#Set after Dec 9 Dynmaite because i feel like that works best

[darlinrogue]

The Undertaker has never been one to mince words, which is why he now stands with his arms crossed and nods to a chair, directing Adam (the irony) to sit. "You're making a mistake with the Dark Order, boy. Take a seat."

Holy Baloney is that the Undertaker?

Adam and ‘Taker 

Somewhere on file, in the back of Adam’s head, was a formative memory from his snot-nosed brat years of around eight or so, of the Undertaker crucifying Stone Cold Steve Austin on live, national TV. It may’ve actually been trauma that he then reenacted when he hung Chris Sabin, but hey, that was the Attitude Era in a nutshell. Adam had watched the old tube TV with his delicate, developing eyeballs glued to the screen. Trying to make out the shitty picture from all the static. It was probably why he had to wear reading glasses as an adult. Can’t say his mom didn’t warn him. Yeah, Adam grew-up watching all the big names: Shawn Michaels, Bret Hart, and Dusty Rhodes, AKA his best friend’s dad, because, life is surreal. John Cena-- Adam still had the stupid green he used to come out in. The one a promoter made him remove because he was, ‘too much of a stud’ to hide his face. Rey Mysterio, real big inspiration. There was also Sting, which was very surreal nowadays. He’d seen enough Chris Jericho that losing to him really sucked. Hell, he even saw some of Kenny Omega’s earliest matches on the indies and on Deep South. Back when Adam was a hotshot teen wrestling in his backyard.  It was all enough that it made walking into the locker room and confronting the man inside, a bit of a fever dream. 

Also, made him wonder what the hell was in that whiskey he drank earlier. 

The man was massive, much larger than the screens implied. Adam was far from little but he didn’t hit this wall of meat’s chin. Broad as a freight train, Adam would rather hang-out on the tracks than take a lariat from this mountain. Way older than he remembered. All grizzled in the face, with a soul melting glower that made Adam consider returning to church in the next week or two. Evidently every Easter and Christmas was not enough. The dark leather coat, shrugged over his massive shoulders, was longer than Adam was tall. He filled the entire room. Cold bit at Adam’s nose and lips, like Winter had followed him inside. 

He also had really pretty green eyes, like, wow, what a wonderful color. 

Adam glanced behind him and checked the hall. Brandon wasn’t following him with a camera, or anything. There was no personal enemies lingering in the shadows for a surprise Superkick Party. Dynamite ended a little under five minutes ago. Adam was here for his stuff before he called an Uber and returned to his hotel. He’d probably hang-out in bed for an hour or two and watched telenovelas to practice his Spanish. All while getting way over emotionally invested in the cheap drama. It was low stakes and stupid, and he needed that in his life right now.  Not a single one of those thoughts helped Adam cope with the fact that someone, who had a strong suspicion was the actual, real life, Undertaker, was waiting for him in his locker room. Like, this was some kinda intervention. 

“Am I being ribbed?” He voiced, incredulous. 

His brow furrowed and he checked the corners for hidden lens. It’d happen before, not totally unrealistic. Adam slunk into the room, sticking to the walls and angling for his gear bag. Maybe, he’d make a break for it. He had young lungs and his cardio was damn good, if he could say so himself. Yeah, this guy had longer legs and thighs thicker than his torso, but he was also like fifty. Still, too curious to run, Adam sunk down onto a bench, toes tapping against the cheap carpet. Was kinda wishing he brought a whiskey with him. Instead, he had a bottle of stale, hot water that he left in his bag. He broke the cap and took a sip, eyes still latched on his dark companion. 

“Listen, I, um, really don’t know what’s going on here,” Adam admitted, he lifted his hand, planting his elbow on his knee. “I just work here man, like, I don’t sign a single check in this joint. When they were handing out EVP jobs, my name wasn’t on that list. I didn’t want a gig like that, anyway. Responsibility and important phone calls? Not really my speed.”

He was rambling, which seemed to be an easy thing to do around this guy.

“But um, one,” he lifted a single finger for emphasis. “Uh, for the record, big fan. Your match at Wrestlemania twenty-six? My personality for an entire year. Because, well, you’re stupid like that when you’re a twenty-something. Made me realize I needed more sparkles on my gear. Two, listen the thing with the Dark Order --I mean, I don’t know why you even care-- but as much as I am loathe, loathe--” Big word, put that on a scrabble board. “To tag with Silvers and Reynolds I am even less interested in getting my shit rocked in a three-v-one next week. Which is what will happen if I don’t find partners. Sometimes, you gotta scrape the bottom of the barrel. And listen like--”

Adam took another swig of water, and wiped the excess that dribbled down his chin. He had whiskey earlier and his braincells were not firing in tandem. He smoothed his hand over his chin and through his beard. He was not going to inform the Maybe-Probably-Undertaker, that he had no other friends and no other options. He had some dignity. It wasn’t much, but he was trying to keep it, dang it. 

“Reynolds and Silvers, cools guys, the whole cult thing is unfortunate, I’d share a drink with them otherwise,” Adam said. He opened his arms in a broad, embracing gesture. “They’re not complete dunces in the ring either. I mean, I whooped both their asses before, but, I have been kicked by Silvers, and it fucking hurts. So, I uh, appreciate your--”

He paused, teeth gritted, searching for a word.

“Concern.” Yep, that’ll have to do. “But I got this handled.” Probably. 

Adam sat-up, searched the room again with a couple pointed looks and then repeated:

“Am I being ribbed?!”