#tick tock you 11 lovely people playing along with me

[aerodaltonimperial]

katy's community poll-fic 2k24

part 1 | part 2

(The people have spoken. 24 hours. Not positive weekend updates will roll out, but we shall see, haha. They tend to be dodgy for me.)

Jack loses sight of Hook when the other rounds a corner and hops into a stairwell, moving with speed Jack generally only sees in the ring. Whatever. Bowens offered up an additional option that Jack hadn’t thought of: the Undisputed Kingdom. They are pretty much the biggest assholes on the roster right now, so maybe the best idea is to interrogate them first and then start working down the rest of the list. Either Hook is heading elsewhere, or he didn’t make note of where the locker rooms are; Jack starts down the opposite hall. He remembers where the paper was taped. Mostly, he remembers because staff always has to put them near one of the wheelchair ramps now, and those end up on the main floor. In fact, the door is positioned right at the top of one leading down to a set of double doors leading outside.

He pauses outside the door, UNDISPUTED KINGDOM stuck up against the polish, hand halfway into a knock. Is this a bad idea? These dicks literally shoved Hanger against a windshield just because his name came up as a possibility. Jack’s not really sure he wants to be the next target, especially not just for Max Caster and his terrible theatrical wails.

Well. He’s come too far now—might as well see this through. Jack knocks on the door, which is opened after a few minutes, and Matt Taven stares at him, eyes narrowed.

“We didn’t place any orders for douchebag twinks,” he says.

“Bummer, I come highly recommended,” Jack replies. “In the absence of that, you got any trios title belts hidden away in there with you?”

“Any what?” Taven parrots. But he does open the door a little wider, so Jack can see the rest of them milling inside. Roddy is on the couch, and Mike is on one of the metal chairs. Adam, of course, is in his wheelchair, with his little black boot held aloft on the kickstand.

Jack can’t immediately see Max’s belt anywhere on the floor, but that certainly doesn’t mean it isn’t here.

“The fuck is this guy doing here?” Mike asks, seemingly to the rest of the room instead of Jack, even though he’s looking right at Jack, like a tool.

“Something about a trios belt,” Taven says.

Jack sighs. “Yeah, do you have it?”

Adam sits back, tenting his fingers in front of him. He looks like he’s trying to channel an evil villain of some kind, but really, the image is ruined by the whole bootie thing. “Are you saying that there’s a title belt missing? And you came here to ask us because…?”

“This seems to be one of the places that wayward items make their way to,” Jack says.

Adam’s eyebrows arch. “Is it?”

“Cut the shit,” Jack says. “Did you take it or not?”

“Why would we want some chump’s title belt?” Mike asks.

“You literally took the ROH tag belts back while wearing ski masks,” Jack points out. “You are a little obsessed with obtaining championships at present.” Then he pauses. “Also, where’s the giraffe?”

Roddy stares at him. The caterpillar above his lip trembles a little bit with the force of his frown. “What?”

“Y’know, the giraffe,” Jack repeats. “Did you keep it? Toss it? Ritually dismember it when you didn’t need it anymore? Also, why did you choose a giraffe?”

“Are you shitting me right now?” Taven asks.

“Did you choose a giraffe because you thought it made you seem non-threatening?” Jack continues. “Like, this whole herbivore thing?”

Roddy groans. “Can someone make him stop talking and go away?”

“Answer the question, and I’ll get out of your 80s bad cop facial hair,” Jack tells him.

“We don’t have a trios belt,” Taven says, with a smile that definitely does not meet his eyes. “Now scram, and let the adults get back to winning.”

“Fine,” Jack says, grumbling. He won’t get anything more out of these fucks when they’ve decided to be the biggest douchebags possible. He turns and starts back towards the hall, pausing only when he hears a “Hey!” called out from behind him.

He pauses. Twists on one heel to watch Adam wheel himself out into the hallway, injured foot bumping in time with squeezing through the doorway. Clearly, this establishment is only barely ADA-compliant, but whatever.

Adam sits back in the chair, tapping his fingers on the armrest a few times. Jack finally spots the poor giraffe taped to the underside of the seat like some sort of sacrifice. Adam gives Jack a once-over, and then says, “You have no finesse and lack all sense of dramatic tension, but you’re a lot more like me than I would have thought a year ago.”

“Excuse me?” Jack asks.

“I have a proposition for you,” Adam says.