EPISODE 33: Discouraged

EPISODE 33: DISCOURAGED

Tuesday August 3, 2010
The RV- Bedroom
Valparaiso, Indiana
12:03 AM Local Time

Terrence Thompson sighed with content as he tossed his jeans and t-shirt into the laundry basket in the corner of the bedroom, quickly putting on a pair of basketball shorts and a plain white t-shirt. Stretching lazily, he plopped down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Tonight had been a good night.

At least for him.

He had figured Dorling would have been a good challenge for him, but he hadn’t been counting on that turning into one of the most memorable matches of his career. Dorling had taken almost everything Terrence could think to hit him with, and still kept on going. But in the end, Terrence had managed to pull off the victory. He hoped it had sent as much of a statement to the rest of the PWX as he had intended.

The sound of the RV’s front door opening broke into his thoughts, and Terrence smiled, knowing that his wife had returned. He wonder what had took her so long. Normally, Terrence drove his blood-red ‘71 Charger from the RV Park to the shows, taking Pollaski, Cassie, and Theresa along as passengers. Five people made for a crowded Charger, however, so Wendy graciously volunteered to commute seperately on her Vespa. So far, the arrangement had worked out well, although Terrence missed talking to his wife on the way to and from the arenas. Even so, the two vehicles generally arrived at their destinations within minutes of each other.

Not tonight.

Tonight, Wendy was almost twenty-five minutes later in getting home, and Terrence had begun to get just slightly worried. But he was relieved to hear the murmured voice of his wife, talking to Pollaski, then Cassie, and finally Theresa, as she tucked their daughter in, and kissed her good night. Several seconds later, the door opened, and Wendy Briese stumbled into the bedroom.

“What took you?” Terrence asked mildly, as his wife shut the door, and quickly kicked off her shoes.

“I decided to go for a ride,” Wendy replied, almost defensively, as she quickly began to remove the knee-legnth pale green floral dress she had donned after her match. Quickly throwing on a plain white short-sleeved nightdress, Wendy staggered over to the bed, almost collapsing on top of it. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just needed to clear my head.”

Terrence nodded, rolling off the bed long enough for Wendy to pull the blankets back, and climb under them. You look tired,” he finally said, crawling under the covers next to her.

“I am,” Wendy confirmed with a nod. Now that she was right next to him, Terrence could see her more clearly, and he could tell that her eyes were red, and slightly puffy. Either Wendy had ridden through a dust storm on the way back to the RV, or his wife had been crying.

“You’re not upset about the match, are you?” Over the years, Terrence had learned that asking his wife a direct question tended to speed the conversation along much better than a generic ‘are you okay?’.

Wendy sighed, and propped herself up on her elbows, turning towards her husband. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? I came into that match fully expecting to lose, because I knew Pariah wasn’t going to play it straight. But then I won, and I thought I pulled off the impossible, but then I got disqualified...” Wendy’s voice broke off, and she looked away until she could trust herself to talk again. “I hadn’t lost a match in PWX since I lost to you back in early May. I knew it’d happen eventually, but not that way.”

Wendy tried to look away again, but Terrence reached out, and gently but firmly grabbed her under the chin, forcing her to look back at him.

“Wendy,” Terrence said, his brown eyes boring into her emerald ones. “You did not lose that match. I know you didn’t, you know you didn’t. Everyone, down to those bastards in the Cartel themselves, know you didn’t do anything to get yourself disqualified. They’re just trying to mess with you. Don’t you let them.”

Wendy nodded, and Terrence slowly removed his hand. Wendy rolled on her back, her head on her pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “What are we going to do about next week?” she asked.

Terrence shrugged. “Kick some Cartel ass, I figure.”

Wendy nodded slightly, but remained looking at the ceiling. “I’m scared of this match.”

Terrence silently turned towards his wife. Wendy was always a nervous wreck before big matches, but it took a lot for her to ever admit she was afraid. Sensing her husband’s eyes upon her, Wendy stirred slightly, and looked over at Terrence. “I’m such a wuss, aren’t I? A tag champion crying and admitting she’s scared.”

Terrence didn’t say a thing. He wanted to, but a distinct feeling in his gut was telling him that the best thing to do right now was to remain quiet and listen to his wife’s gripes.

“But this isn’t just about the tag titles to them anymore,” the small redhead continued. “They want to use us to teach us a lesson about opposing them, and there’s nothing stopping them. They’ve made it personal, and when things get personal, people get hurt.”

Terrence nodded quietly. Having been at a wrestling show just a couple weeks ago that saw three wrestlers all suffer career ending injuries, the Birdz knew all too well the hazards of this business when things got out of hand.

“I don’t want to get hurt,” Wendy continued quietly. “I don’t want you to get hurt either, an I certainly don’t want Theresa to watch her parents get hurt. And I know it could happen any match, and it’s always been in the back of my mind, but tonight... “ she trailed off again, directing her gaze back at the ceiling.

The two sat quietly for a long while before Terrence finally spoke, quietly, turning to his wife. “When we came back, I told you that if you ever thought things had gotten too crazy, all you had to do was ask, and we would walk away. Do you want to do that?”

Wendy thought for only a second, before she shook her head. “No. I don’t think you’d ever really forgive me if I did. I don’t even think I’d even forgive myself. We have to do this... and that makes it all the more frightening. There’s no running away from it.”

“Do you know what I think?” Terrence said, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders, and pulling her in tight against him. “I think you’re tired, and I think you’ve had a bad night, and I think you’ll be much more optimistic about this in the morning.”

Wendy cast her husband a doubting look, but Terrence continued. “You’re wrong, hon, when you said that nobody can stop the Cartel. We can stop them. We still control our own destiny in this match. We’re not going to get hurt, Wendy, because we won’t give them the chance to injure us. The odds are bad, yeah, but you and I have never cared about the odds. Otherwise we wouldn’t have done half the shit we’ve done in our careers.”

Wendy smiled slightly at that, and nestled in closer to her husband. “You’re right, Terry. I’m sorry for coming apart on you like that.”

Terrence snickered, and scooted himself forward so he could lie down next to his wife. “You’re fine hon. I know you all too well- you overanalyze everything, and you will be a nervous wreck until our music hits. But you never have come apart in the ring on me before, and you won’t this time either. We’ll beat the Cartel, Wendy. We’ll figure out a way.”

Terrence rolled over, and, reaching out, shut off the lamp that had been the lone source of light in the room. Now bathed in complete darkness, Terrence rolled back over, and hugged his wife in closer, whispering in her ear as he did.

“We always do.”



=================================
Thursday August 5, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
10:12 AM Local Time

[Well its not often that Terrence Thompson gets to proclaim himself right, and his wife wrong, but this week, he gets to do that.]

[Wendy woke up feeling in a much better mood, and by the time the RV groaned to a stop in front of the Nest, the young redhead was ready to hop back in that ring, and get to training for their match. And after checking their garage for more dead animals (thankfully none, although it still stinks in there), the Birdz have spent the past couple days training hard for their match.]

[But some MMA school managed to beat the Birdz to the punch in reserving the ring this morning, so the Birdz are taking a well-deserved morning off before heading back to training this afternoon.]

[So, Terrence has decided to cut his promo for the week, which is why the scene opens in the living room of the Nest. The Mechanical Mayhem is sitting on the couch, the plain white living room wall serving as the customary backdrop. Terrence sits relaxed, in a Brad Kowalski t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts, and of course, that customary smug grin is on his face as he looks at the camera.]

Twister: “And the Terrence Thompson juggernaut just keeps on rolling.”

[Short, cheesy grin]

Twister: “I have to give it up to Dorling. That was the most fun I’ve had during a wrestling match in a long time. Back and forth, fast paced, the fans on thier feet all the while. Hell, it almost made me feel like a cruiserweight again. Honestly, it almost got to the point that whoever won or lost was irrelevant, just so long as the fans went home happy. Or at least into the Tyler Graves versus No-Name match happy, because Lord knows the show only went downhill from there.

[Yay for countout upsets!]

Twister: “But on to next week we go. Once again, Wendy and I are set to defend our tag team championships, and this time...

[Terrence actually bursts into laughter and shakes his head.]

Twister: “Well, I did say I was looking for tougher challenges.”

[Shrug]

Twister: “It’s almost funny, the way the Cartel gets more and more desperate each and every week. Last week, they put my wife into a match against Wild, and made John Pariah the referee. Wendy walked down that ramp with a cloud of doom hanging over her head, more concerned about surviving that match than actually winning it. And I don’t give a flying shit what our illustrious owner says, I know Wendy won that match, Wendy knows she won that match, the fans know Wendy won that match, and, most of all, Wild himself knows that Wendy won that match.”

[A derisive snort from the Mechanical Mayhem, before continuing]

Twister: “So this week, at Respect is Earned, its open season on the Birdz. Any member of the Cartel can participate in this match, and anything goes for them. Whereas if Wendy and I put a single toe out of line, we’re disqualified, and we lose the titles.”

[Another Burst of laughter from Terrence. There’s a bit of humor in it, but most of that laughter is mocking.]

Twister: “Seriously, is that the best you guys got?”

[A half-amused shake of the head]

Twister: “Has nobody in that cartel been paying attention? Wendy and I have shown time and time again that we don’t need to swing shit around to win matches. I’ll do it on occasion to speed up the process, but my wife has built her whole career around relying on her own technical ability rather than chairshots.”

[Slight pause.]

Twister: “I suppose the ‘anybody can get involved’ stipulation would pose a problem, but let’s be realistic for a second. Who exactly is going to be in a position to come down? John Ojeda is going to be lying back in the medical ward, coughing up blood after what Josh Graves will do to him. And while Sami Jacobs isn’t one for winning matches, he can do a hell of a lot of damage before he goes down, so I doubt Bryan Willett is going to be getting into that ring anytime soon after his match. And of course, after Mandrake destroys Chris Stern, he’ll finally have done something good in his life.”

[Another shrug]

Twister: “And does anyone think for a second Brian Hollywood is going to jeopardize his chance at the Grand Prix Championship by risking injury to face us? Who does that leave? Jenna Himmler? Is she even a member of the Cartel? If she is, by all means, I hope she comes down. Crushing her vocal chords with a Sparkstarter is a surefire way to make EVERYONE happy.”

[Terrence smiles at the thought of Jenna trying to open her mouth to spew her idiotic ideals, and no sound coming out.]

Twister: “And that leaves the two men who were set to face us all along. John Pariah, and Wild.”

[Scoff]

Twister: “John, I’m absolutely amazed anyone would ever be stupid enough to let you compete in a tag team again, considering you go through partners like my Uncle Steve goes through Metamucil bottles. This is what, your fourth this year?”

[Terrence chuckles again, and shakes his head in disbelief]

Twister: “Let’s take a moment here. A little history lesson for the Second City Savior, or whatever cute, meaningless nickname you’ve slapped on yourself for this week. Just over a month ago, during the Build Up to Do Or Die, you wrote a blog. And all that blog talked about was how the Kings Reigned Supreme. The PWX was built around you two, Do Or Die was YOUR pay-per-view. Blah. Blah. Blah.”

[Smirk]

Twister: “Four days later, you lost those belts to Wendy and I, and less than twenty-four hours after that, you were back on your blog crying about how your partner didn’t live up to expectations. Within a week, you disbanded the Kings. Just like you disbanded Chicago’s Finest. Just like you disbanded the Heirarchy.”

[Another shrug]

Twister: “There’s two things you seem to have forgotten about that match, John. First, I didn’t see you in there trying to break up the pin. Second, don’t forget that if it wasn’t for Michael Norcia, that match would have been over about three minutes earlier. Norcia SAVED you from my wife’s Emerald Cyclone by pushing her off the turnbuckle. Had she connected, it would have been you taking the pin, not your so called partner.”

[A momen’t pause, and Terrence looks thoughtful]

Twister: “Your partner bailed you out, and you wouldn’t even bother to do the same for him, and then you had the audacity to blame him for the loss? Wild might want to take notice- there’s a reason why you can’t hold onto your tag partners. Its because you’re a worthless piece of shit who has zero concept of the phrase ‘personal accountability.’”

[Terrence shifts his position on the couch, trying to make himself more comfortable.]

Twister: “As far as you go, Wild, the asskicking Mandrake and I gave you two weeks ago will be NOTHING compared to what’s going to happen in the ring at Respect is Earned. I hold no beef with anyone over what happens to my wife in the context of a wrestling match. Wendy’s a big girl, she willingly steps in that ring like any other competitor, and she can more than hold her own. But if you attack my wife outside of the rules, or the bells, than you can bet your ‘roided up ass that you’re going to be dealing with me.”

[The smug cockiness is gone, replaced by an intense fervor for Edward Burden’s blood.]

Twister: “You attacked my wife from behind while she was celebrating the biggest win of her PWX singles career. You humiliated her at her moment of triumph, and that, my friend, is going to cost you dearly. Although, considering how well you did when you actually faced Wendy in a match, I can see why you had to resort to it.”

[BURN!]

Twister: “It’s a shame for you that Wendy’s sense of honor prohibited me from so much as touching you during her match last week, because then I might have gotten some of this rage I have towards you out of my system. But this week, every ounce of hatred I have is going to come pouring out, and raining down on your head. If the rest of your Cartel buddies ARE dumb enough to get involved in this match, make sure they bring a couple of spatulas down with them, because that’s the only way in hell they’re going to pry your ass off the canvas when I’m done.”

[The anger fades a bit from Terrence’s face, and he shifts his position again, some of the smug cockiness returning.]

Twister: “The Cartel proclaims that they are ‘Dominance Defined.’ My question is- when the hell are they going to start showing it? Look around the entirety of PWX. Outside of Dean McDaniels, who have they dominated? Nobody. They haven’t dominated Josh Graves. They haven’t dominated Danny Szatkoswki. They haven’t dominated the Belmonts.”

[A small pause, as Terrence interlaces his fingers together and cracks his knuckles, breaking into a savage grin]

Twister: “And they sure as hell haven’t, and will never, dominate the WhirlyBirdz.”

[Fade to black]