled cruelly in his direction before going after Mush, her booted heels connecting repeatedly with the poor man's stomach and groin.
And she didn't let up until the official turned his attention back inside the ring. Dragging her opponent by the foot to the center, Viluppo applied one of her sister's favored moves. Compression locks weren't the third born horseman's forte, but she was too angry to care. Agony was she and her sister's aim. So twisting the man's leg in an unnatural angle, the dark eyed young woman wrapped her legs around the knee joint, and fell back into the mat.
Dazed as he was, Mosh could still feel the wrenching pain firing through his overtaxed synapses. But again Thrasher was helpless to do anything, as the rules for no holds barred while lax, still prohibited cheating. Violently the chaotic horseman pulled on the limb she had locked up, causing Mosh to yell in pain. To say the least, it was music to the sadistic girl's ears. And the more the man in her hold screamed, the more bloodthirsty she became. Desperately the painted wrestler tried to crawl his way to the ropes.
Only to have bitten back a scream as Viluppo wrenched back into an even more unnatural angle. Thrasher stomped his foot and beat his hand against the turnbuckle, utterly unaware of the elder horseman watching him from the other side of the ring. Morte leaned against the turnbuckle in her corner, tense and ready for a fight, but well aware that this wasn't the time to interfere, and in this way she was patience personified. "The feminine halves of the four horsemen are putting on a great showing here tonight."
JR observed Viluppo's technique fascinated by the uncharacteristic change in tactics, "It seems that the dare devil Viluppo is slowing it down here in the early going." "Of course she is Ross," King retorted, "that witch is looking to punish, to destroy Mosh."It was fairly obvious that the younger horseman was being more cautious, even though Lawler thought it was because of something else entirely. "And can you blame her?" his co-anchor fired back just as heatedly. "They were attacked not once, but twice by the headbangers- "Oh stop the whining JR, they had it coming."The Oklahoma cowboy looked indignant. "You're say'n that they deserved be'n harassed?"
"I'm say'n they should have never crossed the boss." Using muscles that he never knew he had, Mosh was able to finally turn over and sit up, taking off enough of the pressure on his leg to fight back. "Viluppo is in a bit of trouble here." Mosh balled his fist, unceremoniously throwing sloppy punches at his opponent who was now at a disadvantage. Because she was now on her stomach, the younger horseman was unable to avoid them, and had to endure the meaty shots to the back of her skull. The chaotic rider tried to cover her head as best as she could while rolling away.
Desperately the head banger did the same, trying urgently to reach his partner's corner while the light skinned woman was still stunned. "And it looks like the tables have turned on this match up, once again in the head bangers' favor. Viluppo needs to dig deep and find a way to get to her sister." JR called. Viluppo stumbled to her feet, precariously trying to shake off the stars now clouding her vision. Her sister watched from the apron, a snarl tearing its way passed her masked lips, as she silently urged the lighter horseman to make the exchange.
It was for not, because Mosh still managed to drag his carcass to the corner where Thrasher anxiously awaited to be tagged in. And hauling himself up, the head banger did just that, collapsing under the bottom rope, as Thrasher exploded from the corner. Viluppo didn't know what hit her. One moment she was reeling from one too many punches to the back of her head, the next Thrasher is on her like a ton of bricks. She collapsed under his greater bulk unable to defend against her larger opponent.
Morte watched, silent and still as her sister was tackled to the mat. She was seething as Thrasher quickly got up and then dropped elbow first into Viluppo's back. Getting up again, the head banger wrenched her arm toward him, causing the third born horseman to stumble to her feet, only to be knocked back down as Thrasher extended his other arm into a vicious clothesline. The third born horseman felt dizzy with pain, as the back of her head connected with the canvas, a resounding pop echoing throughout the arena. "Oh, that's gonna smart in the morn'n."King said in a rare show of empathy. JR wince along with him, "I think that, that is hurting something awful now King."
Thrasher quickly moved to cover the fallen horseman. "One, two, no Viluppo got the shoulder up." The dark eyed horseman rolled over onto her side, only vaguely aware of the temper tantrum her opponent was throwing just a stone's throw away from her. She took this time to simply taking deep gulping breathes of oxygen, not bothering with trying to think beyond the ringing in her ears. Thrasher was on his knees beside her, frustratingly punching the mat, obviously trying to figure out why nothing he was doing was working.
His partner snarled at him from his all but stationary position in the corner. "We don't have time for this, get it done." He grumbled over the roaring spectators. Thrasher shot him a heated look before finally turning his attention back to his downed opponent. The bald wrestler shoved Viluppo onto her back, and then kneeling down himself wrapped his arms around her hips, flipping her right side up as he stood. Automatically the chaotic rider knew that Thrasher intended to power bomb her.
Knowing this, the third born horseman quickly forced herself to perform a curl up, her legs tightening around his head for more leverage. Using the lurching force to her advantage, both Viluppo's fist connected with Thrasher's face. She dropped back, the momentum adding violently to her otherwise slight weight. The stunned head banger was thrown forward, and over Viluppo's head. Suddenly airborne, Thrasher was sent helplessly careening back first into the turnbuckle. Simultaneously, Viluppo let go, dropping to the mat below jarringly. Blood now stained her lax knuckles.
"Oh my God, what a shot, ladies and gentlemen you could hear that thud a mile away."Jerry 'the king' Lawler rolled his eyes as his partner waxed on the praises thick on the second youngest horseman's innovativeness. "Both Thrasher and Viluppo are down; Viluppo must make a tag if she and Morte have any hope of winning this match." Morte all but hung over the top rope, her hand stretched over the abyss of space that was between them. Vainly the dark eyed diva reached out to her partner, trying to crawl the difference in distance between them.
Meanwhile Thrasher was struggling to shake the cobwebs most assuredly caused by his skull kissing the canvas. A superficial cut now graced the bridge of his nose. But he was too disoriented to even hear passed the roaring in his ears let alone make it to the corner where Mosh all but lay draped over the turnbuckle. Still the spectators shouted their' bloodlust from where they watched. Everyone recognized the passion, the aggression defined the younger chaotic horseman, knew that it could be enough to defeat any opponent, but if she were given the chance. Finally both wrestlers seemed to be able to lunge forward; Viluppo catching her sister's outstretched hand and Thrasher smacking Mosh on the wrist.
Morte didn't even bother paying her downed sister any mind as she dived through the first and second ropes. She immediately went for Mosh, mind already working out the most economic way to make this asshole scream. Mosh could do nothing but watch in wide eyed horror as she came at him, chilling calculation turning her whiskey orbs an unpleasant neon honey comb color. And just as suddenly she was upon him, grasping him by the throat with both hands, intent upon dragging him in by his neck.
Only to be attacked from behind! "Oh my god! It's Shane! It's the Posse, they came out of nowhere." Beside JR, King's I told you so's were drowned out by the din of indignant fans. Intent upon the poor battered Mosh, the eldest horseman didn't see them coming through the barricade. And while her back was turned to them, Shane-o-Mac distracted the referee while his childhood friends went after the horsemen. Two of them attacked the darkest horseman with steel chairs while the other went after her exhausted sister with a baseball bat.
Smack!!! The oldest apocalyptic rider howled in pain, falling sideways as she desperately tried to reach for her back, which was now awash with the stinging of a thousand needles. The two former frat boys didn't stop there, one of them taking aim at her back as it seemed to be her weak spot and the other aiming for her knees to make sure she couldn't get up. Instinctively the masked woman tried to roll away from the pain, managing only to increase the agony threefold as she accidentally rolled out of the ring.
Viluppo had her own problems as she was being clubbed in the arms and sides with a baseball back. She tried rolling away from the pain, cursing and threatening the man attacking her with an unequalled fever. And just as soon as another hit connected with her ribs, the third born horseman was left alone again. It took a long moment to force her velvety gaze open, only to see Evan had knocked her assailant clear out of the ring. She couldn't see Morte or Guerra anywhere, and hoped to hell that they were together and keeping the ever loving holy crap out of the rest of their attackers. Outside of the ring Guerra was barely holding his own against the two posse members who had attacked Abeebah and Mosh whom had caught a second wind.
His elder sister was scarcely aware of this as she tried lever herself up. The official was still being distracted by the younger McMahon. Backhanding the big blond off his shoulder Guerra called out to Morte, only half joking about needing assistance. She heard him, but was still fighting passed the unprecedented torture that was currently lighting her back on fire. The hammer of the horsemen tripped Mosh, catching a meaty fist to the face in the process. "A little help here Beebs!" He called once more.
If she had the breath to do so the deathly horseman would've cursed him out. As it was, Morte was trying to move, without feeling as if she had to find a way to claw off her own skin. Falling to her knees, the dark horseman reached under the ring, looking for a weapon. In the ring, Viluppo managed to get to her feet. And ignoring her own injuries climbed to the top rope, launched herself on top of the former frat boy whose attention was solely focused on her younger brother. Seeing her coming, Evan went for the man's knees.
"Oh my god!!!" The opposing inertia of the younger horsemen collided and the results were comparable to a car wreck. Lue's chop block had connected with the man's knees at the same moment Viluppo came flying directly at the back of his head, causing his forehead to smack the concrete and his shins most likely to break under the pressure of Lue's shoulder still holding him up. But the inventive move caused the siblings almost as much. Viluppo's heart nearly beating out of her chest and Lue trapped under the weight of the downed Posse member.
On the other side of the ring, Mosh had jumped on Guerra's back, placing the second born horsemen in a sleeper hold while the blond posse member held onto his ankle. They didn't see Morte coming. Konk!!! A lead pipe swung true, and found its mark on Mosh's lower back. He dropped, rolling away as his legs could no longer hold his weight. Morte spun, taking a knee so that her aim was low, and once again struck true, this time with the back of the blond's head. She let the pipe drop before moving to grasp the head banger by the throat. "Deal with him," Morte snarled at her brother while pointing toward the where Shane was still arguing with the referee.
Getting into the ring, the combat minded horseman did just that as his older sister all but threw Mosh into the ring. Next Morte grasped the blond posse member by the foot, hauling his carcass around to the other side of the ring. There her youngest brother still lay pinned under the weight of the older man. Viluppo had managed to roll off of him and lay on the unforgiving concrete breathing in conspicuous gulps of air.
Dropping the foot she held onto, the eldest horseman bent over and rolled the man off her brother. Dazedly he thanked Morte before his eyes became wide as he abruptly grabbed her wrist and pulled her down to the concrete. "What the hell- The masked woman was cut off mid sentence as the younger McMahon was sent flying over the top rope, missing her and Evan by inches. Guerra stepped through the second and third rope before hopping down to the floor. For a moment he gazed sheepishly down as Morte and Lue as they struggled to their' feet.
Viluppo was already on her feet and on her way to the apron. "Hurry up before you're counted out." She called to her sister. The darker horseman flipped Viluppo the bird, "gimme a lift Bran." The elder of her two younger brothers nodded and kneeling down crossed his arms. Morte rushed forward using the lighter horseman's arms as a launch pad to her jump. Guerra thrust his arms upward, helping heighten the already soaring flight. The referee stopped counting in horrified awe as the eldest horseman somehow rotated her body into a back-flip adding velocity as she came down, arms tucked close to her head, and feet together as they connected with Mosh's gaping mouth.
The chant that followed was deafening, "HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT!!!" Morte rolled away from the fallen carcass that was her fallen opponent. She couldn't help but feel a sickening satisfaction as the head banger was unable to even move. Catching a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, the masked horseman got up and tagged her sister in, "finish him."Then she went after Thrasher whom was trying to stumble his way in the ring. The official was already so preoccupied with the younger horseman dropping into cover Mosh, he didn't even see the upper cut that sent the other head banger flying over the top rope. Their victory was elementary.
"Yo, Yo, Forfeit the game, before somebody else, takes you out of the frame, and puts your name to shame, Cover up your face, you can't run the race, the pace is too fast, you just won't last." Viluppo bounced to her feet suddenly exalted with the fresh glow of triumph. Her smile was a mile wide as she all but skipped to her sister's side. They were soon joined by their brothers and the chaotic rider declared it was time to celebrate, all three of her siblings groaned, but moved knowing that she wouldn't leave them alone until they did so.
Each of the horsemen took a corner and posed for the cheering crowd. Guerra stood on bottom rope, his arms folded over his chest. Viluppo bounced along with her entrance music on the second rope of the opposite corner, her arms stretched out at her sides as if they were wings. On the other side of the ring, Lue stood on the second rope, his hands cupping around his mouth amplifying his voice, "who runs this?!!" Opposite of him, Morte perched herself on the top rope, crouched with one steadying hand on the rope and the other on her thigh. Flashing lights and smoke filled the arena, furthering the spectacle, the horsemen defying the McMahon regime.
But by the time that the four horsemen got backstage the adrenaline had run its course. Lue and Viluppo leaned against each other while their elder sister hobbled alongside them and Guerra absently massaged his sore throat behind them. In a word they were all pretty banged up, but at the same time more than satisfied with how things worked out. By universal consent the horsemen immediately went to the trainers, all of them ignoring the interviewer that was patiently waiting for them just off the gorilla.
The trainers didn't even say a word as each took one horseman to their various stations and began to treat them. And much to Abeebah's chagrin, because of her back she had to take off her shirt and lower the upper half of her full body tights. The darkest of the four siblings had hoped almost with a fever that surprised even herself that, much like the chain tattoo on her ankle that this particular one would go unnoticed. Since it was on her back just below her shoulder blades, it didn't seem like it would be such a hard thing to accomplish.
Abeebah cursed both herself and Mark as neither had taken into account the match she had to suffer through. 'Well you agreed,' the Deadman's agitated mind voice butted in on her thoughts. And with it as slew of emotions that, in Abeebah's humble opinion were just wrong. It was this more than anything else that froze whatever snap retort that her mind would usually come up with. Instead she ignored him, half formed plans of visiting his hotel room tonight already in the works. Abruptly a hiss unintentionally escaped from between her clenched teeth, calling notice to her exposed her back.
"Umm Beebs?" The hazel eyed woman ignored her siblings' half demanding tone as she tried to turn her back away from their' curious eyes. But she was stopped by latex clad hands of the trainer, whom was too busy removing the slightly bloody Goss to really notice the venomous stare she now trained upon him. Three of the four horsemen stared at their sister's back incredulously as the tattoo was revealed to them. Just under Abeebah's shoulder blades was a beautiful rendering of a hooded angel embracing an ancient cross. Gothic letters etched into that very same cross lengthwise spoke the tribute obviously to the younger horsemen, remember.
Suddenly the silence had a whole new meaning. And Abeebah didn't dare look over her shoulder, knowing that there was no way of dodging her siblings' unvoiced demands otherwise. But it was Lue whom stared the hardest, eyes bulging, and not because he was still short of breath from being flattened earlier. Who could their sister trust that she would allow them behind her long enough to do that, who did she know with that skill? The tension piled high, only to be popped by the grumblings of the one treating Abeebah, scolding her for getting in the ring with fresh ink.
Delia snorted, unable to stop herself. Hazel orbs turned on the chaotic horseman with an air of harassment. Hoots of laughter soon followed and Abeebah was grateful for it. It had been a long time since she had been chewed out quite so thoroughly. The darkest horseman made no excuses, and listened carefully to the instructions that he gave as he moved to apply some Vaseline to her irritated skin. Vaguely she registered Brandon, Evan, and Delia deliberately turns their attention to something slightly more festive. Apparently their sister wanted to go clubbing to celebrate. All the more perfect for Abeebah, she had other plans for the rest of her evening.
At the squared circle the spectators' appetites' for blood had been wetted anew with the promo of the Austin Kane feud. And now they awaited the arrival of the two combatants, under of the shadow of the hell in the cell. "It has just come down from the big office JR; the title match will be in the cell!" Lawler told his partner excitedly. And as usual Jim Ross was far from impressed by their employer's latest scheme. "What is Mr. McMahon thinking; doesn't Kane already have enough of an unfair advantage?"
"Of course not like I said earlier, it doesn't pay to cross the boss." "And oh you think it's just fine and dandy that the boss screws everybody, but as soon as the shoe is on the other foot there's something wrong with that." Ignoring the obvious sarcastic bite in his coworker's voice Jerry 'the king' nodded, "exactly."Any response the Oklahoma cowboy was about to give was interrupted by shattering glass. Cheers erupted from every fan as the Texas rattlesnake came strutting down the ramp, WWF championship in one hand, and a beer in the other.
The blue eyed redneck ran up the steel steps, completely ignoring the ominous presence of the cell looming over him as he stepped into the ring and moved to do his signature entrance. To all who were watching, it was the same ol' beer bashing, trash talking, wily Stone Cold. He was in his element despite the conniving plots of the CEO of the WWF. And he froze, just as he was hauling himself up to yet another turnbuckle the pyros went off. The arena went dark with red light just as quickly piercing the gloom.
Kane stepped into the ring, his mind focused and ready. This was his time. Screw his 'father', screw the cage currently being lowered around he and Austin, and screw Vince's mechanics whether they were to his benefit or not. They meant nothing, were nothing. All that mattered was winning the title, and finally having something go right in a long history of wrongs in his relatively short life. The big red machine had fixated on his target, and that target was Stone Cold Steve Austin. And yet still, despite all the thoughts contrary, his heart was elsewhere
Stone Cold struck, fast and furious with multiple blows, quickly taking control of the match. And though he was hardly surprised, Kane made no move to retaliate. Let the explosive temper of the Texan tire itself out. The rattlesnake drove the big man into a corner. And then proceeded to repeatedly kick Kane in the sternum, the pain was nothing new to the big man. But that didn't make the experience any more pleasant. Kane fell unable to stay up right in the heat of Austin's relentlessness.
The referee finally got between them, making the surly rattlesnake back down. Kane didn't dare waste this chance, quickly pulling himself up, and then grasping the smaller man's throat threw him into the corner. Grasping Austin's throat again, the big red machine began to squeeze. He knew that the referee wouldn't allow it to go on, but it wouldn't take much to wring the fight out of the bald wrestler. Kane was right as he vaguely registered the official counting.
Kane abruptly let go, forcefully turning on the referee. The big man stared the small official down as Austin fought to shake away a sudden bout of double vision. The chrisom demon scowled, this was supposed to be first blood match so he wondered why there was even a need for a referee. Austin took this time to role outside the ring near the announce table. Then, retrieving one of the extra chairs that were under the ring, the rattle snake slid back in, weapon in tow. The big red machine never saw the shot coming.
The shot chair shot connected with the teeth rattling force, but Kane managed to stay on his feet. Falling would be inadvisable in a situation with the small, cornered, and very pissed off Texan. Turning around the brunette only managed to once again get hammered by another shot, this time his masked face met the steel and lost. Once again, the big red machine could help but dizzyingly muse on the stupidity of the rules of this match. He couldn't choke Stone Cold, and yet the wily redneck could knock his head in with a chair.
Meanwhile Stone Cold had his own problems as Mankind made an appearance, his own steel chair in hand. Somehow the schizophrenic wrestler had managed to get into the cell without anyone really noticing. Then again it was just Austin and Kane whom didn't notice, everyone had saw the little stunt he and Paul Bearer had pulled outside of the cell with the other official. As a result he now was in a standoff with one of the craziest SOB's on the WWF roster. And by no means had the rattlesnake forgot about Kane, it was only a matter of time before that stupid son of a bitch got up. To say the least Stone Cold Steve Austin was not amused.
Mankind charged finally breaking the stalemate, with the chair held high he had every intention of flattening Stone Cold with. Seeing the obvious maneuver, the rattlesnake lowers his chair so that it was level with the heavier man's sternum. And just as Mankind's chair was about to lay him out, Stone Cold rammed his chair into his stomach, causing him to stumble back. Changing his grip, the blue eyed Texan swung his chair like a baseball bat, catching the curly haired menace in the side. Mankind dropped his chair, and rolled away, trying to escape getting pummeled even more.
Austin went after him smacking the canvas with each miss. Mankind finally managed to get out of the ring, narrowly missing getting hit as the bald headed wrestler's swing followed him through the first and second rope. Cursing the entire time, Stone Cold turned his attention back on Kane, and once again laid him out with a vile chair shot. The weapon connected with the back of the big red machine's cranium just as the big man managed to sit up. And it was so loud everyone was sure that even the chrisom demon's deceased parents could've felt it.
What no one, save the Johns siblings knew, was that Undertaker did feel it. Could feel it as intimately as if it were his own skull being bowed around the unforgiving steel. It nearly drove the giant of a man to his knees. And the elder Calloway brother knew, without a doubt that his brother's title shot match had gone south. Worse still was the knowledge that Kane wouldn't back down, as the dark haired man's greatest strength, and weakness lay in his ability to take a beating. He knew that while Kane's mind was capable of withstanding all kinds of horror, his body would never be able to keep up. And there was no hope whatsoever that Steve would ease up, for he was well aware of the big man's tolerance of pain.
Which left Mark even less options as it concerned the situation that his brother found himself in. The thought of coaching Glen through their link briefly crossed his mind, before it was just as quickly dismissed. His mismatched brother would never listen to him, let alone welcome his presence, especially now. Rocking back on his heels the Deadman gripped at his darkened hair, frustration seeping through every pore. Another jarring pain interrupted his deliberations. And baring his teeth in a truly terrifying grimaced he made his decision, "fuck this."
Inside the ring, Austin had to once again feign off Mankind. Kane was once again down for the count after getting hit for the third time this time with a fire extinguisher. He didn't even know what was going on just feet away from him. The gluten for punishment had returned this time with a bowling ball still inside of the bag. He swung around with both hands like a mace, as Stone Cold cautiously worked his way around him, wary of the very heavy weapon he was wielding. Suddenly Mick Foley let go, sending it hurling. Austin ducked, and once again used the chair as an effective weapon to send the older man packing. But unbeknownst to them, the bag hit the referee knocking him out.
The rattlesnake turned to use the chair on Kane, knowing that the longer he kept the big man down the more time he had to figure out a way to make him bleed. What he didn't see was that the Undertaker was coming. When he felt the ring shit under his feet Austin thought it was Mankind again. Automatically he raised his chair as he turned, not prepared for the chair shot he all but walked into. Metal smacking against metal, smacking into flesh, it didn't take a genius to figure out what gave first. Falling, Stone Cold's face was now a bloody mess. And seeing his work finished Taker left, knowing that it wouldn't take long for his brother and the official to come too. He didn't even look back as he heard the bell ring.
Later that night Mark sat at the edge of his hotel room bed. His elbows on his knees, the Deadman looked utterly miserable. Whatever was occupying his thoughts was eating him from the inside out. 'He felt absolutely wretched,' unable to stop herself, Abeebah approached him, her hands sneaking forward to rest on his thighs. Automatically the big man's frame shook. He looked up, ready to say anything, everything to get her to leave. But one look in those blank hazel orbs stopped whatever rebuke was on his lips.
Kneeling down Abeebah situated herself further between those glorious leather clad thighs. Absently drawing tattooed arms around her back Abeebah rapped her own arms around her bond mate's middle, and rested her head on his upper sternum. A shuddering sigh shook his frame, long auburn lashes shuttering over anguished brightened eyes. Abeebah didn't see his tears. She didn't need to. To know his suffering was enough, to know that she would be just as miserable if she didn't do something was enough.
They stayed in this embrace until all the big man's tears was exhausted, and the grief stricken quaking reduced to tired trembles. And even then Abeebah found it difficult to let go, but she did knowing that Mark's pride would allow for nothing less. But instead of letting her go, her elder bond mate grasped her chin, letting her see his tear stained face. She was trapped, caught by the sheer force behind that piercing gaze. It commanded her to yield and she did, suddenly finding her face being fit between two big palms, and her lips being slowly savored.
Eyes locked, Mark leisurely explored the texture of his bond mate's plump lips, taking his sweet time in reacquainting himself with their citrus like flavor. Abeebah's own tongue darted out playfully trying to catch its abnormally long counterpart. A low chuckle vibrated through them both as the Deadman deftly avoided the questing appendage. Sliding his hands further up and into the thick fall of Abeebah's hair, the red haired man pressed his lips more firmly against her, not letting up on his leisurely exploration.
Abeebah made a half growling noise in the back of her throat, feeling the intense passion of the elder redhead focus upon her. It was like having slivers of ice skitter across her skin, tamping down her overheated nerve endings. But she was still aware of Mark's hands slipping down her waist, and around her flanks, abruptly pulling the dark woman on top of his lap, as he fell back into the bed. Instinctively she braced her hands at either side of his head and clenched her knees against his sides. He toyed with the hem of her pajama top, "take this off."
Dark brow arched mockingly, "and what if I don't? Daddy Deadman gonna spank me?" Immediately she knew it was wrong thing to say as it seemed that an infinite black vortex wanted to swallow them both whole. Acid green orbs froze over into lakes of winter mint with the lethal speed of an avalanche. His hands fell away. And for once Abeebah didn't think to hesitate. Striking, the youngest of the trinity sunk her blunt teeth into Mark's shoulder. The elder Calloway hissed, unable to hold on to the funk he was just about to sink back into. "Woman," his husky drawl held equal parts warning, exasperation, and appreciation as he buried his hands in her curly mop, yanking on the thick bounty.
As she was inevitably dragged away by her hair, Abeebah made sure to retain enough pressure so that her teeth marks would leave welts behind. "No more talking," she implored her best friend, leaning forward, despite the grip firmly entrenched in her hair. Abeebah kissed him, slow thorough with the knowledge that this was one of the few times she would indulge herself in such intimate contact. 'No thinking, just be with me.'