The Miz grimaces as he shifts his US belt from one shoulder to the other. Things aren't going well lately. First the GM blocks him from cashing in his briefcase, then Morrison refuses to concentrate on the tag belts for even a minute... then, after Cena, Bret and Jericho all tried convincing him to join the team, Cena changed his mind and announced at the last minute that he had recruited Daniel Bryan, obviously timed just so to embarrass him. What was that? His fists clench as he thinks about how ridiculous it was to take him off the team and replace him with the wanna-be, and the smirk on Morrison's face at the reveal.
His stewing is interrupted as the Hart Dynasty walks past, talking with Bret Hart. He gets one look at the new tag titles and shakes his head. They're ugly. Second rate, like all things bronze are. The Unified belts did hold some intrigue for him- he had lost out on them more than he had won them, after all, and after all of this time, winning them with John Morrison did hold some ironic appeal for him... but looking at their replacements leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth. They don't look deserving of being The Miz's titles.
Morrison probably loves them. He huffs.
John Morrison looks unimpressed as he walks back with R Truth after losing to Nexus. Truth's attempts at consoling him has fallen short so he doesn't look around as they head for the locker room, not ready to see pity or anger on the faces of his fellow competitors- he's not the only one who's lost tonight, after all, but it still grates at him.
Not looking around doesn't block his other senses, unfortunately, as he hears an obviously sarcastic clapping nearby. He's leaning over his bag when the sound comes closer, and he reluctantly looks up, somehow not surprised that it's Miz standing in front of him, a sneer on his face. "I see why you don't want to go after the tag titles," Miz says, his voice low and angry. "You've lost all tag ability. It's sad, really."
"Shut up, Miz." He's too tired and aggravated to deal with this so he grabs his bag, planning on giving up and just going to the rental car in his wrestling gear but his bag doesn't move. He looks down to find Miz standing on one of the straps, refusing to let him leave.
"No, no, you're not getting away from me until you hear me. And I mean seriously hear me."
R Truth moves closer but Miz glares warningly at him as Morrison holds a hand up. "It's fine, Truth. Go ahead."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'll see you at the car, man. It'll be fine," he reassures his reluctant friend, never looking away from Miz as they stand at an impasse. "Say what you want to say, I have places to be."
"Sure you do." Miz doesn't move away even when Morrison drops his bag's handle, sitting down on a bench and mindlessly unwrapping his wrist tape. "I plan on challenging for the tag belts before the next pay per view."
"Good for you," Morrison says quietly, scraping at the remnants of the tape on his skin.
"When I do, you will not screw up the opportunity for me. You'll be at the top of your game and we will win. Or else..."
"Or else what?"
"I'll end you," he spits, his blue eyes boring into John's darker ones. "So don't mess up." They glare at each other tensely for a long moment before Miz grabs his briefcase and leaves, the only sign he was there the shoe-shaped depression on Morrison's bag's strap.
He groans, abruptly dreading next week. "Damn."
