Travel Partners

Normally Heath feels all kinds of pride when he looks down at the tag team title. It's a sense of accomplishment, a tangible symbol showing the world that he is one of the best in the WWE. He can't count how many times he and Justin toasted over the tag titles, showing them off to anyone who'd look, daring each other to wear them in the most ridiculous of circumstances (Heath won the bet by going grocery shopping in his home town, title gleaming around his waist.)

But now, ever since a stupid GM's decision, the belt has already started to feel like an anchor around him. He looks over at his new, and decidedly unwanted tag team partner. And since management had decreed that tag team partners had to travel together, he was stuck with a too tall glittery discoball of bitch. Heath ties his hair back and straightens out his simple black T-shirt. "You ready?" He asks dully, checking his watch for the fourth time in ten minutes.

John glared at Heath. "Hell no, I'm not ready! Unlike some people, I actually take pride in how I look. Something you wouldn't know a thing about." he snapped and went back t fixing himself up in the mirror.

John was beyond less than pleased to be tag team champions with this Sheamus pale, Wendy's chick look-a-like. He had been champion before. He'd take Mike Mizanin over Heath Whats-His-Name any day. After another he 15 minutes, he finally fixed his hair. "Okay, I'm ready."

"It's about damn time," Heath mutters, giving his ponytail one last yank before heading out the door. They had a long drive to the arena and he's not looking forward to it at all. It's a shame; if Morrison's personality only matched his looks, he'd be damn near perfect.

But Heath's luck has never been that good. They were running so damn late and he sighs softly, finally giving up and untying his hair again, only to tie it up and stuff it under a ball cap. With his hair, he's recognized more often than most. Everyone else could dress up or down and conceal themselves pretty well. He sighs again. "Do you need to stop and grab anything or can we just head straight there?"

"If i wanted something, I'd say something. Just drive." John said, and played with a strand of his hair. He looked in the mirror on the visor in the car, fidgeting with his looks out of habit. John was most recognized for well... everything. The gorgeous hair, and his pouty lips... He could be spotted a mile away.

"Can;t you drive any faster?" He whined like he always did. John was an impatient person.

"Here's an idea. Why don't you drive?" Heath's neck and lower back have been nagging him since last night, as a result of a messed up chokeslam to the outside. He could really use an hour or two to simply stretch out and not have to worry about driving for a while.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting off a headache. John's cologne or perfume or any of the number of scents he chose to slather on himself was bothering his allergies a bit. He sneezes into a tissue, then stuffs it back into his pocket.

"Fine, pull over." John bossed, crossing his arms and flipping his hair. He'd been having a few issues ith his knee but he could manage driving. That's what he got for doing all his high flying, slashy and high risk moves. They put a lot of pressure on the joint in his legs.

He glanced at Heath, raising a brow at the sneezing. "Salúte." He muttered and went back to playing with a strand of his hair.

Heath starts to ask him what that means, but he decides to let it drop. He finds a good spot to pull over, then slips out of the car, trying not to hold his back. He's sorely annoyed he left his ice pack at the bottom of his bag, not in easy reach. Oh well; he'll have to live without it.

He sits down again, then undoes his hair, fussing with the hair band.

John glared at him. "Will you quit fussing with that hair. It's gonna look bad no matter what you do with it." He snapped and started speeding at a dangerous MPH down the road towards the arena, breaking many rules of the rules on the way.

"Son of a bitch," Heath mutters, gripping the dashboard tightly. "If we get a ticket, your skinny ass is paying for it! As for my hair, just 'cause I don't dump hundreds of dollars of crap into it every morning doesn't mean it looks bad."

"Well it could look better! And I'm not just skinny. I'm muscled, lean and sexy as fuck... all of which you are not. And I can afford ti get a hundred tickets." John scoffed. "Now stop acting like a pansy, and sit there like a man!" He snapped, speeding into the back parking lot after showing his pass and coming to a perfect stop.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a rampaging asshole?" Heath mutters heading to the trunk and grabbing his bag. He shakes his head, wondering how they're going to get through their first title defense if they can't agree on the most basic thing. "You had the shower first last night, I go first tonight." He heads for the arena.

John scoffed a laugh as h grabbed his bag, walking with Heath to the arena. "Yeah, okay. I always go first. That's just how the universe works, Wendy's chick." He said, smirking as they walked into their shared, private lockeroom. John always came first... in Johnny's World at least. John knew how to keep a title... Heath on the other hand, is only Champion because of the Corre, and now because of John.

"Right, well..." Heath trails off, bolting into a full run. He dives into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. Sure it's immature, but goddamnit he hates cold showers. "That's what you get for calling me a Wendy's Chick, ya Jim Morrison wannabe."

John gasped and banged on the door. "Open up right now!" He smirked when an idea popped into his head. "Please Heath, I really gotta use the bathroom, this isn't fair." He said in a faux whimper, banging on the door. "Please, I'm serious open up!"

Heath throws open the door just a crack, enough for one eye and some already damp strands of hair to peek through. "It's a big arena, find another spot." He goes to shut the door again.

"But, but, but... I can't hold it! Please!" John whined banging in the door again. Damn gingers... John growled mentally.

Heath debates. He knows this is stupid. He knows it's a trick, but on the off chance that it's not... He sighs softly and opens the door. "Fine." He starts back into the shower.

John smirked and grabbed Heath, pushing him out of the bathroom before slamming the door shut and locking it. "Ha! Never, ever fuck with John Randal Hennigan when it comes to the shower!" He called from behind the door before he started to strip and get in the shower.

Heath rolls his eyes. He looks over at John's bag. Normally he's not the type for petty revenge, but goddamnit, he was really looking forward to that hot shower. Fine, fine, he can play just as dirty. Heath goes over to the seamstresses, getting a dozen Corre shirts, saying they're for family.

Armed with his burden, he goes over to John's bag and meticulously replaces every single one of Johnny's pretentious, ugly ass designer shirts with a brand new Corre shirt. That would show the little bitch. Heath puts John's shirts into his own bag. A lesser man would probably wreck or ruin them, but Heath just wants to get his point across, not destroy stuff that John had spent good money on.

"You know what," he shakes his head. "Seriously, forget this shit." Even though he's not supposed to, he sneaks back into the Corre change room and grabs his shower there, getting into his gear for his tag team title match. Once he's ready to go, he heads back to the change room he was sharing with John and starts lacing up his boots as if nothing had happened.

John came out of the shower in nothing but a towel that rode low on his waist. His tan, perfect body dripping with water and his hair slick and wet, bringing out the natural curls he usually took out with a flat iron.

He looked through his bag... and saw Corre shirts. Coore shirt... after Corre shirt... after fucking Corre shirt. He ground his teeth to the point were it hurt, his body shaking with fury as his face turned red. He turned around and faced Heath.

"Where. Is. My. SHIRTS?!" He shrieked, absolutely livid.

Heath arches an eyebrow. "They're in safe hands." Justin had graciously offered to hold the shirts for him until later. "After the show, you'll get them back, but you just remember one thing, Morrison." He walks right over to the brunette, getting right in his face. "You act like a bitch, I treat you like a bitch. Now I couldn't give less of a damn about you, but I'm gonna go out there and retain those titles against Santino and Kozlov, you just do you best to stay out of my way."

With that, Heath shoves past him, starting out for the gorilla position so he can stretch out.

John raised a brow. That ginger bitch didn't understand. John had held multiple championships and was the best high flyer on the roster. Heath was the rookie in this business. John had earned his spot and was well on his way to being a main eventing Champion. And he would not let Heath forget that.

John got ready and stretched before putting on his fur ring coat and glasses and championship before he went to the gorilla. He looked at Heath. "You better remember, your just a rookie. I earned my way here. You're only here because Wade Barret brought you here. Don't forget it, kid." He hissed before their music played, the two of them having to walk out together.

All at once, like someone flipped a switch, Heath the angry, frustrated man, becomes Heath the energetic performer. He pushes the rage he feels down, channeling it without letting it overwhelm him.

The only sign of dissension he shows is starting off the match, not even giving John the option to do so. In fact, he outright avoids tags with the man whenever possible. He'd rather just win the whole damn thing without using the colossal jackass' help.

John glared at the redhead the whole time. He smirked when Heath got close enough. He reached out and tagged himself in, going into his flashy, intention drawing mode. He beat Kozlov with every flashy, and high risk move he had, some of them just to show off who was the talent in the two of them. He hit him with Starship Pain and went for a lazy pin. 1, 2, 3. He smirked, snatching his title and stood on the second rope, the crowd cheering 'Morrison' over and over again. John smirked at that. He knew he was the crowd favorite of the tag team. And he was milking it and rubbing it in Heath's face.

Heath walks over and takes his title. He won't let the cheering crowd bother him. He refused to let it bother him when they booed their hearts out and hated him with every fibre of their being, he won't let it bother him this time.

He goes backstage with his head held high, refusing to participate in John's theatrics.