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]
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
EPISODE 32: O'Possum, My Possum!
Friday July 30, 2010
The Nest- Formal Dining Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
2:32 PM Local Time
Wendy Briese shook her head in dismay as she looked out the window at her flower garden. Between her illness the previous week, and her frequent trips to Chicago (not to mention the surprise journey to Spokane), she had little time for housework anymore. Cassie DeSlair, her travel-along nanny, had managed to help out just a bit, but it had been at least three weeks since she had been able to weed.
Ah, well, there was no time like the present. Besides, maybe a bit of gardening would help her take her mind off of her upcoming match. Four days of thinking still hadn’t given Wendy an idea how she was going to win the match if John Pariah refused to count (and she was almost certain he would). Hopefully, focusing on another problem for a couple hours would enable her to view her situation with fresh eyes.
Humming quietly to herself, Wendy briskly walked over to the garage door, and swung it open. She wrinkled her nose as she walked into the garage. Despite whatever her husband claimed, whatever stunk in here was definitely getting worse, and it was almost to the point where the stench was becoming unbearable.
Looking around the cluttered garage, Wendy shrugged, and headed to where her gardening tools were. The stench became worse- to the point where Wendy almost found herself gagging on it. Pulling the collar of her shirt over her nose, Wendy reached for her gardening supplies, but stopped in mid reach. Retracting her hand, she started to look for the source of the unpleasant aroma, pulling out boxes, and looking inside of them, and behind them.
A stack of four plastic Rubbermaid storage tubs sat just to her left, and Wendy, grunting with the effort, grabbed the bottom tub, and carefully dragged the whole column out. Keeping her shirt collar over her mouth, Wendy peered around the stack of tubs.
And immediately recoiled, choking down the urge to vomit.
Then she did what any world-reknown female wrestler would do after finding a dead possum in their garage.
“TERRRRRRR-REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENCE!”
===============================================================
Friday July 30, 2010
The Nest- Garage
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:02 PM Local Time
“I’m not touching that,” Terrence Thompson declared, his voice slightly muffled by the old t-shirt he had tied around his face, over his nose and mouth.
“Well, someone’s going to have to.” Daniel Pollaski, Terrence’s friend and manager, declared. Like Terrence, Pollaski had his nose and mouth covered, although with a bandanna. “And Wendy made it VERY clear that someone wasn’t going to be her.”
Sure enough, after Wendy had discovered the possum, she had suddenly found a need to run to the grocery store, and after quickly grabbing her daughter, had leapt into Terrence’s Charger and disappeared, leaving Pollaski and Terrence to deal with the problem.
“Yeah, well, for someone who is so adamant about gender equality in the wrestling ring...” Terrence grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, and staring at the animal’s carcass.
The possum was a truly horrific sight, as pretty much every single insect infesting the Thompson household had gathered to feast on the copious bounty. So many flies covered it, the actual animal itself was barely visible.
“I’m NOT touching that,” Terrence declared again, muttering imprecations against his wife under his breath.
“I don’t think we have to,” Pollaski said brightly, quickly walking across the garage, stepping around loose boxes and such that cluttered the garage. Grabbing a snow-shovel from the opposite Wall, Pollaski trudged back across the two-car garage, thrusting the tool into Terrence’s hands.
“Good thinking,” Terrence said, making a mental note to buy a new snow shovel before winter set in.
Walking forward, Terrence put the shovel down on the garage floor, sliding it under the animal carcass, wiggling the shovel back and forth to get under the parts of the corpse that had stuck to the floor. Finally, with a grunt, he lifted the possum up, a thousand flies buzzing around in protest at the disruption of their meal. “So now what do I do with it?”
“Uh...” Pollaski stared blankly at his wrestler. “We shoulda probably thought of that before we lifted it up...”
“Oh, fuck me, this thing is LEAKING!” Terrence protested in horror. Sure enough, blood, visceral fluids, and god knows what else, were slowly oozing down the blade of the shovel, and puddling on the ground beneath.
“Uh oh...” Pollaski said, staring at the grotesque mini-waterfall. Now that dead possum goo was puddling on the floor, it would be weeks before the stench went fully away.
“There’s a wheelbarrow on the side of the house,” Terrence grunted, turning his face away from the leaking animal. “Run and go get it.”
Pollaski complied, running faster than Terrence could have thought possible. Terrence turned his attention back to the end of his shovel, suppressing the urge to gag “I bet Dorling doesn’t have to put up with this,” he muttered, referring to his opponent for the week.
“Nah, he’s Australian. Down there, they have to pry dead koalas and wallabies out of their garage,” Pollaski huffed behind him. Terrence smiled in appreciation of his manager’s speedy return, although the cloth covering his face made the gesture invisible.
With a grunt, Terrence dumped the carcass into the wheel barrow, and Pollaski quickly pulled it out of the garage. Terrence followed behind, glumly noting that Home Depot was going to have a field day with his wallet sometime in the near future.
Pollaski set the wheelbarrow down on the driveway, and gingerly wiped the sweat from his brow. “So now what?” he asked, looking down at the animal.
Terrence shrugged, as vexed by the situation as his manager. “Well, we can’t put it in the garbage can. I learned that after Wendy’s last cat died. God, was she pissed.”
“Speaking of cats, we could give it to Chant,” Pollaski said hopefully, referring to Chaunticleer, Wendy’s current cat.
“Nah, the damned thing would probably end up in our bedroom.” Terrence said. “Besides, this thing’s been dead for at least a week. That can’t be good eating.”
Pollaski’s shoulders slumped. Both men stood in silence on the driveway for a while, each one trying to figure out the best way to deal with this problem.
“Dude! I got it!” Pollaski suddenly exclaimed, pointing excitedly towards the garage.
Terrence followed his manager’s finger, over to the wall of the garage where the lawnmower sat. “You want to run it over?”
Pollaski almost facepalmed. “No, dude. Next to it.”
Terrence shifted his gaze just a bit, to the moderately-sized red container sitting next to the mower.
Gasoline.
Even with his face covered by the old t-shirt, it was obvious that Terrence had broken into an ear-to-ear grin. “That might be the best idea you ever came up with.” he chuckle, as he walked into the garage, grabbing the can of gasoline, and twisting the cap open as he walked back to the wheelbarrow.
This was gonna be great.
=================================================
Saturday July 31, 2010
The RV- Cockpit
Interstate 65 Near Lebanon, Indiana
9:32 AM Local Time
[So, did anyone else know that it’s illegal to immolate a gasoline soaked possum that’s lying in a wheelbarrow on your driveway?]
[Terrence does.]
[Now.]
[One can picture the scene poor Wendy and Theresa arrived home to, with a massive column of smoke billowing from her front yard, along with the flashing lights of a fire truck and two police cars. Not to mention the two score rubberneckers that had gathered around to watch the spectacle.]
[Wendy had of course been relieved to discover that the house hadn’t burned down. Until the fire marshal explained to her what Terrence had been trying to do. That’s pretty much when the screaming began.]
[Needless to say, it wasn’t the most pleasant (or romantic) night in Thompson family history. Wendy, fuming all the while, packed the family up for their weekly trip to Valparaiso, while Terrence and Dan did what they could about airing out the garage, and cleaning up the remnants of the possum. Luckily, one of the police officers had taken the extra-crispy possum away as evidence, so at least it has been disposed of.]
[Unfortunately, it was replaced with a rather sizable fine. It’s a good thing the Birdz are fairly well-off, because they’re going to be essentially working for free the month of August.]
[And so we open our scene, from the dashboard mounted camera in the RV’s cockpit. Terrence is, as always, driving, wearing a plain blue t-shirt as he navigates the forty-five foot Newman King Aire up I-65 towards the Chicagoland area. Next to him, sitting shotgun, is his wife Wendy, who is dressed in a dark green blouse and matching skirt, still shooting dirty glances at her reckless husband. Obviously, the remaining members of the crew, daughter Theresa, babysitter Cassie, and manager Pollaski, are riding in the back somewhere, not visible from this camera angle.]
[Okay, now that the scene is set... PROMO TIME!]
Twister: “Chris Dorling”
[Despite the fact that his wife has been pretty much shooting laser eye beams at him all morning, the Mechanical Mayhem is obviously in a pretty good mood. Probably because he’s got a good match against a respectable opponent. Then again, after Scott Styles, pretty much anyone has to look good.]
Twister: “Stop number three of your World Tour brings you into northern Indiana, where you make your visit to Pro-Wrestling X.”
[Small smile]
Twister: “And a match against me.”
[Terrence chuckles quietly, and resumes talking.]
Twister: “I can honestly say that I’m excited that I’ve been the one selected to face you on your World Tour. I can also thank God that this match got booked while JPO was still in power. Brain would have probably done something stupid, like put himself up against you, gotten his ass kicked, and embarrassed the whole company in the process.”
[Disdainful snort]
Twister: “And trust me when I say that Brian’s doing enough to embarrass this company as it is.”
[Next to him, despite her lingering irritation with her husband, Wendy nods her head in agreement.]
Twiser: “I don’t know if you know this, Dorling, but I have seen you in the ring before. You see, back in May, I was in Vegas, and I took Pollaski, Cassie and Theresa to watch a Sin City Wrestling show. You might have seen us. We were the only four people in the arena who actually cheered for the Belmonts.”
[Terrence grins. What he’s neglecting to say is that they stopped cheering the moment they realized everyone was looking at them funny.]
Twister: “But I do remember you. You faced some lady... Bella, was her name? And, well, it was a mess of a match, and you won on disqualification after somebody hit you over the head. I hate it when that happens.”
[Shrug]
Twister: “But I could tell right then that you’re a man who has a serious passion for this business. You went out there looking to put on a good match, and I’d say, save for the nasty incident at the end, you did a pretty good job of it. Ess-Cee-Dubya is certainly lucky to have you, and if you ever feel the need for a change of scenery, I’ll be more than happy to put in a good word for you, and bring Team Dorling to PWX.”
[While his eyes never leave the road, Terrence manages a short nod of respect towards the camera.]
Twister: “And the magnum opus you have set upon, this World Tour. It’s not widely-known now, but eight years ago, my wife and I did a similar thing, although on a less grand scale. We visited all five regions in the WfWA within a span of eight days, and successfully defended our titles in each one.”
[Both Terrence and Wendy smile at the memories of that excursion.]
Twister: “But by the end of that, we were exhausted. That was five stops. How many stops does your tour have? Fifteen? Even more than that? If you manage to finish what you set out to accomplish, I will be the first to tip my hat to you, because, no matter what your record will be over the span of these shows, you will truly have achieved something great. And I’ll be honored to have been part of that journey.”
[Another respectful nod, but this one’s a little stiffer, and Terrence’s jovial expression fades just slightly.]
Twister: “But come Monday, Dorling, when that bell rings, despite all the respect I have for you, and all the greatness you have and will accomplish, you will be just one simple thing to me.”
[Beat]
Twister: “An invader.”
[Smirk]
Twister: “You see, Regardless of the stated intentions of your tour, both my honor and the honor of the PWX are very much at stake here. It’s no secret whatsoever that I want the Grand Prix title, and I’ve been looking for another shot ever since I narrowly lost to Jacob Wright at Full Throttle. I didn’t get it at Do Or Die, and I won’t be getting it at Respect is Earned. But if I want to put my name on the shortlist for the next go-round, what better way than to beat one of Sin City’s Wrestling’s finest in the middle of a PWX wrestling ring?”
[Another chuckle from the Mechanical Mayhem, as he checks his blind spot to make a lane change.]
Twister: “It won’t be an easy task. I can already tell that you have a ton of energy. Shooting ranges, rock climbing, trampoline bouncing. I even heard that you just shot a role in a movie. All within the confines of this massive endeavor you’ve undertook. You just don’t like to hold still very long, do you?”
[A snort of amusement]
Twister: “But at Adrenaline, there’s going to be at least a three second stretch where you’re going to hold perfectly still. “
[Another smirk]
Twister: “See, there’s one mistake you made. You seem to think that my family is a liability, that somehow worrying about them is going to prevent me from getting the job done against you. All I can say is that I hope you one day get to find out just how wrong you are.”
[Over in the passenger seat, Wendy looks over at her husband, smiling at his words. Terrence flushes a little, but pretends not to notice, and merely shrugs.]
Twister: “Do I worry about my wife? Hell yes, especially considering the sick sons of bitches who’s attention she manages to attract. But as Samson had his hair, so I have my family. They are the source of my power, from the joyous expression on my daughters face as she leaps into my arms after a win, to the consoling sympathy of Wendy after I’ve suffered a tough loss. It may not make sense to you now, but one day, it will, and you will be a better man because of it. But I doubt that day will be before Monday, so I suppose you’re just going to have to learn that lesson the hard way.”
[Wendy still has that soft smile on her face, as she turns back to watching the countryside go by. Terrence risks a quick glance at the camera, and lowers his foot slightly on the accelerator.]
Twister: “Dorling, I’d wish you the best of luck in our match Monday, but that strikes me as being a bit counterproductive. Its my intention to make this the most memorable match of your entire tour. although I’m sorry that you losing will probably dampen the nostalgia somewhat. Even so, you better come prepared for a hell of a fight.”
[One final smirk]
Twister: “I know I will.”
[Fade]
The Nest- Formal Dining Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
2:32 PM Local Time
Wendy Briese shook her head in dismay as she looked out the window at her flower garden. Between her illness the previous week, and her frequent trips to Chicago (not to mention the surprise journey to Spokane), she had little time for housework anymore. Cassie DeSlair, her travel-along nanny, had managed to help out just a bit, but it had been at least three weeks since she had been able to weed.
Ah, well, there was no time like the present. Besides, maybe a bit of gardening would help her take her mind off of her upcoming match. Four days of thinking still hadn’t given Wendy an idea how she was going to win the match if John Pariah refused to count (and she was almost certain he would). Hopefully, focusing on another problem for a couple hours would enable her to view her situation with fresh eyes.
Humming quietly to herself, Wendy briskly walked over to the garage door, and swung it open. She wrinkled her nose as she walked into the garage. Despite whatever her husband claimed, whatever stunk in here was definitely getting worse, and it was almost to the point where the stench was becoming unbearable.
Looking around the cluttered garage, Wendy shrugged, and headed to where her gardening tools were. The stench became worse- to the point where Wendy almost found herself gagging on it. Pulling the collar of her shirt over her nose, Wendy reached for her gardening supplies, but stopped in mid reach. Retracting her hand, she started to look for the source of the unpleasant aroma, pulling out boxes, and looking inside of them, and behind them.
A stack of four plastic Rubbermaid storage tubs sat just to her left, and Wendy, grunting with the effort, grabbed the bottom tub, and carefully dragged the whole column out. Keeping her shirt collar over her mouth, Wendy peered around the stack of tubs.
And immediately recoiled, choking down the urge to vomit.
Then she did what any world-reknown female wrestler would do after finding a dead possum in their garage.
“TERRRRRRR-REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENCE!”
===============================================================
Friday July 30, 2010
The Nest- Garage
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:02 PM Local Time
“I’m not touching that,” Terrence Thompson declared, his voice slightly muffled by the old t-shirt he had tied around his face, over his nose and mouth.
“Well, someone’s going to have to.” Daniel Pollaski, Terrence’s friend and manager, declared. Like Terrence, Pollaski had his nose and mouth covered, although with a bandanna. “And Wendy made it VERY clear that someone wasn’t going to be her.”
Sure enough, after Wendy had discovered the possum, she had suddenly found a need to run to the grocery store, and after quickly grabbing her daughter, had leapt into Terrence’s Charger and disappeared, leaving Pollaski and Terrence to deal with the problem.
“Yeah, well, for someone who is so adamant about gender equality in the wrestling ring...” Terrence grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, and staring at the animal’s carcass.
The possum was a truly horrific sight, as pretty much every single insect infesting the Thompson household had gathered to feast on the copious bounty. So many flies covered it, the actual animal itself was barely visible.
“I’m NOT touching that,” Terrence declared again, muttering imprecations against his wife under his breath.
“I don’t think we have to,” Pollaski said brightly, quickly walking across the garage, stepping around loose boxes and such that cluttered the garage. Grabbing a snow-shovel from the opposite Wall, Pollaski trudged back across the two-car garage, thrusting the tool into Terrence’s hands.
“Good thinking,” Terrence said, making a mental note to buy a new snow shovel before winter set in.
Walking forward, Terrence put the shovel down on the garage floor, sliding it under the animal carcass, wiggling the shovel back and forth to get under the parts of the corpse that had stuck to the floor. Finally, with a grunt, he lifted the possum up, a thousand flies buzzing around in protest at the disruption of their meal. “So now what do I do with it?”
“Uh...” Pollaski stared blankly at his wrestler. “We shoulda probably thought of that before we lifted it up...”
“Oh, fuck me, this thing is LEAKING!” Terrence protested in horror. Sure enough, blood, visceral fluids, and god knows what else, were slowly oozing down the blade of the shovel, and puddling on the ground beneath.
“Uh oh...” Pollaski said, staring at the grotesque mini-waterfall. Now that dead possum goo was puddling on the floor, it would be weeks before the stench went fully away.
“There’s a wheelbarrow on the side of the house,” Terrence grunted, turning his face away from the leaking animal. “Run and go get it.”
Pollaski complied, running faster than Terrence could have thought possible. Terrence turned his attention back to the end of his shovel, suppressing the urge to gag “I bet Dorling doesn’t have to put up with this,” he muttered, referring to his opponent for the week.
“Nah, he’s Australian. Down there, they have to pry dead koalas and wallabies out of their garage,” Pollaski huffed behind him. Terrence smiled in appreciation of his manager’s speedy return, although the cloth covering his face made the gesture invisible.
With a grunt, Terrence dumped the carcass into the wheel barrow, and Pollaski quickly pulled it out of the garage. Terrence followed behind, glumly noting that Home Depot was going to have a field day with his wallet sometime in the near future.
Pollaski set the wheelbarrow down on the driveway, and gingerly wiped the sweat from his brow. “So now what?” he asked, looking down at the animal.
Terrence shrugged, as vexed by the situation as his manager. “Well, we can’t put it in the garbage can. I learned that after Wendy’s last cat died. God, was she pissed.”
“Speaking of cats, we could give it to Chant,” Pollaski said hopefully, referring to Chaunticleer, Wendy’s current cat.
“Nah, the damned thing would probably end up in our bedroom.” Terrence said. “Besides, this thing’s been dead for at least a week. That can’t be good eating.”
Pollaski’s shoulders slumped. Both men stood in silence on the driveway for a while, each one trying to figure out the best way to deal with this problem.
“Dude! I got it!” Pollaski suddenly exclaimed, pointing excitedly towards the garage.
Terrence followed his manager’s finger, over to the wall of the garage where the lawnmower sat. “You want to run it over?”
Pollaski almost facepalmed. “No, dude. Next to it.”
Terrence shifted his gaze just a bit, to the moderately-sized red container sitting next to the mower.
Gasoline.
Even with his face covered by the old t-shirt, it was obvious that Terrence had broken into an ear-to-ear grin. “That might be the best idea you ever came up with.” he chuckle, as he walked into the garage, grabbing the can of gasoline, and twisting the cap open as he walked back to the wheelbarrow.
This was gonna be great.
=================================================
Saturday July 31, 2010
The RV- Cockpit
Interstate 65 Near Lebanon, Indiana
9:32 AM Local Time
[So, did anyone else know that it’s illegal to immolate a gasoline soaked possum that’s lying in a wheelbarrow on your driveway?]
[Terrence does.]
[Now.]
[One can picture the scene poor Wendy and Theresa arrived home to, with a massive column of smoke billowing from her front yard, along with the flashing lights of a fire truck and two police cars. Not to mention the two score rubberneckers that had gathered around to watch the spectacle.]
[Wendy had of course been relieved to discover that the house hadn’t burned down. Until the fire marshal explained to her what Terrence had been trying to do. That’s pretty much when the screaming began.]
[Needless to say, it wasn’t the most pleasant (or romantic) night in Thompson family history. Wendy, fuming all the while, packed the family up for their weekly trip to Valparaiso, while Terrence and Dan did what they could about airing out the garage, and cleaning up the remnants of the possum. Luckily, one of the police officers had taken the extra-crispy possum away as evidence, so at least it has been disposed of.]
[Unfortunately, it was replaced with a rather sizable fine. It’s a good thing the Birdz are fairly well-off, because they’re going to be essentially working for free the month of August.]
[And so we open our scene, from the dashboard mounted camera in the RV’s cockpit. Terrence is, as always, driving, wearing a plain blue t-shirt as he navigates the forty-five foot Newman King Aire up I-65 towards the Chicagoland area. Next to him, sitting shotgun, is his wife Wendy, who is dressed in a dark green blouse and matching skirt, still shooting dirty glances at her reckless husband. Obviously, the remaining members of the crew, daughter Theresa, babysitter Cassie, and manager Pollaski, are riding in the back somewhere, not visible from this camera angle.]
[Okay, now that the scene is set... PROMO TIME!]
Twister: “Chris Dorling”
[Despite the fact that his wife has been pretty much shooting laser eye beams at him all morning, the Mechanical Mayhem is obviously in a pretty good mood. Probably because he’s got a good match against a respectable opponent. Then again, after Scott Styles, pretty much anyone has to look good.]
Twister: “Stop number three of your World Tour brings you into northern Indiana, where you make your visit to Pro-Wrestling X.”
[Small smile]
Twister: “And a match against me.”
[Terrence chuckles quietly, and resumes talking.]
Twister: “I can honestly say that I’m excited that I’ve been the one selected to face you on your World Tour. I can also thank God that this match got booked while JPO was still in power. Brain would have probably done something stupid, like put himself up against you, gotten his ass kicked, and embarrassed the whole company in the process.”
[Disdainful snort]
Twister: “And trust me when I say that Brian’s doing enough to embarrass this company as it is.”
[Next to him, despite her lingering irritation with her husband, Wendy nods her head in agreement.]
Twiser: “I don’t know if you know this, Dorling, but I have seen you in the ring before. You see, back in May, I was in Vegas, and I took Pollaski, Cassie and Theresa to watch a Sin City Wrestling show. You might have seen us. We were the only four people in the arena who actually cheered for the Belmonts.”
[Terrence grins. What he’s neglecting to say is that they stopped cheering the moment they realized everyone was looking at them funny.]
Twister: “But I do remember you. You faced some lady... Bella, was her name? And, well, it was a mess of a match, and you won on disqualification after somebody hit you over the head. I hate it when that happens.”
[Shrug]
Twister: “But I could tell right then that you’re a man who has a serious passion for this business. You went out there looking to put on a good match, and I’d say, save for the nasty incident at the end, you did a pretty good job of it. Ess-Cee-Dubya is certainly lucky to have you, and if you ever feel the need for a change of scenery, I’ll be more than happy to put in a good word for you, and bring Team Dorling to PWX.”
[While his eyes never leave the road, Terrence manages a short nod of respect towards the camera.]
Twister: “And the magnum opus you have set upon, this World Tour. It’s not widely-known now, but eight years ago, my wife and I did a similar thing, although on a less grand scale. We visited all five regions in the WfWA within a span of eight days, and successfully defended our titles in each one.”
[Both Terrence and Wendy smile at the memories of that excursion.]
Twister: “But by the end of that, we were exhausted. That was five stops. How many stops does your tour have? Fifteen? Even more than that? If you manage to finish what you set out to accomplish, I will be the first to tip my hat to you, because, no matter what your record will be over the span of these shows, you will truly have achieved something great. And I’ll be honored to have been part of that journey.”
[Another respectful nod, but this one’s a little stiffer, and Terrence’s jovial expression fades just slightly.]
Twister: “But come Monday, Dorling, when that bell rings, despite all the respect I have for you, and all the greatness you have and will accomplish, you will be just one simple thing to me.”
[Beat]
Twister: “An invader.”
[Smirk]
Twister: “You see, Regardless of the stated intentions of your tour, both my honor and the honor of the PWX are very much at stake here. It’s no secret whatsoever that I want the Grand Prix title, and I’ve been looking for another shot ever since I narrowly lost to Jacob Wright at Full Throttle. I didn’t get it at Do Or Die, and I won’t be getting it at Respect is Earned. But if I want to put my name on the shortlist for the next go-round, what better way than to beat one of Sin City’s Wrestling’s finest in the middle of a PWX wrestling ring?”
[Another chuckle from the Mechanical Mayhem, as he checks his blind spot to make a lane change.]
Twister: “It won’t be an easy task. I can already tell that you have a ton of energy. Shooting ranges, rock climbing, trampoline bouncing. I even heard that you just shot a role in a movie. All within the confines of this massive endeavor you’ve undertook. You just don’t like to hold still very long, do you?”
[A snort of amusement]
Twister: “But at Adrenaline, there’s going to be at least a three second stretch where you’re going to hold perfectly still. “
[Another smirk]
Twister: “See, there’s one mistake you made. You seem to think that my family is a liability, that somehow worrying about them is going to prevent me from getting the job done against you. All I can say is that I hope you one day get to find out just how wrong you are.”
[Over in the passenger seat, Wendy looks over at her husband, smiling at his words. Terrence flushes a little, but pretends not to notice, and merely shrugs.]
Twister: “Do I worry about my wife? Hell yes, especially considering the sick sons of bitches who’s attention she manages to attract. But as Samson had his hair, so I have my family. They are the source of my power, from the joyous expression on my daughters face as she leaps into my arms after a win, to the consoling sympathy of Wendy after I’ve suffered a tough loss. It may not make sense to you now, but one day, it will, and you will be a better man because of it. But I doubt that day will be before Monday, so I suppose you’re just going to have to learn that lesson the hard way.”
[Wendy still has that soft smile on her face, as she turns back to watching the countryside go by. Terrence risks a quick glance at the camera, and lowers his foot slightly on the accelerator.]
Twister: “Dorling, I’d wish you the best of luck in our match Monday, but that strikes me as being a bit counterproductive. Its my intention to make this the most memorable match of your entire tour. although I’m sorry that you losing will probably dampen the nostalgia somewhat. Even so, you better come prepared for a hell of a fight.”
[One final smirk]
Twister: “I know I will.”
[Fade]
EPISODE 31: Screwjob
EPISODE 31: SCREWJOB
Monday July 26, 2010
ARC Center- Hallway
Valparaiso, Indiana
11:15 PM Local Time
“Well, THAT was stupid,” Wendy muttered to herself as she trudged through the backstage area. Adrenaline Forty had just gone off the air, and the road crews were busy breaking down the set, and turning the ARC Center back into normal. Sidestepping around a camera crew wrapping up cables, Wendy continued to make her way towards the WhirlyBirdz locker room.
She didn’t need a mirror to know that her lower lip had slightly swollen, and she winced at her idiotic decision to just start throwing punches at a man twice her size. And she knew the side of her abdomen was already starting to bruise where Wild had connected with a vicious punch, and she winced as she felt the tender area. Considering Wild’s reputation, a couple of bruises and a swollen lip were hardly the worst she could have come off.
Still, it had been the right thing to do. Jeremiah had obviously been outnumbered, and with Valerie out in Siberia, and Tabatha with her hands full dealing with Lillith Morgan, it was obvious Jeremiah needed a hand. Besides, after what Wild did to her the previous week, punching him in the face had felt pretty darn good.
She just wished he hadn’t hit back so hard.
Again, wincing at the dull pain in her side, Wendy swung open her locker room door. Her husband had already changed out of his ring gear, and was busying tying his sneakers as Wendy slumped in. He smiled at his wife.
“Where did you go?” Wendy demanded, harsher than she had intended to. Terrence had been going after John Pariah, but after Wild had connected with that hard shot to her side, and Wendy’s subsequent scramble to avoid any more punches, she had noticed her husband had disappeared.
Terrence shrugged. “All of a sudden, John just turned and ran. I figured the coward had enough, so I just came back here.”
Wendy walked to her own gym bag, and pulled out her street clothes, a pair of blue jeans and a sky-blue t-shirt. “He didn’t ‘run off’. He was circling around to go after Zion. The whole Cartel went after him, and Danny, Josh, Victor, and I ran back out to help.”
“Oh, great,” Terrence muttered, “Victor.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not any more of a fan of those bozos than we are,” Wendy said, unlacing her boots and kicking them to the side. “So then Nameless Mask comes out and, well... unmasks.”
“Damn,” Terrence said, surprised. “That was quick. Who was it?”
“Bryan Willett. I guess he was around in PWX’s first incarnation,” Wendy said, as she began to undress from her ring gear. “He’s after Darin Zion.”
Terrence snorted. “Well, more power to him, then.”
“Be nice,” Wendy said, wincing as she began to remove her top. “Darin may be a little childish at times, but he’s still a good person. And he’s got enough on his plate with that ordeal with the Lusts. He doesn’t need-”
“What the hell is THAT?” Terrence barked.
Wendy sighed as she quickly folded up her ring gear, and stuffed them into her duffel bag. Now that she was standing merely in her undergarments, the nasty bruise on her side was easily visible. She should have known he’d flip out like this.
“Wild got me.” Wendy said, tossing her boots, elbow pads, and gloves in the bag, and grabbing her shirt. “I’m fine.”
“That looks nasty,” Terrence said, clear worry etched on his features. “Maybe you should get it looked at...”
“I’m fine, Terry,” Wendy said adamantly, shooting her husband a glare. Even so, she couldn’t help but wince as she pulled her t-shirt over her head.
Just then, the locker room door cracked open, and Wendy looked up, her eyes going wide in alarm. She could hear her managers voice angrily yelling down the hallway at someone, but any second he would turn around and walk in. Ignoring the pain in her side, Wendy quickly finished putting on her shirt, and scrambled for her jeans.
Fortunately, her husband was on the ball. Quickly getting up from his chair, Terrence hit the door with a picture-perfect shoulder block, and was rewarded with Pollaski’s scream, followed by a loud crash, and the angry shouting of a stage hand.
“Fucker should learn how to knock,” Terrence snickered triumphantly as Pollaski’s yells joined in with the stagehand’s.
Wendy shot a grateful smile at her husband, and quickly put on her jeans, nodding to Terrence as she was now decent. Terrence returned to his seat, as Wendy sat down on another chair to pull on her shoes. The door opened again, and again, she heard her manager shouting.
“And you can tell Hollywood he can stick that camera up his ass, and give Chris Stern’s dick a break!” Pollaski screamed down the hall, then wheeled inside the locker room, slamming the door. “What the hell did you do that for?” he demanded at Terrence.
“The lady was dressing, and you didn’t knock,” Terrence responded calmly. “What was THAT all about?”
Pollaski glowered as he marched away from the door, grabbing a third chair, unfolding it, and plopping down on the seat, crossing his arms as he did so. “You made me stumble into a cameraman, and he dropped his equipment. Started bitching about making me pay for it, and I told him to fuck off. He’s off to go cry to Hollywood right now.”
Terrence shrugged, more or less unconcerned. “Yeah, what’s Hollywood going to do about it? Lose to Wendy again?”
Pollaski chuckled at Terrence’s jest, and even Wendy found herself smiling at the comment. But Pollaski’s laughter quickly faded, and he looked at Wendy and Terrence seriously. “They’re going to release the Respect is Earned lineup tomorrow. You’re defending against Wild and John Pariah.”
Both Birdz nodded, hardly surprised by the news. Wendy even managed a small smile. “I’m glad to see that Edward took my advice, and got himself a partner. It’ll be a relief when we can finally shut his big mouth up!”
Pollaski chuckled, although this time, there was little humor in it, and he grimaced. “Well, you won’t need to wait until Respect is Earned to do that. You’re one on one against Wild next week.”
Wendy smile broadened. “That’s great!”
“No, it isn’t,” Pollaski said quickly. He sighed, and looked the female WhirlyBird dead in the eye. “Pariah’s the referee.”
Wendy’s smile faded completely, but the reaction was nothing compared to that of her husband.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Terrence demanded, leaping out from his chair.
Pollaski shook his head glumly, and Wendy closed her eyes and grimaced. She would have loved to face Wild in singles competition, but with Pariah in the ring calling the shots, the deck was almost completely stacked against her.
Unless she could think of something quick, she was about to suffer the second loss of her PWX career.
Ignoring her husband’s pacing and his muttered threats, Wendy shot a plaintive look at her manager. “Any ideas how I can pull this one off?”
Pollaski shrugged. “Not right now, but I’ve got a week to think about it. Honestly, the match itself is meaningless. You defend your titles against the Cartel in two weeks regardless. It’s what they can do to you during the match that I’m worried about. Obviously, they’re anticipating Terrence being distracted by his big showdown with Dorling, which makes you even more of an easy target.”
“Yeah, well, screw that,” Terrence interjected angrily. “I’d rather lose to Dorling a hundred times than let those bastards get ahold of Wendy like that again. I figured the chair I delivered to Wild tonight would have sent a message.”
“It probably made things worse,” Wendy admonished, quietly. “Edward already hated me. Now he has that much more reason to.”
“You’re blaming me for this?” Terrence asked incredulously.
“No,” Wendy said, shaking her head. “While I wish you hadn’t hit Edward, what’s done is done. But I think the Cartel would have sprung this match on me regardless. Hollywood, Ojeda, and Pariah are bitter about us beating them, and Wild’s had a problem with us from the moment he returned. This is the perfect setup in their eyes.”
“I’m surprised you’re not angry about this,” Terrence said, folding his chair up and tossing it against the wall.
“I’m furious,” Wendy admitted, looking over at Terrence. “I think they’re going to do something to make sure I can’t compete at Respect is Earned. But I’m not going to panic or overreact. That’s exactly what they want me to do.”
“What are you going to do?” Terrence asked, looking at his wife, a worried expression on his face.
Wendy cracked a small smile. “What I do best. If there’s a way to win, I’ll find it. If not...” she trailed off, looking away.
“We’ll find a way,” Pollaski said encouragingly. “You’re better than both those bastards combined, anyways. Its the striped shirt we’re going to have to get around.”
Wendy nodded, and rose from her chair, grabbing her bag as she did. “Well, it doesn’t do us any good sitting around here, worrying about it. Let’s find Theresa and Cassie, and head back to the RV.”
The two men in the room nodded, and, grabbing their things, they followed Wendy out the door.
Wednesday July 28, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:10 PM Local Time
[Home sweet home.]
[Since the Birdz left The Nest last Friday Morning, they have driven to Chicago, flown to Salt Lake City, flown to Spokane, beat the Angel of Death (well, just Terrence did), flown to Minneapolis, flown to Chicago, driven to Valparaiso, beat Xander Crewes and Scott Styles, ran out to fight off the Cartel, and driven back home to Indianapolis, arriving early Tuesday afternoon.]
[Needless to say, the Birdz pretty much slept the rest of Tuesday away, and woke up reinvigorated this fine morning. Good thing too, as both Birdz have enormous matches to get ready for this week.]
[Not to mention that the lawn needs to be mowed, and there’s a really funny smell coming out of the garage.]
[Anyways, its promo time for everyone’s favorite (mortal) redhead, and once again, Wendy’s perched herself on the couch, wearing a simple cream-colored blouse and a calf-legnth black skirt. As usual, Wendy sits fairly rigidly, her emerald eyes boring into the camera.]
[Needless to say, she’s not happy.]
Wendy: “Edward Burden.”
[That would be why Wendy’s not happy. Ever notice how she refuses to refer to Wild by his ring name?]
Wendy: “Finally, over the next couple of weeks, we will have a chance to settle the differences between us.”
[There is a grim smile on Wendy’s face. On one hand, she’d love to beat the ever-loving crap out of Wild for what he did to her after her match with Hollywood (not that she’d ever use those words). On the other hand, well, she’s kind of in trouble.]
Wendy: “Your hatred of Terrence and I has been well documented. You accosted me in the hallway back at Adrenaline 38. You jumped me from behind at Adrenaline 39. You can’t go a single interview without reminding the world how weak and pathetic you think Terrence and I are. Its almost fascinating. Before our encounter in the hallway, you and I have never met before, and yet the venom you have for us is as strong as anyone I’ve ever had to face.”
[Wendy sighs, shrugging.].
Wendy: “I’m still not even sure why. Obviously you feel threatened by us in some way. So much so, that you’ve felt the need to make John Pariah- your own tag team partner for our coming showdown- the referee for our match on Monday.”
[There’s that customary red flash in Wendy’s emerald irises, a clear indication that she’s angry. She even gives a short, harsh laugh at how brazen the Cartel is for even sticking her in such a match.]
Wendy: “I’ve seen many cowardly tactics during my five years competing, but this honestly takes the cake. You just beat Danny Szatkowski cleanly in the middle of the ring. You destroyed John King in the blink of an eye last week. And yet- you need help to face me?”
[A small, humorless smile.]
Wendy: “I suppose I should be flattered.”
[Snort of derision.]
Wendy: “I know a setup when I see one, Edward. You and the rest of the Cartel seem to have figured out that the best way to remove the tag team titles from our waists is to take me out before our match can even begin. After all, what chance could I possibly have when the referee himself is out to get me? Even if I get your shoulders to the mat, will Pariah make the count? Even if I inflict so much pain on you, that you tap out for the whole world to see, will Pariah ring the bell? I strongly doubt it.”
[Wendy pauses, and takes a deep breath. Beneath the anger in her eyes, there is clear worry. Obviously, this is hardly a situation she wants to be getting into.]
Wendy: “Even so, I will be in that ring Monday, because unlike you, I do not take the easy way out. I won’t guarantee victory, but if there is a way to defeat you, I will find it. And I guarantee that no matter what you or Pariah try, I will survive it. And I will be at Respect is Earned, standing alongside my husband. And Terrence and I WILL defeat you and Pariah, and retain our titles.”
[Another grim smile from the small redhead, as she looks directly into the camera.]
Wendy: “I’m not about to make this easy for you, Edward. Every victory in this sport comes at a price, and I intend to make the price you pay as steep as possible. The currency will be every purple bruise, every weakened joint, and every sore muscle I inflict on you. And as the price begins to add up, you best consider whether or not this match is really worth it. Because in two weeks, at Respect is Earned, Terrence and I will be collecting in full.
[One final angry glare.]
Wendy: “When that happens, you better hope you have sufficient funds left in your account.”
[Fade]
Monday July 26, 2010
ARC Center- Hallway
Valparaiso, Indiana
11:15 PM Local Time
“Well, THAT was stupid,” Wendy muttered to herself as she trudged through the backstage area. Adrenaline Forty had just gone off the air, and the road crews were busy breaking down the set, and turning the ARC Center back into normal. Sidestepping around a camera crew wrapping up cables, Wendy continued to make her way towards the WhirlyBirdz locker room.
She didn’t need a mirror to know that her lower lip had slightly swollen, and she winced at her idiotic decision to just start throwing punches at a man twice her size. And she knew the side of her abdomen was already starting to bruise where Wild had connected with a vicious punch, and she winced as she felt the tender area. Considering Wild’s reputation, a couple of bruises and a swollen lip were hardly the worst she could have come off.
Still, it had been the right thing to do. Jeremiah had obviously been outnumbered, and with Valerie out in Siberia, and Tabatha with her hands full dealing with Lillith Morgan, it was obvious Jeremiah needed a hand. Besides, after what Wild did to her the previous week, punching him in the face had felt pretty darn good.
She just wished he hadn’t hit back so hard.
Again, wincing at the dull pain in her side, Wendy swung open her locker room door. Her husband had already changed out of his ring gear, and was busying tying his sneakers as Wendy slumped in. He smiled at his wife.
“Where did you go?” Wendy demanded, harsher than she had intended to. Terrence had been going after John Pariah, but after Wild had connected with that hard shot to her side, and Wendy’s subsequent scramble to avoid any more punches, she had noticed her husband had disappeared.
Terrence shrugged. “All of a sudden, John just turned and ran. I figured the coward had enough, so I just came back here.”
Wendy walked to her own gym bag, and pulled out her street clothes, a pair of blue jeans and a sky-blue t-shirt. “He didn’t ‘run off’. He was circling around to go after Zion. The whole Cartel went after him, and Danny, Josh, Victor, and I ran back out to help.”
“Oh, great,” Terrence muttered, “Victor.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not any more of a fan of those bozos than we are,” Wendy said, unlacing her boots and kicking them to the side. “So then Nameless Mask comes out and, well... unmasks.”
“Damn,” Terrence said, surprised. “That was quick. Who was it?”
“Bryan Willett. I guess he was around in PWX’s first incarnation,” Wendy said, as she began to undress from her ring gear. “He’s after Darin Zion.”
Terrence snorted. “Well, more power to him, then.”
“Be nice,” Wendy said, wincing as she began to remove her top. “Darin may be a little childish at times, but he’s still a good person. And he’s got enough on his plate with that ordeal with the Lusts. He doesn’t need-”
“What the hell is THAT?” Terrence barked.
Wendy sighed as she quickly folded up her ring gear, and stuffed them into her duffel bag. Now that she was standing merely in her undergarments, the nasty bruise on her side was easily visible. She should have known he’d flip out like this.
“Wild got me.” Wendy said, tossing her boots, elbow pads, and gloves in the bag, and grabbing her shirt. “I’m fine.”
“That looks nasty,” Terrence said, clear worry etched on his features. “Maybe you should get it looked at...”
“I’m fine, Terry,” Wendy said adamantly, shooting her husband a glare. Even so, she couldn’t help but wince as she pulled her t-shirt over her head.
Just then, the locker room door cracked open, and Wendy looked up, her eyes going wide in alarm. She could hear her managers voice angrily yelling down the hallway at someone, but any second he would turn around and walk in. Ignoring the pain in her side, Wendy quickly finished putting on her shirt, and scrambled for her jeans.
Fortunately, her husband was on the ball. Quickly getting up from his chair, Terrence hit the door with a picture-perfect shoulder block, and was rewarded with Pollaski’s scream, followed by a loud crash, and the angry shouting of a stage hand.
“Fucker should learn how to knock,” Terrence snickered triumphantly as Pollaski’s yells joined in with the stagehand’s.
Wendy shot a grateful smile at her husband, and quickly put on her jeans, nodding to Terrence as she was now decent. Terrence returned to his seat, as Wendy sat down on another chair to pull on her shoes. The door opened again, and again, she heard her manager shouting.
“And you can tell Hollywood he can stick that camera up his ass, and give Chris Stern’s dick a break!” Pollaski screamed down the hall, then wheeled inside the locker room, slamming the door. “What the hell did you do that for?” he demanded at Terrence.
“The lady was dressing, and you didn’t knock,” Terrence responded calmly. “What was THAT all about?”
Pollaski glowered as he marched away from the door, grabbing a third chair, unfolding it, and plopping down on the seat, crossing his arms as he did so. “You made me stumble into a cameraman, and he dropped his equipment. Started bitching about making me pay for it, and I told him to fuck off. He’s off to go cry to Hollywood right now.”
Terrence shrugged, more or less unconcerned. “Yeah, what’s Hollywood going to do about it? Lose to Wendy again?”
Pollaski chuckled at Terrence’s jest, and even Wendy found herself smiling at the comment. But Pollaski’s laughter quickly faded, and he looked at Wendy and Terrence seriously. “They’re going to release the Respect is Earned lineup tomorrow. You’re defending against Wild and John Pariah.”
Both Birdz nodded, hardly surprised by the news. Wendy even managed a small smile. “I’m glad to see that Edward took my advice, and got himself a partner. It’ll be a relief when we can finally shut his big mouth up!”
Pollaski chuckled, although this time, there was little humor in it, and he grimaced. “Well, you won’t need to wait until Respect is Earned to do that. You’re one on one against Wild next week.”
Wendy smile broadened. “That’s great!”
“No, it isn’t,” Pollaski said quickly. He sighed, and looked the female WhirlyBird dead in the eye. “Pariah’s the referee.”
Wendy’s smile faded completely, but the reaction was nothing compared to that of her husband.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Terrence demanded, leaping out from his chair.
Pollaski shook his head glumly, and Wendy closed her eyes and grimaced. She would have loved to face Wild in singles competition, but with Pariah in the ring calling the shots, the deck was almost completely stacked against her.
Unless she could think of something quick, she was about to suffer the second loss of her PWX career.
Ignoring her husband’s pacing and his muttered threats, Wendy shot a plaintive look at her manager. “Any ideas how I can pull this one off?”
Pollaski shrugged. “Not right now, but I’ve got a week to think about it. Honestly, the match itself is meaningless. You defend your titles against the Cartel in two weeks regardless. It’s what they can do to you during the match that I’m worried about. Obviously, they’re anticipating Terrence being distracted by his big showdown with Dorling, which makes you even more of an easy target.”
“Yeah, well, screw that,” Terrence interjected angrily. “I’d rather lose to Dorling a hundred times than let those bastards get ahold of Wendy like that again. I figured the chair I delivered to Wild tonight would have sent a message.”
“It probably made things worse,” Wendy admonished, quietly. “Edward already hated me. Now he has that much more reason to.”
“You’re blaming me for this?” Terrence asked incredulously.
“No,” Wendy said, shaking her head. “While I wish you hadn’t hit Edward, what’s done is done. But I think the Cartel would have sprung this match on me regardless. Hollywood, Ojeda, and Pariah are bitter about us beating them, and Wild’s had a problem with us from the moment he returned. This is the perfect setup in their eyes.”
“I’m surprised you’re not angry about this,” Terrence said, folding his chair up and tossing it against the wall.
“I’m furious,” Wendy admitted, looking over at Terrence. “I think they’re going to do something to make sure I can’t compete at Respect is Earned. But I’m not going to panic or overreact. That’s exactly what they want me to do.”
“What are you going to do?” Terrence asked, looking at his wife, a worried expression on his face.
Wendy cracked a small smile. “What I do best. If there’s a way to win, I’ll find it. If not...” she trailed off, looking away.
“We’ll find a way,” Pollaski said encouragingly. “You’re better than both those bastards combined, anyways. Its the striped shirt we’re going to have to get around.”
Wendy nodded, and rose from her chair, grabbing her bag as she did. “Well, it doesn’t do us any good sitting around here, worrying about it. Let’s find Theresa and Cassie, and head back to the RV.”
The two men in the room nodded, and, grabbing their things, they followed Wendy out the door.
Wednesday July 28, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:10 PM Local Time
[Home sweet home.]
[Since the Birdz left The Nest last Friday Morning, they have driven to Chicago, flown to Salt Lake City, flown to Spokane, beat the Angel of Death (well, just Terrence did), flown to Minneapolis, flown to Chicago, driven to Valparaiso, beat Xander Crewes and Scott Styles, ran out to fight off the Cartel, and driven back home to Indianapolis, arriving early Tuesday afternoon.]
[Needless to say, the Birdz pretty much slept the rest of Tuesday away, and woke up reinvigorated this fine morning. Good thing too, as both Birdz have enormous matches to get ready for this week.]
[Not to mention that the lawn needs to be mowed, and there’s a really funny smell coming out of the garage.]
[Anyways, its promo time for everyone’s favorite (mortal) redhead, and once again, Wendy’s perched herself on the couch, wearing a simple cream-colored blouse and a calf-legnth black skirt. As usual, Wendy sits fairly rigidly, her emerald eyes boring into the camera.]
[Needless to say, she’s not happy.]
Wendy: “Edward Burden.”
[That would be why Wendy’s not happy. Ever notice how she refuses to refer to Wild by his ring name?]
Wendy: “Finally, over the next couple of weeks, we will have a chance to settle the differences between us.”
[There is a grim smile on Wendy’s face. On one hand, she’d love to beat the ever-loving crap out of Wild for what he did to her after her match with Hollywood (not that she’d ever use those words). On the other hand, well, she’s kind of in trouble.]
Wendy: “Your hatred of Terrence and I has been well documented. You accosted me in the hallway back at Adrenaline 38. You jumped me from behind at Adrenaline 39. You can’t go a single interview without reminding the world how weak and pathetic you think Terrence and I are. Its almost fascinating. Before our encounter in the hallway, you and I have never met before, and yet the venom you have for us is as strong as anyone I’ve ever had to face.”
[Wendy sighs, shrugging.].
Wendy: “I’m still not even sure why. Obviously you feel threatened by us in some way. So much so, that you’ve felt the need to make John Pariah- your own tag team partner for our coming showdown- the referee for our match on Monday.”
[There’s that customary red flash in Wendy’s emerald irises, a clear indication that she’s angry. She even gives a short, harsh laugh at how brazen the Cartel is for even sticking her in such a match.]
Wendy: “I’ve seen many cowardly tactics during my five years competing, but this honestly takes the cake. You just beat Danny Szatkowski cleanly in the middle of the ring. You destroyed John King in the blink of an eye last week. And yet- you need help to face me?”
[A small, humorless smile.]
Wendy: “I suppose I should be flattered.”
[Snort of derision.]
Wendy: “I know a setup when I see one, Edward. You and the rest of the Cartel seem to have figured out that the best way to remove the tag team titles from our waists is to take me out before our match can even begin. After all, what chance could I possibly have when the referee himself is out to get me? Even if I get your shoulders to the mat, will Pariah make the count? Even if I inflict so much pain on you, that you tap out for the whole world to see, will Pariah ring the bell? I strongly doubt it.”
[Wendy pauses, and takes a deep breath. Beneath the anger in her eyes, there is clear worry. Obviously, this is hardly a situation she wants to be getting into.]
Wendy: “Even so, I will be in that ring Monday, because unlike you, I do not take the easy way out. I won’t guarantee victory, but if there is a way to defeat you, I will find it. And I guarantee that no matter what you or Pariah try, I will survive it. And I will be at Respect is Earned, standing alongside my husband. And Terrence and I WILL defeat you and Pariah, and retain our titles.”
[Another grim smile from the small redhead, as she looks directly into the camera.]
Wendy: “I’m not about to make this easy for you, Edward. Every victory in this sport comes at a price, and I intend to make the price you pay as steep as possible. The currency will be every purple bruise, every weakened joint, and every sore muscle I inflict on you. And as the price begins to add up, you best consider whether or not this match is really worth it. Because in two weeks, at Respect is Earned, Terrence and I will be collecting in full.
[One final angry glare.]
Wendy: “When that happens, you better hope you have sufficient funds left in your account.”
[Fade]
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