Bodyslam

Whiplash

"Sure," Mitch smiles a practiced smile. "Just for a minute, though. We're on our way to an appointment."

He gives a subtle shake of his head to the guy from casino security who'd been not so subtly trailing them since they left their room en route to whatever Scott has planned before dinner. Oh, he's probably supposed to be discreet about it, Mitch is sure, but he's hard to miss if you know what to look for.

Mitch also doesn't miss the brief, unreadable expression he gets from Scott as they lean in towards the fan now between them, smiling wide for the phone Dan is begrudgingly but politely aiming in their direction.

"You from around here?" Mitch asks pleasantly. He did promise to neither flip off nor punch any fans today and he's far too interested, long term, in merch sales to break that promise.

"Nope, Idaho," the fan replies. "I'm here for the weekend, just flew in this morning for a conference and I..."

Mitch relaxes fractionally as the guy chatters on. At least he's probably not some crazy fucking stalker. It had been a concern for a moment considering the odd, slightly roundabout way they'd been led through the casino and down a less-busy corridor, but maybe it really was just this guy's dumb luck to stumble across them when he did.

"...didn't mean to bother you, I just really appreciate you both for what you do in and out of the ring. Thanks a lot for the pictures!"

And as quickly as he'd approached the fan is walking away again, glancing back over his shoulder a few times until he rounds a corner and disappears from sight.

That could've been worse. He'd expected it to be worse. Patience is a virtue in short supply at the moment.

"You freak me the fuck out sometimes," Scott says quietly as they resume their stroll towards destination unknown.

"I do my best," Mitch glances around again, looking for any creepy fans as well as for any clues as to where the fuck they're going. "Why?"

"Oh, jeez, well," the level of sarcasm is impressive. "You spent the last hour absolutely raging about fans and I'm pretty sure you cussed out all of humanity in what sounded like three languages and frankly it was a little scary, to the degree that I thought we were about to have an issue when that guy walked up..."

It was four languages, if they're being specific here, and it wasn't five only because he couldn't remember any of the German profanity he picked up when Dieter wrestled with them a few years back.

"...but nope. You were all friendly and cool like none of today even happened. It's freaky."

"It's a work," Mitch shrugs. "It's my job."

"It's hard to know which one is the real you sometimes."

That's enough to stop Mitch in his tracks. "You get the real me. Fuck the rest of 'em."

Scott stops walking too, and he half-grins at the response. "You never work me?"

"Nuh-" Mitch begins indignantly before cutting himself off. A solid no would be a lie. He frowns. "Not intentionally, and not when it matters. Anymore."

"Fair enough. It still freaks me out when I actually see it happen."

"Better get used to it," Mitch doesn't want to be having this conversation in a casino hallway, no matter how disused, with a butler and a security dude in earshot. "Where are we going?"

"I will, and you'll see," Scott gestures vaguely.

Dan politely clears his throat from six steps ahead. "Just over this way, gentlemen." His unspoken let's get moving comes through loud and clear, and Mitch might have a momentary crush on the guy for how skillfully he's hiding his annoyance at their bullshit.