EPISODE 30: Moonlighting

EPISODE 30: MOONLIGHTING

Sunday July 25, 2010
Embassy Suites- Parking Lot
Spokane, Washington
11:21 AM Local Time

Terrence Thompson sighed as he pulled the rental car into the last remaining spot in the Embassy Suites hotel parking lot.

Damn, but the next forty-eight hours were going to suck.

After choking in the final Summer Games competition just over a month ago, Terrence had felt himself coming to a crossroads. His singles career in Pro Wrestling X was going nowhere- apparently the top brass in the company had felt his performance at Full Throttle wasn’t good enough, and he was shunted back down the card. So, Terrence had suggested to Wendy (who’s singles career was also treading water), that they enter the tag division, and within a month, they had the tag straps around their waist.

Go figure.

But still wanting the desire for a good singles match, and realizing he wasn’t going to get it against facing the likes of Dean McDaniels, Terrence did one of the things he never in a million years thought he would do.

He called Eric Dane and asked him for a job.

So suddenly, with Wendy barely have recovered from her food poisoning episode, the Birdz were whisked off to Spokane, where Twister would make his Defiance debut against some uncomprehending idiot named the Angel of Death. Then, it would be a red-eye back to Chicago, where the RV was waiting for them, a quick drive to Valparaiso, and then a tag team title defense against Xander Crewes and Scott Styles.

He planned to sleep the vast majority of Tuesday away, that’s for sure.

Climbing out of the car, Terrence looked around. As far as mid-sized cities went, Spokane was actually pretty nice. The airport was small, but considering they were on the shuttle to the car rental agency within ten minutes of leaving the gate, he couldn’t complain too much. And while Terrence hated flying with a passion, even he had to admit the trip out was actually pretty smooth going. Theresa had slept most of the way, and the flight wasn’t too bumpy. And Salt Lake City was hardly the worst airport to be holed up in for three hours.

He could only hope the return trip, by way of Minneapolis, was just as smooth.

Locking the rental, Terrence quickly walked across the parking lot, and entered the hotel. Ignoring the bustle taking place in the massive center atrium that was the chief feature in all Embassy Suites, he quickly walked to the glass elevators, and pushed the button.

He hoped that the people of PWX didn’t see him taking second bookings as a defection. After all, he loved it in Pro-Wrestling X. Save for their new dick of a boss and the fact that the Belmonts wasted no opportunity to let the world know that they thought he was a ‘prat’ (fuggin Brits), it was almost the perfect fed for him. It was competitive, weekly, and best of all, close to home. But he had to do what was best for his career, and if that meant competing in Spokane and catching a red-eye, then so be it.

Besides, it wasn’t like he was the only PWX wrestler to be pulling double duty. Still though, he knew he was no friend of the PWX management at this point, and after the beating his wife laid on Brian Hollywood last week, he was certain retribution against the WhirlyBirdz would be coming post-haste.

Ah well, like he told his wife at Theresa’s birthday party- might as well worry about tomorrow tomorrow.

The elevator doors opened and Terrence stepped off onto the ninth floor. Fortunately, his room was not too far from the elevator, and with a swipe of his electronic keycard, the Mechanical Mayhem was inside.

“I’m back!” Terrence called, looking around the deserted front room of the Suite. They had gotten two Suites adjacent to each other- one for him, Wendy, and Theresa, and another for Pollaski and Cassie, but so far this trip, theirs had been the gathering place for the whole gang. Thus, Terrence was surprised to find the area almost empty.

“I’m in the bedroom!” a feminine voice called, and Terrence quickly walked into the second room of the suite, a rather nice bedroom with a flatscreen television hanging on the wall.

“Where is everyone?” Terrence asked as he entered, looking over at his wife.

Wendy Briese was sitting on the bed, a paperback book in her hand. Even the normally modestly-dressed Wendy had caved in to the scorching Eastern Washington heat, as she had put on a pink t-shirt, and a pair of tan shorts. She smiled at her husband.

“There’s an arcade down on the second floor, and Pollaski went promising to show Cassie his ‘mad Galaga skills,’” she said, hopping down from the bed, and walking up to Terrence, giving him a kiss. “Are you ready for tonight?”

Terrence nodded. “Most definitely. It should be a fun show, although it’s probably going to run a little long. The better question is, are WE ready for tomorrow night?”

Wendy smiled as she retreated back to the bed, perching herself atop it. “Certainly. We’re can’t going to be losing our titles on our very first defense, can we?”

Terrence gave a low chuckle as he walked to the bed. He started to sit down, but stopped as something caught his eye. It was the book Wendy had been reading. Leaning over the bed, he peered down to get a better look at the title.

Detox For Dummies

Terrence shot a sidelong glance at his wife, who had seen his reaction, and waited patiently, arms folded across her chest, for the inevitable question.

“Interesting reading for someone who’s straight-edge.” Terrence quipped.

He winced as Wendy’s shot an open hand out, smacking him hard in the shoulder. “Don’t call me that! I hate that term!” Wendy said fiercely, as Terrence smirked back at her, despite the stinging pain now in his arm. “It’s not for me, anyways,” she continued, her angry eyes never leaving her husband. “It’s for Jake Donovan.”

“Jake Donovan?” Terrence was intrigued, considering that Donovan was the protege of Angel of Death, his opponent at the Defiance show tonight. “What’s he to you.”

“He’s Rick’s younger brother,” Wendy said, ignoring the scowl that crossed Terrence’s face whenever her late friend was mentioned. “And he’s in a lot of trouble.”

“I’ll say, if that talentless idiot Angel is training-”

“Not that way!” Wendy said adamantly, rolling her eyes. “But Terrence, Jake’s been shooting meth.”

“Oh,” Terrence said, looking back at the book. “How do you know that?”

Wendy paused for just a second, and took a deep breath. “Rick told me.”

If Wendy had just told him that she was leaving him for Pollaski, Terrence Thompson could not have been more shocked. His jaw dropped, as he tried to find the words that had somehow managed to lodge themselves in the back of his throat. “Rick... as in UlfRIC, told you...”

Wendy nodded, her emerald eyes not blinking. “Well, his ghost did.”

Terrence didn’t say anything, just blinked stupidly at her, so Wendy went on. “Remember that fight we had before Summer Games?” she asked rhetorically, given that there was no way in hell that either Bird would be forgetting it anytime soon. “Well, after I ran out on you, he appeared, and tried to talk sense into me. And then Wednesday, when I was home sick, he appeared again, and asked me for my help. I can’t say no, Terry...”

Terrence stared at his wife for just a second. “So let me get this straight,” he began, very slowly. “The ghost of Rick Logan appeared to you while you were out with food poisoning, and asked you to get Jake Donovan, a guy you’ve met TWICE in your whole life, off of drugs?”

Wendy nodded.

Terrence looked down at Detox for Dummies. “Maybe YOU need this book...”

“I’m serious, Terrence!” Wendy snarled back, and Terrence found himself taking a step back from her ferocity. “I wasn’t hallucinating!”

“I’m sorry Wendy,” Terrence said quickly, trying to avoid his wife’s ire. “And I don’t mean to joke, but I just can’t believe it. But if Rick was really flying around as a ghost, why doesn’t he just appear to Jake and tell him to sober up?”

“I asked him that too, but he said his appearance has an adverse affect on him.”

“Well, I believe THAT,” Terrence snorted. “Rick Logan always did bring out the worst in people.”

“Terrence...” Wendy snarled through gritted teeth.

Terrence laughed, and picked up the book, moving it aside so he could sit down next to his wife on the bed. Reaching out an arm, he grabbed his wife’s far shoulder and pulled her into a one-armed hug.

“Okay,” he said. “I believe you.”

“You do?” Wendy said, surprised. “About the ghost?”

Terrence shrugged. “It really doesn’t matter to me if there was a ghost or not. What matters to me is that you are the most kindhearted woman I know, and if you feel you need to help someone, then by all means you should do it. Hell, if you’re lucky, you might even see Jake tonight.”

Wendy smiled a bit, surprised at the words “Thank you, Terry,” she finally managed to say.

Terrence shrugged. “I’d be a piss poor husband indeed if I tried to keep my wife from being a good Samaritan. But... how exactly do you plan about going about this?”

Wendy opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Finally, she sighed. “Not a clue. I was hoping you’d have some ideas.”

Terrence snorted. “Nah, stringing out junkies isn’t exactly my specialty. I’ll keep a couple braincells on the problem, though.”

“Don’t overexert yourself,” Wendy smiled.

Terrence smiled back, and hugged his wife even closer. “You’ll think of something, hon. And if you need any help, just let me know.”

Wendy turned her head toward Terrence’s, and smiled. “I know,” she said. She leaned forward and kissed him, and they were soon preoccupied with things other than ghosts and drugs.


============================================================
Sunday July 25, 2010
Embassy Suites- Room 902
Spokane, Washington
6:10 PM Local Time

Twister: “Well, that was easy!”

[See, this is what happens when you don’t plan ahead. Terrence Thompson is two thousand miles away in Spokane, and he’s only now realizing that he’s forgotten to cut a promo. So after dredging up a last minute camera (the normal one’s in the RV now parked at Chicago O’Hare), Terrence has cleared out the room, and decided to say his piece]

[Terrence has spiffed himself up a bit for tonight’s promo. He’s not wearing a T-shirt- he’s wearing a POLO! The bottom button is closed too, so you know the Mechanical Mayhem means some serious business. Of course, there’s the ever-present sardonic smirk he’s wearing as well, as he leans back, hands behind him, relaxing on the hotel’s bed.]

Twister: “So just as I predicted, Dean McDaniels was a goddamned waste of time. One minute, that’s all it took for me to knock that dipshit out and get the victory. All in all, a fairly short night for the Mechanical Mayhem, but it’s been fun to watch the replay of Dean’s head bouncing off the mat.”

[Seriously, watch the tape in slo-mo and add a *BOING* sound effect. It’s freakin’ epic. Terrence chuckles for just a second, then remembering what else happened last week, his smirk vanishes completely.]

Twister: “But what wasn’t fun was the events that transpired to close the show. Some overgrown ‘roider named Wild, who’s last moment of relevance was Jeremiah Belmont turning him into the amazing human meteorite back at New Horizons, has decided to make it his personal mission to relieve my wife and I of our tag team championships. Worse, that fucker went and hit my wife from behind while she was celebrating her win over Brian Hollywood!”

[A snort, and a sneer.]

Twister: “That, gentlemen, will not do.”

[His tone starts mild, but it’s growing angrier by the second, and the narrowing of his eyes is a great indication that the Mechanical Mayhem is quite pissed indeed.]

Twister: “Now I know, my wife is a big girl, and she is fully capable of defending herself. But she’s still my wife, dammit, and if you fuck with her, you fuck with me. If I EVER see Wild, Brian Hollywood, or any of his other goons so much as even TOUCH Wendy Briese outside of a sanctioned match, I guarantee every single member of the Cartel will find themselves broken in pieces at the nearest hospital.”

[Pause]

Twister: “And I won’t even need a match to do it. I’ll leave your bloodied carcasses lying in the middle of the parking lot, for all I care. Nobody messes with my family.”

[Except for seven and a half foot tall Machiavellian monsters. Just sayin’. Anyways, Terrence’s expression softens just a bit.]

Twister: “Now, on to other, slightly more pleasant matters. The WhirlyBirdz’ first tag team title defense is merely hours away, and I know the fans are getting excited. Our first challengers are Xander Crewes and Scott Styles, a makeshift tag team who earned their shot at Do Or Die. My question is, do you boys have a name yet for yourselves, because I have a suggestion, if you’re open.”

[Smirk]

Twister: “Cannon Fodder.”

[OH NO HE DIDN’T!]

Twister: “Personally, I think it’s a damned catchy name, and considerably accurate too. Because, let’s face it, there’s no way in flipping HELL the two of you are going to overcome my wife and I.”

[A slow chuckle at the mere thought of Styles and Crewes beating him.]

Twister: “Xander, the way you talk, you sound like an autistic zombie robot. I get that you’re looking forward to the match and you want to walk out with the tag titles and you have great respect for Wendy and I and have seen us in action before and know that you have to work flawlessly with Scott Styles if you hope to win but for the love of God man stop and take a breath before you pass out!”

[As Terrence reaches the end, its clear his lungs are out of oxygen. Run on sentences ahoy!]

Twister: “Although I have to say I’m impressed with your lung capacity.”

[Hell, if this wrestling thing doesn’t work out, Xander oughta try SCUBA instructor.]

Twister: “Despite all that, I actually kind of like you, Xander. You’ve managed to scrape out a few wins here in PWX, and while they haven’t been the most spectacular or dominating victories I’ve seen, you’re still winning. And the list of people who have wins over Victor Mandrake is extremely short indeed, and you, sir, are on it, although I still have absolutely no idea how the fuck you pulled that off.”

[So’s the rest of the world]

Twister: “You have an admirable passion for the business, Xander, and I can respect that. You train hard, you play by the rules, and you give one-hundred percent every night. But so do I, and so does Wendy, and both of us are more talented, to boot. I know, it makes me sound like a conceited ass, but it really ain’t bragging if it’s true.”

[Another smirk]

Twister: “But even if someway you could manage to overcome the talent gap between us, you still have to worry about your partner. I trust Wendy with my life. Not only is she my partner in the ring, she’s my partner out of it as well. Have you and Scott even seen each other since Do Or Die? Near as I can tell, you two haven’t even been in the same room since that night. It took Wendy and I many months and many tough losses before we were able to properly act as a unit, and that was with us living and training together on a daily basis.”

[To be fair, they were both stupid rookies at the time as well, so a lot of those losses were just due to lack of experience. Terrence snorts in disdain as he gets to the unpleasant topic of this promo.]

Twister:”Even worse, your partner is Scott Styles. Every time we’ve seen Scott thus far, he’s been in a bar or some other hellhole crying about how miserable his life is. If I were you, I’d be wondering if this idiot is even going to show up at Adrenaline sober. Or if he’ll break down and start crying halfway through the match.”

[Over/Under on THAT video showing up on YouTube: 7 minutes. Smirk from the Twister]

Twister: ‘Seriously, the best thing Scott Styles could possibly do for himself, the PWX, and the fans, is to walk into Sami Jacob’s locker room, hold out his wrists, and ask Sami and his switchblade to make it quick.”

[Where the hell do the Belmont’s get off saying Terrence Thompson’s a prick?]

Twister: “Xander, sorry dude, but your undefeated streak’s coming to an end tomorrow night. I fully expect you to give your all, and put up as much of a struggle as you can, but in the end, it won’t matter. You’ve got a long ways to go before you can equal Wendy and I, and you sure as hell need a better person standing in your corner. “

[Terrence stretches, and begins to rise off the bed.]

Twister: “Just do us, and yourself, a favor. As the climax of the match draws nigh, and the fans get to their feet, sensing the end is near, please try and make sure Scott’s the legal man in the ring. After all, either the Kamikaze or Hailstorm is going to have to hit somebody. Unlike your worthless tag partner, you have potential, and I’d hate to see you get hurt.:

[One final grin from the Mechanical Mayhem, and its fade to black.]