human
"What an asshole," the one crewman mouthed, mouthed low, watching the cocky blonde strut by out of the corner of his eye.
"Shh!" the other chided him quickly, and with a sharp nudge. "Dude! Watch that. What if he hears you?"
Jericho did. Jericho had. And on a worse day he might have taken it out on the man, might have knocked some sense into him. Or some steel into him. As he strode confidently on the concrete floor of the arena's backstage hallway he glanced at a folding chair at the corner of his eyes. That would work. But, no, he thought with a smirk as he continued past the two maintenance workers. These guys were pathetic enough. Any fifteen minutes of fame they'd get from him beating the crap out of 'em would highlight their day, not bring them down. Instead he continued on in his walk, the large golden World Heavyweight Champion belt slung along one shoulder, turning a corner to take the long way to his new personal dressing room. And why not take the scenic route?
Hewas the scenic part of it. These hallways were all the same - he was giving everyone else something to look at, something to admire.
The two workers had held a lingering glance toward his back as Jericho rounded the corner, and now that he was gone they again spoke, "Seriously though, I don't get it. How does one guy get so much power?"
"He's the champ."
"Right, right, but didn't you hear the announcement he just made out in the ring? World Champ title shots will now be limited to pay-per-views only, and once someone loses against him once they can't challenge him again? I don't care who the belt is on, this company is nuts giving anyone power to make the rules like that."
"That was Vince's call. Good luck when you tell him what you think!"
"Haha, no thanks! That fucker's crazier than Jericho could ever be."
Another turn, a left down this hallway, and then another. Chris took his time, walking slowly, smirking as he made eye contact with wrestler after wrestler in the halls. Shad. Yeah right. That guy might take the Intercontinental on his best of days. The World? Keep dreamin'. Next were Hardy and Mysterio. A joke and a fluke. Then he came up to The Hart Dynasty, paying Kidd and Smith no mind as they attempted to stare him down. Instead, his eyes were locked with Natalya's, his mind considering inviting that nice piece back to his dressing room later. For now though he just continued past the trio, back straight, shoulders strong and confident as he stopped finally at a doorway.
Chris Jericho
World Heavyweight ChampionAnd there was that smirk again, a look on his face that never quite left, and when it did it was never for very long. Furnished, private, this was one of the perks that came with being the best, that came with supporting the whole of the show on your shoulders. Turning the knob, he opened the door and confidently stepped inside, ready to embrace that which was due him.
gpt
"I'm sorry Mickie, but there's just nothing I can do." Teddy Long said while fixing his glasses, trying to keep the WWE Diva calm. "I can't help what Vickie chose to do in the match. She was the special referee and what she called, is what she called."
Mickie James, the former Women's champion had her hand in her hair, with a look of disbelief struck onto her face. She was quick to reply, raising her voice some-what. "You can't really mean that! You saw what she did out there! She clearly hit me and favored Michelle!"
Earlier in the night, Mickie James had a title match against Michelle McCool with Layla at ring side. To top it all off, Vickie Guerrero was the special guest referee. She happened to be the "Smackdown Consultant" appointed by Vince McMahon himself which meant she had a lot of power, and she had a strong dislike for Mickie. Of course, the match turned out in Michelle's favor, costing Mickie the belt, a week after she had just won it. The WWE Diva had gone through weeks of torment from Team "Laycool" but finally shut the two up at Royal Rumble, becoming a five-time women's champion. But all that was for nothing as of tonight.
"I'm sorry Mickie... my hands are tied." The GM spoke calmly, letting out a small sigh afterward.
And with that, Mickie left his office in a huff, very annoyed with everything that happened tonight. She was desperate for a chance to get back in the ring with Michelle, to regain the title that was rightfully her own. She could go to Vince McMahon, but she knew what he was like. He favored the blondes in the company like Maryse, and Michelle herself. Vickie was a definate no-no.
As she walked down the hallways, Mickie avoided conversation, clearly not in the mood to have one. When she stopped to calm down and think a little, the diva over-heard two workers talking.
"Right, right, but didn't you hear the announcement he just made out in the ring? World Champ title shots will now be limited to pay-per-views only, and once someone loses against him once they can't challenge him again? I don't care who the belt is on, this company is nuts giving anyone power to make the rules like that."
"That was Vince's call. Good luck when you tell him what you think!"
"The World Champ.." Mickie muttered to herself, thinking for a moment. "Jericho?" She bit down on her lip, putting two and two together. She was desperate. It was better than nothing... right?
Still dressed in her wrestling attire, the diva moved through the hall ways rather quickly, trying to find his locker room. After a while, Mickie came to a quick halt, finding his name plate on a door. Letting out a deep sigh, her hand moved up to the door, ready to knock.
She hesitated, giving it one more thought. After swallowing hard, the nervous diva knocked on the door a few times, hoping that he would be inside. "I can do this. Just ask for a quick favor... then get the hell outta there."
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knock knock
Light. Timid. If there was one thing Chris knew how to smell it was weakness, weakness from even a mile away. He had just set his belt down on the dark mahogany coffee table between the black leather couch and black leather loveseat, had just sat back on the soft, cool cushion and turned on the live feed on the TV showing what was happening in the ring - a match between Kane and Ziggler, the first of the night - when he heard the knock. Giving it a moment before responding he thought it over. Considered it. That had been a pretty light knock. He wasn't going tonotanswer it, but... this better not be another stupid interview.
"Yeah, yeah, what do you want?" he questioned, somewhat annoyed as he stood from the couch. He let his eyes linger on the television a moment before turning, taking his time in walking to the door, it having been a good ten or twelve seconds now since the knock.
Jericho grabbed the knob.
Turning, he opened the door and...
What the hell does she want? ...that was his initial thought. Not in a bad way, but quite unexpected. He didn't say that aloud though. Rather, first his brows raised in brief surprise but soon shifted to a smile, "Well well, what can I do for you?" Her wrestling attire was quite delicious, wasn't it? He saw it every week, though usually just in passing. He saw all the Divas. He'd been doing this for years, this profession. Yet that truth never once diluted the attraction of a hot body in something skimpy.
The smile lingered for a moment before becoming a smirk, cocky and confident. Whatever it is, he thought, "Come on in... Whatever you want, I don't feel like standing in the doorway. I've graced these losers with my presence enough for one night." Peering over Mickie's shoulder to a few wrestlers prepping to go out next, The Hart Dynasty, he smirked a little more. "And close the door behind you," he said as that look past her lingered, even as he stepped away, until he was out of the doorway completely. Jericho was no fool. Arrogant, yes. Every right to be, yes. But when it came down to it he knew what he was doing. The simple truth was a beautiful half-dressed woman just knocked on the door of his private dressing room and was being invited in.
Moving back toward the couch, Jericho took a moment to adjust his tie as he sat back down, loosening it a bit as he sat in the center, leaning back. Not wanting to appear overly interested he turned his head to watch the match on the television while reaching for a water bottle on the coffee table, twisting the plastic top open.
gpt
Mickie had an awkward smile on her face. Jericho and her weren't friends. Not even acquaintances really. They would see each other around but that was it. No "hello", no "how are you?", nothing.
At least he was being nice so far. Which was a nice change from what she saw on the monitors. Maybe he really was a normal guy. Though all of her thoughts quickly changed when he spoke about gracing people with his presence. Mickie simply rolled her eyes when he turned away. Guess he really was arrogant after all.
Her attention turned back towards the Hart Dynasty who was out in the hall way. Looking them over, and then herself, Mickie shuddered a bit. "I really got to get a new outfit... matching in with them isn't going to do me any good." The brunette let out a small laugh while brushing her hair back slightly. She attempted the break the ice with that one liner, but she assumed it wouldn't do much.
Taking a step inside, Mickie James closed the door quietly behind her, looking around the fully furnished room. "Ah, the good old days." She joked once again, referring to how she had a similar room. Of course it wasn't as nice as this, but it was certainly better than what she would be going back to.
Small, rather nervous-looking steps was all she did, slowly making her way over toward the champion. Clearing her throat as if to get his attention, Mickie looked down at him, standing off to the side of the couch. Her eyes would shift between the television and Jericho himself, feeling slightly uncomfortable.
"Look, I'm just going to get right to it. No BS, no ass kissing, nothing." Her eyes stayed focused on him now, trying to show him that she was quite serious. "I need help, and I know you can help me." Her hands were placed on her hips. A minute ago they were playing with each other, but she decided keeping them still would be better.
"I need a rematch against Michelle. Teddy won't give it to me. I know Vickie isn't going to let it happen any time soon. To top it all off, I know Mr.McMahon is going to be a lot of hell to go through to even ask him. I figured you were the next best person to come to." After saying her little speech, Mickie bit down on her lower lip, waiting to see how he would take it.
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Jericho listened. He listened without looking at her, his eyes to the TV, his hand raising the bottle of water to his lips. After a slow, relaxed sip he twisted the cap back on and leaned forward just enough to set the bottle back on the coffee table. He was listening, but he didn't want to let it seem like she had his full attention, not so easily.
"...The next best, huh?" he finally chimed in. "Your faith in me is astounding." He smirked at that. Jericho watched the screen for a moment more before finally turning to face her, the leather of the couch sounding beneath his movements. Shifting, his eyes trailed up from his guest's hot pink legs to her firm, impressive abdomen, to the even more impressive cleavage. Finally to her face, and with it he tilted his head a bit, looking her in the eyes.
"Hello Chris..." A purse of his lips. "How are you doing today, Chris?" A wince. "Ouch! That was a nasty match you had just now. Are you alright?" His voice filled with a degree of energy. "No, not even a 'Hey, congratulations on the title win!' or anything, huh? The first time you come to even say hi it's because youneedsomething. Tch.Of course you're here because you need a favor. And, truth be told? Maybe youshoulddo some ass kissing, instead of just 'cutting right to the chase.'"
He turned away again, shifting against the leather to look back at the screen. The show had gone to commercial. "So you want a title shot, Ms.Mickie-Choke-James." His body remained still but his head turned back to her, over a shoulder, arrogant as ever. "Guess what there toots? Know how I got this belt? ...of course you do. By defeating five other men in an elimination chamber. By defeating The Undertaker! So if you're gonna come crying to me about losing to one woman it's not going to get you very far."
Looking back to the TV, "You know, you come here wanting a favor, but favors go both ways... why should I give you a title shot?" A sneer. "What kind of favors are you going to do for me?"
gpt
Mickie crossed her arms over her bust, shaking her head as he spoke. It's true that she skipped all of that, but there was a point. Little chit-chat like that would get her the same kind of remarks. Asking those questions would probably result in sarcastic and snarky replies. As for the ass-kissing? She didn't think so. Mickie was quick to reply to his comment about it. "Yeah, I don't think so,Chris."
Again, Mickie shook her head in disbelief. "You have to be joking... You punched a fan, you got into a fight with Gregory Helms after drinking... you even got arrested. All you got was a slap on the wrist. I accidentally spill food on Vickie Guerrero, and I lose my belt, while you got an opportunity you shouldn't have. Then.. here we are. I'm without a title, and you have one. Looks like you're the one whoreallydid the ass-kissing, huh?"
The diva laughed, placing her hands on her hips again. "There's nothing I have that you want, so all I'm going to say is..." She took a deep breath, keeping eye contact with him. "If you've got even a tiny bit of a soul, you'll help me out. I'm sure you saw how Layla and Michelle taunted me for weeks. They humiliated me publicly, and I put up with their crap. I finally made them eat their words at the Royal Rumble, and then I was cheated from my title. How would you like it if that happened to you?"
The former women's champion moved in front of the television, making sure he was paying attention. With a serious look on her face, Mickie stared down at him, keeping her hands against her hips. "I bet you'd be backstage, throwing your little mantrum until you got your rematch, right?"
Mickie was intent on getting her rematch, even if it meant dealing with the worst of the worst.
human
Jericho palmed his mouth, running fingers along his jaw as he thought. It was hard to not laugh. He didn't look up at Mickie right away when she moved between him and the TV. Rather, he let her go on. He let her dig her grave deeper. A quick chuckle ran through his body, amused, shown by a brief rise of his shoulders, failing to hide it until she was done. And when she finished he applauded, giving her a brief mock-clap as he looked up, laughing right to her face. "Oh boo-hoo, did they pick on you sweetheart? Did theirmockinghurt your feelings? ...You wanna know how many raw dealsI'vegotten over the years?"
He stood. Slowly, letting his presence be felt, he approached this conversation just as he would with anyone else. Just as he would were she Khali; seven and a half feet and pure muscle. Jericho didn't get told how things were. He told you, and you accepted them as fact. Or you learned.
"A slap on the wrist, huh?"
He slapped Mickie across the face. Suddenly. Hard.
"Maybe that's because- Come here, you little twat," he grabbed a fistful of the Diva's hair. With his other hand grabbing her hip Chris put his strength against her, shoving the smaller woman to the black leather loveseat a foot or two away. His face twisted in anger, a finger pointing at her, lecturing, he continued, "Maybethat's because since the day I returned I've been carrying this company on my back, Ms.James! Maybe that's because, if you paidanyattention, you would have noticed that ninety percent of the time since I've been back I've had belt after belt after belt around my waist! Maybe it's because I've been a mainstay ofbothbrands, and now they're even showcasing me on a third night! Maybe it's because Corporate knows who to reward, and who around here isreplaceable!"
He was seething. Come to his private room and insult him? "Youdohave something that I want, as a matter of fact, Mickie. You have something I'd very much enjoy for you to give me." Calming now, though his voice was still firm, still irritated, Jericho stood up straight. He was between her and the door. Well, her and the door immediately; taking the long way around the coffee table was an option. "I want your dignity. ...You think you're gonna just walk in here and act like I owe you something? Little bitch. In your shortsightedness you must have forgotten that I not only canmakematches, I canunmakethem. I can make it so you get a title match every night or never again. And with what Vince was proposing to me right before the show, the power I have is only going to grow."
Straightening his tie, he smirked down at her. "Women's Championship, huh? You can either degrade yourself right now and start earning my forgiveness, or I can make it so the only matches you ever have around here are on WWE Superstars. ...Or maybe not even that. Maybe you'll just get booked on house shows from now on."
gpt
With a determined look in her eyes, Mickie didn't back down when he advanced. She would simply stare up at him, intent on what she came here for. If it meant getting into a verbal fight with Jericho, so be it. She wouldn't leave until she had what she wanted. Mickie was about to respond to the little "slap on the wrist comment" but just as she opened her mouth.
Slap.
Her head was turned to the side, feeling the stinging sensation against her cheek. Did he really just slap her? Raising a hand to her face, Mickie looked back at Jericho, tears already forming. She spoke, but no words came out, unable to retort. The diva was stunned, shocked that he had actually done it.
Soon enough, she found herself being pulled by her soft brown hair. A groan escaped past her lips, closing her eyes. Another sound came out when she felt herself thrown into the couch. Opening her eyes slowly, the vision of Jericho right in front of her soon became clear. The diva had paid attention to his little rant, though her eyes were focused on a way to leave.
It was a mistake to come here. Thinking it over while her eyes followed the man, who was clearly frustrated. If she left now, Mickie knew that Jericho would go out of his way to make her day even worse. He already stated that he wanted her dignity. What did that exactly mean? A repeat of McMahon and Stratus? Doubtful, but she wouldn't put it past him.
Still rubbing her cheek, Mickie managed to speak out, quietly though. "W-what do you want, Chris?" He had stated his terms, but she didn't know what he was specifically asking for. A part of her was too scared to use the attitude she had earlier, knowing that he wasn't afraid to get rough with her.
It was painfully obvious that this was going to turn into something ugly. Either she could listen to him, andpossiblyget a title shot. Or she could leave and get Jericho to join Michelle, Layla, and Vickie in the quest to destroy her. On top of that, Jericho had the power to get Vince McMahon himself on her case.
"Just tell me what you want..." She spoke again, a hint of nervousness in her voice. Her eyes traveled away from his face, looking down at the ground.
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Weakness. Jericho soaked this moment in, standing over the frightened woman triumphantly. Smirking. Pleased with himself. Does that cheek hurt, honey? Poor baby.
"Now that's a good question."
In truth he didn't know. The idea of her dignity was simple enough, but from there things could branch out in a number of ways. A number, and all of them humiliating. "You can start by apologizing. ... ...You know what? You know what, I think I like that idea." He could see the fear in Mickie's eyes. Chris turned his head from one side to another, looking into the brunette's eyes. Observing her. Considering. "First we're going to start with me, right now." He could cash in on the power he had over her right now, he knew, or he could gamble and see if this woman would go all the way. See how broken she could become. "You were pretty rude to me just now, you know that? You can start by apologizing to me, Mickie, followed by a little ass kissing. All truthful compliments of course - let's face it, my accomplishments are enough that you don't need to embellish."
Taking a slow, deep breath, Jericho sucked in the power like oxygen. Snickering, he sat calmly back down on the couch, back on the center cushion, leaning back. His voice had returned to a relaxed tone. "And after you've apologized to me I think you have a few other people to apologize to, don't you? ...The current Women's Champion for starters. And Vickie. And Layla too while you're at it. I think you should track down and apologize to all three." Bearing a toothy grin, Chris leaned forward to retake his water bottle, unscrewing the cap for a drink.
"I'll be waiting here, of course, so don't dawdle. ...You hear me? That means get started there honeypot. And when you've finished apologizing to everyone for your unladylike actions as of late, you can come back here," smiling, he ran his palm along the black leather cushion beside him, patting it lightly, 'sit right here, and you and I can discuss what your future holds. Oh, you'll get your title shot. As soon as you learn some respect."
He paused. "Or maybe the word is 'obedience?'"
This was an interesting game. If she left and never came back he really wasn't losing anything; he could let what just happened sink in and approach her about it later. But if she came back? If she came back to his room, timid and defeated, obedient and willing? Then things would get very interesting, very quick.
"Get started, Piggy."
gpt
He was serious?
With a look of disgust on her face, Mickie would just glare at Jericho, unable to find words at the cruel punishment he was placing upon her. Apologizing to him was bad enough, but apologizing to those other three women? It was something only a monster would make her do. She knew she was in no place to argue, but she kept hoping, and waiting for the man to burst out laughing, simply to state it was a joke, but that moment never came.
A tear rolled down her cheek, accepting the terms that he pushed onto her. The last thing he said was what just pushed it over the line. Slowly, she nodded, looking down at her lap. Wiping away the tear, her attention was focused on Jericho. Her eyes showed hatred for the man, but in an annoyed tone she began to speak.
"I'm sorry..." She said slightly grumbled. At least the ass-kissing part wasn't literal like it was for Vince and Trish. "I'm sorry for coming in here and trying to demand something from someone like yourself. I should have known that I had no right to ask something from someone as great as yourself, and for that, I'm sorry."
With that last sentence, Mickie got up and made her way to the door. Without even looking back, she pulled it open and headed outside, slamming the locker room door shut behind herself. Fixing up herself as she traveled around the arena, the brunette searched for the people she had to apologize to.
Eventually, the diva ran into both Michelle McCool and Layla who were chit-chatting amongst themselves by the table of food that had been set up for the superstars. Standing behind them, Mickie took a deep breath before tapping Michelle on the shoulder.
"Okay.. Ew. Don't touch me Piggy James." The blonde raised both her hands up, before turning around.
"How did you know it was her? The stench? The earth-quake causing foot steps?" Layla asked with a sneer.
"All of the above, Layla." Michelle said with her arms crossed, giving Mickie the death stare. "So what do you want?"
Mickie tried not to get bothered by the under-handed comments, and with a deep breath, she mustered up the courage to do what she had to. "Look, Michelle... and Layla. I know we've had our differences, and I don't want to fight anymore. I just wanted to say I'm sorry." And with that, the former champion stuck out her hand to the new one.
"Yeah.. no. Who knows where that hands been?" Michelle raised her hands up and walked away in disgust, Layla following right behind with her usual cackle.
Shaking her head, Mickie turned back to head in the direction of Vickie's office, but she was quickly stopped, feeling herself bump into something heavy. Ironically enough, it was Vickie herself, who now had water all over her top.
"M-Mickie!!" With an "ugh" type of sound, Smackdown's consultant began to storm off, shouting at the top of her lungs. "You'll never see that title again!"
"I'm sorry!" Mickie repeated it several times, walking behind her before giving up. She had apologized to all three women now, and the next thing she had to do what return to Jericho's locker room. The former women's champion had decided that she had enough of all of this today, and slowly began making her way back to her locker room.
The diva closed the door behind her, forgetting to lock it however. Stripping off her clothes, Mickie headed inside her shower. Trying to forget all of today, she spent a while inside, relaxing underneath the hot water. After a while, she stepped outside and wrapped a short white towel around herself. Mickie stood inside her bathroom, with a smile on her face, feeling much better than she did before.
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Jericho waited. He waited at first, of course, because no matter how willing someone was to do as you told them, there was a matter of physics. As in, it took a degree of time. So he thought nothing of it, going back to watching Smackdown on the television set, observing the roster in action and the general going-ons of the show. He sat back against the couch for awhile like that, occasionally drinking from the bottle, grabbing a new one when the first was emptied, easily shifting between paying attention to the screen and snickering, recalling the events of what had just happened. What could he have done different? What could he do once she returned? All alone with his thoughts, the blonde lounged in silence, simply thinking. And waiting.
And waiting.
And... waiting.
After awhile he began to wonder, began to doubt.
After a little while more his temper got the better of him. Mickie would have,should have been back awhile ago. McCool wasn't a hard woman to find. Did she even bother apologizing? Or did Miss James simply blow off his 'offer' altogether?
Ticked off, Jericho thought to take a shower himself. Something cold, something to get his head straight. He got as far as ripping off his tie and throwing it against an oak locker, these far nicer than what the rest of the chump got to use, he got as far as pulling his jacket off, pulling his shirt off, as far as discarding the clothes all about his dressing room as he stormed back and forth. Jericho got as far as turning the water on and walking out of the bathroom before he turned right back around a moment later and turned it off... No. He was too pissed off for even a cold shower. Did that fat, dumb brunette really think she'd get away with dissing him like this? Like hell.
Like goddamn hell she would.
The suit was constricting. Annoying. Classy, but he had enough of that on his own. Instead Jericho changed back into the street clothes he'd come in that day, a simple white t-shirt with an eagle on the front and faded light jeans. Dashing fingers through his hair, he grabbed his belt and set out about the backstage area of the arena.
Have you seen Mickie? Where is she? You don't know? Then get out of my way! Jerky this and retard that, he berated cast and crew alike. He even ran into Layla who, after a brief inquiry, shrugged her shoulders and said that the porker was acting weird but finally acknowledged she wasn't in the same category, even apologizing to her and the champion. This told him something at least. Turning, leaving her as he left everyone else he'd asked, Jericho continued on the war path until one of the workers fessed up that he'd seen Mickie wiping away tears as she slipped into one of the locker rooms twenty-some-odd minutes ago.
At twenty-one minutes the door to that very locker room opened. It was done angrily, but as Jericho stepped inside he stopped midstep - looking around, it was empty. Before he turned to head out though he heard something. Someone. Sounded like it came from the bathroom. Narrowing his eyes, the epitome of arrogance quietly closed the door, even quietly locked it. He took a few steps over to a chair to set his gold and leather belt out across the seat.
A moment later the bathroom door slammed open in a quick, sudden swing. Eyes alight with fury, a muscled arm reached out for the head of long, wet mousy-brown strands from behind her and to a side. Grabbing hold, Jericho wasted no time in gritting his teeth, in grunting, in jerking her head out through that bathroom door, releasing his grip, sending her staggering forward sloppily.