After another long day of filming, Mike finds himself slowly growing accustomed to the schedule once more of staying up late and waking up early. "Further proves sleeping in gets people nowhere," he sighs, running his fingers through his matted down hair. The main good thing about all of this is that it's helped him to briefly forget all about No Way Out this Sunday and how, at this point, it looks like he will completely miss it.
Shaking his head, he turns his focus to something else. I still don't know how exactly Sunday went for John. He hadn't wanted to push things, despite their text conversation going alright the other day, especially if the match had gone badly, so he had looked here and there online when he'd had a moment but there had been no news on it that he could see. "C'mon, google fu, don't fail me now." Finally he finds something on Youtube. John Morrison celebrates CASHEW win 6/10/12. He chuckles, shaking his head. "Well. He's doing better than I am this year," he mumbles, no true bitterness in his tone or gaze as he watches the short, minute long video before turning to his cell phone.
Heard you won Sunday. Congrats. But seriously, you brought your dog to that thing?
Thanks... and Charlie knows talent when he sees it, what can I say?
Mike rolls his eyes at the text. Talent, right. Isn't that like animal abuse? :P
Oh please, I don't even want to imagine what you'd do if you had a dog, probably teach it to bark awesome or something.
That's actually not a bad idea.
That wasn't meant to be a serious idea. Don't even do it, man. The world's not quite ready for that one. I doubt it ever will be.
Ah, I like pushing boundaries. Mike grins, leaning back against the pile of pillows against his headboard.
Unfortunately.
Hey, I talked with Alex the other day. Things are better between us. Thanks for the encouragement.
No problem, someone has to talk sense into you... and I could pretty much hold a degree in that after so many years.
Ha-ha. He sighs, his eyes drifting shut as exhaustion begins to take over. I have to film early tomorrow, so I should go. We should skype sometime or something. I'll show you what being a real movie star's like.
He can hear John's scoff in his head as his fingers slip from the phone, one last text waking him up long enough for him to read it before he completely gives in. Yeah, sure, whatever. Send me an invite sometime. Maybe I can work it in somewhere. :P Night Mike.
With the weapons training comes, of all things, Parkour lessons. He's not sure where it's going to come into the movie but it makes him think of Morrison and all the crazy crap he'd seen him do in the last year he spent in the WWE, running off of walls and around the empty arena floors at high speed like they're nothing. By the end of the lesson, his feet hurt, ankles are throbbing and his arms feel like they've been skinned five hundred times already, and he wonders why exactly anyone would willingly do it. But he also feels accomplished because, yes, it was hard, and yes, it sucked at times, but he thinks he could almost give Morrison a run for his money.
And so he tweets later that night upon returning to his hotel room, something quick about even Morrison being proud of his parkour abilities now. Before he can even get off of the couch to head off to get ready for bed, his phone goes off in his hands and he smirks, unsurprised to find Morrison's name attached to the text waiting for him.
Parkour, huh? Is that a challenge, Mike? Just don't break your neck doing it, I can't help ya there.
Oh please, as if I'd be that careless. And sure, I'm challenging you to a parkour show down. Anytime, anywhere.
Says the guy holed away in Canada for the next few weeks, Morrison snarks at him.
What, scared to come up here and face me? :P
Oh please. If I felt it was worth my time, I'd buy the plane ticket right now. But I wouldn't want to interrupt your movie star fame or anything.
Mike huffs, rubbing a hand blindly over the arm rest. He likes filming the movie, he appreciates that in a year or so, his name will be on the cover of a DVD of something that he is the main star in, but there's an emptiness from being away from WWE for so long, and he hates that he can't see either Alex or John face to face while they try to ressurrect their friendships. Like you could, he finally texts back.
That Sunday they get the evening off from filming and he spends the time doing something he usually doesn't- relaxing. He lounges around the hotel room, staring out a window at the brilliant Vancouver nightlife kicking in while he holds an impromptu Q&A session on his twitter account, alternating between talking up his own capabilities- of course- and urging people to watch No Way Out tonight. He may be a bit disillusioned with his role in the business and the company itself but there's always the chance Laurinaitis will finally get fired tonight, and- depending on who becomes the new GM afterwards- things will slowly start to get better.
He hates having to cheer on Cena, but God, it's all he really wants. The thoughts of that fly-by-night man who didn't do one thing for him that he claimed he would post-Wrestlemania win being gone for good makes him feel much better about the future of things. So he orders the PPV and waits anxiously as time ticks down, one match after another slipping by as the cage match draws closer. None of the others truly interests him so he wanders around his hotel room, picking up various things he'd thrown around after long hours rehearsing lines or simply looking out the window, waiting.
Finally it's time, Laurinaitis' insufferable music hitting and he turns back to the laptop to watch. The match itself starts fairly quickly, thankfully, and he settles in against the headboard, laptop held securely against his knees. He hasn't watched much of anything to do with WWE since he'd come to Canada and, as weird as it is to watch something that's been his life for so long while he's in another country, it's a little refreshing. It's easy to get burnt out in this business, especially with how the last nine months or so have gone for him, and he thinks maybe this short hiatus will be the best thing for his career in the long run.
Cena's not doing so well and a pit of annoyance and dread wells up within Mike- what if the boyscout loses again and we're stuck with Laurinaitis for even longer? What if we never get rid of him? He's starting to drive himself nuts with these thoughts when, of all things, Brodus Clay runs down and blocks the exit so Big Show can't get out of the cage. His blue eyes widen comically as more of the locker room spills out- everyone Big Show had attacked over the last month, A-Ri included. "What the hell!" he exclaims, shaking his head. Alex gets knocked out quickly but between him, Brodus, Ryder, Santino and Kofi, it's just enough for Cena to rally and, surprise surprise, gain the victory.
Mike almost feels like throwing a party for Cena when he lifts Laurinaitis over his shoulders and, while holding him there, Vince McMahon himself gets up in Laurinaitis' face and snarls at him that he's fired. Cena then AA's the former GM through the Spanish announce table as the pay per view wraps up. He sits there for the longest time with a grin on his face. "Well, what do you know. Maybe we'll get better people in charge now... Not holding my breath but at least there's a chance now."
After a few minutes of looking around Twitter, he sends a text to Alex, relieved that this is an option once more for when he's unable to check on his former protege directly. You alright? Was watching NWO.
It takes a few minutes and he figures that the delay is caused by the trainer looking him over. Yeah, just a headache. I'll be fine, Mike.
Good, keep it that way or I'll kick your ass myself when I get back.
Of course you will.
He smiles.
The next day doesn't go so great. He keeps flubbing his lines, feeling like an amateur as his fellow cast and crew whisper around him, alternating between teasing him and getting impatient with him. The Tim Hortons he usually has gotten his coffee from the past week is closed, his phone service crashes for most of the day which means no texts, no mobile web, no phone calls. Nothing. By the time he makes it back to the hotel room, he's wondering if maybe this whole thing was a mistake and if it'd just be better for him to go back to being underutilized in WWE. At least if I'm sitting in the back, I'm not making a complete ass of myself, he thinks grimly.
He's been stewing, staring down at the Vancouver nightlife below him once more, when his phone actually beeps. He jerks, so surprised at hearing anything from it after such a long period of silence. There's a flood of texts and twitter alerts waiting for him and he shakes his head, grimacing. Well, I know what I'm doing for the next few hours. He starts going through them, lips twisting in derision at some of them, before he freezes on one, coloring slightly.
John replied to that parkour tweet I sent, he realizes, reading it over and over.
Give 'em hell Marine! Can't wait to see it!
He stares blankly at the phone for a few minutes before his lips twitch up into a smile. "Heh." He rests his head on the table before him, taking a few deep breaths. I've never been a quitter. No matter what. And John believes in me, Alex too. So suck it up, Mike. Everyone has bad days, it'll pass and tomorrow'll go smoother.
After a quick meal of a grilled cheese and mixed vegetables, he doesn't feel like leaving the hotel room and facing other people, just in case he should run into someone from the movie. So he wanders around, waiting for his laptop to boot up, and finally drops down in front of it, raising an eyebrow as he loads Skype. He doesn't expect anyone to really be on, since it's Monday and Raw is currently going on, but he's restless enough just to check.
JoMo79 is online.
He swallows, running the pointer anxiously over the list, shaking his head. "Go figure." Before he can secondguess himself, he clicks Morrison's name and sends an invitation for a Skype conversation, eyes darting around the monitor as he waits for a response. Finally, after what feels like hours, the invitation cue disappears and another screen appears, Morrison staring back at him from a slightly grainy picture. "Hey," he says quietly, realizing that this is the first time they've seen each other in any capacity since the improv event a couple months ago.
"Hey man," John says, adjusting his webcam slightly. "How's it going?"
He shrugs with a mirthless chuckle. "Kinda been one of those days, I guess. I saw your tweet. Can you imagine what the fans who think we still hate each other after November must think?"
His responding grin is sharp and a little wistful. "I can only imagine." They chuckle a little bit, before John shakes his head. "So, bad day, huh?"
"A bit. It's taking a little longer than I expected to adjust to this whole movie thing. Missing Raw for the second week in a row isn't helping, probably." He drifts off, pressing a finger to his lips. "I'm sorry."
John blinks, the Skype video freezing for a second on him looking surprised, finally catching up with real time to show him leaning closer to the monitor, frowning. "What for, Mike?"
"I shouldn't complain about briefly missing Raw when you've had to deal with that for months." He's hyperaware that it's things like that that'd caused strain in their friendship in the first place, so he treads carefully. "Did you hear Laurinaitis was fired?" He brightens slightly when he sees that John is smiling too.
"Yeah, I heard. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy." He looks quietly at Miz for a moment before sighing. "I hope you all get a good general manager this time. Someone not out to screw up your career, Mike. You deserve it, after everything you've been through with the last three guys."
Mike laughs grimly. "Yeah, it's been ridiculous, hasn't it? I seriously thought the Anon GM was the worst things could get, but when you think about it, he was the least troublesome... Considering HHH then came along and fired me..." He chuckles darkly. "I thought Laurinaitis was going to be ok, until he fired you..." He shakes his head, his voice softening. "I almost shouldn't complain about how he overlooked me after that, but I can't help it. He's done so many stupid things, and really when you think about it, he hasn't even been in complete control that long."
"That's true. But maybe that'll make it easier to undo the crap he's pulled," Morrison points out.
Mike's eyes gleam as he nods at the words. "Do you think..." he blurts out, cutting himself off as he realizes just what he's about to say. "Uh, nah, never mind," he mutters.
"Do I think what?" John asks, somehow sensing, despite being separated by hundreds of miles and two computer screens, that this is important.
"I just... I was thinking awhile ago if Laurinaitis was fired, maybe we'd get someone competant who would offer you your job back." With it out in the open now, the two former Dirt Sheet hosts stare at each other, hope pouring from Mike's eyes even as he struggles to remain blase about it all.
John looks thoughtful, obviously trying to be careful with his answer. "I'm not sure, Mike. I haven't heard anything. I don't really expect to, if I'm being perfectly honest. If they asked me back I'd have to think about it seriously, but... I'm kind of... alright with things right now." He smiles mirthlessly, picking at something off screen. "I mean, I had so many injuries by the end of my time in WWE, it's been good just to do my own thing for awhile. You better than anyone know how grueling the schedule can be. I'm not saying never, just... I'm not in a big hurry, you know?"
He licks his lips, somehow feeling sad and pleased for his friend all at once. "I'm glad you're ok with how things are, John. I wish they'd ended on a better note all around... but knowing that you've moved past it helps, I guess."
He chuckles slightly. "Yeah. Everything works out how it's supposed to, Mike."
The former WWE champion groans, rolling his eyes. "That's so cliche," he huffs as John laughs at him. He finds himself smiling anyway, reveling in the fact that they've finally moved past their issues to the point where they can talk without hurting each other further. I missed this, he thinks while leaning back against the headboard, getting comfortable for what promises to be another one of his and Morrison's epically long conversations. We have a lot to catch up on.