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He was living in a basement now.
Goldust had lived in stranger places before, of course. He was the embodiment of all classic film. Of course he had seen some moldy corners of the darkest underbelly of the world before.
He watched Mankind cradle his rat and sing to it happily and sigh as he rocked back and forth. Well, one of them was going to have to start doing some haunting before Paul came back, and it wasn’t going to be Goldust. He already had Razor Ramon questioning his own sexuality, a man had his limits.
“Mankind,” he said, with some authority. “What’s in the box? – Brad Pitt, Seven,” he said.
Mankind glanced up from his rat, gently placing the creature in the front pocket of his shirt. “Mommy! We have revenge on our docket today.”
“Against who?” Goldust asked. “Who did Paul anger this time?”
“It’s not Paul,” he said quickly. “It’s The Rock…” He stood up. “We’re going to kick that man’s rooty poo behind! And all before the pipes in this basement can cool off.”
“Fantastic,” Goldust said. “I do need a little help with Ramon. Only because he has terrible taste in fashion and thinks he’s above experimenting a bit.”
“Well, if he can’t see you for the beautiful person you are, mommy, then he’s a jerk.”
“That’s right,” Goldust said. “And you can’t help people with no taste.” He leaned against the wall and winced as something skittered over his foot. “Would you mind if we actually spoke about this upstairs.”
“This basement is my home, mommy,” said Mankind. “The rats all love me.”
Whatever Goldust had planned to say died when Paul Bearer came into the room – neatly pressed and smelling lightly of formadahyde. “Come to me, my children! We have a company to haunt!”
Goldust automatically drifted in his direction. It was fun being part of a power family, even one that lived in a damp old basement like Grace Kelly’s Oscar.