Miz is starting to feel like a spy with all of the sneaking he's been doing the last few weeks, an amused gleam in his eyes as he slips into yet another poorly lit locker room. "Hey," he greets Alex Riley, smirking slightly as the kid looks up. "Take this." He tosses a couple bottles of water over, along with odds and ends he's grabbed from catering.
As the former NXT rookie goes to work on the sub and chips, Miz settles across from him and watches quietly for a minute before his gaze drops back to his title belt. He and Alex have worked together for a few months now but it still surprises him how easily he went from being a loner after the whole ShowMiz thing back to... this. He knows the advantages of people having his back but he also knows the weaknesses- someone almost always around who witnesses everything and knows just what to do or say to become better than you. To take your spot in the pecking order.
"Mike? You ok?" Alex asks, pausing midway through eating as he takes in his mentor's distracted gaze.
"Huh? Sure, I'm fine," he mumbles, trying to shake himself out of the funk he's dragged himself into. "We need to discuss tonight though." Before either can say anything, however, the telltale pyro/music mix goes off, marking the beginning of Raw. "Crap," Mike mumbles. "I want to kick the show off." He pauses at the doorway, looking back at his rookie. "Take your place in the audience just in case. The Email GM is back to his old tricks."
"Ok, I'll be ready," Alex nods, quickly stuffing the meager remains of his food into a bag.
Miz doesn't even bother to look back, well aware that as he heads resolutely to the ring, Alex is already going the short way around the building to the entrance to get into the audience with the fourth row ticket that they scored from a fan who was more than willing to give up their chance to see Cenaaaaaa for $500.
His paranoia is founded as the GM interrupts him addressing his accomplishment the week before to announce two new matches- Cena vs Alberto Del Rio and Miz vs... Khali. Of course. Miz may have the speed advantage but Khali has size and strength. On top of that, Morrison's advice from the week before to take it easy before Wrestlemania- and that was for Sheamus, he didn't even factor in someone like Khali!- echoes through Miz's mind, not to mention the match later in the evening against Sheamus for his US title.
When he gets just too overcome by the large man's sheer power, he spots Alex running forward out of the corner of his eye and relaxes, preparing for the tide to turn. It results in a disqualification but he doesn't care as his protege runs out of the ring and grabs a steel chair, slinging it inside. All of his tension from the past few months bleeds out of his fingers into the weapon as he slams it again and again across Khali's back, cutting him open as the chair cracks under the onslaught. Finally sated, his anger drained from him for now, he pulls away and stares down at what he's done as he breathes deeply. With a derisive sneer at the referees and trainers trying to keep him away from Khali, he throws the chair to one side and rolls out of the ring to catch up with Alex.
"So what do you want to happen with the Sheamus match?" Alex asks once Miz returns to his private locker room, still clinging to the busted up chair. "I might be able to find a different hiding spot-"
"No," Miz interrupts, shaking his head. "You did exactly what I needed you to do. I'll handle Sheamus on my own. The last thing I need is the anonymous GM to think of something else tonight."
"Ok," Alex says uncertainly. "If you change your mind, just let me know."
"I won't," Mike mutters, his eyes dropping down to the title belt in his hands. "Thanks anyway."
For a wild, crazy moment, Miz thinks he has a chance- Sheamus falls out of the ring like he did last week against Daniel Bryan and the count begins, but he recovers quickly and rolls back inside.
Reluctantly he goes back after Sheamus, attacking him with kicks and punches, aimed at his possibly injured leg from the week before. Gaining some momentum, he rushes for the ropes to knee Sheamus in the face but the Irishman gets back to his feet in the blink of an eye, spinning with his hands clasped before slamming them both into Miz's chest, sending him back against the turnbuckle, his upper body throbbing with each breath or movement. "Oh, God," he wheezes, hand splayed against his collarbone and down as he tries to regulate his breathing.
Sheamus, however, is not forgiving as he lunges forward and hits his running Brogue Kick, sending Miz flush against the turnbuckle before he falls limp. He barely registers as he's dragged out of the ropes to the center of the ring, or when he's pinned to the three count.
When he finally focuses on his surroundings once more, Sheamus is stumbling backwards out of the ring, title belt gripped tightly in hand. He's unable to look away as the redhaired man leans against the black barricade wall, trying to catch his breath even as he stares down, captivated by the US title gripped tightly in his hands.
As Miz watches, exhausted and angry, an emboldened female fan standing just behind Sheamus reaches out and, grabbing him around the neck, kisses him. "What the hell?" he mouths, jaw dropping as Sheamus dazedly waves off the security that come running. "Fangirls never try to make out with me!"
Alex greets him as he returns to the locker room a little later, unusually quiet and somber. "I'm sorry," he says awkwardly, handing over the WWE title that Miz had left in his care so all of his focus could be on defending the US title. "Are you going to try to get the title back?" As soon as the words slip out of his mouth, he knows it's a stupid thing to ask- almost everyone who's lost a belt tries and tries and tries to get it back.
So when Miz answers, it surprises Alex. "No." That's all he says. But Alex finds he doesn't need any further explanation as he tracks his mentor's gaze, finding it locked upon the all-important WWE title.
The US belt would always be important to Miz, but for now his focus would remain on Wrestlemania and retaining the WWE title.
Miz remains quiet and thoughtful until it's time to get ready to interrupt Alberto Del Rio vs Cena... Alex somehow manages to keep his laughter to himself as he gets a good look at his mentor wearing the bald cap. "Good luck," he manages, holding his breath until Mike is out of hearing range before dissolving into laughter.
"Well, isn't this cute?"
Miz sucks in a deep breath as he comes to a stop, half-turning towards his former tag partner, who's leaning calmly against a wall, arms crossed as he peers at Miz's interesting outfit. "Why the hell are you always around to catch me at the most embarassing moments, Morrison?"
"It's a gift," he comments smoothly, pushing away from the wall and joining Miz. "Who do you think you're gonna fool with this?"
"Uhhh, let's see... kids who know no better and their equally dimwitted parents? Maybe some nearsighted people while I'm at it?" He pauses to ponder it and shrugs. "Nope, think that's about it."
John rolls his eyes. "So... things alright?"
Miz blanches slightly, knowing that he's fishing around about the title loss earlier but chooses to brush it off instead, keep his focus on the potential attack against Cena. "I think I should be asking you that. Snooki didn't give you anything, did she, while you two were talking?" He takes a few steps to the side, as if afraid to touch Morrison.
"Oh, shut up."
"And you get to team up with her at Wrestlemania... lucky, lucky you," he says, smirking. "Hopefully the crew remembers to sanitize the tag rope and turnbuckle once she's gone."
"Says the man formerly alligned with Extreme Expose," John mutters dryly, smirking as Miz rolls his eyes. They both stop bickering as they discover they're already at the gorilla position, techs openly staring at Miz as he checks himself over quickly to make sure he's ready.
"Well, here we go," he mumbles quietly, turning to the entrance to the ramp. He may have lost the US title but here, now, he will begin to do everything to hold onto the WWE title.