"Most times I don't know what to think," Miz mumbles, staring out over the pale blue horizon. His gaze lowering, he takes in how the waves crest, causing the edge of the beach to glisten anew in the brilliant sunshine. "Don't say anything," he warns off the joke that would surely follow that comment. Regaining his thoughts, he sighs, digging his fingers in the soft, sun-dried sand surrounding them. "You'd think after all this time someone would figure out this Anon GM thing or the information would leak... something. But nope. Politicians and celebrities can't keep a secret if their lives depended on it but this guy... nothing."
John Morrison glances over at him, his eyebrows raising up close to his hairline. "Next thing you'll say even the Anon GM doesn't know who he is," he smirks, shifting the ever present sunglasses over his face.
Rolling his eyes, Mike huffs. "Ha-ha-ha," he says exaggeratedly, flopping back against the warm beach towel as he crosses his arms over his chest in frustration. "I wonder what Austin will do on Monday. Didn't think much could be worse than the Anon GM but if anyone could manage it, it'd probably be him." Waiting for a response, he tilts his head to look over at John, who's staring blankly ahead at the people wandering across the beach, also enjoying this beautiful Thursday afternoon. "Earth to Morrison," he says loudly. When his former tag partner finally glances over, he rolls his eyes, lifting his own sunglasses up so he can see him clearer. "What are you thinking about?"
"Huh? Oh, nothing," he says quickly. His accompanying smile is sharp and bright; Mike doesn't buy it for a moment. "You don't have good luck with GMs."
Mike grumbles, playing along with the obvious attempt at distraction. "Yeah, no joke. I guess I intimidate them."
John's smile turns into another smirk, eye roll combo that they both end up using very often when around the other for extended periods of time. "Yeah, that must be it," he says, sarcasm dripping from his lips.
He smirks and closes his eyes, absorbing the sun rays quietly. I wouldn't be surprised if people think we still hate each other, the way we act around each other sometimes.
Despite it all, when he had an afternoon off, he had gone to talk with Morrison, his uncertainties about both the Anon GM and Austin this upcoming week grating at him until he couldn't stand it, needed something else to focus on. The beach thing had been all John, who took one look at Mike standing at his apartment door before ducking out of the room just to return a few moments later, hastily zipping up a small duffel bag. Before he could verbalize any of the many questions bouncing around his skull, John was pushing him back down the hallway, looking more excited than he had in the few times Mike had seen him since his neck surgery. For this reason, and the uncertain status of his neck itself, Miz hadn't fought him. All in all, the destination could've been worse, he thinks, curling his bare toes in the warm sand. Peeking his right eye open, he observes the far off look on John's face once more, frowning a bit. What are you hiding...?
Morrison's mysterious attitude on Thursday comes into clear clarity not long into WWE's All Star three hour special, Miz still steaming over the whole Piper's Pit thing. He's half listening as the commentary team freak out over R Truth mocking and attacking Hornswoggle when Austin interrupts, his whole body tensing in response to the temporary GM's mere voice. As Austin begins talking about a match for Truth, Mike looks up in time to see his former tag partner on the titantron, grinning into the camera. "No way," he mumbles, half out of the locker room before the next words could come out of Austin's mouth.
Sense overtakes anger just in time and he pauses outside of the temporary office set up for Austin, knowing better than to storm inside. The Piper's Pit thing is annoying enough, who knows what else he'd do then. He shuffles around outside of the door, glaring up at it now and again as he waits.
After what feels like an hour, the door finally opens and he turns to stare at an unsurprised Morrison as he saunters into the hallway, the very picture of calm and collected. "I had a feeling it wouldn't take you long to find me," he says simply, leaning against the door frame.
"You idiot." He shakes his head, taking a deep breath in an unhelpful attempt to calm his nerves. "What are you doing here?"
"Doctors cleared me last Wednesday," he comments, his lips twitching slightly as Miz glares at him anew.
"Why didn't you tell me before now? A match against Truth? Are you kidding me?" he spits, eyes flashing as he fights the instinct to grab Morrison's sunglasses and shatter them- not for the first time, or probably last.
"This is why I didn't," he responds after a tense moment. "I had enough people telling me it was too soon, I didn't want to hear it from you too."
"Maybe you should listen to them?" he suggests. "I mean, God, John. Neck injuries aren't something you screw with-"
"Don't you think I know that!" Morrison snaps, suddenly losing his calm veneer. Even though his tinted glasses, his dark gaze bores into Miz intensely. "I'm the one who just went through surgery and weeks of rehab just to get to this point. I've been cleared by my rehab specialist and main doctor, along with WWE's. I'm going to make R Truth pay tonight, and there's nothing you or anyone else can do to stop me."
They glare at each other for a few minutes before Miz realizes they're still outside of Austin's office, this close to having a screaming match. "Fine," he hisses, ignoring the curious stares still locked on them from fellow wrestlers, divas and tech staff members alike. "When this backfires, don't come crying to me." He doesn't look back as he storms away, barely offering a glance to Alex as he passes him, easing some of his anger by slamming the locker room door shut behind him.
No one bugs him as he crashes his way through the room, dropping heavily on a bench as far away from the monitor as possible. I refuse to watch, he thinks viciously, not wanting to label the other emotions mixed in with his red hot anger. He's not sure how long he sits there, ignoring everything around him. He's so reckless and stupid, he dwells disparagingly, picking at some lint on his slacks. Finally, Morrison's music plays and Miz tries to focus on anything but. All pretenses fall, however, when the commentators make a big deal out of his not appearing- Definitely an out of character move. He loves the slo-mo entrance as much as he does his frickin sunglasses...--, and his music restarts. As the few other superstars in the locker room start whispering about why John hasn't appeared, Mike turns slowly on the bench, now facing the monitor. I have a bad feeling, he thinks, the worried glint in his pale blue eyes growing as he watches Truth's reaction, Ain't No Make Believe playing for the third time.
When Truth goes to find him, Miz's fists clench on his knees. He's unsurprised as Truth finds John down, his side pressed against a wall not that far from the locker room Mike's in currently as he clutches his neck. The fear in Morrison's gaze is palpable despite the camera angle as Truth leans down so they're eye to eye, mocking and belittling him. Mike is about to run out, Anon GM's decisions be damned, when Truth gets up, a cruel look on his maddened face as his eyes fall on a nearby trunk on wheels. Oh hell no, he all but screams mentally as the demented man lunges for the blue plastic container and pushes it with all his strength at the unmoving man, the referees scattering in a too-slow attempt to stop him.
The moment blurs for Mike, his eyes locked on how Morrison disappears completely behind the large container. The murmurs and movement comes to a sudden stop in the locker room, all eyes on Miz as he hesitates on his feet, staring blankly at the TV screen.
"Hey, bro-" Zack Ryder speaks up, reaching out for him but missing as the former world champion pushes past him, grabbing desperately for the door.
It takes only moments but feels like hours until he arrives at the scene, Truth thankfully long gone and the trunk pushed off to the side as the referees and trainers attempt to move and examine Morrison, reminding him now and again not to move his neck even as he tries to get himself away from that damn wall. His hands are cupping his face and, damn it, he's whimpering now and again, which proves more than anything just how bad it is.
Mike ignores the referees and tech staff who try to hold him back, pushing them away until finally he's close enough to touch Morrison, dropping to his knees next to him. Bolstered by the faint groan Morrison releases a second later, he rests a hand on his upper arm carefully, sliding it down to rest on his wrist. "Hey, Johnny."
John stiffens for a moment before relaxing, his voice shaky and muffled behind his hands as he asks, "Mike?"
"Yeah." He licks his lips anxiously before leaning closer. "Can you move your hands? This is getting kinda freaky, man." Reluctantly, slowly, he complies, Miz shifting back slightly so he has room to put both hands down on the cool tile floor. His eyes soften slightly as he takes in his former tag partner's sweaty, pained face. He finds himself missing the once hated sunglasses as he locks eyes with John, taking in the weary pain there. He lightly squeezes Morrison's wrist, half-heartedly smiling as John takes in a deep, shuddery breath. "It's gonna be ok."
John swallows visibly, his hand twitching against the floor. He doesn't speak again until they're ready to transport him, neck held in place by a brace and hands strapped to his chest to keep him immobile as they prepare to push yet another stretcher through the halls.
Miz rests a hand on John's shoulder carefully, ducking his head down a bit so John can hear him over the many voices and sounds surrounding them. "Listen, I have to handle this whole Piper's Pit nonsense ... I'll check in on you as soon as I can, yeah?"
John stares at him for a moment before licking his lips. "Alright," he murmurs, sounding as wiped out as he looks, his eyes already fluttering closed as they take him away.
Mike stands there for a few moments, watching for a moment before he turns, coming face to face with Alex. Despite being unsurprised at his appearance, he raises an eyebrow at the younger man as he hovers there uncomfortably. They've not hung out in public for obvious reason since his "firing", so he goes forward carefully. Snaps, "What do you want?", balancing anger and weariness just so that it looks believable. Hopefully, anyhow.
"He going to be alright?"
Keeping up the charade, Mike scoffs. "Oh, now you care about John. In case you missed it, he had a trunk rammed into him just weeks after neck surgery. So, no, I'd say he's not going to be 'alright'," he rants, stabbing viciously at nothing as he makes air quotes. He storms closer, getting up in Alex's space, more aware of the eyes on them than he has been since the beginning of the night. He speaks quietly so only Alex can hear him, keeping the pissed look on his face. "We argued earlier about him returning too soon," he hisses softly. "I stormed off. If that hadn't happened- if I had stuck around, kept on him, maybe-"
Alex's expression doesn't change, instead leaning closer so they're almost nose to nose, making it look like another one of their "heated confrontations". "It's not your fault," he whispers just as quietly, carefully. "Who knew Truth would pull this crap?"
Miz shakes his head, his lips twisting into an angry snarl as he dismisses Alex's attempts at making him feel better. "I should've. I've tagged with Truth, recently. I pretty much know better than anyone just how far off the rails the freak is, but I let my anger get the better of me and now look..." They stare at each other for a moment longer, Alex struggling to think of something, anything to say to possibly calm his former mentor down, before Mike turns and walks away, right towards the offending trunk.
Alex watches quietly as he pauses half-way past it, his whole stance tensing up before he half-spins and kicks it hard, denting the thin plastic, instantly carrying on to the ring for Piper's Pit without any physical sign of what he just did, despite how his foot must be aching. This isn't going to end well, he thinks, walking slowly after him to wait for his own cue.
After Piper's Pit degenerates into... that ridiculous sham of a match that saw Miz screwed out of $5000 and some more credibility/respect/what have you, he returns to the locker room reluctantly. He doesn't blame Alex for doing what he did, the kid sometimes surprises him with what he'll do to make the Anon GM- and everyone else- believe that they hate each other, and even though it rankles, the money doesn't bother him that much. It's just another drop in the flood of suckiness that's been his week... month... year?
Shrugging these thoughts away as best as he can, he goes straight for his duffel, anxious to get out of the arena and check on Morrison. He's barely stuck a hand in when he hears andfeels it- the telltale creaking noise of plastic, which makes no sense as there was no plastic in his bag. Uncertain if it's some locker room prank, he carefully fishes the cool plastic out of his clothes. As soon as he unearths it, his breath stutters.
Morrison's sunglasses, amazingly undamaged after that attack from R Truth, sits in his palm, the rhinestone crosses sparkling in the faint light overhead. He frowns, looking around at the few people still scattered around and focuses on Primo. I'm still not used to being in the main locker room, he thinks, missing the private locker room that had been his during the duration of his title reign. "Hey, did you see anyone around my bag?"
The Puerto Rican wrestler pauses for a moment in thought before nodding, returning to his own business. "Alex Riley was in here when I came in but I didn't see what he was doing."
Miz pauses, chuckles. Of course...