Bodyslam

Brainbuster

A/N: You know the drill. Feel free to ask if you need clarification on anything!

"So in terms of certainty, where are we?" Kevin asks, voice very intentionally controlled and calm.

Mitch looks from the scatter of papers in front of them on the announce table, down to his phone, back to his papers and then back to his phone again, tapping his thumb against his lips. "I'd say a good 92% if I have to give you a number. Maybe 92.8%."

He knows Kev well enough to know that the exasperated exhale he hears isn't a bad thing. "Can we be serious here? Please?"

The morning of a show probably isn't the best time to fuck with the guy, especially not right now, but what kind of question was that? "I dunno how you want me to answer that, man," he says with a tight smile. "If you want my gut, this is fucking happening. If you want to factor in red tape I'm at precisely ninety-two percent sure and that's the best I can do, at least until I have signatures."

Kevin sighs. "So we hold off on the news then."

"We should. It's gonna change a lot," Mitch leans back in his chair and stretches his arms over his head. "For Monday's tryouts I'm operating as if it's 100%. I have to. But until we have ink-on-paper signatures, we shouldn't say anything."

"You're right," Kevin sighs again. "You're right. Speaking of tryouts, how did the trainees do this week?"

"Y'know, they did great," Mitch answers honestly. "I feel like shit for saying it, but I should've nudged Twiggy out the door a month ago. I really hoped he'd pull it together and I guess I didn't realize how much he was dragging things down. Chuck's like a new man."

Kevin tips back in his chair. "And what about Scott?" He's smiling as he asks and Mitch is tempted to throw a pen at him.

"Snacks is doing just fine," he replies with an eyeroll. "He still tends to flail like a Muppet, he could definitely use an industrial-sized dose of Adderall, and he's absolute shit on the mic. But there's no denying he's damn good in the ring. When he focuses I can tell he'll make it as far as he wants, eventually. He just needs to figure out how to focus more often."

"Mhmm," Kevin nods. "I'm sure if you ask nicely he'll do anything you want him to do."

This time Mitch does throw a pen at him. "Stop. It's not like that."

He ducks it easily. "It may not be like that but I'm not wrong."

He's probably not, but still. "I'm pretty sure I can wrangle a passable match out of him tonight. When he gets here in, what, half an hour or so we'll show you what we've been working on. Once he dropped the attitude and started listening to me we came up with some good ideas."

Kevin nods thoughtfully. "I see, I see. So he'll do whatever you want as long as you demand it -"

"Oh God, stop."

" - I mean, it's not my thing but everyone likes what they like and -"

"Stop, I hate it."

" - as long as everyone's happy, it's all good!"

"Stoppppp! Fuck's sake, you have the exact opposite of the right idea here and -"

The security door clunks open.

Because the universe has a sick sense of humor - because of course - Snacks walks in, bogged down with a gym bag over his shoulder, his wrestling boots draped around his neck like a scarf, and a Starbucks cup in each hand.