Chapter 5

"And what if I don't? Tell you what, I'll stop when you stop. I'll stop calling you Neanderthal when you knock this DC shit off, whatever the hell it means, and start calling me by my NAME. Emery, in case you forgot it, jackass." Defiance shined through her icy sky blues while staring up at him, though her heart rate had picked up a little when he advanced on her. "You. Don't. Scare. Me. Neanderthal." With every word she said, she poked his chest with her finger and smiled sweetly at him as his face turned a bright shade of red. "So, I highly suggest you leave me the hell alone and take your business to Matthew. Because I'm not helping you." Maybe she was signing her death warrant mouthing off to this giant, but he had angered her to the point where she didn't care about the consequences.

"Hey bitch, you hard of hearing? I did use your name, Emery." She must've had shit between her ears because he had just said it right after coming in the door. Emery he was also provoking him like no one had before. "You're mouthy and you're cocky. You're one of those little broads who thinks her shit doesn't stink and everyone else is wrong." He knew the type. She just happened to have weird glasses and stupid shirts to go with the attitude. "Nothin' a good old-fashioned, passionate ass whipping won't take care of, Dork Chick." He was just the man to deliver it, too.

"No, that would be YOU. You think you're right simply because you don't like what's happening with your character and you feel you need to change it by being vindictive, hurtful, and borderline abusive. Mouthy and cocky, thinking the world revolves around you and shines out of your ass. I got news for you, Deadman, it DOESN'T. I'm not gonna let you push me around." So that's what DC stood for…Emery found it to be a compliment and smiled, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "And thank you, I'm damn proud to be a Dork Chick. Might even put that on a t-shirt and wear it one of these days." Oh wow, his face was turning even redder. "The truth hurts, doesn't it, Mark? Now if you don't mind, I have work to do and you're wasting my time."

The more she spoke, the redder his face grew, but he was also changing their positions while she shot off at the mouth. She was so sure of her place, of herself and her belief that she was protected. By the time he flipped her over his knee, it was too late.

"You're welcome." He said, replying to her 'thank you' and slapped her ass, making sure to get both cheeks evenly. Repeatedly. She wouldn't be sitting down tonight.

Now any normal woman would've been upset by having their backside cracked like a child, but not Emery. She started laughing, openly laughing at the Undertaker while he continued smacking her backside. It wasn't until he shoved her off his lap and to the floor that she looked up at him with glittering sky blues, an evil smirk curving her lips.

"Was that supposed to teach me something? Because that felt damn good, actually." She laughed harder when his face turned into a tomato and actually dropped to her knees, holding her side with tears stinging her eyes. It hurt since she hadn't laughed his hard in a long time.

What the hell was wrong with this chick? She liked it? Did she? Because usually, people who liked their backsides paddled, didn't laugh; they moaned and he wasn't entirely sure what he was feeling right now besides confused. His hands knew what they wanted to do and wanted to wrap themselves around her scrawny little neck and strangle her until she recited the dialogue from that stupid game on her shirt backwards.

"You're fucked up, lady." Mark snarled, his low baritone flat. "You touch my shit again, or put up anymore posters, and I'm going to bury your ass in someone's backyard." If she left him alone, he'd just… stay away.

Crazy was like STDs – catching.

"I didn't touch your shit. Do you need to clean YOUR ears out now? I told you, I didn't do the flyers. I did the spray painting on your dressing room door and your bike because you decided to be an asshole and destroyed my t-shirt, my expensive Alienware laptop and wrote in BLACK INK on my forehead." Emery stood up to her feet, cracking her neck and planted her hands on her hips. "Maybe if you would've – I don't know – treated me with a little more respect and asked me NICELY, I might've considered helping you out with Matthew. But since you wanted to be a bullying asshole, well…you reap what you sow in this world, don't you?" Walking around to sit down behind her desk, Emery folded her hands on her desk and stared at him coolly.

"I'm sorry, the first time I actually spoke to you, I shouldn't have called you DC." He said finally, staring at her and just shrugged. "But, that aside, I wasn't an asshole to you then; I was just straightforward." That was his manner. "You're the one who dismissed me after telling me off for not using your… girl's name." Mark remembered that quite well. "All I wanted to do was talk to you and, instead, you got on your sarcastic little high horse. If you would've just slowed your roll…" And not been a bitch, he probably wouldn't have turned her forehead into a graffiti wall. "Remember that, sweetheart, you reap what YOU sow." He mockingly bowed to her before walking out. If she'd crawl back underneath her weird little rock, he'd just forget all about her.

If not… backyard burial.

If Mark Calaway knew what was good for him, he would leave her alone and deal with whatever lines she came up with for his character. Shaking her head, she opened her laptop and began typing again, unable to focus however. Her backside was burning, no doubt it would be bruised, but it didn't bother her he'd done it. Emery was weird – a dorky chick – and also an adrenaline junkie. Mark had learned that the hard way by trying to scare her on his bike and then spanking her. Looking at the paperwork on her desk, Emery tried getting her mind focused on work and not the giant Neanderthal that had somewhat rocked her world in his own twisted way.

It had been a very long night for Matthew. He had been found in the trunk of that stupid rental, after it had been towed, and caught a cab back to work. He had made it in time to hear the altercation between the Undertaker and Emery. He wasn't able to see anything, but… it sounded intense and not all that professional at all. Deciding tonight what he was going to do, now… now Taker had cemented it for him. He was done being the gopher, the beating post, all of it. Matthew would start getting what he wanted. That meant just one thing: Emery had to go.

For the next month, Emery's life had gone from quiet to chaotic and she had no idea why. Someone was going around the backstage area and purposefully angering the Undertaker. The worst part was he thought it was her and it wasn't! She was done with the childish games; she'd gotten her revenge on him for her laptop and t-shirt by spray painting his bike. However, apparently, whoever was doing this to Undertaker had put itching powder in his wrestling tights and messed with his personal belongings.

Emery watched Smackdown! from her makeshift office and saw Undertaker keep pulling at his tights, trying not to seem too obvious about it. She was a very observant person though, sky blues narrowed on the monitor. His bellowing throughout the arena told her clear as day someone had pranked him and she could only pray Paul had stopped his antics. When she confronted her friend about it, Paul swore up and down he had nothing to do with whatever was going on with the Deadman. It confused Emery to no end…and she was getting pretty fed up with the accusations from the Neanderthal, to say the least.

It wasn't long after Mark started being sabotaged that word was Emery also had issues too. He had never paid attention to gossip about those who weren't wrestlers until now, but… he was. Reflecting on it, he scrubbed his balls, trying to get that crap off of him. That had just been embarrassing, having that problem out there in front of an audience. The Undertaker had crotch itch, he groaned and rolled his eyes. This was the second week in a row that particular joke had been used and he was livid. If it was her, or one of her stupid friends, he would kill them all.

"Oh shit." Randy grumbled softly, staring at what used to be Emery's brand new Alienware laptop. It was now just a pile of junk; someone had smashed it to hell and back twice. "Em…"

Gritting her teeth at the sight of her brand new Alienware smashed to pieces, Emery could feel the tears burning her eyes. What the hell did she do to deserve this treatment? This was NOT what Emery signed up for.

"That mother fucker…" She knew exactly who had done it and stormed out of her makeshift office, only for Randy to stop her. "Get out of my way!"

"Whoa – whoa, just think about this for a second, Em, okay? Please? I know you're upset, but confronting the Undertaker is NOT gonna do you any good." Randy could see the fury in her icy blues and swallowed hard, hoping he didn't get a knee to his nutsack for trying to save her neck. "We'll get you another one, just calm down."

"No, fuck this." She was going straight to Vince McMahon himself, fed up with this nonsense and demanding a new proxy since Matthew was incapable of doing his job.

When Matthew was called into Vince's office and then berated for 'not doing his job', he frowned. "What are you talking about? I've been putting out fires all night. The Undertaker is on a rampage, Batista is pissed because Taker won't talk to him about this line, and-" He sighed when he was told to shut up and about Emery's laptop being destroyed. "Another one?" He wiped sweaty hair off his pale forehead, flinching. Another Alienware, those things did not come cheap and the company did not reimburse private property, not when they provided. "Look, I'm sorry her property was vandalized, but that sounds like Taker and I'm not getting in his way anymore. I was locked in a trunk, Vince, and then… then I was towed."

"Oh, right. When was this?"

All he could do was stand there, shaking his head. "I'll handle it."

After ordering ANOTHER laptop, Emery decided to call it an early night before she did something irrational, like destroy Taker's motorcycle the same way he did her Alienware. Did he realize how expensive these things were? Vince wouldn't replace it either because it wasn't company property, which infuriated her further. However, he had written her a check out of his own personal account, one of them, to buy a new one. It didn't come out of company funds and she was grateful, thanking him. It was bad enough she'd already had to shell out for the previous laptop, only for that Neanderthal to destroy it. Rubbing her temples, Emery slid into her rental vehicle and turned the ignition, frowning when it wouldn't start. The car was completely dead.

"What the hell?" Getting out and popping the hood, her jaw dropped at the sight of SEVERAL vital parts that made the car run MISSING. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"Sucks to be you."

Mark snorted, walking right on by her, his bag over his shoulder and in loose fitting track pants. He had shaved downstairs, figuring no hair meant no powder could cling. Yeah, wrong. So wrong and his night had been MADE by visiting the trainer's room for an anti-itching cream, that he then discovered couldn't be used until the open wounds from the scratching had closed. Hell on earth and it was her fault. Or her stupid friends. He spotted Paul London coming, obviously to DC's aid and co-cocked him.

"Stay the fuck outta my way, boy." He growled, handling them when he could tolerate the fire near his balls.

"Cock bite…" Paul groaned, wondering what he had done.

"Yeah, fuck you too, Neanderthal! Thanks for destroying my laptop, AGAIN, and now my rental!" That made him stop in his tracks while she went over to help Paul to his feet.

Paul immediately put her behind him, shielding any onslaught that might be directed at Emery and narrowed his eyes. "What the hell, man?! I didn't do anything to you and neither did she!"

"Paul…it's okay. He's an asshole, who obviously can't let anything go and has to ruin other people's lives." Emery snorted, shaking her head and pulled her friend away from an irate Undertaker. "Come on, let's leave Neanderthal alone with his…issues." He probably had crabs from a ring rat or something, which disgusted her at the mere thought.

Mark hadn't done anything to her lately, not that she would bother listening or believe him, so he seen no point at all in pointing that out. Instead, his acidic eyes narrowed at each word the bitch said. She was probably fucking both Paul London and Randy Orton, that was the only way he could see her still having this job. What the hell did she even do anyway? Service Matthew most likely and he snorted at the idea.

Paul did text Randy about what had happened, including the laptop incident and the rental. Emery was going to wind up broke as a joke if she had to keep shelling out all this money. The Undertaker would find his room service bill in the thousands in the morning. Randy hadn't been amused, but at least, Emery would have a nice meal when she got back to the hotel.

"Whoa…"

Emery blinked at the tray FULL of food waiting for her upon getting back to her room, tilting her head. She didn't order any of this. Frowning, she plucked the card off the top of the tray and raised a slow brow, seeing it was from Undertaker.

"No way. No fucking way would he order all of this for me."

Shrugging, Emery was too tired to question it and rolled the tray into her room, kicking the door shut. Her new laptop would be arriving at the next area the following day. She just hoped WOW didn't kick her off since she'd missed quite a few meetings lately. After a shower, Emery brushed her hair out and settled in for the night, vegging on the delicious food the 5 star the WWE was staying in provided.

Around 2 AM, she finally fell asleep.

The bill Mark was hit with at checkout the next morning made his eyes nearly pop out of his skull. Who the hell ordered T-bones, and wings… wine and beer, onion rings, chocolate cakes, and whatever the hell the rest of this was, off the menu? Hotel food was already overpriced and these were the most expensive items on the damn list! His card was on file and it had been billed; he was less than pleased. Mark had no idea who he had apparently sent it to, but a little wheedling got him a room number. He headed back upstairs, planning on getting his money back, either in cash or flesh.