July 26, 2010
The Kennel- Terrence Thompson’s Locker Room
Spokane, Washington
10:21 PM Local Time
The fifth Episode of the second season of Defiance was still underway as Terrence Thompson finished packing up his ring gear, looking around the room to make sure that there he wasn’t forgetting anything. Finding nothing, Terrence quickly zipped up the bag, cringing at the slight pain in his neck from where the Angel of Death had hit him hard with a spinning neckbreaker.
Rubbing his neck, Terrence turned towards the door as it swung open, and smiled as his wife walked in. Wendy Briese was carrying two bottles of water in her hands, one of which she tossed to her husband, who immediately opened it, and drained almost half the contents in a single gulp.
“Thanks, hon,” Terrence said, watching his wife settle into one of the several folding chairs that had been provided for his dressing room. Stretching, and trying to work out the slight crick in his neck, Terrence dropped into another chair, taking a much more reserved sip of his water.
He looked over at his wife, and smiled. “And thanks for tonight, as well.”
Wendy nodded, although she almost looked ashamed at her part in the ending of Terrence’s match. “I didn’t really want to do it... but between that and you getting your head bashed in...”
Terrence chuckled, wincing slightly as he rose from his chair, walking towards Wendy. “You did fine. It was obvious from the get go that the Angel of Death didn’t stand a chance against me, and needed that idiot Black Widow to cheat. You just kept things fair, is all.”
Wendy nodded quietly, although she didn’t look any happier.
“And besides,” Terrence said, kneeling down beside his wife, and putting his arms around her. “You looked incredibly sexy sliding out of that ring with a chair in your hand.”
Wendy looked at her husband, a bit taken aback. “You found THAT...”
But she was interrupted as Terrence quickly leaned forward, and pressed his lips to hers. Wendy paused in surprise for just a split second, than returned, the affection, sliding her arms around her husband as well.
Of course, the door had to burst open at that moment, nearly flying off the hinges as Daniel Pollaski barged into the room.
“KNOCK!” Both Birdz screamed as they broke apart, the moment ruined.
“Screw that!” Pollaski retorted in a tone that brokered no argument. “Turn on the goddamned television!”
Stunned at the urgency in Pollaski’s voice, Wendy leaned over and pressed the power button for the small 17 inch television that they had kept in their dressing room. Both Terrence and Wendy gaped in surprise at the scene on the television. A man was crumpled in the corner of the ring, completely still, while Bronson Box and Stephen Greer stood in the middle of the ring, looking on with perverse satisfaction. Outside the ring, security officials and EMTs were flooding the corner near the downed man, trying to find the best way to extract the broken man.”
“Oh, God,” Wendy said, turning white. “Who...”
“Hurley,” Pollaski said shortly.
“Accident?” Terrence asked, although he immediately knew the answer, just from the way Bronson Box was screaming triumphantly at the EMT’s.
“Yeah,” Pollaski snorted. “The Hydra ‘accidentally’ removed the turnbuckle padding and then Bronson ‘accidentally’ Bombasto Bombed him head-first.”
“Jesus.” Terrence hissed. “That looks bad.” He looked over at his wife, and was stunned to see tears running down her cheeks.
“We knew Evan.” Wendy whispered, unable to trust herself to talk any louder. “We faced him back in the CCW. He was odd, but a good person.”
“Yeah, well, it seemed he changed a lot in six years,” Pollaski said. “Became pretty bitter, and hooked on the booze.”
“Still, he didn’t deserve that,” Wendy said, wiping her eyes. “Nobody does.”
“Really?” Terrence growled, the squeezing quarter-full water bottle in helpless anger. “Because I can think of two people...”
“Terrence...” Wendy said warningly, looking wide-eyed over at her husband, not liking where this conversation was heading in the least.
“No,” Terrence said, brushing aside his wife’s warning. “They would have done the same goddamn thing to Dusty three weeks ago. These thugs aren’t going to stop until they kill someone... fuck, for all we know, they just DID kill someone! Who knows what shape Evan’s in?”
“But Terrence,” Wendy said quietly. “There’s five of them, and one of you...”
Terrence shrugged. “I’m probably better than the five of those hacks combined.” he said. “Or...”
Terrence paused, and looked his wife dead in the eye.
“Or you could join me in there, and help me rid Defiance of those bastards. You know what Greer and Heidi did to you. You know what they did to Dusty, and Evan, and Kazuma, and who knows how many others? Sign a contract, join me in there, and together we can do this.”
Wendy stared back at her husband for several seconds, then finally looked away. “I can’t. I will stand at ringside, and I will do whatever I can to watch your back, but as long as Eric Dane owns this company, I will not sign a contract, and I will not compete in a match.”
“Because it violates your principles?” Terrence demanded. When Wendy nodded, Terrence, suddenly finding himself slightly irritated, pointed at the television screen. “Last time I checked, THAT violated your principles as well. You might have to make a decision here, hon.”
Wendy stared back at her husband, speechless for a second, before looking away again.
“Whatever decision you make, I can live with” Terrence said, more mildly. “But I seriously wonder if you could.”
With that, Terrence slowly walked out of the locker room, tossing his water bottle in a trash can. Pollaski followed, leaving Wendy alone in the room.
Very slowly, Wendy sat down on her chair, and sighed, massaging her temples with her fingers as if she had a headache.
Her husband might actually be right on this.
====================================================================================================
August 4, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:10 PM Local Time
[Living room. On the couch. Terrence Thompson. White wall behind.]
[Go.]
“Stephen Greer”
[Slight pause]
“It’s amazing. Every single time I think you could not become any bigger of a piece of shit, I turn around, and you’ve managed to top yourself yet again.”
[Terrence Thompson is not in a good mood right now. It’s understandable, given his opponent]
“No, I’m not going to do the expected, and reiterate every single time you’ve been a prick over the past eight years. They only give us so much time to talk, you know. So no, this isn’t about King of the Death Match, or the Faygo Shower, or the Defiance finale, or even Summer Games.”
[Terrence shakes his head, and another pause, his brown eyes never leaving the camera lens.]
“My wife already paid you back for the last two well enough. By the way, congrats on getting your voice back to normal.”
[There’s a slight smile here, but it quicky fades.]
“This is about the here and now. The Hydra. A most fitting name, because every single member of your club ranks among the slimiest, slithering lowlifes ever to walk the face of this earth. Hell, you even have your own personal snake-haired Medusa in Heidi Christenson.”
[Another half-hearted smile that lasts for less than a second.]
“It’d be one thing if your stable had the goal of bettering yourselves as wrestlers, giving you a multitude of training partners to practice, and share strategies with. Even someone to watch your back in the difficult and contentious matches. But the mere presence of Johnny Lightning on your squad is a clear indication that you care very little about winning and losing. All you care about is destruction.”
[A disgusted shake of the head]
“Sunday night, in Spokane, you helped end a man’s career. You wrecked a man’s livelihood for no other reason than your own sick, twisted entertainment. Evan Hurley was no friend of mine, but Goddammit, he does not deserve to spend the rest of his life in a fucking wheelchair! “
[For the last part of that, Terrence’s voice raises in a slight crescendo. It’s not quite yelling, but there is definitely a “forte” presence to his voice. When he speaks again, he is slightly calmer, and quieter]
“But I’m not here to swear revenge on Evan Hurley’s behalf. I’m not that presumptuous. But I know a pattern when I see one. Kazuma Fujita. Dusty Griffith. Evan Hurley. All attacks that you, and your worthless compatriots are responsible for. Who’s next on your agenda? Xavier Langston? The Foreshadowing? Me?”
[Another head shake]
“Try no one.”
[Another smile, this one lasting almost two seconds before fading. But even so, there is zero humor behind it]
“Greer, the opening bell of our match will mark the beginning of the end of Hydra’s reign of terror. The Hydra is a many headed beast, and if I have to, I will lop off each head, one by one, until the monster lies dead beneath my feet.”
[Terrence holds up his right hand, all five fingers extended]
“Box.”
[Folds in the thumb]
“Heidi.”
[Drops the pinkie]
“Andrews.”
[Down goes the ring]
“Lightning.”
[And in comes the middle, until all that’s left is Terrence’s fist, the index finger still extended.]
“Or maybe your own demise will be enough.”
[Drops the index finger, and lowers his hand]
“Because make no mistake about it, Greer. The sixteenth of August is going to go down in history as one of the worst nights of your professional career. By the time I’m done with you, it’ll feel like there were five of me in that ring, kicking your ass. But don’t worry. Unlike you, I’ll be more than enough to handle things on my own.”
[Another small smile]
“By all means though, bring out your friends to stop me. One month ago, I laid out the entire Hydra, four on one, and there isn’t anything Bronson Box brings to the table that suggests the result would be any different. Because every single one of you is weak. Every single one of you is unable to function on your own volition, your own merit.”
[Derisive snort]
“Especially you, Greer. For eleven years, you hid behind your team Danger buddies, each of you using each other for protection. You claim Team Danger is dead, and in name, you may be right. But the spirit lives on in Hydra, the spirit of thugishness.”
[Pause]
“On Monday night, I will kill that spirit. And for the first time in eleven years, pro wrestling will be cured of the disease that is Stephen Greer.”
[Fade to black]
The Kennel- Terrence Thompson’s Locker Room
Spokane, Washington
10:21 PM Local Time
The fifth Episode of the second season of Defiance was still underway as Terrence Thompson finished packing up his ring gear, looking around the room to make sure that there he wasn’t forgetting anything. Finding nothing, Terrence quickly zipped up the bag, cringing at the slight pain in his neck from where the Angel of Death had hit him hard with a spinning neckbreaker.
Rubbing his neck, Terrence turned towards the door as it swung open, and smiled as his wife walked in. Wendy Briese was carrying two bottles of water in her hands, one of which she tossed to her husband, who immediately opened it, and drained almost half the contents in a single gulp.
“Thanks, hon,” Terrence said, watching his wife settle into one of the several folding chairs that had been provided for his dressing room. Stretching, and trying to work out the slight crick in his neck, Terrence dropped into another chair, taking a much more reserved sip of his water.
He looked over at his wife, and smiled. “And thanks for tonight, as well.”
Wendy nodded, although she almost looked ashamed at her part in the ending of Terrence’s match. “I didn’t really want to do it... but between that and you getting your head bashed in...”
Terrence chuckled, wincing slightly as he rose from his chair, walking towards Wendy. “You did fine. It was obvious from the get go that the Angel of Death didn’t stand a chance against me, and needed that idiot Black Widow to cheat. You just kept things fair, is all.”
Wendy nodded quietly, although she didn’t look any happier.
“And besides,” Terrence said, kneeling down beside his wife, and putting his arms around her. “You looked incredibly sexy sliding out of that ring with a chair in your hand.”
Wendy looked at her husband, a bit taken aback. “You found THAT...”
But she was interrupted as Terrence quickly leaned forward, and pressed his lips to hers. Wendy paused in surprise for just a split second, than returned, the affection, sliding her arms around her husband as well.
Of course, the door had to burst open at that moment, nearly flying off the hinges as Daniel Pollaski barged into the room.
“KNOCK!” Both Birdz screamed as they broke apart, the moment ruined.
“Screw that!” Pollaski retorted in a tone that brokered no argument. “Turn on the goddamned television!”
Stunned at the urgency in Pollaski’s voice, Wendy leaned over and pressed the power button for the small 17 inch television that they had kept in their dressing room. Both Terrence and Wendy gaped in surprise at the scene on the television. A man was crumpled in the corner of the ring, completely still, while Bronson Box and Stephen Greer stood in the middle of the ring, looking on with perverse satisfaction. Outside the ring, security officials and EMTs were flooding the corner near the downed man, trying to find the best way to extract the broken man.”
“Oh, God,” Wendy said, turning white. “Who...”
“Hurley,” Pollaski said shortly.
“Accident?” Terrence asked, although he immediately knew the answer, just from the way Bronson Box was screaming triumphantly at the EMT’s.
“Yeah,” Pollaski snorted. “The Hydra ‘accidentally’ removed the turnbuckle padding and then Bronson ‘accidentally’ Bombasto Bombed him head-first.”
“Jesus.” Terrence hissed. “That looks bad.” He looked over at his wife, and was stunned to see tears running down her cheeks.
“We knew Evan.” Wendy whispered, unable to trust herself to talk any louder. “We faced him back in the CCW. He was odd, but a good person.”
“Yeah, well, it seemed he changed a lot in six years,” Pollaski said. “Became pretty bitter, and hooked on the booze.”
“Still, he didn’t deserve that,” Wendy said, wiping her eyes. “Nobody does.”
“Really?” Terrence growled, the squeezing quarter-full water bottle in helpless anger. “Because I can think of two people...”
“Terrence...” Wendy said warningly, looking wide-eyed over at her husband, not liking where this conversation was heading in the least.
“No,” Terrence said, brushing aside his wife’s warning. “They would have done the same goddamn thing to Dusty three weeks ago. These thugs aren’t going to stop until they kill someone... fuck, for all we know, they just DID kill someone! Who knows what shape Evan’s in?”
“But Terrence,” Wendy said quietly. “There’s five of them, and one of you...”
Terrence shrugged. “I’m probably better than the five of those hacks combined.” he said. “Or...”
Terrence paused, and looked his wife dead in the eye.
“Or you could join me in there, and help me rid Defiance of those bastards. You know what Greer and Heidi did to you. You know what they did to Dusty, and Evan, and Kazuma, and who knows how many others? Sign a contract, join me in there, and together we can do this.”
Wendy stared back at her husband for several seconds, then finally looked away. “I can’t. I will stand at ringside, and I will do whatever I can to watch your back, but as long as Eric Dane owns this company, I will not sign a contract, and I will not compete in a match.”
“Because it violates your principles?” Terrence demanded. When Wendy nodded, Terrence, suddenly finding himself slightly irritated, pointed at the television screen. “Last time I checked, THAT violated your principles as well. You might have to make a decision here, hon.”
Wendy stared back at her husband, speechless for a second, before looking away again.
“Whatever decision you make, I can live with” Terrence said, more mildly. “But I seriously wonder if you could.”
With that, Terrence slowly walked out of the locker room, tossing his water bottle in a trash can. Pollaski followed, leaving Wendy alone in the room.
Very slowly, Wendy sat down on her chair, and sighed, massaging her temples with her fingers as if she had a headache.
Her husband might actually be right on this.
====================================================================================================
August 4, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:10 PM Local Time
[Living room. On the couch. Terrence Thompson. White wall behind.]
[Go.]
“Stephen Greer”
[Slight pause]
“It’s amazing. Every single time I think you could not become any bigger of a piece of shit, I turn around, and you’ve managed to top yourself yet again.”
[Terrence Thompson is not in a good mood right now. It’s understandable, given his opponent]
“No, I’m not going to do the expected, and reiterate every single time you’ve been a prick over the past eight years. They only give us so much time to talk, you know. So no, this isn’t about King of the Death Match, or the Faygo Shower, or the Defiance finale, or even Summer Games.”
[Terrence shakes his head, and another pause, his brown eyes never leaving the camera lens.]
“My wife already paid you back for the last two well enough. By the way, congrats on getting your voice back to normal.”
[There’s a slight smile here, but it quicky fades.]
“This is about the here and now. The Hydra. A most fitting name, because every single member of your club ranks among the slimiest, slithering lowlifes ever to walk the face of this earth. Hell, you even have your own personal snake-haired Medusa in Heidi Christenson.”
[Another half-hearted smile that lasts for less than a second.]
“It’d be one thing if your stable had the goal of bettering yourselves as wrestlers, giving you a multitude of training partners to practice, and share strategies with. Even someone to watch your back in the difficult and contentious matches. But the mere presence of Johnny Lightning on your squad is a clear indication that you care very little about winning and losing. All you care about is destruction.”
[A disgusted shake of the head]
“Sunday night, in Spokane, you helped end a man’s career. You wrecked a man’s livelihood for no other reason than your own sick, twisted entertainment. Evan Hurley was no friend of mine, but Goddammit, he does not deserve to spend the rest of his life in a fucking wheelchair! “
[For the last part of that, Terrence’s voice raises in a slight crescendo. It’s not quite yelling, but there is definitely a “forte” presence to his voice. When he speaks again, he is slightly calmer, and quieter]
“But I’m not here to swear revenge on Evan Hurley’s behalf. I’m not that presumptuous. But I know a pattern when I see one. Kazuma Fujita. Dusty Griffith. Evan Hurley. All attacks that you, and your worthless compatriots are responsible for. Who’s next on your agenda? Xavier Langston? The Foreshadowing? Me?”
[Another head shake]
“Try no one.”
[Another smile, this one lasting almost two seconds before fading. But even so, there is zero humor behind it]
“Greer, the opening bell of our match will mark the beginning of the end of Hydra’s reign of terror. The Hydra is a many headed beast, and if I have to, I will lop off each head, one by one, until the monster lies dead beneath my feet.”
[Terrence holds up his right hand, all five fingers extended]
“Box.”
[Folds in the thumb]
“Heidi.”
[Drops the pinkie]
“Andrews.”
[Down goes the ring]
“Lightning.”
[And in comes the middle, until all that’s left is Terrence’s fist, the index finger still extended.]
“Or maybe your own demise will be enough.”
[Drops the index finger, and lowers his hand]
“Because make no mistake about it, Greer. The sixteenth of August is going to go down in history as one of the worst nights of your professional career. By the time I’m done with you, it’ll feel like there were five of me in that ring, kicking your ass. But don’t worry. Unlike you, I’ll be more than enough to handle things on my own.”
[Another small smile]
“By all means though, bring out your friends to stop me. One month ago, I laid out the entire Hydra, four on one, and there isn’t anything Bronson Box brings to the table that suggests the result would be any different. Because every single one of you is weak. Every single one of you is unable to function on your own volition, your own merit.”
[Derisive snort]
“Especially you, Greer. For eleven years, you hid behind your team Danger buddies, each of you using each other for protection. You claim Team Danger is dead, and in name, you may be right. But the spirit lives on in Hydra, the spirit of thugishness.”
[Pause]
“On Monday night, I will kill that spirit. And for the first time in eleven years, pro wrestling will be cured of the disease that is Stephen Greer.”
[Fade to black]
No comments:
Post a Comment