Look Ma, a multi-part story, aren't you proud? So se part one for dedications. Distribution: My site, Darkflame's, Myst's, anyone else ask if you want it.
Respect the Game (1/?)
Backstage...
"You lost, boy," the Undertaker's slow drawl carried to Hunter Hearst Helmsley's ears.
"So?"
"So, boy, you lost the match; but you lost the bet as weell. You're mine now, boy."
Hunter smirked, "Bet, what bet? I don't remember any bet, have you been taking something? If we had a bet I'm sure I'd remember it."
"Really, you would, would you? Well, let me refresh your memory." With that the Undertaker reached into his black duffel bag and rooted around for a moment, more for theatrics than aything else. With a flourish he produced a little bacl recording device and hit the play button. You could hear Hunter's angry voice, "'Fine I'll take the damn bet...'" 'Taker clicked the stop button and Hunter's voice faded out.
"Does that remind you exactly what bet I'm talking about?" 'Taker queried.
"You don't seriously want me to belive that that bet was nothing more than a joke, do you?"
'Taker only stared at Hunter, not bothering to reply.
"You did. You sick bastard, you actually expect me to carry through with this bet to be you slave..."
"For a month. You'll be my slave for a month, and you'll show me the respect I deserve, Helmsley."
"And when exactly is this supposed to start, Deadman?"
" I told you before, you're coming home with me, or at least to my hotel room. Pack your bags, we leave in half an hour," with that the Undertaker once again left Triple H full of both anger and words he was unable to express.
The clang of the locker door sounded again, eerily reminiscent of the night the bet was made, and a minute later Hunter Hearst Helmsley exited the locker-room, looking like a man on a mission.
His ultra-focused mindset led him straight to the trainer's room, where he would see if they could put his elbow back together.
Half an hour later...
Hunter was packing his bag, or rather trying to. In his anger he was lucky if half the stuff he was throwing even ended up in the general vicinity of the bench which his bag was sitting on. Luckily, shirts and ring boots don't break if they aren't carefully packed. Neither do jeans.
The door opened silently, just like the man opening it, and the Undertaker, Big Evil, slipped quietly into the room to watch Hunter's display of temper with amusement.
"Well, boy, are you ready?" the Undertaker asked, raising a brow at the mess the dressing room had become.
"Do I look like I'm fucking ready, Daedman?" Do I look like I want to go to your fucking hotel room to do God only know what? Do I look like I'm ready to have elbow surgery because some fucking bastard wouldn't lay off my elbow tonight? Huh, do I look like I'm fucking ready?" Hunter's tirade came to an abrupt halt as he stared into the Undertaker's eyes; they were filled with tired amusement.
"This isn't funny, Deadman. My elbow is fucked, I'm out of action again, because of you, and I don't even have a title to show for it; and even if I did you would be on Raw tomorrow whining that I didn't win fairly. And now my elbow's fucked, which effectively takes me out of the title hunt, and all this happens not half a year after my return. Does this sound fair to you, Deadman? Does it?"
"It sounds like life to me, boy. Sometimes you win and sometimes you loose. The fact of the matter is you injured you elbow. It's not the end of the world, you'll have other title matches, you'll be champion again. But right now I'm still the champion. And you made a bet with me. If I was still champion at the end of King of the Ring you would be my slave for a month. You lost, you're my slave. So put your stuff in your bag and get ready to go. If you're not donein fifteen minutes I'll come in and pack for you, and I promise you won't enjoy that. Be ready." 'Taker's voice has taken on an authoritive note, like that of a father scolding a young child.
Hunter resisted the urge to pout, or sulk, and instead got to work icking up the clothes strewn around the room. After all, th elast thing he needd was the Undertaker going through his things, weighing the value of each item before packing it away with no regard for sentimental value.
Fifteen minutes later...
Hunter pulled the zip of his gym bag closed just as the Undertaker opened the locker-room door, silent, as always.
"Well, I see you're ready to go?"
"What choice did I have?"
"None, that's the beauty of the situation. Now come on, let's go. I want to get back to the hotel just as soon as possible," the Undertaker turned toleave, but stopped and turned back around. "Oh, and Hunter? You're rooming with me." At Hunter's slack jawed look he smirked and added, "Sometimes it pays to know the boss."
Hunter's look turned angry, "You told Vince McMahon about our ... arrangement?"
"Of course not. What do you take me for? A fool? Vince simply knows that I wanted to room with you after King of the Ring. I'm sure he has his suspicions, but he's got no proof to make them more sunstantial than rumours. Got it?"
Hunter nodded mutely, amazed at the effort the Undertaker had put into making this ... deal work. His thoughts were interupted by the Undertaker's drawl.
"Well, boy, are you coming? Or am I leaving you at the arena to cool off? Stay or go, boy? but make no mistake, if you don't go back with me you don't go back with anyone."
"What choice do I have?"
"None, that's the beauty of it. I get what I want and you, well, you get what I want. Everyone's happy."
"Speak for yourself."
" I am, boy; and have you forgotten our little deal so quickly? Not only are you my slave but you have to show me the respect I deserve. that was not respect, the Undertaker observed cooly.
Hunter just snarled, not bothering to voice his opinion about the respect that 'Taker thought he deserved.
"Well, come on, boy. Standing there's not going to get us the the hotel any faster," with that he turned and exited the room, secure in the knowledge that Hunter would follow.
And Hunter did follow, after a minute of arguing with himself on whether or not it was a good idea.
He met the Undertaker in the parking lot, next to his bike. Hunter stood there dumbly, waiting to be told exactly where to put his gym bag.
'Taker saw the look, "Here, give me that," he said, amd promptly took Hunter's bag to secure on the back of his bike.
"And, here, put this on, " 'Taker continued, tossing a helmet to a dazed Hunter. He stopped securing Hunter's bag for a moment to add, "It goes over your head."
Hunter blushed, embarassed at being made to look stupid and quicly pulled the helmet over his head, before snapping back, " I do know what to do with a helmet, believe it or not."
"The way you were standing there I'd say you'd never seen one until just now."
"Are we going?"
"In a minute, boy. Calm down."
"I am calm."
"I can tell."
"How many men do you know who would be this calm after becoming one of your greatest enemy's..."
"Slaves. You can say it, boy. It's not dirty word."
"I know that."
"Then say it."
"Why?"
"Becuase I want to hear you say it, and I'm not the slave."
"Fine, slave. happy now?"
"Why, yes, I belive I am."
