Eight weeks to Wrestlemania and the backstage area is already a mad house, people running around working on this and that, shouting back and forth instructions to each other in regards to this promo package and that sound bite. Not to mention the wrestlers themselves, the nonstop buzz at an all time high. Vince McMahon being around always adds to the anxious energy in the building.
Miz shakes his head at the crazy amount of activity around him as he wanders through the halls, only stopping long enough to listen to a stage hand, who explains just before he reaches the gorilla position that Morrison's match is still going on and he'll have to wait to address Jerry Lawler's win last week. Pfft, telling the WWE champion to wait, he thinks in annoyance, continuing on his way.
After glancing out a moment, he spots Morrison finishing up his match against McGillicutty and shrugs, motioning to a waiting Alex before stepping away from the bulk of the activity around the gorilla area. Should only take a minute or two more, he decides, settling against the wall. He's distracted from staring at his precious title belt by running footsteps and looks up just in time to catch sight of CM Punk rushing towards the titantron. What the...?
He and Alex exchange glances before he steps forward, looking past the curtains in time to see Punk spray Morrison right in the face with... something, before downing the blinded, struggling man with a kick right to the skull. "Damn," he breathes, eyes widening as trainers and referees rush down to help him up and keep Punk away. Morrison's loud, hoarse coughs echo around the hallway, coming from the monitors, and Miz's hands clench into fists at the sound.
Punk looks ten kinds of thrilled with himself and his New Nexus as he returns to the back, McGillicutty stumbling along behind him with his head down. Despite the loss, Punk claps him on the back with a large smile on his face before heading to the locker room New Nexus had commandeered.
Miz watches his progress with a mulish glare on his face, his attention only divided when the group of referees and trainers lead Morrison carefully through the curtains. "I can't see," he says, his voice rough and a little desperate as the referees gently ease him onto the floor, moving aside so the trainer can look him over more thoroughly. "It stings." Even his breathing sounds rough and Miz can't help but wonder how much of the spray got into his mouth and nose.
Miz inches closer, his upcoming time in the ring all but forgotten as he takes a good look at John. Small particles of whatever it is that Punk sprayed him with are caking his face and hair, clinging to his very eyelashes.
"Ok John," the trainer says, waiting patiently to continue talking as the man coughs again, his throat probably stinging as bad as his eyes. "We're going to get some water and eyedrops, see what we can do to dilute what's in your eyes, ok?"
"Fine," he mumbles, wiping at his face with an unsteady hand.
"Don't touch your eyes," the trainer warns. "Don't want to get any more of that chemical in there." He stands up, motioning to a nearby referee.
As they step away to talk about what to do, Miz takes his opportunity and squats down across from Morrison, a strange feeling of deja vu coursing through him that he promptly ignores. He takes a closer look at him and cringes, shaking his head as white hot anger towards Punk courses through him. Wet tracks down John's cheeks wash away the remaining chemicals scattered across his face, his tightly closed eyes still watering nonstop from the attack. If Punk wins the Elimination Chamber, I swear, I'll make him pay at Wrestlemania, he surprises himself by thinking. The awkward silence continues as he examines him, not sure if speaking up right now would help things any or not. Morrison's been tense since before the Rumble and right now, Mike's disinterested in making things worse. Especially as he struggles to breathe without coughing, his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles are turning white.
Alex joins them a few moments later, quietly patting Miz on the shoulder. It all returns to him in an instance- Right, my segment with Jerry. He reluctantly pulls himself to his feet and glances once more at John before turning to the ramp. It doesn't help much when they recap Punk's attack on Morrison as soon as he enters the ring, the attack seeming even worse on the much bigger titantron screen. Even Alex looks worried as they exchange glances but Miz isn't sure if it's for Morrison, or him.
King as number one contender is far from his priority right now so he doesn't feel on top of his game as he talks up King's career and somehow makes it through claiming that his career was based on Jerry's without laughing or gagging... or both. Despite his attention being elsewhere, even he can't just let it slide as King starts an awful chant but his attempt at landing a punch fails and before he knows it, he's down on the mat watching as Alex tries to come to his aid just to get thrown from the ring.
After Ted DiBiase and Daniel Bryan get involved, it far from surprises Miz when the Email GM interrupts. Look who's back, he thinks, rolling his eyes as they're all thrown into a tag match, which they lose after Daniel takes him out, slamming them both into the divider wall and allowing King to get the upperhand and pin DiBiase.
His back is sore but he doesn't really care as Alex manages to get away from Cole and rejoins him, handing the WWE title to him. "Come on," he says, gingerly draping the strap across his shoulder. "Let's get out of here before we get caught up in his drama with Maryse or something."
The hallway isn't much calmer than it was earlier, people still in a frenzy to get things done and done well. It seems to take forever to make it to the locker room area while dodging people and things, but finally they make it to a quieter part of the building and Alex takes a deep breath when they pause outside of the trainer's office.
"Hang on," Mike says when Alex glances back at him, wondering why he's stopped. He follows his gaze and finds Morrison leaning against a wall a few feet away, staring down at something in his hand. His mentor shifts his hold on the title belt against his shoulder and walks up to him, frowning as he looks him over. All signs of the chemical is now gone from his face and when John looks up, their gazes lock. Miz cringes slightly as he takes in how painfully blood-shot Morrison's eyes are, finally looking down to try to see what exactly he's holding in the dim lighting.
Obligingly, John holds up the can of hairspray, a strange look on his face. "The, uh, makeup girl said she was missing one of these cans," he explains quietly, his voice still a little rough and scratchy. "You know what it says on these things?" As Miz shakes his head no, Morrison holds it up a bit higher. "'Use only as directed; intentional misuse by deliberately concentrating and inhaling contents can be harmful or fatal.' Sounds great, right? He's going to pay." The sudden anger in Morrison's voice surprises Mike as they stare at each other.
"Of course he is," he mumbles, not doubting it for a second. One way or another, he thinks, remembering his own earlier thoughts.