Whoa...here we are. You know, it never actually occurred to me that this is the LAST chapter in BFG. Jeez. That's kind of a wake-up call.
ANYWAY, I'll save the thank-yous and the teary goodbye to this story for the author's note, which will be out after the epilogue, which will be out soon, and after it is this story will be labeled as complete. That little green checkmark will mean so much to me x)
Kathryn's outfit for the Slammys is in the external link! Also, song of the chapter on the side! >>>>
Enjoy! xx
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December 16th, 2012
“Exchange of Goods”
WWE Slammy Awards (New York, New York), arriving, around . . . 6:30pm
*Kathryn's POV*
“Why are they hosting the Slammys at an actual hall this year?” Kat asked, adjusting in her seat in the limo provided to us by WWE. “What makes this year so special?”
I shrugged, moving my bracelets around on my wrist. “I don't know . . .” It came out as kind of a slur, however, as my fever was pretty high at the moment and I could hardly think, let alone provide hilarious commentary on the subject of WWE's choice of venue.
“You okay?” Hayden asked, leaning over to get a better look at me. I guessed it was his being Canadian that made him the most caring of the group.
I nodded, my hand pressed to my forehead. “I'm okay,” I answered, my voice raspy.
“You're going to need to be hauled into the building in a wheelchair, aren't you?” Punk joked, holding a sleeping—and well-dressed—Ottawa in his arms.
I smiled wryly at him. “If you please.”
“Hey, aren't you nominated for something this year?” AJ asked, kicking my ankle to perk me up. I just grunted. “Yeah, you are, aren't you?”
I nodded. “Diva of the Year, I think.”
“And don't forget Shocker of the Year,” Leslie reminded.
I furrowed my brow at her. “Hm?”
“At WrestleMania when you used your rematch clause against Alma to get your title back?”
I winced in Alma's direction. “Oh, yeah.”
“Mhm,” she said back, glaring at me. I smiled.
Once we arrived at the venue, I did my best to look lively as we entered. Granted, I was leaning on Chris the whole time, but I still looked pretty good for having the flu.
I considered taking bets with my friends on how many people I would infect this night.
Once we were seated at our little group of tables, I watched absentmindedly as the award show crew set up the stage for the presentations.
“Here,” Chris said to me, nudging my arm with a startlingly cold flute of champagne. “Drink this. It'll perk you up.”
I made an in decipherable sound and took the glass, staring at the bubbles and gaining slight entertainment from them. I took a small sip and almost gagged. “This is disgusting.”
