Tuesday August 10, 2010
The Nest- Dining Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
9:15 AM Local Time
Pro Wrestling X would like to wish Victor Mandrake well in all his future endeavors.
Wendy Briese-Thompson stared quietly at the announcement on the PWX Newswire, then closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Finally,” she exhaled.
She had no illusions that she would never see the monster again. With Terrence and Mandrake still in Defiance, they were bound to still run into each other. And since Mandrake had visited the house before, the only thing that would stop Victor from visiting The Nest were the inevitable consequences of doing so (such as Terrence killing him). But at least from one aspect of her life, Victor Mandrake was truly, irrevocably GONE.
And yet, the elation of that fact was somewhat tempered by the guilt that had settled into the bottom of her stomach. She disliked Mandrake- perhaps even hated him. But she derived no joy in watching what had happened to him. And even worse, Wendy knew that it had all come about because Victor Mandrake had tried to save her from a beating.
It wasn’t the way she hoped it would happen, but she’d take it.
“Goodbye, Victor,” Wendy said quietly, closing the FireFox window on her laptop.
It was over.
=======================================================================
Wednesday August 11, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:10 PM Local Time
Wendy winced as Ben Steven’s foot smashed into the side of Jenna Himmler’s head, the smaller blonde’s eyes nearly rolling back in her head as she pitched face first to the mat. She had seen the move exactly seven times over the past couple hours, and still it made her wince. For Jenna Himmler to be able to move after taking that showed that the new girl had a toughness and resiliency.
Seven times, she had watched the Welcome to PWX match, because it was the only in-ring footage of Jenna Himmler that existed. It was irritating, because the match was a four-way battle, and there was simply too much going on with everybody for Wendy to get an accurate gauge on Jenna’s strengths and weaknesses.
The one thing she could figure out was that Jenna was an opportunist. She had taken advantage of the chaos that comes with a four-way match masterfully, she picked her shots carefully, and while Wendy wasn’t exactly approving in some of the methods Jenna used, she couldn’t deny the girl was effective.
“I love the expression on Luke’s face when Ben Stevens nailed him,” a male voice snickered to the side of her. Wendy nodded quietly as she watched Blue and Steven’s tumble out of the ring, then watched impassively as Jenna perched herself on the top turnbuckle, hit the Lufthansa Bomb, and score the win.
Opportunist, indeed.
This match was making her nervous. Something told her that Himmler was no ordinary rookie. What little information she could gain on the woman indicated that while Himmler was new to professional wrestling, she had been in street fights for the better part of the past decade. Besides, any girl who ran with John Ojeda had to be tough as nails.
Wendy pursed her lips, and leaned back on the couch. She had one match to go on for Himmler, and it was hardly a good gauge of the full extent of Jenna’s talents. Meanwhile, Jenna had nearly a score of matches of Wendy’s to look at, and with a man like Ojeda working with her, she had no doubt that Himmler would be more prepared for this match than anyone else was going to think.
But Wendy looked back over at the television. After the conclusion of the match, Pollaski had left the video running, and she was treated to a glimpse of her, repeatedly firing clotheslines into Wild, trying to knock the larger man off his feet. That realization sent a jolt of shock into Wendy. She was a PWX Tag Team Champion, and had made a name for herself beating men twice her size. How the heck was she going to lose to a rookie? It was inconceivable!
If you think the ‘little’ matches don’t matter, try losing one.
She couldn’t remember when she had heard that saying, or who had told her that, but someone had, told her that very early in her career, and she had always taken it to heart. This week was going to be no exception. Regardless of her information, or lack thereof, she was the seasoned veteran here. She’d have no excuse for losing.
“I’m home!” the voice of her husband echoed in from the front entryway, breaking into Wendy’s thoughts. Wendy looked up as Terrence Thompson strolled into the room, a bag from NAPA slung over one of his arms, and a stack of envelopes in his hand. Wendy hopped up from the couch, and embraced her husband, giving him a quick kiss. Theresa bounded into the room as well, making a beeline for the couch, and hopping next to Pollaski, who smiled and tousled her hair.
After Wendy broke away, Terrence began looking through the envelopes. “I got the mail,” he unnecessarily explained to his wife. Terrence paused, looking at a manilla envelope in his hand. “You got something from Notre Dame?” he asked.
Breaking into a grin, Wendy snatched the envelope from Terrence’s hands, ripping it open with the aura of a child on Christmas morning. ‘Yes!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “Its our tickets!”
“Our... tickets?” Terrence asked arching his eyebrow.
“Oh,” Wendy froze, suddenly realizing something very important she had forgotten to tell her husband. “I got us all season tickets to the Irish. I figured that with us being in Valparaiso every weekend, and South Bend so close, and Brian Kelly the new head coach, and...”
Wendy broke off from her excited rambling at Pollaski’s groan. “Well, then YOU don’t have to go,” she snapped. “It’s not MY fault we beat your Huskies twice in the past-”
Terrence knew a fight brewing when he saw one, and he quickly grabbed another envelope. “You also got something from the Attorney General.”
“Election stuff,” Wendy said dismissively, rolling her eyes, but Terrence shook his head. “It looks pretty official.”
Looking more curious than anything, Wendy grabbed the envelope, tearing it open, and removing a small packet of papers. She began reading the pages, her mood darkening with every word.
“What is it?” Terrence asked, concern coming over his features.
“It’s a notification about my father’s parole hearing.” Wendy whispered in horror. “It’s scheduled for mid-October.”
‘What?” Terrence outburst, his mouth dropping in shock and anger. “That bastard was even ELIGIBLE for parole?”
Wendy nodded grimly, and angrily stuffed the papers back in the envelope. Gus Briese was the one man in the world she hated more than anyone else, and that included Victor Mandrake. She couldn’t feel any different about the man who had cheated on her mother, then murdered her by shoving her in front of a semi truck on the highway almost eight years ago.
Even worse had been the trial, when Gus, the consummate actor that he was, had so expertly portrayed himself as the victim. Wendy had listened with horror as her mother was turned into an alcoholic slut, and herself into an ungrateful bitch of a daughter who had betrayed her own father. Even though the jury had still convicted him, it was on a lesser second-degree charge. Hence, the parole.
“He won’t get it,” Terrence said reassuringly. “No parole board in the world would ever let that monster out of prison.”
Wendy felt a liquid trickling down her cheek, and she angrily wiped the tear away. Her father or not, this man had ruined too many lives. It had long been rumored that one of the reasons the Briese’s had even come to America was because the investigation into Gus’ alleged ties with funding Irish terrorist organizations had become too hot. Wendy had long believed the rumors false, but knowing her father as she did now, she found it all too believable that Gus would have funded the bombings and assassinations he had been tied to.
Gus needed to pay for more than just the murder of her mother.
“I need to lie down,” Wendy said, handing the envelope back to Terrence, and turning to walk away.
Terrence, however, grabbed her, and pulled her into his embrace. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered into her ear. Wendy nodded, more water leaking from her eyes, and Terrence kissed her on the forehead. He finally let go, and Wendy turned away again, walking to the stairs.
Terrence sighed, and turned back to Pollaski and Theresa. Pollaski had turned pale, but his eyes were narrowed, and he was shaking his head in disbelief. Theresa, on the other hand, was wide eyed, and confused.
“What wrong with mama?” the four-year old asked.
Terrence said nothing, just looked to Pollaski. There was nothing he really could say.
How the hell do you explain to a four-year old that her grandfather is a monster?
========================================================================
Sunday August 15, 2010
Embassy Suites Hotel- Suite 716
Santa Monica, California
4:24 PM Local Time
[Wait.. what are the WhirlyBirdz doing in California?]
[Well, like was announced in Pollaski’s Power X column earlier this week, Daniel’s making his in-ring debut today in Catholic Panda Wrestling, one of PWX’s many affiliates.]
[It’s also owned by Valerie Belmont, another PWX figure. How bout them apples?]
[Anyways, Wendy seems to have managed to get herself some alone time, as the rest of the gang has headed out to the Santa Monica Pier to get in some sightseeing. Wendy’s elected to stay behind, and get her interview video done, considering that she’s running out of time.]
[And so we open in the front room of an Embassy Suites suite, where Wendy is sitting on a couch. Even being in SoCal hasn’t done much to Wendy’s dress code, as it’s she’s decked out in a fairly conservative knee-legnth light green floral dress.]
[For having just had a traumatic experience about her father a couple days ago, Wendy looks to be in pretty good spirits. She’s still sitting as rigidly as ever, but her face- it’s not the normally warm smile that’s plasterd across her face. Nope, the best way to describe Wendy right now would be smug.]
Wendy: “Well, that paid off rather nicely.”
[Wendy can’t help herself- she breaks into an ear to ear grin. After the win she and Terrence pulled off at Respect is Earned, she’s got a right to be upbeat.]
Wendy: “To beat a team like John Pariah and Wild- especially when the stipulations in the match favor them, you can’t hold anything back. We knew we were going to have to take some risks, and if it means keeping these belts from the waists of despicable people like the Cartel, I would let myself be powerbombed a hundred times over.”
[Wendy may not use weapons, but she’s not above becoming one!]
Wendy: “And considering I keep having people asking this, let me just say- yes, it did hurt. Although not as bad as I thought. John Pariah made an excellent landing cushion.”
[Another grin from Briese, although Wendy almost looks guilty that she’s having so much fun at her opponents expense. Finally, Wendy’s smile fades, and she sighs.]
Wendy: “But we move onward, to Adrenaline 42, where I face Jenna Himmler in her first one-on-one match.”
[Wendy’s smile fades completely as she enters into the subject of this week. Obviously, Wendy’s not a fan of Jenna Himmler, nor what she stands for. She’s also been fairly annoyed that Pollaski’s been goose-stepping all week, solely for the purpose of driving her nuts. He’s succeeded. Big time.]
Wendy: “I suppose many ‘experts’ would pick me as the favorite going into this match. After all, I have over five years of in-ring experience under my belt, and this is Jenna’s second wrestling contest ever. But beneath the surface, this is actually a challenging matchup. What little experience Jenna has in the ring, she more than makes up for with her experiences outside of it. Many streetfighters have gone on to have very successful in-ring careers, and if I’m not careful, I could very well be Himmler’s first stepping stone.”
[Wendy shakes her head, and in her face, there’s a bit of anger, and a bit of sorrow..”
Wendy: “Under normal circumstances, I would be excited about the challenge this contest holds. I’m honestly not used to facing people smaller than me, and I outweigh Jenna by a whopping five pounds. I’ve been working all week on adapting to face smaller, quicker opponents. At least, for once in my life, I’ll actually get to suplex somebody.”
[A small smile from Wendy. It’s one of the frustrations of the poor girl- Wendy can do quite a few good suplexes, but considering she’s about a hundred pound lighter than her average opponent, she doesn’t get to do them that often.]
Wendy: “But while it won’t be easy, I still think my knowledge and experience will get me the victory on Monday. Jenna did very well in her debut, beating three other guys. But how is Miss Himmler in a one-on-one situation? When four people are in the ring, focus changes quickly. You could be fighting one person one second, and then a completely different person the next. And it’s all too easy to be so focused on one person, you get blindsided by another. We saw that way too often in her debut match. This week, however, its just me and her in that ring. There won’t be anyone else to distract me.”
[Pause, as something suddenly hits the redhead]
Wendy: “Unless someone interferes, which, considering her boyfriend is a member of the Cartel, is actually a very strong possibility.”
[Wendy grimaces at the though of dealing with more Cartel bullshit. She’s getting annoyed with it.]
Wendy: “Jenna, you and I are so different, and yet, we both have one thing in common. Both of us thinks the other is naive for their ideals. I would be more than happy to judge you as a wrestler, and not on your ideals, but when you saddle yourself with the ring name The Aryan Princess, you’re asking to be identified that way.”
[Wendy shakes her head sadly.]
Wendy: “I think its fairly safe to say you hate me, Jenna. You don’t like my ideals, you don’t like the way I wrestle, you want to see me get hurt. But let’s not stop there. Do you really want to hate me, Jenna? Then look at this.”
[Wendy calmly raises her right hand, and reaches into the top of her dress. Calmly, she pulls out a gold chain that’s around her neck, and tucked into her dress. She lets the gold chain, and the item at the end of it, rest against her chest, the chain still around her neck.]
[Even without the camera zooming in, we can see it’s a rosary.]
Wendy: “I’m Catholic”
[Wendy’s voice is cool, but her emerald eyes are blazing into the camera, as Wendy pauses, to let her revelation sink in.]
Wendy: “Are you confused? See Jenna, I know my history, and I know that while it wasn’t nearly as widespread and horrendous as the atrocities against the Jews, persecution of Catholics existed in Nazi Germany as well. Clergy in Germany were captured and taken to concentration camps. Nearly half of the priesthood in the city of Chelmno, Poland was executed inside that city’s death camp. A priest and a nun that perished in the Auschwitz concentration camp were later canonized as martyred saints. Even in America, one of the tenants of the Ku Klux Klan was the removal of Catholics from offices of power.”
[Wendy’s eyes are blazing hotter now than before, and she idly grabs at her rosary, again holding it up for all to see.]
Wendy: “Take it all in. Because I wouldn’t want you to go into our match without enough hatred for me. “
[Wendy blinks, and it’s clear that while she’s doing her best to remain calm, it’s obvious that she’s fairly angry at the whole notion of what Jenna Himmler is.]
Wendy: “Come Monday night, every ounce of hatred that’s in your heart is going to make it that much more bitter for you when I beat you in the middle of the ring. When you walk to the back, your head hung in shame, you will know that you just got bested by a goody-two-shoes Irish-catholic girl. That’s the downside of hatred, when you’re bested by that thing you hate- it’s makes the sting of defeat that much more painful.”
[Yipes. Wendy might just be taking this match a little personally.]
Wendy: “But there’s one thing, Jenna, that you haven’t been able to figure out. You say I THINK I can win my matches without cheating or using weapons?”
[Wendy flashes a humorless smile.]
Wendy: “I KNOW I can. I already have, time and again. There is nothing you can throw at me, from a punch, to a kick, to a chair, that I cannot endure. And when you’ve thrown everything you can think of at me, and I’m still standing proud...
[Short pause, and when Wendy speaks, her eyes are narrowed, and she finishes off with as much disdain in her voice as we have heard from anyone.]
Wendy: “I will ground your precious Lufthansa. Permanently.”
[Fade]
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
CPW #2- Boarding Call
The following column was posted at whirlybirdz.com
Hey kids.
Not much time to talk, as the flight to Los Angeles is about to take off, but I was just surfing the web, and I just happened to notice that David Anderson's gone running his mouth all over again. So, I'm gonna take a couple minutes to rebut it.
The sum of David's argument is that I'm a fat asshole.
Really? This is supposed to be fucking news to me?
I'm not an honorable person, I'm a cuthroat wrestling manager who's trying his hand in the ring for the first time. You want honorable, look at the wrestlers I manage, not at me.
Yeah look at my history, dumbass. I dumped a truck full of shit on a girl because she annoyed me. I hired snipers to stand in the balcony, and shoot my opponents with tranquilizer darts so I could win what few matches I've ever been in.
You know, I was trying to get away from that. I was trying to do this the right way, get a little competition, and maybe even get some exercise. But when I see a moronic twat like David Anderson go around acting like he has a clue, well, its go time.
And don't you fucking dare turn it around and say I don't respect the military. I have plenty of respect for the boys in uniform, and the sacrifices they make.
Where my respect ends, is when drunken dishonorable discharges try to coast on it for respect, when they haven't done anything respectable in years.
So David, here's what's going to happen. I'll use little words so your booze addled jarhead brain can understand it.
I. Am. Going. To. Beat. The. Shit. Out. Of. You.
There, nuff said.
And I don't care how much energy you think I'm going to have, I'll have enough to smear your blood all over Los Angeles.
I also have respect for flight attendants, and they're closing the cabin door, and telling me to shut this laptop off. So I'm going to.
Until then POLLA OUT.
Bitches.
Hey kids.
Not much time to talk, as the flight to Los Angeles is about to take off, but I was just surfing the web, and I just happened to notice that David Anderson's gone running his mouth all over again. So, I'm gonna take a couple minutes to rebut it.
The sum of David's argument is that I'm a fat asshole.
Really? This is supposed to be fucking news to me?
I'm not an honorable person, I'm a cuthroat wrestling manager who's trying his hand in the ring for the first time. You want honorable, look at the wrestlers I manage, not at me.
Yeah look at my history, dumbass. I dumped a truck full of shit on a girl because she annoyed me. I hired snipers to stand in the balcony, and shoot my opponents with tranquilizer darts so I could win what few matches I've ever been in.
You know, I was trying to get away from that. I was trying to do this the right way, get a little competition, and maybe even get some exercise. But when I see a moronic twat like David Anderson go around acting like he has a clue, well, its go time.
And don't you fucking dare turn it around and say I don't respect the military. I have plenty of respect for the boys in uniform, and the sacrifices they make.
Where my respect ends, is when drunken dishonorable discharges try to coast on it for respect, when they haven't done anything respectable in years.
So David, here's what's going to happen. I'll use little words so your booze addled jarhead brain can understand it.
I. Am. Going. To. Beat. The. Shit. Out. Of. You.
There, nuff said.
And I don't care how much energy you think I'm going to have, I'll have enough to smear your blood all over Los Angeles.
I also have respect for flight attendants, and they're closing the cabin door, and telling me to shut this laptop off. So I'm going to.
Until then POLLA OUT.
Bitches.
EPISODE 35: The Wager
Monday August 9, 2010
Broadbent Arena- WhirlyBirdz Locker Room
Louisville, Kentucky
10:41 PM Local Time
Terrence Thompson had lost enough fights in his career to know that seeing ceiling lights immediately after regaining consciousness was probably a pretty good indication one just got his ass kicked.
“Oh, God... dammit,” Terrence moaned, as he rolled onto his side, blinking rapidly as he tried to steady the swaying locker room. Clutching his throbbing skull in pain, Terrence was dismayed, if not surprised, to find his forehead sticky with blood.
Closing his eyes in an attempt to clear the cobwebs, Terrence forced himself to sit up, fighting down the small wave of nausea that attacked him as he did so. Dimly, the events leading up to his knockout began to take shape in his muddled mind.
He had been in here with Wendy, celebrating the end of their match, when John Pariah had come in, and, to Terrence and Wendy’s shock, seemed fairly gracious over their match, and even shook Terrence’s hand. Then he had left, and Terrence had barely time to breathe when the door had burst open again, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground, the entire cartel above him, taunting him.
He didn’t remember much else, but he could piece the puzzle together well enough to make a silent promise that the next member of the Cartel to cross him was going to end up in a body bag.
Terrence heard a weak, feminine groan off to his side, and, slowly opening his eyes, he looked in that direction.
Oh God, Wendy.
The red haired woman was crumpled against the wall, curled up in the fetal position, her hands on top of her head. With a jolt of panic, Terrence crawled over to the still form of his wife, rolling her on her back, and looking down at her.
“Wendy! Are you okay?”
Even as he spoke, he saw her eyelids flutter. A small trickle of blood ran from a cut on Wendy’s lip, but all that Wendy showed for her being shoved headfirst into the wall was a small red bump on her forehead. She must have gotten her hands over her head to protect her, Terrence realized gratefully, although he noted with rising anger that Grave’s shove still had been forceful enough to knock her out.
With another soft moan, Wendy’s eyes opened, her emerald irises staring up at Terrence. “Wha... what happened, Terry?”
“The fucking Cartel blindsided us! That’s what happened!” Terrence growled back, looking intently into his wifes eyes, checking for signs of a concussion. Her pupils were dilating- at least that was a good sign.
Wendy closed her eyes, grimacing as the memories of the past few moments came back to her. “I remember now,” she said weakly. “Tyler Graves threw me into the wall. He must have... joined the Cartel.”
Terrence nodded, opening his mouth to say as many disparaging things about Tyler Graves that he could think of, but all that came out was a grunt of protest as Wendy struggled to sit up. “No, hon. You should lay down,” Terrence admonished his wife gently.
Wendy, however, shoved his arms away, sitting fully upright. “I’m fine, Terry,” she snapped, harder than she meant to. Terrence blinked, surprised at the outburst, but he finally nodded. From the looks of things, she had come off better than he did. Still, he couldn’t help but worry about his wife.
For a short while, the two sat silently on the locker room floor. Terrence grimaced in pain as he felt the cut on his forehead. It was maybe a quarter inch long, and narrow. Better yet, it wasn’t very deep, so he would likely not require stitches. Wendy, for her part, raised the collar on the top of her ring gear, using it to wipe away the blood that had now stopped trickling from her lip.
“Thank GOD our daughter wasn’t here to see this,” Terrence muttered.
“Why?” Wendy huffed, and for a second Terrence stared at his wife in shock, amazed that she would disagree with him. But then he realizes she wasn’t- she was pursuing her own line of thought.
“Why would The Cartel attack us now?” Wendy asked, her voice thick with frustration. “They could have done it during the match- they were allowed to!”
“Because they knew we were expecting that.” Terrence responded. “We spent that entire match waiting for the hammer to fall, and, it never came. This way, they caught us when we were least expecting it.”
“Well, I can say one thing,” a third voice piped in, and both Birdz jumped, turning to see Daniel Pollaski at the other end of the room. “There was no way in HELL Brian Hollywood would have gotten involved in your match. Not with so much at stake riding on Cage Rage.”
Wendy paled. “Oh, God,” she said, wobbly getting to her feet, and running over to the telelvision. She had to know- if Brian Hollywood, God forbid, won the Grand Prix title...
“I’m fine, by the way,” Pollaski muttered, rubbing his jaw where Wild’s clothesline had connected.
Wendy flipped on the television, and gaped in amazement as she saw Brian Hollywood running through the crowd, Darin Zion in hot pursuit.
“It’s official,” Terrence declared behind her. “This is the most fucked up pay-per-view EVER.”
Terrence grabbed a chair, and sat down to watch the main event of the evening, but Wendy, relieved that at least Hollywood wasn’t winning the match, flipped the television off.
“Hey!” Terrence protested, but Wendy ignored him.
“We need to go get checked out by the medical staff,” Wendy replied firmly. “For all we know, we have concussions.”
“I’m fine,” Terrence declared, eyeballing his wife. “I’ve taken worse shots than that.”
But Wendy wasn’t finished. “Before we were attacked, we were telling Cassie to bring Theresa back to the arena,” she reminded her husband, “Do you want her to see you like this?”
Terrence grunted, although conceding the point. He didn’t really want his daughter seeing him covered in blood, that’s for sure. Lord knows how the confrontation with Mandrake would even effect her.
“Alright, let’s go,” Terrence grumbled, heading towards the locker room door. With a grim smile, Wendy followed behind, leaving Pollaski to scurry after them.
“Wait up!” The portly manager called as he left the room.
=======================================================================
Tuesday August 10, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
5:12 PM Local Time
Make up your mind...
Decide to walk with me...
Around the lake tonight
Around the lake tonight by my side.
Daniel Pollaski swore under his breath as the Toadies’ legendary hit “Possum Kingdom” began blaring from his cellphone. He was quickly learning that it was a bad idea to make one of your favorite songs your phone’s ringtone- it was too easy to develop a severe dislike when one kept hearing it whenever someone wanted to bother them.
Nevertheless, Daniel pressed pause on the X-Box 360 controller, pausing the Split/Second race he was facing (and losing to) Terrence in, and grabbed his Droid, flipping it on.
“‘Yallo...” Pollaski greeted the caller nonchalantly, looking over at Terrence and rolling his eyes. “Yeah, this is him. What’s up?”
At that moment, Wendy entered, holding a basket of laundry straight from the dryer, Theresa on her heels, holding two Hot Wheels in her hands. As Wendy sat down in the recliner, intending to fold while she watched her husband play his game, she looked over at Terrence. “Who is it?” she mouthed quietly.
Terrence shrugged, and set his controller on the end table. From the way Pollaski was talking, he could be on the phone for a while. He smiled at his daughter, who was busy running the cars back and forth over the carpet, quietly making ‘vroom’ sounds.
“How’s your forehead?” his wife asked, pointing to the band-aid that covered Terrence’s forehead. Wendy’s cut lip had healed quickly with minimal swelling, but Terrence hadn’t been as lucky. While he hadn’t needed stitches, an ugly scab still dotted Terrence’s face where he had been busted open, and Terrence had been covering it with a bandage. He looked over and smiled at his wife. “It’s fine,” he said.
Wendy looked as if she was going to respond, but Pollaski distracted them both by lowering the phone, covering the mouthpiece and clearing his throat.
“They want you to face Brian Hollywood in a number one contenders match this week,” Pollaski announced to the room.
Terrence blinked in surprise, and Wendy broke into a grin. “That’s great!” she said. “Congratulations, Terrence!”
Pollaski didn’t quite share their enthusiasm. “They’re making it a ‘luchas de apuestas’ match.”
“A... what?” Terrence asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“Literally, it’s a ‘match of wagers’,” Wendy explained calmly. “Each of you puts something on the line, and the winner takes all.”
“Oh, so what are the wagers?” Terrence asked.
“Well, for Brian, its his number one contendership to the Grand Prix title,” Pollaski explained, cringing at the expected outbursts from both the Birdz.
“What?” Wendy said furiously. “HIS number one- when did that happen?”
“At the pay-per-view,” Pollaski said. While all the WhirlyBirdz had been unconscious at the start of the main event,, Pollaski had gone back and rewatched the tape. “He removed himself from that Cage Rage match, then announced that he ‘got next’, so to speak. I guest he still thinks he’s ‘got next’, despite Darin Zion running him off.”
Wendy’s brow furrowed in anger, but she merely crossed her arms over her chest and said nothing. Terrence, on the other hand, calmly shrugged. “Either way, I win, and I ‘got next’. So what am I supposed to bet?”
Pollaski grimaced, and looked from Terrence, over to Wendy, then back to Terrence again. “If you lose, you’re stripped of the tag team titles. What do you think?”
Immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed, and both Terrence and Wendy paled slightly, looking at each other. Even little Theresa sensed that something was amiss, and she looked up from her cars at her parents.
“It’s your call, “ Pollaski prompted, his hand still over his phone’s mouthpiece.
The room was quiet for sometime after that. Finally, Terrence scratched under his chin, and sighed. “Talk about your all or nothing gambles,” he said quietly, then shook his head. “Tell them no thanks, I would, if the tag titles were solely mine, but I’m not screwing Wendy over because I want to-”
“Do it.” Wendy said fiercely, interrupting her husband.
Both Terrence and Pollaski looked over at the redhead, stunned by the words. Wendy merely shrugged. “You’ve had to make so many sacrifices for my career over teh past few months, Terry. I walked out on you before Summer Games, and I betrayed you at that press conference back in March.”
“Yeah, cause you were blackmailed,” Terrence growled, remembering all too well the situation Victor Mandrake had forced Wendy into. “It’s still-”
“Tell them we say yes,” Wendy interrupted again, this time ignoring Terrence and speaking directly to Pollaski. “I’m not going to let your loyalty to me hold you back when it doesn’t have to. Besides, I’d be a poor wife indeed if I didn’t have faith in you.”
“It could be a trap,” Terrence warned.
“So was last week, and the week before that,” Wendy countered. “There’s nothing the Cartel can throw at us that we can’t handle. If you don’t want the match, decline. But don’t hold out because you’re afraid of costing me my belt.”
The room fell silent again as Terrence stared blankly ahead for several seconds. Finally, he took a deep breath, and turned towards Pollaski.
“Fine. I’m in.” He said, his eyes glaring into Pollsaki’s. And you tell them that Brian Hollywood better look really closely at the company medical plan, because he’s going to need it by the time I’m done with him.”
Pollaski nodded, and finally put his phone back to his ear. “You there? Sorry ‘bout that. Yeah, he’s in.”
While Pollaski continued to talk to PWX corporate, Terrence turned to his wife, smiling.
“Thanks,” he said.
Wendy merely shrugged and smiled. “What are wives for/ Just try not to lose.”
Terrence burst into laughter. “To Brian Hollywood? I thought you said you had faith in me!”
Even Wendy had to smile at that.
=======================================================================
Thursday August 12, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
4:10 PM Local Time
[Well, this is a little interesting.]
[As is the case with a good percentage of WhirlyBirdz promos, we are in the rather nice living room of The Nest, which, for all you new Birdz fans, is the trendy nickname for the WhirlyBirdz house, located in the northwestern corner of Indianapolis.]
[On the couch, alone in the room, sits the Mechanical Mayhem. As usual, Terrence is dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, the t-shirt being a dark blue NAPA Auto screenprint. He’s sitting fairly relaxed in the couch, wearing that customary smirk that pretty much appears in every single one of his promos.]
[What’s interesting though, is the item that Terrence Thompson is holding in his hand as he fades in. Small, Gray. Plastic, with a paper sticker covering the front and the top.]
[A Super Nintendo Cartridge]
[Street Fighter II: TURBO]
[Now THAT is what we call old-school]
Twister- “When I was a kid, one of my favorite games was Street Fighter II. I would play that game for hours, but the funny thing is, every time I played the Arcade mode, I wuould beat everybody down. I’d bash Balrog, I’d Vex Vega, and I’d stymie Sagat. But then... I would get to Bison, and that blue fire wielding motherfucker would kick my ass from one side of Shadowloo to the next. And everytime I lost, I would continue the game, and get my ass kicked all over again. This could continue for a long time- either until I tired of the game, and went on to do something else, or, by some freaking miracle, I managed to eek out a win on my thirty-fourth attempt, and finally beat the damn thing. I always imagined that one fluke victory was because Bison just got fucking sick of facing me, and figured that if he let me win once, I would finally go away.”
[For the record, Terrence’s favorite character was Guile. Is anybody honestly surprised?]
[SONIC BOOM!]
Twister: “Facing the Cartel is like being Bison in Street Fighter II. Every time you beat them, they just hit the damned Start button, and come back for more. I beat John Ojeda, they come back. My wife beats Brian Hollywood, they come back. My wife beats Wild with John Pariah as the freakin’ referee, they come back. We beat the Cartel in a Cartel rules match...”
[Exasperated eyeroll from Terrence as he finishes the sentence]
Twister: “They come back.”
[Terrence leans over, and sets the cartridge on the end table, then turns his attention back to the camera.]
Twister: “I’m sure we’ll hear some bragging from the Cartel. After all, they’ve brought Tyler Graves, who has yet to even win a match since returning to PWX, into their organization, and they managed to catch Wendy and I by surprise in our own locker room. I’m sure that more than makes up for every single Cartel member not named Brian Willett getting their asses handed to them in the ring.”
[Well, to be fair, Chris Stern never lost a match either., He lost a loot of blood, and probably a few brain cells, but not the match!]
Twister: “But I suppose when you’re the boss, no matter how shitty you and your friends are made to look, you can keep yourself in the limelight with just a few words. And that’s why, once again, Brian Hollywood is the number one contender to the Grand Prix title.”
[Terrence breaks into an ear to ear smirk]
Twister: “For about a week.”
[Small chuckle]
Twister: “Brian, I suppose I owe you and the Cartel a small ‘thank you’ for getting Mandrake out of our lives. I supposed if I was gutless and spineless,, I would have gone with the ‘five guys with a cattle prod’ method as well. “
[Small shrug]
Twister: “I guess whatever’s effective, right?”
[Pause for a second.]
Twister: “But Brian, you need a wake up call. You’re the owner of PWX- I can’t dispute that. And you can do anything you want with this company, so long as you don’t compromise our contracts. But I know you, Brian. You’re a businessman at heart, and you want to make money.”
[Terrence straightens up, and even leans forward a bit, his smirk still boring into the camera.]
Twister: “So, since you were nice enough to run Victor Mandrake out of the PWX, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
[Terrence cups his right hand to his mouth, and speaks in a stage-whisper.]
Twister: “What’s good for business in the PWX is not you.”
[And the smirk is back.]
Twister: “Look through the history books, Brian. How many great wrestling promotions were destroyed because the morons running them thought they and their friends were still the best in the company, despite all evidence to the contrary?“
[Terrence slightly shifts his position on the couch to make himself more comfortable. As he talks, it sounds less like a wrestling promo, and more like Terrence trying to explain something to a five year old.]
Twister: “Believe me Brian, while next week is going to hurt- a lot- take solace in the fact that its really the best thing for the PWX, even if its the worst thing possible for you.”
[Another small pause, and the smirk disappears completely from Terrence’s face. His eyes harden, and he snorts in annoyance.]
Twister: “And yes, it is going to be very bad for you, Brian. Because even without a chance at the belt on the line, I’ve been wanting a shot at you. Like I’ve said before, I bear no grudge for what happens to my wife in a wrestling match- she’s made her own bed there. But see, when you start trying to drive a chair into her skull, or holding her down so that another man can slap her, you’re no longer messing with Wendy Briese, the wrestler. You’re messing with Wendy Briese-Thompson, my wife. You’re messing with my family.”
[Terrence leans forward, his narrrowed eyes never leaving the camera.]
Twister: “Nobody fucking messes with my family.”
[Terrence leans back slightly, and raises his right arm, as if he’s grabbing for something hanging from the ceiling.]
Twister: “And now you’re dangling that carrot, telling me that all I have to do to get a shot at the Grand Prix title is to kick your sorry ass?”
[Malicious grin.]
Twister: “Almost seems a little too good to be true.”
[Shrug]
Twister: “And it probably is. After all, even Helen Keller could see that the carrot you’re dangling is little more than bait. You’ve made it no secret that you want these tag titles off of Wendy and I, and this is just your latest scheme to do so. I’m sure you have some plan, probably involving four or five of your friends, to make sure you come out on top this week.”
[Terrence scoffs and shakes his head]
Twister: “Yeah, ain’t gonna work.”
[Smirk: On]
Twister: “You see, my personal issues with you aside, ever since I lost that match at Full Throttle to Jacob Wright, I’ve been wanting another crack at the belt. I’ve paid my dues by demolishing every single person that’s gotten in my way. And now, that title shot, that chance to once again be the top man in PWX, is right in front of me, and you think I’m going to choke?”
[Terrence shakes his head again, as if the notion of him failing here was even possible.]
Twister: “Do whatever you think you need to do to win, Brian. I’ve beaten every member of your pathetic Cartel, and if I have to do it again, I will. I don’t care if five, ten, twenty, or even fifty guys run down that ramp, the end result is going to be the same. You flat on your back, and me the new number one contender.”
[Terrence reaches to his other side, and grabs something off the camera. He holds it up, and we can see that it’s both of the PWX Tag Titles.]
Twister: “And yes, I’ll be taking our tag belts home as well.”
[Terrence sets both belts on his lap, and leans forward to the camera, his eyes blazing with intensity.]
Twister: “And that, Brian, isn’t an Executive Promise.”
[One last smirk]
Twister: “It’s the fucking truth.”
[Fade]
Broadbent Arena- WhirlyBirdz Locker Room
Louisville, Kentucky
10:41 PM Local Time
Terrence Thompson had lost enough fights in his career to know that seeing ceiling lights immediately after regaining consciousness was probably a pretty good indication one just got his ass kicked.
“Oh, God... dammit,” Terrence moaned, as he rolled onto his side, blinking rapidly as he tried to steady the swaying locker room. Clutching his throbbing skull in pain, Terrence was dismayed, if not surprised, to find his forehead sticky with blood.
Closing his eyes in an attempt to clear the cobwebs, Terrence forced himself to sit up, fighting down the small wave of nausea that attacked him as he did so. Dimly, the events leading up to his knockout began to take shape in his muddled mind.
He had been in here with Wendy, celebrating the end of their match, when John Pariah had come in, and, to Terrence and Wendy’s shock, seemed fairly gracious over their match, and even shook Terrence’s hand. Then he had left, and Terrence had barely time to breathe when the door had burst open again, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground, the entire cartel above him, taunting him.
He didn’t remember much else, but he could piece the puzzle together well enough to make a silent promise that the next member of the Cartel to cross him was going to end up in a body bag.
Terrence heard a weak, feminine groan off to his side, and, slowly opening his eyes, he looked in that direction.
Oh God, Wendy.
The red haired woman was crumpled against the wall, curled up in the fetal position, her hands on top of her head. With a jolt of panic, Terrence crawled over to the still form of his wife, rolling her on her back, and looking down at her.
“Wendy! Are you okay?”
Even as he spoke, he saw her eyelids flutter. A small trickle of blood ran from a cut on Wendy’s lip, but all that Wendy showed for her being shoved headfirst into the wall was a small red bump on her forehead. She must have gotten her hands over her head to protect her, Terrence realized gratefully, although he noted with rising anger that Grave’s shove still had been forceful enough to knock her out.
With another soft moan, Wendy’s eyes opened, her emerald irises staring up at Terrence. “Wha... what happened, Terry?”
“The fucking Cartel blindsided us! That’s what happened!” Terrence growled back, looking intently into his wifes eyes, checking for signs of a concussion. Her pupils were dilating- at least that was a good sign.
Wendy closed her eyes, grimacing as the memories of the past few moments came back to her. “I remember now,” she said weakly. “Tyler Graves threw me into the wall. He must have... joined the Cartel.”
Terrence nodded, opening his mouth to say as many disparaging things about Tyler Graves that he could think of, but all that came out was a grunt of protest as Wendy struggled to sit up. “No, hon. You should lay down,” Terrence admonished his wife gently.
Wendy, however, shoved his arms away, sitting fully upright. “I’m fine, Terry,” she snapped, harder than she meant to. Terrence blinked, surprised at the outburst, but he finally nodded. From the looks of things, she had come off better than he did. Still, he couldn’t help but worry about his wife.
For a short while, the two sat silently on the locker room floor. Terrence grimaced in pain as he felt the cut on his forehead. It was maybe a quarter inch long, and narrow. Better yet, it wasn’t very deep, so he would likely not require stitches. Wendy, for her part, raised the collar on the top of her ring gear, using it to wipe away the blood that had now stopped trickling from her lip.
“Thank GOD our daughter wasn’t here to see this,” Terrence muttered.
“Why?” Wendy huffed, and for a second Terrence stared at his wife in shock, amazed that she would disagree with him. But then he realizes she wasn’t- she was pursuing her own line of thought.
“Why would The Cartel attack us now?” Wendy asked, her voice thick with frustration. “They could have done it during the match- they were allowed to!”
“Because they knew we were expecting that.” Terrence responded. “We spent that entire match waiting for the hammer to fall, and, it never came. This way, they caught us when we were least expecting it.”
“Well, I can say one thing,” a third voice piped in, and both Birdz jumped, turning to see Daniel Pollaski at the other end of the room. “There was no way in HELL Brian Hollywood would have gotten involved in your match. Not with so much at stake riding on Cage Rage.”
Wendy paled. “Oh, God,” she said, wobbly getting to her feet, and running over to the telelvision. She had to know- if Brian Hollywood, God forbid, won the Grand Prix title...
“I’m fine, by the way,” Pollaski muttered, rubbing his jaw where Wild’s clothesline had connected.
Wendy flipped on the television, and gaped in amazement as she saw Brian Hollywood running through the crowd, Darin Zion in hot pursuit.
“It’s official,” Terrence declared behind her. “This is the most fucked up pay-per-view EVER.”
Terrence grabbed a chair, and sat down to watch the main event of the evening, but Wendy, relieved that at least Hollywood wasn’t winning the match, flipped the television off.
“Hey!” Terrence protested, but Wendy ignored him.
“We need to go get checked out by the medical staff,” Wendy replied firmly. “For all we know, we have concussions.”
“I’m fine,” Terrence declared, eyeballing his wife. “I’ve taken worse shots than that.”
But Wendy wasn’t finished. “Before we were attacked, we were telling Cassie to bring Theresa back to the arena,” she reminded her husband, “Do you want her to see you like this?”
Terrence grunted, although conceding the point. He didn’t really want his daughter seeing him covered in blood, that’s for sure. Lord knows how the confrontation with Mandrake would even effect her.
“Alright, let’s go,” Terrence grumbled, heading towards the locker room door. With a grim smile, Wendy followed behind, leaving Pollaski to scurry after them.
“Wait up!” The portly manager called as he left the room.
=======================================================================
Tuesday August 10, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
5:12 PM Local Time
Make up your mind...
Decide to walk with me...
Around the lake tonight
Around the lake tonight by my side.
Daniel Pollaski swore under his breath as the Toadies’ legendary hit “Possum Kingdom” began blaring from his cellphone. He was quickly learning that it was a bad idea to make one of your favorite songs your phone’s ringtone- it was too easy to develop a severe dislike when one kept hearing it whenever someone wanted to bother them.
Nevertheless, Daniel pressed pause on the X-Box 360 controller, pausing the Split/Second race he was facing (and losing to) Terrence in, and grabbed his Droid, flipping it on.
“‘Yallo...” Pollaski greeted the caller nonchalantly, looking over at Terrence and rolling his eyes. “Yeah, this is him. What’s up?”
At that moment, Wendy entered, holding a basket of laundry straight from the dryer, Theresa on her heels, holding two Hot Wheels in her hands. As Wendy sat down in the recliner, intending to fold while she watched her husband play his game, she looked over at Terrence. “Who is it?” she mouthed quietly.
Terrence shrugged, and set his controller on the end table. From the way Pollaski was talking, he could be on the phone for a while. He smiled at his daughter, who was busy running the cars back and forth over the carpet, quietly making ‘vroom’ sounds.
“How’s your forehead?” his wife asked, pointing to the band-aid that covered Terrence’s forehead. Wendy’s cut lip had healed quickly with minimal swelling, but Terrence hadn’t been as lucky. While he hadn’t needed stitches, an ugly scab still dotted Terrence’s face where he had been busted open, and Terrence had been covering it with a bandage. He looked over and smiled at his wife. “It’s fine,” he said.
Wendy looked as if she was going to respond, but Pollaski distracted them both by lowering the phone, covering the mouthpiece and clearing his throat.
“They want you to face Brian Hollywood in a number one contenders match this week,” Pollaski announced to the room.
Terrence blinked in surprise, and Wendy broke into a grin. “That’s great!” she said. “Congratulations, Terrence!”
Pollaski didn’t quite share their enthusiasm. “They’re making it a ‘luchas de apuestas’ match.”
“A... what?” Terrence asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“Literally, it’s a ‘match of wagers’,” Wendy explained calmly. “Each of you puts something on the line, and the winner takes all.”
“Oh, so what are the wagers?” Terrence asked.
“Well, for Brian, its his number one contendership to the Grand Prix title,” Pollaski explained, cringing at the expected outbursts from both the Birdz.
“What?” Wendy said furiously. “HIS number one- when did that happen?”
“At the pay-per-view,” Pollaski said. While all the WhirlyBirdz had been unconscious at the start of the main event,, Pollaski had gone back and rewatched the tape. “He removed himself from that Cage Rage match, then announced that he ‘got next’, so to speak. I guest he still thinks he’s ‘got next’, despite Darin Zion running him off.”
Wendy’s brow furrowed in anger, but she merely crossed her arms over her chest and said nothing. Terrence, on the other hand, calmly shrugged. “Either way, I win, and I ‘got next’. So what am I supposed to bet?”
Pollaski grimaced, and looked from Terrence, over to Wendy, then back to Terrence again. “If you lose, you’re stripped of the tag team titles. What do you think?”
Immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed, and both Terrence and Wendy paled slightly, looking at each other. Even little Theresa sensed that something was amiss, and she looked up from her cars at her parents.
“It’s your call, “ Pollaski prompted, his hand still over his phone’s mouthpiece.
The room was quiet for sometime after that. Finally, Terrence scratched under his chin, and sighed. “Talk about your all or nothing gambles,” he said quietly, then shook his head. “Tell them no thanks, I would, if the tag titles were solely mine, but I’m not screwing Wendy over because I want to-”
“Do it.” Wendy said fiercely, interrupting her husband.
Both Terrence and Pollaski looked over at the redhead, stunned by the words. Wendy merely shrugged. “You’ve had to make so many sacrifices for my career over teh past few months, Terry. I walked out on you before Summer Games, and I betrayed you at that press conference back in March.”
“Yeah, cause you were blackmailed,” Terrence growled, remembering all too well the situation Victor Mandrake had forced Wendy into. “It’s still-”
“Tell them we say yes,” Wendy interrupted again, this time ignoring Terrence and speaking directly to Pollaski. “I’m not going to let your loyalty to me hold you back when it doesn’t have to. Besides, I’d be a poor wife indeed if I didn’t have faith in you.”
“It could be a trap,” Terrence warned.
“So was last week, and the week before that,” Wendy countered. “There’s nothing the Cartel can throw at us that we can’t handle. If you don’t want the match, decline. But don’t hold out because you’re afraid of costing me my belt.”
The room fell silent again as Terrence stared blankly ahead for several seconds. Finally, he took a deep breath, and turned towards Pollaski.
“Fine. I’m in.” He said, his eyes glaring into Pollsaki’s. And you tell them that Brian Hollywood better look really closely at the company medical plan, because he’s going to need it by the time I’m done with him.”
Pollaski nodded, and finally put his phone back to his ear. “You there? Sorry ‘bout that. Yeah, he’s in.”
While Pollaski continued to talk to PWX corporate, Terrence turned to his wife, smiling.
“Thanks,” he said.
Wendy merely shrugged and smiled. “What are wives for/ Just try not to lose.”
Terrence burst into laughter. “To Brian Hollywood? I thought you said you had faith in me!”
Even Wendy had to smile at that.
=======================================================================
Thursday August 12, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
4:10 PM Local Time
[Well, this is a little interesting.]
[As is the case with a good percentage of WhirlyBirdz promos, we are in the rather nice living room of The Nest, which, for all you new Birdz fans, is the trendy nickname for the WhirlyBirdz house, located in the northwestern corner of Indianapolis.]
[On the couch, alone in the room, sits the Mechanical Mayhem. As usual, Terrence is dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, the t-shirt being a dark blue NAPA Auto screenprint. He’s sitting fairly relaxed in the couch, wearing that customary smirk that pretty much appears in every single one of his promos.]
[What’s interesting though, is the item that Terrence Thompson is holding in his hand as he fades in. Small, Gray. Plastic, with a paper sticker covering the front and the top.]
[A Super Nintendo Cartridge]
[Street Fighter II: TURBO]
[Now THAT is what we call old-school]
Twister- “When I was a kid, one of my favorite games was Street Fighter II. I would play that game for hours, but the funny thing is, every time I played the Arcade mode, I wuould beat everybody down. I’d bash Balrog, I’d Vex Vega, and I’d stymie Sagat. But then... I would get to Bison, and that blue fire wielding motherfucker would kick my ass from one side of Shadowloo to the next. And everytime I lost, I would continue the game, and get my ass kicked all over again. This could continue for a long time- either until I tired of the game, and went on to do something else, or, by some freaking miracle, I managed to eek out a win on my thirty-fourth attempt, and finally beat the damn thing. I always imagined that one fluke victory was because Bison just got fucking sick of facing me, and figured that if he let me win once, I would finally go away.”
[For the record, Terrence’s favorite character was Guile. Is anybody honestly surprised?]
[SONIC BOOM!]
Twister: “Facing the Cartel is like being Bison in Street Fighter II. Every time you beat them, they just hit the damned Start button, and come back for more. I beat John Ojeda, they come back. My wife beats Brian Hollywood, they come back. My wife beats Wild with John Pariah as the freakin’ referee, they come back. We beat the Cartel in a Cartel rules match...”
[Exasperated eyeroll from Terrence as he finishes the sentence]
Twister: “They come back.”
[Terrence leans over, and sets the cartridge on the end table, then turns his attention back to the camera.]
Twister: “I’m sure we’ll hear some bragging from the Cartel. After all, they’ve brought Tyler Graves, who has yet to even win a match since returning to PWX, into their organization, and they managed to catch Wendy and I by surprise in our own locker room. I’m sure that more than makes up for every single Cartel member not named Brian Willett getting their asses handed to them in the ring.”
[Well, to be fair, Chris Stern never lost a match either., He lost a loot of blood, and probably a few brain cells, but not the match!]
Twister: “But I suppose when you’re the boss, no matter how shitty you and your friends are made to look, you can keep yourself in the limelight with just a few words. And that’s why, once again, Brian Hollywood is the number one contender to the Grand Prix title.”
[Terrence breaks into an ear to ear smirk]
Twister: “For about a week.”
[Small chuckle]
Twister: “Brian, I suppose I owe you and the Cartel a small ‘thank you’ for getting Mandrake out of our lives. I supposed if I was gutless and spineless,, I would have gone with the ‘five guys with a cattle prod’ method as well. “
[Small shrug]
Twister: “I guess whatever’s effective, right?”
[Pause for a second.]
Twister: “But Brian, you need a wake up call. You’re the owner of PWX- I can’t dispute that. And you can do anything you want with this company, so long as you don’t compromise our contracts. But I know you, Brian. You’re a businessman at heart, and you want to make money.”
[Terrence straightens up, and even leans forward a bit, his smirk still boring into the camera.]
Twister: “So, since you were nice enough to run Victor Mandrake out of the PWX, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
[Terrence cups his right hand to his mouth, and speaks in a stage-whisper.]
Twister: “What’s good for business in the PWX is not you.”
[And the smirk is back.]
Twister: “Look through the history books, Brian. How many great wrestling promotions were destroyed because the morons running them thought they and their friends were still the best in the company, despite all evidence to the contrary?“
[Terrence slightly shifts his position on the couch to make himself more comfortable. As he talks, it sounds less like a wrestling promo, and more like Terrence trying to explain something to a five year old.]
Twister: “Believe me Brian, while next week is going to hurt- a lot- take solace in the fact that its really the best thing for the PWX, even if its the worst thing possible for you.”
[Another small pause, and the smirk disappears completely from Terrence’s face. His eyes harden, and he snorts in annoyance.]
Twister: “And yes, it is going to be very bad for you, Brian. Because even without a chance at the belt on the line, I’ve been wanting a shot at you. Like I’ve said before, I bear no grudge for what happens to my wife in a wrestling match- she’s made her own bed there. But see, when you start trying to drive a chair into her skull, or holding her down so that another man can slap her, you’re no longer messing with Wendy Briese, the wrestler. You’re messing with Wendy Briese-Thompson, my wife. You’re messing with my family.”
[Terrence leans forward, his narrrowed eyes never leaving the camera.]
Twister: “Nobody fucking messes with my family.”
[Terrence leans back slightly, and raises his right arm, as if he’s grabbing for something hanging from the ceiling.]
Twister: “And now you’re dangling that carrot, telling me that all I have to do to get a shot at the Grand Prix title is to kick your sorry ass?”
[Malicious grin.]
Twister: “Almost seems a little too good to be true.”
[Shrug]
Twister: “And it probably is. After all, even Helen Keller could see that the carrot you’re dangling is little more than bait. You’ve made it no secret that you want these tag titles off of Wendy and I, and this is just your latest scheme to do so. I’m sure you have some plan, probably involving four or five of your friends, to make sure you come out on top this week.”
[Terrence scoffs and shakes his head]
Twister: “Yeah, ain’t gonna work.”
[Smirk: On]
Twister: “You see, my personal issues with you aside, ever since I lost that match at Full Throttle to Jacob Wright, I’ve been wanting another crack at the belt. I’ve paid my dues by demolishing every single person that’s gotten in my way. And now, that title shot, that chance to once again be the top man in PWX, is right in front of me, and you think I’m going to choke?”
[Terrence shakes his head again, as if the notion of him failing here was even possible.]
Twister: “Do whatever you think you need to do to win, Brian. I’ve beaten every member of your pathetic Cartel, and if I have to do it again, I will. I don’t care if five, ten, twenty, or even fifty guys run down that ramp, the end result is going to be the same. You flat on your back, and me the new number one contender.”
[Terrence reaches to his other side, and grabs something off the camera. He holds it up, and we can see that it’s both of the PWX Tag Titles.]
Twister: “And yes, I’ll be taking our tag belts home as well.”
[Terrence sets both belts on his lap, and leans forward to the camera, his eyes blazing with intensity.]
Twister: “And that, Brian, isn’t an Executive Promise.”
[One last smirk]
Twister: “It’s the fucking truth.”
[Fade]
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