Work Text:
“The new dress code is easy enough to understand. Business casual.”
“Yeah. Business professional!”
Nicholas goes on to say, “It’s very simple. No sportswear in the workplace, unless you’re in the ring or actively on your way there. Or, I don’t know, working out or training or whatever. We may be athletes, but we still know how to do business.”
“Business!” Matthew echoes, pumping his fist.
“Secondly, no Timberlands. That one’s for sure.”
“Bye-bye Tims!”
“And no sneakers. No matter how expensive.”
Matthew nods ferociously. “Sneakers are so 2021 through 2023. Like, get some real shoes, you know?”
“And no jeans.”
Matthew shudders visibly, appalled at the thought alone.
“Nothing with visible stains, or tears, or rips. Not even if it’s meant to be fashionable.” Nicholas takes a deep breath. “And you know what else I’m sick of? All these guys wearing their own merch!”
“Stop going into business for yourself, am I right?” Matthew agrees. “I’d say no discernible logos at all. Other than the A-E-dub logo, of course.”
“Exactly. Oh, you know what’s epic? Pocket squares! Make a note that we get some AEW handkerchiefs made, Brandon.” Nicholas looks around him. “Brandon? Hello? Is anyone recording this?”
They pull up to the arena in their rented limousine. God, it feels good to be rich and important. As soon as they step out of the vehicle, Matthew’s eye falls on a figure just about to exit the parking garage.
“Nicholas,” Matthew hisses under his breath.
“I see him. Let’s catch up.”
The heavy door leading into the arena falls shut behind them. They look around for their coworker. Admittedly, it takes longer than it probably needs to, considering the fact that Matthew stops to fist-bump every production crew member he sees. They’re all dressed perfectly in completely unnoteworthy clothes up adhering to the new dress code.
“You’re a rock star, Jenny,” Matthew tells a woman whose name he doesn’t know. “Don’t forget to check out the new pool table in catering during your break—oh, they haven’t brought the pool table in yet? Well, it’s not your break yet either, is it?”
“There.” Nicholas points a long finger across the hallway.
A group of four members of talent has congregated in a corner. Well. Three now: Stokely Hathaway rolls his eyes and skedaddles away before the EVPs can make their way over there.
“Well, well, well,” Nicholas mutters disappointedly, his eyes raking up and down the outfit of the offending figure with their back turned to them. “If it isn’t old Orange Cassidy.”
He lays a hand on Orange’s shoulder, who slowly turns around, and—
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Oh, is it the sunglasses? Sorry, it’s a medical thing. I have a doctor’s note. I can take them off for the conversation, though.”
The issue is not, in fact, the sunglasses. But now that he’s turned to face them, the EVPs struggle to articulate what’s wrong. Orange is in all denim, yes, but… it appears he’s wearing a three-piece suit anyway. Around his neck is an orange tie, in a shade that goes remarkably well with the denim.
“Is that a denim waistcoat?” Matthew sputters, baffled.
Orange looks down. “Yep. And there are shoulder pads in my denim jacket. These two told me it makes my silhouette looks fancy.” He thumbs over at Kris and Willow, standing next to him with twin pleasant smiles. “I’m even wearing a clean dress shirt underneath. Sue got it for me. You know Sue, Trent’s mom?”
There’s a hint of pride to his voice.
“The dress code was very clear,” Nicholas says brusquely. “No jeans!”
“Absolutely no jeans,” Matthew parrots.
“Oh, these aren’t jeans. They’re jeggings.” Orange sinks his hands into his pocket and pulls the pants forward to show how much the waistband gives—as well as a peek at a little too much Under Armour.
“The dress code said nothing about jeggings,” Kris pipes up kindly, accompanied by Willow nodding in support.
Dejected, Matthew touches a hand to Nicholas’ wrist and repeats under his breath, “We forgot to make a rule against jeggings.”
Nicholas shakes his head in frustration. “Rats! We must rectify that. You get away with it this time, Orange. But next week…” He turns to Kris and Willow. “And you two! What is this, Pulp Fiction cosplay?”
Kris stares back at him with a blank face. “I have no idea what that is.”
“Me neither,” Willow says. “What is that? Some sort of anime? Sorry, we don’t play videogames.”
Nicholas isn’t done yet. “And those skirts! They’re way too short.”
Matthew sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Ooooooh. Actually. Um.”
“There’s nothing in the dress code about skirt or shorts length!” Kris protests. “We checked! Don’t be sexist just because we’re women.”
“She’s right,” Matthew confirms. “It would be like, reaaally bad optics to dictate how much skin can be visible based on archaic standards set by patriarchal expectations that historically target women disproportionately. Y’know, not a vibe.”
Willow shakes her head. “Super bad for synergy.”
Nicholas squints, first at Willow, then at Matthew, then at Kris, then at Orange (who’s slid his sunglasses back on), and then back at Matthew again. Without a word, he storms off.
Matthew turns back to the group and throws them two thumbs up. “Orange, fix the jeggings next week, alright? Hey, also, check out the pool table in catering if you got a minute. Have a great show, guys! We can do it!”
Locker room morale is skyrocketing. The men’s locker room is fuller than normal, for some reason. Of course the dress code doesn’t apply there, but everyone that Nicholas questions about the new policy seems unanimously positive. Matthew makes sure to inform everyone about the new pool table in catering. They’re really good at running a company.
Nicholas is off to fix some parking situation. Matthew is left to his own devices, but for an EVP, there’s always something to do backstage. Right down the hall of the locker room, there’s another perfect opportunity for Matthew to practice his assertiveness.
“Heyyy there pals!” he exclaims, drawing out his syllables to muster some personability. “What’s going on?”
Three pairs of eyes look at him, unimpressed. The pals stay quiet.
“Claudio, great to see you all dressed up.” Matthew flashes a winsome grin. “You look very dashing.”
And he does: the tall man is clad in a cream-colored vest on matching pants made from a soft-looking material. The collar of his dress shirt is popped up, and a thin silver chain hangs around his neck. His shoes made of are a polished leather. From top to bottom, he drips European swag.
“Now, Wheeler,” Matthew continues, his eyes moving on to the next man. “Always great to have a chat with the younger talent! You have a really promising career ahead of you, you know. If you ever need advice from a vet, you know where to find me, right?”
Claudio interrupts by clearing his throat loudly. When Matthew smiles at him, he shrugs and purses his lips, not speaking up.
Matthew takes that as his cue to continue. “Unforch, your outfit does violate the dress code. We no longer allow merch shirts in the workspace. You can wear it out to the ring, of course! But for now, I’d like to ask you to turn your shirt inside out. I won’t fine you, because it’s a first-time violation and you’re such a promising young fellow. Maybe try to get your formalwear fitted next time though, yeah?”
Wheeler’s wearing a jacket that looks very sophisticated, of a very similar material as Claudio’s outfit. They must have gotten them at the same store. However, it looks noticeably too big on Wheeler’s frame, almost like it was meant for a much bigger man than him.
“Sure, I’ll get it fitted,” Wheeler responds, not breaking eye contact with Matthew. “Maybe I’ll go to the same tailor you guys go to, since your suits fit so nicely.”
Wheeler gets poked in the ribs by Claudio for reasons Matthew doesn’t understand. However, there’s a third man he needs to focus his attention on.
“Jonathan,” he starts, pleasantly. “Jonny.”
Moxley grumbles dissatisfied, so Matthew quickly amends, “Mox. Hi.”
Moxley nods. He raises his eyebrows, as if willing Matthew to continue, while drumming his fingers on chin. Fingers that poke out from sweater sleeves with makeshift holes for his thumb.
“I’m afraid you’re in clear violation of the dress code, Mox,” Matthew says with a sigh. Assertiveness. He can do this. “I am not sure how we can fix this. That sweater won’t do. It looks completely unprofessional. The F-word is on the front!”
Moxley looks down at his own chest, his face almost surprised as if he’s only just now noticing the illicit language. “Oopsie.”
Matthew musters up all the courage he has, puffing up his chest like he sees Nicholas do all the time. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to fine you, Mox.”
“Who’s getting fined?” A voice interrupts. Matthew turns to see Bryan Danielson approach. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees his sensible white tee and slim-fit chinos. A wondrously inoffensive outfit.
“Moxley is,” Matthew responds, pushing through the uncomfortable feeling in his chest.
“Don’t think so,” Bryan says. Before Matthew can open his mouth to argue, he continues, “I’m on the disciplinary committee. We get last say over the monetary fines.”
Dread crawls up Matthew’s spine. That doesn’t sound right. “Have we been claiming to give out fines that go nowhere all this time?”
“What? No, of course not! We’ve okayed all your disciplinary action so far. Schiavone had it coming.”
Thank God.
“But you can not do the same thing to Mox. I won’t stand for it.”
“Now, hold on…” Matthew feels himself growing red. “If my brother were here, he would—”
He’s interrupted by Moxley pulling his sweater up. He seems to get his arms stuck in the garment for a moment—though Matthew’s too laser-focused on the sight of his belly button and happy trail to notice that—and he wrestles his way to freedom with a little bit of help from Wheeler. Then, Moxley stands there completely shirtless. He mindlessly scratches his furry chest, and Matthew’s lost his train of thought.
“Huh,” Wheeler says. “Do you guys think—”
“Yeah, absolutely,” Claudio mutters, voice low.
Mox looks from Matthew to his stablemates. “Hmm, what?”
“We’re all thinking it,” Bryan says. “But that doesn’t mean you should say it. Oh, hi there, Nicholas.”
“What did you do to my brother?” Nicholas grumbles, waving a hand in front of Matthew’s face. Matthew blinks at his brother slowly. “What the eff! Moxley, put some clothes on, you duplicitous slut. Leave us alone!”
“He started it,” Wheeler starts to argue, but he’s pushed along by Claudio. They leave.
Matthew stares at their backs, slowly finding his words again. He turns to Nicholas forlornly. “I forgot to tell them about the pool table.”
“She’s in sweats,” Nyla says insistently. “I saw it with my own eyes!”
“Sorry, can’t help you,” Matthew says with a sweet smile.
“And I thought we weren’t allowed to wear our own merchandise? She’s got her shirt on, cut up all edgy with tears in strategic places. Ripped clothes are completely unprofessional!”
Nyla’s wearing jeans with rips at the knees herself. Nicholas had mentioned it immediately when she had approached them, but she kindly informed them both that it’s an important part of her culture. Matthew had quickly shushed his brother. They don’t want their dress code to be racially insensitive, or possibly transphobic.
“And worst of all…” Nyla leans in conspiratorially. “She’s wearing Timberlands!”
Matthew gasps. “Not Tims!”
“Enough,” Nicholas exclaims. “Again, we can’t do anything. Athena is not under our jurisdiction. She falls under ROH.”
“She’s still signed with AEW!” Nyla protests. “She’s got a contract with All Elite Wrestling! You know, the place you guys EVP for?”
“That can’t be right,” Matthew says with a frown. “If she’s signed to AEW, then why hasn’t she been booked on the show in ages?”
“It’s important to give a little something back to your employees, every now and then. To boost morale.” Matthew sighs dreamily as he watches Christian Cage bend over to line up his cue. “That pool table was a great idea.”
Nicholas’ eyes are fixed on Christian’s opponent instead, who’s behind in points on account of his giant championship belt getting in the way of his shots. “You know, Samoa Joe is a fantastic champion. That’s the kind of guy I want to see more of in this company. Look at him, dressed to the nines! A true role model.”
Christian shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over a nearby chair. The sleeveless turtleneck is decidedly not up to the code, but Matthew panics when he sees the bulging biceps. Looking for a way to distract his brother from reprimanding his eye candy, Matthew quickly changes the topic. “You’re so right. Hey, you know who’d also make a great champion? Swerve, duh. Did you see his suit? I wish wrestling was a fixed sport, we could just make him champ.”
Nicholas rolls his eyes. “That would be ridiculous. If wrestling were fixed, we could just book ourselves to win the tag belts from Sting and Darby. There’s no sportsmanship in that.” He taps his plate with his fork. “Also, I’m telling Hangman you said that.”
“You guys talking about the Hangman?” a voice sounds, rudely interrupting their peaceful lunch.
Looking up, it turns out to be their ideal future champ, Swerve Strickland. Matthew puts on his most charming smile. “Good afternoon, Swerve-o!” He frowns at the nickname. That one needs workshopping. “Hey, while I got you here, I want to take the time to personally thank you for adhering to the new dress code so wonderfully.”
“My pleasure,” Swerve says with a sly grin. He’s dressed in a polished, dark-toned two piece. It looks to be a nice quality, too, not the stuff Nicholas gets from Amazon. “I wanted to report a violation of the dress code, actually. Do you know who I need to approach for that?”
“That’s us,” Nicholas answers, puffing up his chest. “Tell us the offender, and we reprimand them and dish out a fine, for sure.”
“A structured working environment is important to us,” Matthew susses.
They’re all briefly distracted by the fact that Joe’s taken an unsuspecting Hook into a headlock. The EVPs look on from a distance and murmur between the two of them. They are too far to overhear what Joe is saying, so they decide it’s safe to assume Joe has taken it on himself to call Hook out for wearing a hoodie. It’s so great to have model employees around who aren’t afraid to guide their coworkers into the right direction.
“Right, where was I?” Swerve continues when the commotion has died down. “Oh, right. I would like to report Hangman Adam Page for wearing jeans.”
“Is he wearing the ones that make his ass look really good?” Matthew asks, forgetting himself.
“His ass looks good in whatever he wears,” Swerve responds, forgetting himself even more than Matthew, before shaking his head. “I mean, I don’t know. I wouldn’t know about that sort of thing.”
“Does it matter?” Nicholas has risen from his seat. “Jeans are explicitly forbidden in the new dress code. Business casual, bizz-cizz. Khakis are fine, jeans are not.”
“Right, business professional.” Matthew nods fervently.
Swerve sighs. “He’s also wearing a V-neck. That can’t be okay, right? He has cleavage.”
“I don’t think we have rules against V-necks yet. Or cleavage. Is that one for the list, Matthew?”
Matthew’s eyes go big. Rules against cleavage sound like a lawsuit waiting to happen, or worse: a bad Glassdoor review. He turns to Swerve, looking to end this conversation. “Thank you so much for reporting the issue Swerve, you are a real team player. Hey, by the way, I talked to the venue’s coffee shop, they no longer charge the talent extra for plant milk alternatives!” When Swerve looks confused, Matthew throws him a thumbs up. “Have a great show!”
They don’t need to search for long to find Hangman. In fact, Hangman finds them first.
“Guys! Great, I was looking for you,” Adam says with relief on his face. “Y’all got a minute?”
“Hi, Adam!” Matthew doesn’t even have to fake his smile. The jeans are the ones that make his ass look good.
“Just the man we were looking for,” Nicholas says forebodingly. “Have you gotten the memo about the new dress code, by any chance?”
“Sent to your work e-mail. With four or five follow-ups. Amendments, you know,” Matthew supplies helpfully. “Also, if you need to reply to the e-mail, please make sure to uncheck ‘reply all’, because we keep getting complaints about that, and people keep bringing up the BCC, but I don’t really understand why.”
Adam nods. “I saw the e-mail. I read the new regulations carefully. That’s why I was looking for you guys… I want to report a violation.”
The EVPs synchronously quirk one eyebrow each: Matthew his left, Nicholas his right.
“Have you guys seen Swerve yet? Strickland?” Hangman rambles on without waiting for an answer. “He is like, way overdressed. That suit of his can not be up to code. Business casual, right?”
Nicholas nods, while Matthew mumbles, “Business professional. Bizz-prizz.”
“We’ve seen him, his suit is perfect,” Nicholas says. “Samoa Joe is wearing something similar, actually.”
Adam does not seem happy with that answer. “That can’t be right. The people are unhappy about his get-up, you know. Swerve’s get-up, not Joe’s.”
Oh, that sounds concerning.
“I heard some rumblings in the locker room that he’s making other people look bad in comparison. Like, he looks too good, according to some.” Adam crosses his arms. “I mean I disagree, I think he’s very ugly, no matter what he wears. But that suit looks very expensive and form-fitting. It’s distracting! Or it could be, to people who are into him, I guess. You really should send him home and also consider suspending him and maybe fire him while you’re at it.”
Matthew’s eyes have long dropped down to Adam’s chest, where his crossed arms push his pecs together. That neckline is very low, like Swerve had mentioned. Matthew’s about to open his mouth and agree with whatever Adam just said, but these situations are why he keeps his brother around.
“Hey, hold on a moment! I see what you’re doing!” Nicholas objects. “Adam, Swerve’s attire is fine, and we will not be firing him! Now, let’s talk about your outfit, young man!” He points an accusatory finger at the man who’s two years younger than him. “Jeans are not up to the dress code!”
“Oh, this?” Adam looks down at his legs. “These are just kind of what I have lying around.”
“Well, you need to update your wardrobe then!” Nicholas continues. “Not to mention that leather jacket. Do you think that looks professional?”
“I can take it off,” Adam says as he shrugs off his jacket.
“And that V-neck is definitely too low-cut. We can’t fine you for that one yet, but we will make sure to update it for next week—”
“Now hold on,” Matthew interrupts. “I’m not sure necklines are something we can dictate…”
He falls silent because Adam’s in the process of taking off his shirt with the offending neckline. Fabric is lifted to reveal an expanse of glorious muscle.
“Nice try,” Nicholas snorts without looking over at Matthew. “Got that one from Mox, did you? This isn’t Young Bucks Matt anymore, Adam, you’re talking to executive vice president Matthew—Matt? Hello?”
“So, hey, have you seen the pool table in catering yet?” Matthew asks Adam, batting his eyelashes and dropping his voice down low. “Hanger, I would love to show you the pool table in catering.”
“Oh, for eff’s sake,” Nicholas sighs.
“It feels like she should be fined,” Nicholas mumbles.
Matthew throws the stack of papers onto a nearby stand. It slides across the stand, and some papers from the back dwindle down to the floor. The singular staple in the corner cannot hold that entire pile together. Dang, another one for the to-do list: buy a heavy duty stapler.
“I looked through every last rule. There’s nothing that technically forbids ball gowns.”
“But the number of frilly skirts!” Nicholas groans. “It takes up so much space.”
Matthew scratches his head. “Hey, it does look really nice, though.”
“Better than her lackeys, at least.”
Oh no. Matthew’s stomach drops. Nicholas is going to comment on someone’s skirt length again.
“We should ban those little gloves Luther wears. They give me the effin’ creeps.”
Matthew relaxes.
Together, they stare across the production floor, where Toni Storm is filming some sort of promo. Or maybe having a breakdown, it’s hard to tell. Luther and Mariah fawn over her and her frankly gorgeous dress.
“At least she’s wearing shoes. For now,” Nicholas comments. “Hey, what about that black-and-white thing? How does she do that? Can we fine her for that?”
No matter how many people complain, neither Matthew nor Nicholas is going to reprimand Abadon for their refusal to adhere to the dress code. They have tried to implement a rule against oozing black slime in the past, and the confrontation did not go well.
“They’re bringing their lunch in a Tupperware now,” Matthew notes. “That’s improvement!”
“Matthew,” Nicholas sighs, exasperated. “They’re still eating brains.”
“Ah, Eddie. The man where it all started.”
Eddie’s face transforms into a lazy grin. He’s lounging out on a couch in the backstage area, all by himself. He takes his AirPods out and quirks a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at the EVPs.
“Don’t you got some goths in facepaint to bother? You can leave me alone, you know.”
“We’re just trying to form a more profound bond with the talent,” Matthew interjects, seeing his hot-headed brother already getting worked up. Oh, how Matthew’s ever the peacemaker! “Hey, Edward, can we touch base for a sec? We got some bizz-nizz to talk about with you.”
Eddie barks out a laugh. “Don’t play coy, Jackson. I know you’re here to write me up for my clothes. Heard you two have been harassing the entire roster all fuckin’ day. Will you guys leave if I take my shirt off?”
Matthew opens his mouth to respond, then, wisely, closes it again. Panic-stricken, he looks over at Nicholas for help.
It’s been a long day. It seems even Nicholas has no fight left in him. “Come on, Eddie. There’s a dress code. Either we give you a fine, or we get Bryan Danielson to do it.”
Ohhhh. Smart. “He means it,” Matthew quickly adds. “We’re not afraid to involve Brizz Dizz.”
Eddie rolls his eyes and slings his legs over the arm rest on the couch. “Try me. I read the rulebook. I’m all up to code, partner.”
This man, in his big, chunky boots and a pair of sweats… claims he’s up to code?
He nods at his shoes. “Look at the flap. I got the Louis Vuitton Tims, my dude. Okay, my sis did, Renee. Bet you didn’t expect that when you put that in, huh?”
It’s true that they specified absolutely no Timberlands, except for the Louis Vuitton ones. It was a joke. Matthew and Nicholas had scoured the web and StockX several times, and could not find a single place where these boots were sold.
Nicholas inspects Eddie’s feet closely, then looks up at his brother with a grave face. “They’re the real deal.”
“LV Tims,” Matthew gasps.
Nicholas turns his attention back to Eddie. “We also said no sweats.”
Matthew nods and recites, “No sportswear, anywhere. Unless you’re working out or in the ring. Which you are not doing on this couch.”
It doesn’t seem to faze Eddie. “These ain’t sweats. They’re jeggings. Check the material.”
It’s Matthew’s turn to check, so he reaches out to pinch the fabric between his fingers, and—yes.
“Scratchy,” he confirms. “It’s gray denim.”
“Bastard!” Nicholas swears under his breath. “You foiled us.”
“And I went with a very basic black shirt to appease you guys,” Eddie continues. “Which should be more than fine. As a show of respect.”
He rises from the couch, tall and broad and imposing. Looking exactly like the Triple Crown Champion he is.
“See, I don’t disrespect you guys. I just hate whatever you guys are doing right now.”
There’s a sharp, angry inhale from Nicholas. Matthew reaches out to rest a hand on his chest, to hold him back from getting up in Eddie’s face.
Eddie looks at both EVPs for a moment. “I like some of the stuff you do. I like the free pizza days. I like that there’s no extra charge for the plant milks at the coffee shop. I like the pool table in catering.”
Matthew missed out on Eddie playing pool?!
“Just stop terrorizing people, alright? Then you won’t have a problem with me.”
Before they can respond, Eddie nods and walks off. There’s no heat or bounce to his step: he’s just normal Eddie, done with the conversation, and walking off. They both watch him go.
Nicholas finally deflates. “Dang it, we still didn’t get to fine him.”
“He liked the pool table,” Matthew sighs, feeling positively on cloud nine.
“At least he didn’t take his shirt off.”
Matthew’s mood sours again. “We need a stricter dress code. All the hot guys have to be shirtless all the time, all the women get to wear whatever they want, and someone is buying me the Louis Vuitton Tims.”
Nicholas rolls his eyes. “That sounds just like before.”