Miz is settled in front of a monitor, getting ready for his match against Orton. He's only main evented a time or two before and each time makes him nervous- especially now, when he knows that the email GM hates him. It's really a make or break situation. Thankfully he does well at difficult challenges so he chooses to put it out of his mind, watching as Morrison and Khali talk for awhile. He rolls his eyes as Morrison mentions the Magnificent Seven- such an outdated reference- but things grow a bit more interesting as Morrison leaves and Tarver and Otunga approach Khali, inviting him to Nexus.
John enters the locker room a few seconds after the segment ends, fiddling around with his cell phone when Miz clears his throat obnoxiously. Morrison looks up, his stance immediately wary as he peers at his forced partner. "Gotta problem, Miz?"
"No, but I think you do," he says and damn it brings some satisfaction to see the look of doubt in Morrison's eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"Nexus just approached Khali," he comments with a gleeful smirk. "They want him on their team. Why, I don't know, but hey... they do seem to enjoy the powerful, dim-witted types..."
Morrison shakes his head. "I was just with Khali-"
"Yeah, it happened after you left. Guess the old powers of observation are off today, huh?" With another cocky smirk, the money in the bank holder secures both his briefcase and US title, overdramatizing each movement to draw attention to them even more to aggravate John further, and leaves.
Morrison scrubs his face and sighs.
He's relieved he left the locker room when he did as he watches hell freeze over- Jericho and Edge abruptly patch up their problems based on their mutual hatred of Cena and the Raw team. Where egos tore apart the Raw team last week, their opinions of their own self-worth had made these two former friends come together- it may not last forever but it still makes Miz feel odd as he witnesses it. He tugs at his briefcase handle as he watches the Canadians hug and shakes his head. "How disgusting," he mutters, an odd look on his face. Despite himself, he wonders what Morrison is thinking from wherever he's watching at.
"Whatever," he grumbles, returning to mentally preparing for his match against Orton.
He feels stupid as he talks about how he'll make Orton pay for RKOing him last week, and how his moment will occur as soon as possible whether Orton beats Sheamus or not- the threat against his US title still lingers over his head and he doesn't want to risk the email GM's wrath again so he bites his tongue almost hard enough to taste blood, cursing how he has to censor himself about the plans for his briefcase before his match.
The ending to his match against Orton comes quickly- it feels like one minute he's thisclose to locking in the skull crushing finale, the next he's laid out from an RKO, staring up at the lights in confusion, his ears ringing. It's the second RKO in a week and he's still not used to the pain that stabs through his neck down to his back. Even though he's put on a good match and gave Orton a challenge, he feels aggravated- he's better than Orton! Why can't he beat him? He slams his fist down on the mat and closes his eyes as the audience seems to mock him with their cheers.
It's his luck that the first person he sees upon reaching the back with a ref's assistance is of course John Morrison. He glares at him for a long moment before snapping, "What?"
He shrugs calmly, hopping off of the crate that he's been stretching on probably for lack of anything better to do, and takes a few steps closer, his eyes locked on something over Miz's shoulder. "Nothing. I didn't have a match tonight so I was just hanging out."
"Yeah, that's the problem with you, isn't it? Hanging out. When did you become so lax?" Miz spits. "If you do something to cause us from winning the tag titles when the time comes, I swear, Morrison. What I've done to you since the draft will feel like child's play." If his neck doesn't throb at the end of every word, he'd be up in his tag partner's face, prodding him physically as well.
After a few moments of glaring, Miz turns and sees what John's been looking at- a few feet away, Edge and Jericho stand, talking calmly through strategy for next week.
Morrison mumbles something that sounds like can't be that easy, can it? from behind him and Miz spins around, blinking against the sudden dizziness. Stupid, he berates himself. "What did you say?" he demands, breathing heavily to keep his wits about him.
John shrugs once more. "Nothing, Miz. Nothing at all." He looks blankly ahead as Miz glowers.
"Keep it that way." He turns more cautiously this time and heads back to the locker rooms to check in with the trainer, ice his neck again and get ready to leave. No matter how Morrison's words, which he had heard, would stick with him, even they're not enough for him to stay and continue snipping with John. Not tonight.
