The scene opens in what appears to be a large barbarian festhall. As could be expected, its filled with Barbarians. And the Barbarians are… get this… FEASTING! And guess who’s serving them. That’s right! SERVING WENCHES! COMELY COMELY SERVING WENCHES! Especially that one! No… to her left. The blonde. Yeah. Would you get a load of her? Bet she’d be great for makin’ babies. CAUSE THAT’S HOW SERVING WENCHES ROLL!
Suddenly, all conversation stops, and all eyes turn towards the flap of the tent, where a newcomer has just entered. It’s a big porty, yet burly man, covered in furs, with a large horned helmet stuck on his head. Oddly enough, the dude’s clean shaven, and the face belongs to that of Daniel Pollaski, with a sneer splayed across his lips. The hall is now completely silent in reverence of this man. This newcomer. This… WARRIOR.
*BOOM*
That’s the sound of him taking a step.
*BOOM!*
That’s how awesome this warrior is. THE VERY EARTH trembles under his feet when he walks!
Not bad sound effects either, mind you.
*BOOM*
Okay.. you get it right? We don’t need to do the boom thingie every time he takes a step. Just… visualize it. We’re not gonna spell it out for you.
The warrior stops in his epic walking through the tent, and glances to his side. What’s this? Someone seemingly has not given him the proper respect! The warrior turns, and walks right up to a large, burly, bearded barbarian, who shrinks away. But the warrior moves in, ever closer, a sneer on his face, a low snarl coming from his throat. The barbarian insolent begins to silently cry, as a sound-effect of him urinating himself from fear fills the tent.
At least, dear God, please let it be a sound effect.
Pollaski: “What’s that smell?”
Insolent Barbarian: (in tears) “D…d….dookie!”
Ew. Apparently both bladders went..
The warrior nods for a second, then, quick as lighting, grabs the man by the scruff of his neck. With a running heave (and a great help from the stunt double!), he heaves the man clear over the table, the unfortunate barbarian crashing into two other Barbarians, knocking them all, as well as a bench over! The warrior looks at the two barbarians that had been flanking, and both men shrink away as well. He points towads the man he just threw.
Pollaski: “Clean up on aisle BITCH.”
The warrior turns away, and stomps thunderously towards the high table of the fest hall, the other barbarians struggling to get out of his way. The warrior reaches the high table and takes his place at the throne, lightning flashing inside the tent and thunder booming as he does so. He leans on the table, glaring out at his nervous subjects.
Pollaski: “Welcome, to my VICTORY FEAST!”
The roar of delighted cheers fills the air, and the warrior smiles just a bit.
Pollaski: “Today, we eat, drink, and be merry, for I have defeated the great ROBBYN HELMSLEY!”
Another wave of cheers. The warrior begins to speak again, but a hand being raised halts him. He glares at the insolent.
Pollaski: “Yes?! What is iit?
Raised hand guy. “You haven’t faced her yet.”
There’s a long pause here as the warrior shakes his head, as if trying to clean out his ears to make sure its what he really heard.
Pollsaki: “Come again?”
Raised Hand Guy: “How can you have beaten Robbyn Helmsley if you… you haven’t faced her yet?”
The Warrior nods for a second, as if trying to still comprehend it.
Pollaski: “What’s your name again?”
Raised Hand Guy: “Um… S… Steve, sir.”
Pollaski: “Right, Steve. I want you to look at this. Do you see it?”
The Warrior holds out his left hand, and Steve goes to look. It’s a picture of a bikini clad supermodel. Definitely a looker.
Steve: “Ooh. She’s pretty!”
Pollaski: “Right…”
*SPLAT!*
As Steve continues to look at the picture, the warrior pulls out war hammer from his furs with his right hand, and brings it down hard on the poor dude’s head. Steve’s head explodes in a mixture of blood and brains and skull bits, and he staggers back and forth for a couple of seconds, then collapses to the floor. The Warrior cradles the warhammer in his arms, and looks around at the tent.
Pollaski: “So, before I continue,, does anyone *else* have any questions or comments?”
Shockingly, there are no takers. The warrior spins on his heel, and walks back to the high table (boom boom boom). He pauses for a second at the throne, then leans back on the table, lightning and thunder crashing again as he does so. He takes a several long moments before he speaks.
“There was a time, not so long ago, where Robbyn Helmsley was a respected member of the wrestling community. I mean she’s always been a needy, obsessive bitch, but at least, at some point in the past, she did have the wrestling chops to mitigate at least some of it. And I respected that. Hell, I respected her… at least as a wrestler. In fact, I recall saying last July that Robbyn should have been the final member of the Elimination Chamber, not Kat Stryfe.”
“I was proved wrong on that. Kat Stryfe, god bless her soul, would take that opportunity and use it to launch to the FFW Championship. Robbyn, instead would take the opportunity she had and tap out to Colleen quickly in a submission hold, and then later express pride that it wasn’t at least instantaneous. And that’s pretty much when that respect people had of hers began to wane. And it kept waning and waning and waning, until we are where we are now.”
“I think if you weren’t a wrestling fan, and you happened by what was going on here, you would think I’m the bad guy here. Sure looks that way, doesn’t it? Big, hulking, three hundred fifty pound behemoth picking on a dainty little girl. Some might even say what I’ve been doing the past couple of months might qualify as bullying. And yet… through it all, the fans have been behind ME. The fan’s, always so willing to root for the woebegotten underdog, have chosen the bully over the bullied. And that right there should indicate just how unlikeable Robbyn Helmsley has become.”
The Warrior sweeps backwards, falling into the throne and making himself comfortable while continuing to talk.
“This is a woman who believes that everyone needs to know which song she is listening to at every single moment, although, spoiler alert, it’s probably either “I can Only Imagine” or something by Hedley. This is a woman so forlorn that she needs to retweet a turn-on list simply to arouse herself. This is a woman who prides herself on faithfulness, yet openly makes sexual advances on Twitter towards individuals outside her latest partnership. This is a woman who claims to be not a whore, but can’t even remember herself how many girlfriends she’s had in the last two years. This is a woman who’s had such a crush on her ‘best friends’ husband, it borderlines on creepy. This is a woman who, along with her friends, has made Deadhorse, Alaska the stupidity capital. Of the world.”
“Robbyn Helmsley is like the Energizer Bunny being sent down a bottomless pit. She just keeps going lower, and lower and lower.”
The Warrior chuckles, and shakes his head.
“Robbyn keeps talking about the hellhole of a company she used to work for. How horrible it was. How lucky she is to be out of there. But she never let’s on to the fact that it’s because of HER that she was even there. She HAD a great job, in the greatest women’s wrestling promotion in world history. Hell, she was even, like I said, well respected there. She was in the Femme For All, and that’s a pretty damned hard tournament to get into. And then, she got fired, or had a meltdown, or accidentally set fire to her contract. I dunno. Reports keep changing. It doesn’t really matter.”
“What does matter is that Jacob Stryfe ‘rescued’ her from that Hellhole…for reasons God only knows. And her first night back. Her first speech to all the SVW world… she calls me out. I suppose I should have expected it. I mean, even guys like me have to pay the piper at some point, right? But the reason she gave for challenging me… because I called her fat?”
There’s a long pause as the Warrior looks around the room, barely able to contain his laughter.
“Am I seriously the only one who appreciates the irony in a three hundred fifty pound guy calling a one hundred thirty pound girl fat? I mean… for crying out loud people…”
“But Robbyn Helmsley wanted a war, and by God, I’ve tried to give her one. I figured it’d be fun, a little bit of back and forth. A bit of build-up, right into the epic confrontation. I didn’t exactly go the Christian Kane route and try to resurrect her dead parents, but I think I did pretty good here. In return, Robbyn’s given us… well nothing. I mean, hell, when’s the last time she’s mentioned this match? You wouldn’t even know we were set to compete at the biggest SVW show of the year, going by her. What’s the deal? After all, this is what she wanted, right?”
“The deal is the same it was back in FFW, and how its been every time Robbyn’s come up against a little bit of resistance in her life. She puffed out her chest, got called on it, and ran back to her shell to hide. She won’t dare spar with me, because every time she spouts off her bullshit, no matter what it is, I’m not afraid to call her on it. It’s “FUCK YOU!”, and back to her little shell she goes, where it’s nice and warm and safe and the only person there is Keiji Mitsuhide who enables her and makes her feel better about herself.”
“You don’t think people have noticed this? Ask the fans. Ask her colleagues, no matter who they are. With a few exceptions, the respect knowledgeable people in this business have for Robbyn Helmsley is minimal at best. Is there anything else you can get people like Brad and Lyv Jackson, Eileen Amaro, Chris Strike, Christian Kane, and Lyn Dallins to all agree on than the fact that Robbyn Helmsley is a moron?”
The warrior laughs and puffs out his chest a bit.
“I’d love to pretend that’s been all my doing. And I certainly did help out quite a bit here. But in reality, Robbyn’s dug her own grave here. She’s the one who made stupid decisions. She’s the one who made idiotic comments she had no hope of backing up. I just called her on it.”
“But herein lies the rub. If Robbyn beats me tonight, how will ANY of this change? Do you think people are suddenly going to start seeing her as anything but the unintelligent hack she’s become? You think the ‘Supergirl’ monicker is going to be ripped off Nikkii, and placed back on her chest? Absolutely not. Robbyn Helmsley could kick my ass from pillar to post tonight, and it’d change NOTHING.”
The warrior breaks into a smirk.
“Because, you see, kids? I’ve already won. Robbyn wanted a war, and I bombarded every single defense and fortress and castle she had into rubble. She’s got NOTHING to fall back on. Even if she manages to rise up and slay her evil tormenter tonight, she’s still ruined. No one takes her seriously anymore, and like I said, so much of that, she can only blame herself for.”
“Winning tonight… it’s not going to be about victory. It’s not going to be about backing up my words or defending my honor or anything. I’ve already done that. Tonight, the goal is only one thing. Annihilation. To pour gasoline on the last remnants of her dignity, and set it aflame. It might sound harsh and cruel, but, she should have known. I proved it with Whitley. When you piss me off… I don’t go halfway here.”
The warrior snaps his fingers, and suddenly behind him flames spring to life. They resemble a funeral pyre, with a woman- quite resembling Robbyn herself- lying in the middle.
“And this isn’t just a victory feast for me, everyone. This is the funeral feast of Robbyn Helmsley’s career. Because it ends tonight, in a count of one two three, any hope Robbyn had of recovery from her mistakes will be burnt to a crisp. Any remaining respect she had from her peers will be burnt to ashes. Tonight, Robbyn is going to be pitched upon the pyre, to never be heard from or seen again, and there was much rejoicing.”
Voice: “Uh, should we put Steve on there too?”
The Warrior glances over at where Steve’s body is still laying.
Pollaski: “Uh yeah. We probably should. Shame he ran his mouth like that. I did end up answering his question.”
Small pause, then Pollaski raises a large stone mug sitting next to him, grinning savagely.
Pollaski: “Gentlemen! Let us feast upon the spoils of our victory here today, and revel like it’s 1999!!!!”
That draws a roar of approval from his audience, and the Warrior sits back down in his seat, beaming, as the serving wenches return with plates and plates of food. Fade out.
Monday, August 27, 2012
EPISODE 196: Bozo Briese
Tuesday August 21
Plaza 71 Business Park- Parking Lot
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:10 PM Local Time
It was a nice clear day as Wendy Briese pulled her Vespa into the parking lot of the business complex, and finding a compact parking space. Climbing off her bike,, she removed her helmet, setting it on the handlebars as she looked up at the decently sized five story building with the tinted windows that made it resemble an enormous obsidian mirror. It was definitely the right place, she saw, and she took a deep breath.
Almost immediately after her humiliating meltdown in the St. Gregory’s Cathedral, she had called Terrence, and asked him to call and set up an appointment with someone. Between her flying off the handle in Seattle, bursting into tears upon arriving home, and her behavior in Belfast, coupled with innumerable smaller incidents, sometimes, she didn’t even know if she was herself anymore.
She briskly walked across the parking lot, heading towards the entrance doors. She had been uneasy about this whole ‘shrink’ thing, but considering how she was doing on her own, it couldn’t be any worse to just sit down and talk to someone.
As Wendy pushed the button for the elevator, she remembered how nice the boat ride on the River Lagan with her daughter had been (although she had still been somewhat distracted throughout). She hated to admit it, but Pollaski had been right. It would have been a crime had she passed up that opportunity to go sightseeing with her daughter, especially considering that Theresa was back in school now, in her second day of the first grade. Such opportunities like that were a lot rarer when school was in session, especially now that she would be attending for the full day.
The elevator doors opened, and she stepped off, quickly walking down the hall. She was alarmed at the butterflies that were settling into her stomach. She wasn’t this nervous before most of her matches, even. That struck her as odd. Why should she be more afraid of a simple psychologists appointment than another woman who was trying to beat her half to death?
The answer came to her as she entered the office, and approached the receptionist to check in, receiving a clipboard of paperwork for her troubles. She was used to people trying to assault her physically. Heck, she’d even had people try and mess with her mind before. But never had she voluntarily asked anyone to try and comb through her brain, laying everything bare to see what was wrong with her. That was… an unsettling prospect.
She busied herself with the paperwork, customary faire any new client of any medical profession. It wasn’t the most exciting work, but it did help take her mind off her anxiety. She finished and turned in the forms to the receptionist, retreating back to her chair, bouncing her knees up and down as she nervously waited.
Luckily she wasn’t kept waiting long.
“Mrs. Thompson, the doctor is ready for you,” the receptionist said, drawing Wendy from her thoughts.
“Thanks,” the red-haired woman replied, standing up and taking a deep breath. Smoothing out her clothes, she walked through the door, into the psychologist’s office.
The office wasn’t very large, with enough room for a couch, and a large stuffed easy chair, which sat in front of the desk, up on which a gold placard set, the word “Jared Epstein, PhD” sitting atop it. The doctor himself, to her surprise, was a younger man, possibly in his mid-forties, with slicked back black hair, and a large nose sitting atop a thin, drawn face.
“Your 3:30 is here, Dr. Epstein,” the receptionist announced, shutting the door behind Wendy.
“Thank you, Maxine.” He added, watching as she closed the door and he arose from his chair. He wheeled around the desk, wearing a black coat and dress shirt atop a pair of jeans. He gave Wendy a smile before he slipped around in front of her. He seemed to size her up for a moment before he wrapped both arms around her and gave her a hug as though he hadn’t seen her in some years. Seeing the surprised expression on her face, he grinned a bit. “Isn’t that how all meetings should start? Instead of the boring and dry introductions, why not give someone a hug! I’m Dr. Epstein, you can call me Jared.”
“Th-thank you, Dr. E... Jared,” Wendy stammered, unsure of what to make of it. She was uneasy enough about this as it was, and the doctor’s overt... friendliness (as polite a term as she could think of) made her even more uncomfortable. “It’s nice to meet you too...”
“Wendy, before we get started, I have something I want you to do.” The doctor moved towards a rather large piece of furniture that resembled more of a makeshift closet. And as he opened the doors, a full clown suit hung inside, complete with red fright wig and a few jars of different colored facepaint. He pulled out a pair of enormously oversized red shoes and closed the door. “Sometimes I do charity work at the childrens’ hospital, kids always ask for a clown or Batman. And clown is easier to do.” He encouraged her to take a seat as he put the oversized red shoes down on the floor beside her feet. “I need you to put these on for me.”
There was a very long pause, as Wendy stared at the shoes. Then up to the doctor. Then down to the shoes again. She didn’t see how in the 81,000 seats of Notre Dame stadium this was going to help her with her problem. For a second, she thought about opening her mouth, telling him, no, and saying that this wasn’t going to possibly work. But... everything she had read about this doctors was just so.. positive. Finally, reluctantly, she slid off her own shoes, and stuck her size 7 feet into the enormous shoes that were too big at least thrice over for her.
“O...kay?” she replied pointing down to them.
At least he wasn’t making her wear the whole clown costume.
Epstein clapped his hands with a smile before going back to the wardrobe and taking out a small foam ball before he closed it back. He moved towards her and placed it on her nose before taking a seat in one of the leather chairs across from her. “It’s impossible to feel uncomfortable in clown shoes and a big red nose. I’ve tried it. Now while we talk, I want you to keep the shoes and the nose on. Those are very important. I figure right now you are probably wondering whether or not you should still be sitting in my office, what with the clown nose and the shoes, right?”
He got back up, and went to his desk and removed a hand mirror that he went back to the chair with and sat across from her. He held it up so she could see herself. “You’re the first person whose hair actually matches my foam nose. Nice!” He seemed impressed by that before he put the mirror down. “So Wendy, nothing we talk about leaves this office. You have complete confidentiality, and I want you to feel at ease. If you feel like laying down on the couch there, that’s fine. Whatever helps you. But I get to keep the shoes. It’s hard to find 34 triple EEE these days.”
“I will attempt to refrain from taking them, Dr... Jared,” Wendy responded dryly, wincing a little. The nose was itchy, and starting to tickle. She gamely tried to ignore it, and keep it on. She didn’t lie down, but remained on the couch, trying to cross her legs- abandoning the attempt due to the massive shoes. “So... what do we do here?”
“Well you came here to talk about some recent events that have taken place in your life. I know it wasn’t for the free clown shoes. So...” He leaned back into his chair a bit, crossing his legs instead almost as though he were mocking her subconsciously. “You strike me as a woman whom doesn’t come to see people like myself too often, so something must have triggered it. Why don’t you tell me what that is?” His face showed great interest before he pointed down to her right shoe. “Your shoe’s untied. Go ahead.”
“Oh. Well,” Wendy bent over to tie the shoe. “I... really don’t know where to begin. But, to sum it up, my father kidnapped me and tried to kill me, and a terrorist killed him, and I killed the terrorist.” She looked back up, grimacing. “And my husband... well... everyone thinks I might be dealign with Post-traumatic stress or something... so I agreed to talk to you.”
“Well that wouldn’t surprise me. But I’m willing to bet it’s not the case.” He leaned forward a bit in his chair, clasping his hands together as he watched her. “Sounds like you have been through some very traumatic events though. Tell me about your father. Why did he want to kill you?” As he listened, he leaned down and picked up her nose off the floor before handing it back to her. “Dropped this... Go on.”
Wendy took the nose, and put it back on (liberally scratching her nose before she did). “He thinks I betrayed him... and I guess in a way. I kind of did.”
She paused for a second, and sighed. “Ever since I was born, my dad... well, both my parents, really... had it in mind that I was going to be some great actress. They were both Broadway stars, so they figured their kids would be... and I’m serious about this- the greatest stage performer who ever lived. They pushed me towards it, giving me the best tutors, and sending me to a school with the best drama program, and... it was almost like an obsession for him.”
“At first it was fun. I mean, can you imagine being told every day you were the second coming of Katherine Hepburn and Julie Andrews all rolled into one? I thought I was special.. but the more I grew up, the more I realized.. I was pretty much just like everyone else. And it all just stopped being so fun, until it became like a chore. And when my dad found out I threw it all away to take up wrestling... he wasn’t very happy. He thought I threw away everything he’d given me, and even worse, I did it for something he thought was humiliating to him.”
“I think at first, he was just trying to drive me from the sport, but the more I resisted, the more bitter he came about it, until he flat out hated me, and wanted me out of the picture. I don’t know.” She finished, sighing. “But evidently being in prison made him even more bitter.”
“Well it sounds to me like if you had done what he had wanted, you would have betrayed yourself more than anyone. I assume you enjoy what you do, you’d have to in order to make the sacrifices you have already told me you made to do it. Sometimes it’s hard to live up to what your parents want for you, and they don’t always know what’s best. My parents wanted me to be a senator. But that wasn’t what I wanted. And disappointing your parents, it’s hard. But disappointing yourself, that’s the hardest thing to live with.”
Wendy snorted. “Tell me about it,” she said, sighing.
“But for what it’s worth, you did the right thing. You did what made you happy. And it sounds like there was no way that you could make your father happy, not without selling yourself short for the rest of your life. We’ve just met, Wendy, but...” He got up and sat next to her now. “I already respect you.”
“Even if you do dress like a clown.” He squeezed her nose, making it squeak and causing a smile to form on his face.
Wendy smiled, and even chuckled as her nose reinflated back to its normal size. “Thanks. And you know, everyone’s told me that. Heck, I try to tell myself that I did the right thing. But, you know, there’s moments when you see the consequences, and you think, was it all worth it after all?”
“If it makes you happy, there’s not too many risks in life not worth taking. And you seem happy to me. I’ll tell you what we are going to do. I want to show you something. If you decide to schedule another session with me, we are going to go on a little field trip to see a play. And then after that, we are going to see you at your chosen profession. I want to show you just how right you are in the choice you have made. And I promise you won’t have to wear the shoes in either place.”
“O..okay. Thanks.” Wendy said lamely, looking down. “I don’t really think I’d be able to compete thin these things.,” she said wryly, looking at them. “But.. what play?”
“There’s a revival of Tennessee Williams going on next Tuesday night. I am sure you have seen the Glass Menagerie.”
“Of course!” Wendy said, smiling. “It’s one of my favorites!”
“I’ll get us a couple tickets and you and I will go see the performance. I just want to prove something to you that I think you already know. That you didn’t betray your father, he betrayed you. Because no parent should ever not want to see their child happy. And we are going to show you just how right of a decision you made. Sound good?” He asked, with a positive and expectant tone to his voice.
“It’s a date!” Wendy said, then blushed crimson. “Well, you know.. not really... but yeah... I’ll be there.”
He was about to speak again when his office door opened, and his secretary stuck her head in. “Your 4:30 is here, Dr. Epstein.” She glanced over to Wendy in her shoes and nose, blinking a moment and closing the door back as she exited.
“Maxine’s just jealous because the shoes look better on you.” He gave her a wink with an infectious grin to follow.
“Um, thanks?” Wendy replied as she quickly untied the shoes, slipping her own back on. “Well, Doctor, thank you for your time today,” she said formally, rising to her feet, and holding out her hand.
“The pleasure is all mine, Wendy.” He took her hand, giving it a squeeze when the joy buzzer attached to his palm went off. The smile remained after. “See you Tuesday.”
“Yeah. See you Tuesday.” Wendy responded, shaking her hand as she did so. She turned and exited the room, leaving Dr. Jared Epstein behind her. She got on the elevator, grabbing calling Terrence as the doors reopened and she stepped off at the bottom.
“How did it go?” Terrence asked her as he answered the phone.
“It… wasn’t what I expected,” Wendy replied.
“Well, do you feel any better?”
Wendy paused, contemplating the question, being surprised by her own answer. “Yeah… I do.”
“Awesome. Guess you’ll be going back then. I’ll see you when you get home, hon.”
“Okay.” Wendy replied, turning around and looking back at the building she had just left. She shook her head in disbelief, laughing to herself, as she plucked up her helmet, and climbed back onto her bike.
She'd be going back, indeed.
=====================
Saturday August 25, 2012
Shinjuku Gyoen Park- West Lily Pond
Tokyo, Japan
11:09 AM Local Time
About three and a half miles southwest of the Tokyo Dome lies Shinjuku Gyoen Park. Constructed during Japan’s famed Edo period, the park used to be the gardens of the imperial royal family until it was destroyed during World War II, at which time it was rebuilt and turned into a public land. Most famed for the thousands of people that flock to the park every March and April for hanamis- celebrations of flowers as the 1,500 cherry trees in the park explode into blossom- even in August the park serves as a lovely attraction and backdrop.
At least Wendy thinks so. The No Surrender Champion is leaning against a fence as we fade in, a pond nearly completely covered in water lilies behind her. It’s a rather warm day in Tokyo, with temperatures pushng towards the nineties, enough to push away some sense of Wendy’s modesty. She is dressed in a pair of knee length shorts and sandals, along with a short sleeved light blue t-shirt. Her arms, legs, and face are all glistening, thanks to the usual copious amount of suntan lotion spread on all her exposed skin.
Despite the heat, not to mention that even with the sunscreen, she could darn well be a crimson peeling mess by belltime, Wendy seems to be in good spirits as she smiles at the camera.
“I can’t believe it’s been nearly eight years since I’ve been here to Japan. It… doesn’t seem nearly that long since I was in Saitama for the All-Asia Tag Team Championship tournament. But, either way it feels good to finally be back here, competing in the Land of the Rising Sun once again.”
“Although I will confess, I’m glad that this is the final stop of the World Tour. I’ve enjoyed it, for the most part, getting to go to such great cities as Sydney, and Cologne, and London, and, of course here. And the crowds, everywhere, they’ve been so tremendous. But after three months of either flying halfway around the world to head to a show, or flying halfway around the world to go back home, I can’t complain that we’re going back to doing domestic shows for a while.”
A small smile, as Wendy pushes herself away from the fence.
“But here we are, one more night abroad, and it’s in what many consider to be the world mecca of professional wrestling. Tokyo, Japan, where women have been competing at the highest level long before anyone thought to let us Americans do it. And we close our tour with about as awesome a show as anyone could ask for. Eight matches crammed into three hours, including a Future Shock cash in, a massive eight woman tag match… and three matches that will be a third contest between the two individuals.”
“I’m of course, in one of the latter, against Crystal Hilton. Last July, I beat Crystal in the finals of the Chase for the Crown. Two months later, she beat me two out of three falls for both the Evolution Championship, and to gain a berth in the Femme For All tournament. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a devastating loss at the time, and I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t still bothered by it, even now, eleven months later. Everyone points to it, and says what a great match it was. It was nominated for match of the year, and from what I heard, came close to winning. But all I remember from it, all that ever mattered to me is that I knew I should have been the one walking out of that match the winner.”
“I blew it. Plain and simple. Instead of capitalizing on an injury to my opponent, I tried to do the ‘sporting’ thing, and got burned for it. I expended too much energy trying to break even, and ran out of steam the third fall. And while I’ve gained so much more than I had in the months since, I left Detroit that night feeling as if I’d lost everything.”
Wendy grimaces, biting her lip. Obviously, the memory is leaving a pretty bitter taste in her mouth.
“Over the past couple of months, I’ve done a pretty good job in responding to some of the blemishes I received over the course of my FFW career. Kaitlynn Stryfe handed me my first loss last July, I came back and beat her in March. Starla McCloud took the No Surrender Championship from me in March, I won it back with flying colors in May. I gained infamy as the shortest reigning Evolution Champion in company history- and then a month ago I came back to be the first Femme Fatale to win that championship twice.”
“My win over Tara was by far the biggest of my FFW career. It’s one of the biggest wins I’ve had in any company I’d ever worked for. And to hold that Evolution Championship in my arms again, to claim it as mine, even if it was just for another fleeting fortnight… it erased so much of what happened last September. So much, but not all.”
Wendy breaks into a smile that one might almost think as predatory.
“And that’s where tonight comes in.”
“One more time, Wendy Briese vs. Crystal Hilton. One more time, a possible match of the year candidate. One more time… and this time, I’m not going to screw it up.”
Wendy sighs, and bites her lip.
“Crystal, I understand that you’re going through a tough time. I know a lot of people haven’t taken what happened to Todd seriously, my manager included among them. But I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to see your husband lying in a hospital bed because someone you had a rivalry with decided to use them to get at you. I know what it’s like to feel that anger and helplessness. And believe me, I know what it’s like to be trying to wrestle straight after having one of the low points in your whole life. I hope Todd pulls through, Crystal. And I hope that beating Rori brings some sense of satisfaction, even if it won’t heal the wounds entirely.”
“That’s why I offered you a chance to postpone this. To push it back until your head was more clear, and you didn’t have so much going on in your personal life. You declined, which I respect. But that means no excuses, Crystal. No sympathy. No quarter asked or given, Crystal. And that includes me standing here, in front of this camera.”
Wendy pauses and takes a deep breath, looking out over the lily pond.
“I noticed several times over the past couple of weeks on Twitter you’ve tried to extend an olive branch of some sorts to me. I get tweets such as ‘let’s just have a good match’, and ‘let’s put it all behind us’. You may have noticed that I haven’t really replied to these. There’s a reason for that, and I think by now you know what it is. I’ve been hesitant to say it, because you’ve shown time and again your inability to cope with rejection. But since we’re going to be fighting in a couple hours anyways… what the heck.”
“I *don’t* want an olive branch from you, Crystal. I *don’t* want to be your friend. I *don’t* want to go shopping with you. Quite honestly, unless it’s a requirement for my job, I *don’t* want anything to do with you.”
“I know, it sounds really really mean for me to say it. After all, I’m supposed to be the nice girl. I’m supposed to be the one who forgives and forgets at the drop of a hat. But there comes a point in time, Crystal, where enough is enough, and the pattern becomes just a little too much to ignore. Your words may be honeyed now, Crystal, but your sincerity has been on the same level it’s pretty much always been- nonexistent.”
Wendy’s not exactly looking like she’s enjoying this, but she certainly is getting on a roll here.
“From darn near the first day I set foot in this company, you’ve taken pot shots at me. When we were supposed to be on the same team in the first Chase for the Crown, you instead went around making fun of my acting career. When we were supposed to be on the same team facing the former Evolution Champions, you got onstage and downplayed everything I did in the ring in the first round. During the second round, you constantly disrespected me and Kassandra, and when out of your way to embarrass me in my hometown. After I beat you in the finals, you threw tantrum after tantrum about how overrated I was, and then when we had our rematch, you resorted to petty tricks to get the first fall. After I beat you out for Breakout Star of the year, you threw MORE tantrums, and tried to throw me down the stairs and break my neck, had Isabella Pazzini not intervened. Which by the way, I should point out, makes me, and I can’t have to admit this- indebted to the biggest cancer in wrestling today, because of you. And all the while, through the cheapshots, and potshots, and ATTEMPTED MURDER, I keep getting these little tweets from you ‘so, how are you? We should hang out’”
“So pardon me if I might just be a TEENSY bit annoyed with you, Crystal Hilton.”
“Or Williams, whatever you’re electing to call yourself this week. There’s nothing wrong with keeping your maiden name for in-ring purposes, by the way. I do. It doesn’t mean I don’t love my husband any less. I simply do it because the fans are used to seeing Wendy Briese, and if it suddenly became Wendy Thompson, it might be a bit confusing to some.”
That, and it sounds like a good name for the PTA President, not a world renowned professional wrestler.
“Then again, the fan’s aren’t used to seeing anything from you, are they? Save for inconsistency of course. You love the fans. You hate the fans. You’re a nice person. You’re evil! You’re the Rose Goddess. You’re the Rose Witch! You’re the reflection of perfection! You like Wendy Briese. You hate Wendy Briese! Wendy Briese is overrated. Wendy Briese is the greatest technical wrestler in FFW! You despise Isabella Pazzini and want to hurt her. Isabella Pazzini is your favorite wrestler! You love Will Mackenzie. You love Todd Williams! You hate your sister-in-law. You love your sister-in-law! You’re from Los Angeles. You’re from Detroit! I mean, how in the HECK is anyone supposed to keep up with all this?”
“Who is Crystal Hilton? I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does. I don’t even think YOU know who you are.”
“The only thing I can think of is that you’re a chameleon. You change your colors to either blend in, or stand out, however it suits you at the time. But it just comes off as something so amazingly fake, Crystal. As if you are sitting there, reading some sort of script written by some random stranger, instead of giving us your true feelings on the matter.”
Wendy tugs at her t-shirt, and wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead, although her eyes never leave the camera.
“That’s probably why you act so poorly to criticism or things not going your way, Crystal. And I mean very, poorly. Look at your history of meltdowns and tantrums. You had one because I called you flawed. You had one when I won Breakout Star of the year. You had one on live television where you boldly declared that your own daughter could die in a fire. You had one with your husband last Velocity over the end of your match at Unstoppable. And while I can certainly appreciate the feelings there, and I know the horrifying moment that happened afterward- why on earth would you wait nineteen days to talk about something like that with your husband… and then scream at him on national television? How did that make sense in your mind?”
“Probably the same way it made sense to throw a tantrum and rage-delete your Twitter account after people called you out for saying that Isabella Pazzini your favorite wrestler in FFW. I know, you’re entitled to your opinion, but this bothers the HELL out of me. Even more since you said it again just this past week.”
“What happened to your husband was horrible. There aren’t too many sensible people who would disagree with that. But Isabella Pazzini has done the EXACT SAME THING to FOUR different people! She cracked Stacey Mackenzie’s skull open with a bellhammer, and put her in the hospital for nearly a month! She THREW Jennifer Stryfe off the video wall… and laughed about it! Before Rori turned into a raving lunatic who was trying to kill YOU, Isabella tried to kill HER with a bladed staff! And she orchestrated the attack that ended with Starla breaking Mr. Kincaid’s neck! And that’s just what I can think of off the top of my head.”
“So let me get this straight, Crystal. Rori attacks Todd, and its wailing, and gnashing of teeth, and solemn vows for revenge. But Isabella Pazzini does it to other people… and it’s ‘how’s my favorite wrestler’?”
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW INSANE AND SELFISH THAT IS?!”
Wendy pauses for a couple of seconds, taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself down.
“Of course you don’t. If you’ve ever had one consistent thing in your life, it’s your complete lack of understanding of the concept of consequences. Somehow you’ve gotten it into your head that no matter what you’ve done, no matter what your track record is, no matter how mechanical or un-heartfelt it is, simply uttering the words ‘I’m sorry’ should make all the ramifications go away. It doesn’t work that way. It never has, and it never will. True atonement goes FAR beyond a couple of words that are uttered far too often with far too little meaning behind them.”
“But what can I expect from a woman who doesn’t even recognize the consequences of her own wrestling style? From a woman who somehow fails to understand that years and years of jumping off high places and landing hard is torture on your body in the long run, particularly the knees. From a woman who is on the path to spending her later years barely even to move because she cares more about making flashbulbs go off than learning from mistakes- both hers and others?”
Wendy shakes her head sadly.
“And that’s the saddest thing of all, Crystal. That for all of your inconsistency, flip-flopping, and bouncing around, you’re still the exact same woman you were fifteen months ago when you and I started on the Chase for the Crown. A talented, yet self-centered, self-aggrandizing, spotlight-desperate woman who just doesn’t get it, and doesn’t look to ever.”
“So that brings us back to tonight, Crystal. We’re going to have our match. Wendy vs. Crystal 3, the epic rubber match people have waited eleven months for. I’m sure it’s going to be a great match, and I know you’re going to give me a heck of a fight but that’s not what I’m going for. If I can win this thing in thirty seconds, I will do it. If it takes me all the way until the time limit to wear you down, that’s fine too. I just want to beat you. I just want to erase the blemish from my record that my own carelessness put on there in the first place, and I just want to walk out of the Tokyo Dome, head held high, knowing that I’ve done my best.”
“But win or lose, Crystal, there won’t be any post match hugs. There won’t be any newfound friendships, or arrangements to go shopping or have dinner together. Maybe one day, sometime in the future, you’ll actually develop a common sense, and realize who it is you actually are, and what you stand for. But until that day comes, you’re just another co-worker to me, and one I don’t particularly care for.”
“See you tonight, Crystal. Maybe I’ll finally beat some sense into you. I’m not holding my breath, but hey, miracles do happen occasionally.”
Wendy exhales, shaking her head, then turns, and walks out of the picture, as the scene fades.[/i]
Plaza 71 Business Park- Parking Lot
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:10 PM Local Time
It was a nice clear day as Wendy Briese pulled her Vespa into the parking lot of the business complex, and finding a compact parking space. Climbing off her bike,, she removed her helmet, setting it on the handlebars as she looked up at the decently sized five story building with the tinted windows that made it resemble an enormous obsidian mirror. It was definitely the right place, she saw, and she took a deep breath.
Almost immediately after her humiliating meltdown in the St. Gregory’s Cathedral, she had called Terrence, and asked him to call and set up an appointment with someone. Between her flying off the handle in Seattle, bursting into tears upon arriving home, and her behavior in Belfast, coupled with innumerable smaller incidents, sometimes, she didn’t even know if she was herself anymore.
She briskly walked across the parking lot, heading towards the entrance doors. She had been uneasy about this whole ‘shrink’ thing, but considering how she was doing on her own, it couldn’t be any worse to just sit down and talk to someone.
As Wendy pushed the button for the elevator, she remembered how nice the boat ride on the River Lagan with her daughter had been (although she had still been somewhat distracted throughout). She hated to admit it, but Pollaski had been right. It would have been a crime had she passed up that opportunity to go sightseeing with her daughter, especially considering that Theresa was back in school now, in her second day of the first grade. Such opportunities like that were a lot rarer when school was in session, especially now that she would be attending for the full day.
The elevator doors opened, and she stepped off, quickly walking down the hall. She was alarmed at the butterflies that were settling into her stomach. She wasn’t this nervous before most of her matches, even. That struck her as odd. Why should she be more afraid of a simple psychologists appointment than another woman who was trying to beat her half to death?
The answer came to her as she entered the office, and approached the receptionist to check in, receiving a clipboard of paperwork for her troubles. She was used to people trying to assault her physically. Heck, she’d even had people try and mess with her mind before. But never had she voluntarily asked anyone to try and comb through her brain, laying everything bare to see what was wrong with her. That was… an unsettling prospect.
She busied herself with the paperwork, customary faire any new client of any medical profession. It wasn’t the most exciting work, but it did help take her mind off her anxiety. She finished and turned in the forms to the receptionist, retreating back to her chair, bouncing her knees up and down as she nervously waited.
Luckily she wasn’t kept waiting long.
“Mrs. Thompson, the doctor is ready for you,” the receptionist said, drawing Wendy from her thoughts.
“Thanks,” the red-haired woman replied, standing up and taking a deep breath. Smoothing out her clothes, she walked through the door, into the psychologist’s office.
The office wasn’t very large, with enough room for a couch, and a large stuffed easy chair, which sat in front of the desk, up on which a gold placard set, the word “Jared Epstein, PhD” sitting atop it. The doctor himself, to her surprise, was a younger man, possibly in his mid-forties, with slicked back black hair, and a large nose sitting atop a thin, drawn face.
“Your 3:30 is here, Dr. Epstein,” the receptionist announced, shutting the door behind Wendy.
“Thank you, Maxine.” He added, watching as she closed the door and he arose from his chair. He wheeled around the desk, wearing a black coat and dress shirt atop a pair of jeans. He gave Wendy a smile before he slipped around in front of her. He seemed to size her up for a moment before he wrapped both arms around her and gave her a hug as though he hadn’t seen her in some years. Seeing the surprised expression on her face, he grinned a bit. “Isn’t that how all meetings should start? Instead of the boring and dry introductions, why not give someone a hug! I’m Dr. Epstein, you can call me Jared.”
“Th-thank you, Dr. E... Jared,” Wendy stammered, unsure of what to make of it. She was uneasy enough about this as it was, and the doctor’s overt... friendliness (as polite a term as she could think of) made her even more uncomfortable. “It’s nice to meet you too...”
“Wendy, before we get started, I have something I want you to do.” The doctor moved towards a rather large piece of furniture that resembled more of a makeshift closet. And as he opened the doors, a full clown suit hung inside, complete with red fright wig and a few jars of different colored facepaint. He pulled out a pair of enormously oversized red shoes and closed the door. “Sometimes I do charity work at the childrens’ hospital, kids always ask for a clown or Batman. And clown is easier to do.” He encouraged her to take a seat as he put the oversized red shoes down on the floor beside her feet. “I need you to put these on for me.”
There was a very long pause, as Wendy stared at the shoes. Then up to the doctor. Then down to the shoes again. She didn’t see how in the 81,000 seats of Notre Dame stadium this was going to help her with her problem. For a second, she thought about opening her mouth, telling him, no, and saying that this wasn’t going to possibly work. But... everything she had read about this doctors was just so.. positive. Finally, reluctantly, she slid off her own shoes, and stuck her size 7 feet into the enormous shoes that were too big at least thrice over for her.
“O...kay?” she replied pointing down to them.
At least he wasn’t making her wear the whole clown costume.
Epstein clapped his hands with a smile before going back to the wardrobe and taking out a small foam ball before he closed it back. He moved towards her and placed it on her nose before taking a seat in one of the leather chairs across from her. “It’s impossible to feel uncomfortable in clown shoes and a big red nose. I’ve tried it. Now while we talk, I want you to keep the shoes and the nose on. Those are very important. I figure right now you are probably wondering whether or not you should still be sitting in my office, what with the clown nose and the shoes, right?”
He got back up, and went to his desk and removed a hand mirror that he went back to the chair with and sat across from her. He held it up so she could see herself. “You’re the first person whose hair actually matches my foam nose. Nice!” He seemed impressed by that before he put the mirror down. “So Wendy, nothing we talk about leaves this office. You have complete confidentiality, and I want you to feel at ease. If you feel like laying down on the couch there, that’s fine. Whatever helps you. But I get to keep the shoes. It’s hard to find 34 triple EEE these days.”
“I will attempt to refrain from taking them, Dr... Jared,” Wendy responded dryly, wincing a little. The nose was itchy, and starting to tickle. She gamely tried to ignore it, and keep it on. She didn’t lie down, but remained on the couch, trying to cross her legs- abandoning the attempt due to the massive shoes. “So... what do we do here?”
“Well you came here to talk about some recent events that have taken place in your life. I know it wasn’t for the free clown shoes. So...” He leaned back into his chair a bit, crossing his legs instead almost as though he were mocking her subconsciously. “You strike me as a woman whom doesn’t come to see people like myself too often, so something must have triggered it. Why don’t you tell me what that is?” His face showed great interest before he pointed down to her right shoe. “Your shoe’s untied. Go ahead.”
“Oh. Well,” Wendy bent over to tie the shoe. “I... really don’t know where to begin. But, to sum it up, my father kidnapped me and tried to kill me, and a terrorist killed him, and I killed the terrorist.” She looked back up, grimacing. “And my husband... well... everyone thinks I might be dealign with Post-traumatic stress or something... so I agreed to talk to you.”
“Well that wouldn’t surprise me. But I’m willing to bet it’s not the case.” He leaned forward a bit in his chair, clasping his hands together as he watched her. “Sounds like you have been through some very traumatic events though. Tell me about your father. Why did he want to kill you?” As he listened, he leaned down and picked up her nose off the floor before handing it back to her. “Dropped this... Go on.”
Wendy took the nose, and put it back on (liberally scratching her nose before she did). “He thinks I betrayed him... and I guess in a way. I kind of did.”
She paused for a second, and sighed. “Ever since I was born, my dad... well, both my parents, really... had it in mind that I was going to be some great actress. They were both Broadway stars, so they figured their kids would be... and I’m serious about this- the greatest stage performer who ever lived. They pushed me towards it, giving me the best tutors, and sending me to a school with the best drama program, and... it was almost like an obsession for him.”
“At first it was fun. I mean, can you imagine being told every day you were the second coming of Katherine Hepburn and Julie Andrews all rolled into one? I thought I was special.. but the more I grew up, the more I realized.. I was pretty much just like everyone else. And it all just stopped being so fun, until it became like a chore. And when my dad found out I threw it all away to take up wrestling... he wasn’t very happy. He thought I threw away everything he’d given me, and even worse, I did it for something he thought was humiliating to him.”
“I think at first, he was just trying to drive me from the sport, but the more I resisted, the more bitter he came about it, until he flat out hated me, and wanted me out of the picture. I don’t know.” She finished, sighing. “But evidently being in prison made him even more bitter.”
“Well it sounds to me like if you had done what he had wanted, you would have betrayed yourself more than anyone. I assume you enjoy what you do, you’d have to in order to make the sacrifices you have already told me you made to do it. Sometimes it’s hard to live up to what your parents want for you, and they don’t always know what’s best. My parents wanted me to be a senator. But that wasn’t what I wanted. And disappointing your parents, it’s hard. But disappointing yourself, that’s the hardest thing to live with.”
Wendy snorted. “Tell me about it,” she said, sighing.
“But for what it’s worth, you did the right thing. You did what made you happy. And it sounds like there was no way that you could make your father happy, not without selling yourself short for the rest of your life. We’ve just met, Wendy, but...” He got up and sat next to her now. “I already respect you.”
“Even if you do dress like a clown.” He squeezed her nose, making it squeak and causing a smile to form on his face.
Wendy smiled, and even chuckled as her nose reinflated back to its normal size. “Thanks. And you know, everyone’s told me that. Heck, I try to tell myself that I did the right thing. But, you know, there’s moments when you see the consequences, and you think, was it all worth it after all?”
“If it makes you happy, there’s not too many risks in life not worth taking. And you seem happy to me. I’ll tell you what we are going to do. I want to show you something. If you decide to schedule another session with me, we are going to go on a little field trip to see a play. And then after that, we are going to see you at your chosen profession. I want to show you just how right you are in the choice you have made. And I promise you won’t have to wear the shoes in either place.”
“O..okay. Thanks.” Wendy said lamely, looking down. “I don’t really think I’d be able to compete thin these things.,” she said wryly, looking at them. “But.. what play?”
“There’s a revival of Tennessee Williams going on next Tuesday night. I am sure you have seen the Glass Menagerie.”
“Of course!” Wendy said, smiling. “It’s one of my favorites!”
“I’ll get us a couple tickets and you and I will go see the performance. I just want to prove something to you that I think you already know. That you didn’t betray your father, he betrayed you. Because no parent should ever not want to see their child happy. And we are going to show you just how right of a decision you made. Sound good?” He asked, with a positive and expectant tone to his voice.
“It’s a date!” Wendy said, then blushed crimson. “Well, you know.. not really... but yeah... I’ll be there.”
He was about to speak again when his office door opened, and his secretary stuck her head in. “Your 4:30 is here, Dr. Epstein.” She glanced over to Wendy in her shoes and nose, blinking a moment and closing the door back as she exited.
“Maxine’s just jealous because the shoes look better on you.” He gave her a wink with an infectious grin to follow.
“Um, thanks?” Wendy replied as she quickly untied the shoes, slipping her own back on. “Well, Doctor, thank you for your time today,” she said formally, rising to her feet, and holding out her hand.
“The pleasure is all mine, Wendy.” He took her hand, giving it a squeeze when the joy buzzer attached to his palm went off. The smile remained after. “See you Tuesday.”
“Yeah. See you Tuesday.” Wendy responded, shaking her hand as she did so. She turned and exited the room, leaving Dr. Jared Epstein behind her. She got on the elevator, grabbing calling Terrence as the doors reopened and she stepped off at the bottom.
“How did it go?” Terrence asked her as he answered the phone.
“It… wasn’t what I expected,” Wendy replied.
“Well, do you feel any better?”
Wendy paused, contemplating the question, being surprised by her own answer. “Yeah… I do.”
“Awesome. Guess you’ll be going back then. I’ll see you when you get home, hon.”
“Okay.” Wendy replied, turning around and looking back at the building she had just left. She shook her head in disbelief, laughing to herself, as she plucked up her helmet, and climbed back onto her bike.
She'd be going back, indeed.
=====================
Saturday August 25, 2012
Shinjuku Gyoen Park- West Lily Pond
Tokyo, Japan
11:09 AM Local Time
About three and a half miles southwest of the Tokyo Dome lies Shinjuku Gyoen Park. Constructed during Japan’s famed Edo period, the park used to be the gardens of the imperial royal family until it was destroyed during World War II, at which time it was rebuilt and turned into a public land. Most famed for the thousands of people that flock to the park every March and April for hanamis- celebrations of flowers as the 1,500 cherry trees in the park explode into blossom- even in August the park serves as a lovely attraction and backdrop.
At least Wendy thinks so. The No Surrender Champion is leaning against a fence as we fade in, a pond nearly completely covered in water lilies behind her. It’s a rather warm day in Tokyo, with temperatures pushng towards the nineties, enough to push away some sense of Wendy’s modesty. She is dressed in a pair of knee length shorts and sandals, along with a short sleeved light blue t-shirt. Her arms, legs, and face are all glistening, thanks to the usual copious amount of suntan lotion spread on all her exposed skin.
Despite the heat, not to mention that even with the sunscreen, she could darn well be a crimson peeling mess by belltime, Wendy seems to be in good spirits as she smiles at the camera.
“I can’t believe it’s been nearly eight years since I’ve been here to Japan. It… doesn’t seem nearly that long since I was in Saitama for the All-Asia Tag Team Championship tournament. But, either way it feels good to finally be back here, competing in the Land of the Rising Sun once again.”
“Although I will confess, I’m glad that this is the final stop of the World Tour. I’ve enjoyed it, for the most part, getting to go to such great cities as Sydney, and Cologne, and London, and, of course here. And the crowds, everywhere, they’ve been so tremendous. But after three months of either flying halfway around the world to head to a show, or flying halfway around the world to go back home, I can’t complain that we’re going back to doing domestic shows for a while.”
A small smile, as Wendy pushes herself away from the fence.
“But here we are, one more night abroad, and it’s in what many consider to be the world mecca of professional wrestling. Tokyo, Japan, where women have been competing at the highest level long before anyone thought to let us Americans do it. And we close our tour with about as awesome a show as anyone could ask for. Eight matches crammed into three hours, including a Future Shock cash in, a massive eight woman tag match… and three matches that will be a third contest between the two individuals.”
“I’m of course, in one of the latter, against Crystal Hilton. Last July, I beat Crystal in the finals of the Chase for the Crown. Two months later, she beat me two out of three falls for both the Evolution Championship, and to gain a berth in the Femme For All tournament. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a devastating loss at the time, and I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t still bothered by it, even now, eleven months later. Everyone points to it, and says what a great match it was. It was nominated for match of the year, and from what I heard, came close to winning. But all I remember from it, all that ever mattered to me is that I knew I should have been the one walking out of that match the winner.”
“I blew it. Plain and simple. Instead of capitalizing on an injury to my opponent, I tried to do the ‘sporting’ thing, and got burned for it. I expended too much energy trying to break even, and ran out of steam the third fall. And while I’ve gained so much more than I had in the months since, I left Detroit that night feeling as if I’d lost everything.”
Wendy grimaces, biting her lip. Obviously, the memory is leaving a pretty bitter taste in her mouth.
“Over the past couple of months, I’ve done a pretty good job in responding to some of the blemishes I received over the course of my FFW career. Kaitlynn Stryfe handed me my first loss last July, I came back and beat her in March. Starla McCloud took the No Surrender Championship from me in March, I won it back with flying colors in May. I gained infamy as the shortest reigning Evolution Champion in company history- and then a month ago I came back to be the first Femme Fatale to win that championship twice.”
“My win over Tara was by far the biggest of my FFW career. It’s one of the biggest wins I’ve had in any company I’d ever worked for. And to hold that Evolution Championship in my arms again, to claim it as mine, even if it was just for another fleeting fortnight… it erased so much of what happened last September. So much, but not all.”
Wendy breaks into a smile that one might almost think as predatory.
“And that’s where tonight comes in.”
“One more time, Wendy Briese vs. Crystal Hilton. One more time, a possible match of the year candidate. One more time… and this time, I’m not going to screw it up.”
Wendy sighs, and bites her lip.
“Crystal, I understand that you’re going through a tough time. I know a lot of people haven’t taken what happened to Todd seriously, my manager included among them. But I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to see your husband lying in a hospital bed because someone you had a rivalry with decided to use them to get at you. I know what it’s like to feel that anger and helplessness. And believe me, I know what it’s like to be trying to wrestle straight after having one of the low points in your whole life. I hope Todd pulls through, Crystal. And I hope that beating Rori brings some sense of satisfaction, even if it won’t heal the wounds entirely.”
“That’s why I offered you a chance to postpone this. To push it back until your head was more clear, and you didn’t have so much going on in your personal life. You declined, which I respect. But that means no excuses, Crystal. No sympathy. No quarter asked or given, Crystal. And that includes me standing here, in front of this camera.”
Wendy pauses and takes a deep breath, looking out over the lily pond.
“I noticed several times over the past couple of weeks on Twitter you’ve tried to extend an olive branch of some sorts to me. I get tweets such as ‘let’s just have a good match’, and ‘let’s put it all behind us’. You may have noticed that I haven’t really replied to these. There’s a reason for that, and I think by now you know what it is. I’ve been hesitant to say it, because you’ve shown time and again your inability to cope with rejection. But since we’re going to be fighting in a couple hours anyways… what the heck.”
“I *don’t* want an olive branch from you, Crystal. I *don’t* want to be your friend. I *don’t* want to go shopping with you. Quite honestly, unless it’s a requirement for my job, I *don’t* want anything to do with you.”
“I know, it sounds really really mean for me to say it. After all, I’m supposed to be the nice girl. I’m supposed to be the one who forgives and forgets at the drop of a hat. But there comes a point in time, Crystal, where enough is enough, and the pattern becomes just a little too much to ignore. Your words may be honeyed now, Crystal, but your sincerity has been on the same level it’s pretty much always been- nonexistent.”
Wendy’s not exactly looking like she’s enjoying this, but she certainly is getting on a roll here.
“From darn near the first day I set foot in this company, you’ve taken pot shots at me. When we were supposed to be on the same team in the first Chase for the Crown, you instead went around making fun of my acting career. When we were supposed to be on the same team facing the former Evolution Champions, you got onstage and downplayed everything I did in the ring in the first round. During the second round, you constantly disrespected me and Kassandra, and when out of your way to embarrass me in my hometown. After I beat you in the finals, you threw tantrum after tantrum about how overrated I was, and then when we had our rematch, you resorted to petty tricks to get the first fall. After I beat you out for Breakout Star of the year, you threw MORE tantrums, and tried to throw me down the stairs and break my neck, had Isabella Pazzini not intervened. Which by the way, I should point out, makes me, and I can’t have to admit this- indebted to the biggest cancer in wrestling today, because of you. And all the while, through the cheapshots, and potshots, and ATTEMPTED MURDER, I keep getting these little tweets from you ‘so, how are you? We should hang out’”
“So pardon me if I might just be a TEENSY bit annoyed with you, Crystal Hilton.”
“Or Williams, whatever you’re electing to call yourself this week. There’s nothing wrong with keeping your maiden name for in-ring purposes, by the way. I do. It doesn’t mean I don’t love my husband any less. I simply do it because the fans are used to seeing Wendy Briese, and if it suddenly became Wendy Thompson, it might be a bit confusing to some.”
That, and it sounds like a good name for the PTA President, not a world renowned professional wrestler.
“Then again, the fan’s aren’t used to seeing anything from you, are they? Save for inconsistency of course. You love the fans. You hate the fans. You’re a nice person. You’re evil! You’re the Rose Goddess. You’re the Rose Witch! You’re the reflection of perfection! You like Wendy Briese. You hate Wendy Briese! Wendy Briese is overrated. Wendy Briese is the greatest technical wrestler in FFW! You despise Isabella Pazzini and want to hurt her. Isabella Pazzini is your favorite wrestler! You love Will Mackenzie. You love Todd Williams! You hate your sister-in-law. You love your sister-in-law! You’re from Los Angeles. You’re from Detroit! I mean, how in the HECK is anyone supposed to keep up with all this?”
“Who is Crystal Hilton? I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does. I don’t even think YOU know who you are.”
“The only thing I can think of is that you’re a chameleon. You change your colors to either blend in, or stand out, however it suits you at the time. But it just comes off as something so amazingly fake, Crystal. As if you are sitting there, reading some sort of script written by some random stranger, instead of giving us your true feelings on the matter.”
Wendy tugs at her t-shirt, and wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead, although her eyes never leave the camera.
“That’s probably why you act so poorly to criticism or things not going your way, Crystal. And I mean very, poorly. Look at your history of meltdowns and tantrums. You had one because I called you flawed. You had one when I won Breakout Star of the year. You had one on live television where you boldly declared that your own daughter could die in a fire. You had one with your husband last Velocity over the end of your match at Unstoppable. And while I can certainly appreciate the feelings there, and I know the horrifying moment that happened afterward- why on earth would you wait nineteen days to talk about something like that with your husband… and then scream at him on national television? How did that make sense in your mind?”
“Probably the same way it made sense to throw a tantrum and rage-delete your Twitter account after people called you out for saying that Isabella Pazzini your favorite wrestler in FFW. I know, you’re entitled to your opinion, but this bothers the HELL out of me. Even more since you said it again just this past week.”
“What happened to your husband was horrible. There aren’t too many sensible people who would disagree with that. But Isabella Pazzini has done the EXACT SAME THING to FOUR different people! She cracked Stacey Mackenzie’s skull open with a bellhammer, and put her in the hospital for nearly a month! She THREW Jennifer Stryfe off the video wall… and laughed about it! Before Rori turned into a raving lunatic who was trying to kill YOU, Isabella tried to kill HER with a bladed staff! And she orchestrated the attack that ended with Starla breaking Mr. Kincaid’s neck! And that’s just what I can think of off the top of my head.”
“So let me get this straight, Crystal. Rori attacks Todd, and its wailing, and gnashing of teeth, and solemn vows for revenge. But Isabella Pazzini does it to other people… and it’s ‘how’s my favorite wrestler’?”
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW INSANE AND SELFISH THAT IS?!”
Wendy pauses for a couple of seconds, taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself down.
“Of course you don’t. If you’ve ever had one consistent thing in your life, it’s your complete lack of understanding of the concept of consequences. Somehow you’ve gotten it into your head that no matter what you’ve done, no matter what your track record is, no matter how mechanical or un-heartfelt it is, simply uttering the words ‘I’m sorry’ should make all the ramifications go away. It doesn’t work that way. It never has, and it never will. True atonement goes FAR beyond a couple of words that are uttered far too often with far too little meaning behind them.”
“But what can I expect from a woman who doesn’t even recognize the consequences of her own wrestling style? From a woman who somehow fails to understand that years and years of jumping off high places and landing hard is torture on your body in the long run, particularly the knees. From a woman who is on the path to spending her later years barely even to move because she cares more about making flashbulbs go off than learning from mistakes- both hers and others?”
Wendy shakes her head sadly.
“And that’s the saddest thing of all, Crystal. That for all of your inconsistency, flip-flopping, and bouncing around, you’re still the exact same woman you were fifteen months ago when you and I started on the Chase for the Crown. A talented, yet self-centered, self-aggrandizing, spotlight-desperate woman who just doesn’t get it, and doesn’t look to ever.”
“So that brings us back to tonight, Crystal. We’re going to have our match. Wendy vs. Crystal 3, the epic rubber match people have waited eleven months for. I’m sure it’s going to be a great match, and I know you’re going to give me a heck of a fight but that’s not what I’m going for. If I can win this thing in thirty seconds, I will do it. If it takes me all the way until the time limit to wear you down, that’s fine too. I just want to beat you. I just want to erase the blemish from my record that my own carelessness put on there in the first place, and I just want to walk out of the Tokyo Dome, head held high, knowing that I’ve done my best.”
“But win or lose, Crystal, there won’t be any post match hugs. There won’t be any newfound friendships, or arrangements to go shopping or have dinner together. Maybe one day, sometime in the future, you’ll actually develop a common sense, and realize who it is you actually are, and what you stand for. But until that day comes, you’re just another co-worker to me, and one I don’t particularly care for.”
“See you tonight, Crystal. Maybe I’ll finally beat some sense into you. I’m not holding my breath, but hey, miracles do happen occasionally.”
Wendy exhales, shaking her head, then turns, and walks out of the picture, as the scene fades.[/i]
EPISODE 195: Freedom
Yuri Ganiyeva watched his sister storm out of the cathedral, slamming the door behind her as she fled into the street. He looked over at his mother, not surprised to see that she carried the same expression of bemusement that he could feel on his face. That certainly had been… unexpected. Everything, from the chance meeting in the cemetery, to Wendy’s tantrum, to her completely deflating and fleeing the church, had certainly not been on his agenda for the day.
Although, he supposed, at some level, he really couldn’t blame her.
The sound of a throat clearing turned his attention away from the door, back towards the priest who looked just as dumbfounded as he felt.
“I’m… sorry about that…” the elderly man apologized, wiping his forehead. “Is there, ah, anything I can help you with?”
“Erm… no,” Yuri replied, at a loss for words. “We were, kind of with the crazy woman there…”
“Oh.” The priest said, blanching slightly. Yuri figured he probably didn’t want to get into the argument all over again, especially with someone his size. “Well, I hope you understand that-“
“Don’t worry about it,” Yuri interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “She’s… a bit unbalanced at the moment, it seems. The arrangements are fine. We’ll be going now.”
He heard the priest mutter a benediction as a farewell as he and Ivana left the cathedral. Yuri squinted as he looked across the street, just in time to see his sister quickly boarding a bus, the large mass transit vehicle driving away.
“What a bitch,” his mother said from beside him.
Yuri chuckled, helping guide Ivana down the stairs of the cathedral. “Obviously she’s not coping very well with all of this. She seemed rather upset.”
“Oh, *she’s* the one who’s upset?” Ivana snapped angrily. “What about you? You’re the one who got shot! You’re the one who had to spend all that time in jail. You’re the one who had to mourn the death of your father.”
Yuri snorted, and he looked in the direction of Gus’ tombstone. “Believe me, mother. There was no mourning. Likely on either of our parts. That bastard can burn in hell for all I care.”
“He was still your father, Yuri,” Ivana admonished.
“By accident,” Yuri spat. “I’m not stupid, mother. The only time I was ever a son to that bastard was when he could use me for something. Other than that…” he trailed off. “And all he ever wanted me for was to hurt my sister, because he wasn’t able to do it himself.”
“Well, you can’t deny that she deserved it,”
“Did she?” Yuri asked, giving Ivana a pointed look as they left the cathedral grounds. “Sometimes I wonder if she was just a victim of circumstance. Just like me.”
“Yuri… she SHOT you…”
“I know that!” Yuri responded, more fierce than he normally would when talking to his mother. He forced his voice to mellow. “But she could have killed me. She could have pulled the trigger a second time. She didn’t. So… I don’t know…” his voice trailed off. “All I know is that with Father’s death, I’m free. Free to follow my own path, do my own will. It’s… an odd feeling.”
He began walking again, Ivana having to hurry to keep up. “So… what are you going to do?”
Yuri paused. “Vancouver.”
He looked over at his mother, but Ivana hadn’t moved. “You don’t have to…”
“What else is there for me?” Yuri asked. “What else is there for me to do in this world? I didn’t want to be this.. monster. But it’s what I am. I can’t change it. So I might as well just… do what I’m supposed to.”
Ivana walked up to him, and put her arm around his massive bulk. “If that’s what you want to do, my child, then do it. This world has hurt you so much, dear Yuri. It’s only right that you hurt it back, at least a little.”
Yuri laughed, but shook his head. “It’s not the world I’m worried about right now. It’s one man. After all, like you always told me, one foot in front of the other.”
Yuri grinned savagely, and continued walking, his mother keeping pace beside him.
Indeed, it all started with one man. Nathan Thunder.
He was about to discover just how enjoyable this freedom could be.
==========
Video opens with Chernobyl sitting on the couch, back in full haz-mat suit, sitting in front of an SVW Climax banner.
“So… did you forget about me?”
A deep chuckle from the Ukranian behemoth.
“I’ll confess, it’s been a while since you’ve seen me on SVW television. I was abroad, taking care of some… personal business. Some of you may have heard about it, some of you may not have. All you need to know that the rumors of my demise have been GREATLY exaggerated, and there is nothing stopping me from being in that ring tonight. I have a challenge to answer.”
“Nathan Thunder. Three months ago, you stood in that ring, and you called on me for a match. You wanted a challenge. You wanted to see how you stacked up against someone of my size. I don’t know if you lost a bet, or were dared, or are simply suicidal. But you asked for this match. And now you’ve gotten it.”
“Except you already had it. See, Nathan, you’ve already tried once, didn’t you? You came after me in that Battle Royale, with a chair. You left the ring barely two minutes later. Thrown over the top, by my hands. You already took your challenge, boy. That night, and you FAILED. MISERABLY! You really think the results will be any different this time?”
Chernobyl laughs a low rumble muffled by his mask.
“Maybe that’s why you’ve been scarce these last couple of months. You’ve sequestered yourself away to train for this. To work so hard. To prepare for the big match, so that you when that bell rings, and you step up against the One Man Wasteland, you’re as ready as you possibly can be.”
“It’s all such a waste, Nathan. You’re a bright young man. You seem to have a future in this business, and yet, you want to throw it away so very badly. I don’t need to prove anything to you, Nathan. My track record speaks for itself, in the broken bodies of Daniel Pollaski, Chase Dupree, and Supreme Machine. My power is proven, every time I’m near my sister, and you can see the fear in her eyes.”
Chernobyl spreads his arms wide, looking into the camera through his mask
“This is what you wanted, Nathan. This is what you’re getting. Now you can learn the true meaning of the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’. Because you are about to enter the One Man Wasteland… and soon you will feel the meltdown burning you up inside.”
Chernobyl turns and walks away, and the scene fades.
Although, he supposed, at some level, he really couldn’t blame her.
The sound of a throat clearing turned his attention away from the door, back towards the priest who looked just as dumbfounded as he felt.
“I’m… sorry about that…” the elderly man apologized, wiping his forehead. “Is there, ah, anything I can help you with?”
“Erm… no,” Yuri replied, at a loss for words. “We were, kind of with the crazy woman there…”
“Oh.” The priest said, blanching slightly. Yuri figured he probably didn’t want to get into the argument all over again, especially with someone his size. “Well, I hope you understand that-“
“Don’t worry about it,” Yuri interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “She’s… a bit unbalanced at the moment, it seems. The arrangements are fine. We’ll be going now.”
He heard the priest mutter a benediction as a farewell as he and Ivana left the cathedral. Yuri squinted as he looked across the street, just in time to see his sister quickly boarding a bus, the large mass transit vehicle driving away.
“What a bitch,” his mother said from beside him.
Yuri chuckled, helping guide Ivana down the stairs of the cathedral. “Obviously she’s not coping very well with all of this. She seemed rather upset.”
“Oh, *she’s* the one who’s upset?” Ivana snapped angrily. “What about you? You’re the one who got shot! You’re the one who had to spend all that time in jail. You’re the one who had to mourn the death of your father.”
Yuri snorted, and he looked in the direction of Gus’ tombstone. “Believe me, mother. There was no mourning. Likely on either of our parts. That bastard can burn in hell for all I care.”
“He was still your father, Yuri,” Ivana admonished.
“By accident,” Yuri spat. “I’m not stupid, mother. The only time I was ever a son to that bastard was when he could use me for something. Other than that…” he trailed off. “And all he ever wanted me for was to hurt my sister, because he wasn’t able to do it himself.”
“Well, you can’t deny that she deserved it,”
“Did she?” Yuri asked, giving Ivana a pointed look as they left the cathedral grounds. “Sometimes I wonder if she was just a victim of circumstance. Just like me.”
“Yuri… she SHOT you…”
“I know that!” Yuri responded, more fierce than he normally would when talking to his mother. He forced his voice to mellow. “But she could have killed me. She could have pulled the trigger a second time. She didn’t. So… I don’t know…” his voice trailed off. “All I know is that with Father’s death, I’m free. Free to follow my own path, do my own will. It’s… an odd feeling.”
He began walking again, Ivana having to hurry to keep up. “So… what are you going to do?”
Yuri paused. “Vancouver.”
He looked over at his mother, but Ivana hadn’t moved. “You don’t have to…”
“What else is there for me?” Yuri asked. “What else is there for me to do in this world? I didn’t want to be this.. monster. But it’s what I am. I can’t change it. So I might as well just… do what I’m supposed to.”
Ivana walked up to him, and put her arm around his massive bulk. “If that’s what you want to do, my child, then do it. This world has hurt you so much, dear Yuri. It’s only right that you hurt it back, at least a little.”
Yuri laughed, but shook his head. “It’s not the world I’m worried about right now. It’s one man. After all, like you always told me, one foot in front of the other.”
Yuri grinned savagely, and continued walking, his mother keeping pace beside him.
Indeed, it all started with one man. Nathan Thunder.
He was about to discover just how enjoyable this freedom could be.
==========
Video opens with Chernobyl sitting on the couch, back in full haz-mat suit, sitting in front of an SVW Climax banner.
“So… did you forget about me?”
A deep chuckle from the Ukranian behemoth.
“I’ll confess, it’s been a while since you’ve seen me on SVW television. I was abroad, taking care of some… personal business. Some of you may have heard about it, some of you may not have. All you need to know that the rumors of my demise have been GREATLY exaggerated, and there is nothing stopping me from being in that ring tonight. I have a challenge to answer.”
“Nathan Thunder. Three months ago, you stood in that ring, and you called on me for a match. You wanted a challenge. You wanted to see how you stacked up against someone of my size. I don’t know if you lost a bet, or were dared, or are simply suicidal. But you asked for this match. And now you’ve gotten it.”
“Except you already had it. See, Nathan, you’ve already tried once, didn’t you? You came after me in that Battle Royale, with a chair. You left the ring barely two minutes later. Thrown over the top, by my hands. You already took your challenge, boy. That night, and you FAILED. MISERABLY! You really think the results will be any different this time?”
Chernobyl laughs a low rumble muffled by his mask.
“Maybe that’s why you’ve been scarce these last couple of months. You’ve sequestered yourself away to train for this. To work so hard. To prepare for the big match, so that you when that bell rings, and you step up against the One Man Wasteland, you’re as ready as you possibly can be.”
“It’s all such a waste, Nathan. You’re a bright young man. You seem to have a future in this business, and yet, you want to throw it away so very badly. I don’t need to prove anything to you, Nathan. My track record speaks for itself, in the broken bodies of Daniel Pollaski, Chase Dupree, and Supreme Machine. My power is proven, every time I’m near my sister, and you can see the fear in her eyes.”
Chernobyl spreads his arms wide, looking into the camera through his mask
“This is what you wanted, Nathan. This is what you’re getting. Now you can learn the true meaning of the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’. Because you are about to enter the One Man Wasteland… and soon you will feel the meltdown burning you up inside.”
Chernobyl turns and walks away, and the scene fades.
EPISODE 194: Misplaced Aggression (w/ The Hiltonlympics)
Thursday August 16, 2012
St. Gregory’s Cathedral- Cemetery
Belfast, Northern Ireland
11:46 AM Local Time
Wendy Briese rose from her seat as the bus pulled into the stop, staggering towards the front while trying to avoid bumping into or tripping over the other passengers. Finally, she made it to the front, disembarking after muttering a thanks to the driver. Stepping off, she looked across the street, shielding her eyes against the sunlight. It was odd- all the previous occasions she had been in Belfast, the weather was dark and gloomy.
Now, the sun was shining brightly, the sky a beautiful azure. The cemetery had never seemed so bright before, she thought, as she hustled across the streets towards the gates, the two small bouquets clutched in her hand. Although the visual appearance of the cemetery had been brightened, her mood was considerably darker than the last time she had visited.
Last time had been the first time ever Wendy had ever visited her mother’s grave, and realized she had completely managed to put the tragedy behind her. The only feeling she had felt looking at her headstone was one of content, the knowledge that her mother was in a better place, and that all the pain and sorrow that had been brought by her death ten years prior had been moved away from. The wound had healed cleanly, and while there would always be a scar, it was one that she’d learned to accept.
The events that had transpired had sliced the wound open again, almost to the point to where she felt like she was starting from square one. The worst part was- this time, she didn’t even know what to feel. Her father was not a good man by any stretch of the imagination, but he was still her father. Didn’t that mean she had some moral obligation to mourn him? Or should she feel happy that he was no longer part of her life? And just thinking that she derived some sort of contentment from another human being’s death, no matter how awful a person he had been. And through it all, there had been a tragic undertone. After all, her father had been killed in one of the worst ways imaginable- betrayed by someone he had trusted for years.
She sighed, and stopped walking to lean against the outer gate to the cemetery, pausing to rub her tired eyes. It was supposed to be more simple than this, wasn’t it? The bad guys were dead. The good guy had won. Justice was served. This was when the happy ending happened, right?
Then why the hell was every thought she was thinking about it a miserable one?
She took a deep breath, and proceeded into the cemetery, her thoughts still ajumbled. So far, the trip had been wonderful, despite the many nights she’d found herself unable to sleep. Theresa’d had a blast at the Olympics, particularily watching the equestrian and rhythmic gymnastics events. And they’d had a lot of fun going up the London Eye, and touring both Westminster Palace and the Tower of London. Yesterday in Belfast had been enjoyable too, touring Belfast Castle and the Waterfront. Today they were going to take a barge tour on the River Lagan, once she finished her business here.
And yet, for all the enjoyment she’d had touring two of the world’s most beautiful cities with her daughter, she couldn’t help but worry if she was just making another stupid decision in a long string of careless ones. The police had assured her that the CLF problem was under control, with the leaders all in custody. But she didn’t know. What if some fringe nutjob was still on the loose, and wanted to take revenge? Was she being stupid in coming here? And even more stupid for bringing her daughter?
More questions she didn’t have any answer to.
Theresa wasn’t with her now. Wendy had left her with Pollaski (oddly, the one decision she made in the last week she was sure she was comfortable with), in order to do this alone. Theresa had never known her grandmother, and barely known her great-grandmother, so Wendy knew that the six-year old would find this excursion quite boring. But even more, she knew that this would be emotional, and she didn’t want her daughter to see her like this. She still felt horrible about Theresa having to see her the afternoon they returned home from Seattle, and she had resolved never to let her daughter see her upset again.
She and Terrence hadn’t even told Theresa what had happened that night, agreeing it would be far better if they waited until Theresa was old enough to understand. Maybe by then Wendy would have come to understand everything that happened that night to herself. It hadn’t been easy, although Theresa had been asleep during most of Terrence’s worrying that night when she had failed to return Terrence’s calls. And while she was certain the girl knew something had happened that made her mom very sad, every question Theresa had asked on the matter had been deflected, and the little girl had never really pursued the matter. She hoped she wouldn’t for a long time.
Wendy cautiously picked her way through the rows of gravestones, quickly finding the ones that had belonged to her mother and grandmother. She was surprised to see that the flowers that had left on her previous visit remained there, although they had obviously wilted away in the time. Grimacing, she knelt down in front of the graves, and placed a flower on each grave, grabbing the withered husks of the old flowers. She stood up, looking down, then to her right as something caught the corner of her eye.
Two people were standing, maybe fifty yards away, staring at her. The woman on the left was older- probably in her fifties or sixties, although her hair remained jet black, although whether through dye or good fortune, Wendy couldn’t tell. The other, a man, towered over her, large and muscular, and a face that would always be ingrained in Wendy’s memory.
For a second, an alarm went off in Wendy’s head, that this could possibly be another ambush of some sort, but it was soon washed away by an anger so fierce it made Wendy’s hands tremble.
What in the HELL was he doing here?
“Why aren’t you in jail?” she demanded, her voice cutting into the quiet peace of the cemetery. Abandoning all sense of caution, she stormed towards the two unwelcomed intruders, her fists clenched so tight the stems of the dead flowers cut into her palms. “Did you escape?”
Her brother laughed at the notion. “If I did, I’d be doing a pretty awful job of hiding, sister.”
“Then what…?” Wendy demanded, stopping perhaps twenty feet from the man she had never expected- or wanted- to see ever in her life again. “Why are you not rotting away for the rest of your life in Crumlin Road?”
The older woman began to angrily respond to Wendy’s words, only for Yuri to grab her shoulder and squeeze, placating her. “Mother, please,” Yuri said quietly, as Ivana swallowed her words, before turning back to Wendy. “I was released.” He responded simply, his voice thick with his Ukranian accent. “One week ago.”
Wendy scoffed in disbelief. “Kidnapping, attempted murder, conspiracy to commit terrorist acts, and they let you stroll out the door after two weeks?”
“Which was nothing compared to what the evidence I was able to provide gave them,” Yuri replied. “I alone have enough information to put ten men away for life, you think they care that I just simply went along with my father’s plans?”
“So you ratted out everyone else to save your own hide. Sold out your friends-“
“My friends?” Yuri burst into a callous laughter. “They were Father’s friends, the soldiers for a cause I couldn’t have given a damn about. Those men meant nothing to me, and I meant nothing to them. I didn’t know them, they didn’t know me, and I didn’t like it much in jail the first time.” He shrugged. “I leave for America in just a couple of days. Plan to still be at Climax to teach that impudent brat Nathan…”
“So why are you *here* then?” Wendy interrupted, her patience running thin. “Were you waiting for me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ivana sneered. “Yuri hardly spends his entire life thinking about some worthless sister who...”
“His actions in the past have indicated otherwise,” Wendy replied hotly.
“That’s over and done with,” Yuri rumbled, surprisingly calm, although he involuntarily rubbed his shoulder. “If you have such an issue with my presence, then you should have resolved it when you had a chance.”
Wendy looked away, biting her lip at the pointed remark, and feeling hler face flush as she remembered that horrible night. She had Yuri at her mercy, him down on the floor wounded, a bullet having passed through his shoulder. He had told her to end it… practically begged her, and she had refused, fleeing the room instead. Even now she wasn’t sure if it had been mercy or fear that had kept her from pulling the trigger again.
“There was no need…” she said lamely.
“Your sense of mercy lives up to your reputation,” Yuri said, a clear taunt in his voice. “For your sake, I hope you never come to regret it.”
Wendy’s head snapped up, and her eyes bored into her half-brother’s. “Is that a threat?”
“Merely an observation,” Yuri replied, shrugging nonchalantly, although Wendy didn’t entirely miss the wince. “Either way, I have no desire for a rematch with you right here and now. I’m here as you are, to pay respect to those who have left us.”
It took a second for Wendy to realize who he was talking about, and her face went pale. “No,” she said, shaking her head in denial. “Not here…”
Yuri almost looked surprised at Wendy’s denial. “This is a cemetery…”
“Where? Where is it?” she demanded. Yuri pointed to the side of the path, at a group of headstones not far away. Dropping the old flowers she had still been holding in her hands, she ran down the row of gravestones. The plot in question was pretty hard to miss, a mound of fresh earth in front of the headstone, where the grass had barely begun to grow back. She rubbed her eyes, and looked at the headstone.
AUGUSTUS TEAGUE BRIESE
August 28, 1948- July 24, 2012
“No!” Wendy protested, abandoning all semblance of dignity as she dropped to her knees on the ground, her hands curled into a cup. Angrily, she began to dig at the dirt with her hands as if a dog. She didn’t care where else or how, but there was no way in HELL this man was going to be buried in the same cemetery as her mother!
“What the hell are you doing?” Ivana demanded, reaching down and grabbing Wendy by the shoulder to pull her away.
“Get off me!” Wendy snarled, turning and shoving the older woman hard. Ivana stumbled back with a cry, reaching out and catching a headstone to break her fall. It only partially worked- she managed to not fall as hard, but still flopped in the grass.
Alarmed, Wendy scrambled to her feet as a furious Yuri closed in on her. “Don’t you dare touch her!” the behemoth growled.
“That’s *real* rich, coming from you!” Wendy snapped back, her own temper rising again. “You touched my mom! You shoved her in front of a bloody truck! She’s buried over *there* because of you!”
But Yuri had turned away from her, and was kneeling down, reaching his hand out to Ivana, concern on his face. “Are you okay, Mother?” he asked.
“I’m… I’m fine…” Ivana said, accepting her son’s assistance in getting up.
Wendy looked back at the grave, breathing heavily. This wasn’t going to stand. Barely paying Yuri and Ivana anymore attention, she stormed towards the Cathedral. The priest would certainly see reason here, and correct this indignity. And if not, she was prepared to march into the Vatican itself and put Benedict in the Banshee if it meant righting this!
She heard footsteps behind her, and was dimly aware that she was being followed, but she simply walked on, quickening her pace. She burst through the doors of St. Gregory’s, looking for someone, anyone she could take her wrath on. She saw a young man, one of the associate priests, most likely, standing at the rear of the sanctuary, looking thoughtfully at the painting.
“Where is the Father?” she demanded, in a tone that she’d normally never think about using on a member of the clergy. “I need to speak with him, now!”
“What?” The young man was obviously caught off guard. “I’m sorry, he’s busy at the moment. If I could take a message-“
“I SAID NOW!” Her voice echoed through the empty sanctuary, and her emerald eyes bore into the poor priest.
The associate was obviously nonplussed, but held his ground. “Ma’am, this is a place of worship, and if you are going to act like this, I’m going to have to ask you to-“
“What’s the commotion, Patrick?” she heard an older voice behind her, and wheeled around. This man, she thought, was obviously the Parish Priest for St. Gregory’s. An older man, well into his sixties, maybe even seventies, dressed in a long black robe. He shuffled towards her, hunched over, and using a cane. Yet, he commanded such a presence that Wendy instantly remembered her manners, and immediately regretted her treatment of the younger priest.
“This… woman has insisted upon seeing you,” the younger priest intoned, a measure of relief in his voice that his superior had stepped in at the most opportune time.
“Very well, I’ll handle it,” the priest nodded.
Wendy glanced over towards the door, and saw Yuri and Ivana standing there, both looking completely bemused. She stepped forward, trying to smooth out what remained of her grace and dignity. “I’m sorry for troubling you, Father…” she trailed off, uncertain.
“Joseph,” he obliged, with a slight nod.
“Father Joseph,” she amended “There has been a mistake in your cemetery. A man… an evil man… has been buried there. You need to exhume him, and move him elsewhere.”
The priest paused, and looked at her evenly. “And why should this body not be buried on church ground?”
“He killed my mother,” Wendy replied.
“Being a murderer is not grounds to deny someone the right to be buried on church property,” the priest said gently.
“But my mom’s buried here too!” Wendy insisted, unwilling to give the issue some rest. “I had her moved from my father’s plot in New York to here so she WOULDN’T be buried with him! And now…”
“Are they buried in the same family plot then? Was there a mistake?”
Wendy opened her mouth to respond, but was stopped by the ringing of her mobile phone. She pulled it out, and glanced at it. Her manager was calling. With a huff of exasperation, she ignored the call, turning her attention back on the priest. “No… it’s a different plot. But… this monster doesn’t even deserve to be in the same city as her, much less the same cemetery!”
The priest studied her with some level of interest, and Wendy felt her face blushing. Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry you find the arrangement so distasteful, ma’am. But alas, there is nothing I can do.”
Had she been in a more rational state of mind, she certainly would have expected the answer. But at the moment, it was the last thing she wanted to hear. “All I want is the body moved elsewhere. I will pay all expenses incurred in reinternment, I just want him OUT…”
The priest shook his head again. “Again, miss, there’s nothing I can do. Unless the man in question is a proven heretic, or has been excommunicated in any way, he is entitled to a burial here, regardless of what sins-“
“I want the number for the bishop.” Wendy demanded, cutting the priest off. She remembered her thought from several minutes prior that she would take the matter to the Pope if necessary. She hadn’t thought it would be necessary, but it looked like she might just have to after all.
The priest opened his mouth to respond, but her mobile rang again, cutting him off. He smiled slightly. “It seems someone is quite eager to get ahold of you,” he said, a faint smile forming on his lips.
It was her manager again. If he was going to be this hell-bent on nagging her, there better be an emergency. “What?!” she demanded as she answered the phone.
“How long until you’re gonna be back?” Pollaski asked on the other end of the line.
“I… I don’t know. I’m busy with something.”
“Oh, well, Theresa’s hungry, and I kinda am too. So should we go ahead and eat somewhere, or should I wait til you get back?”
“Just go ahead. I don’t know how long it’s going to be. It could be a couple of hours.” Wendy replied.
There was a long pause on the line. “That’s going to be cutting it pretty close for the river tour.”
“I know,” Wendy said, suddenly feeling miserable. “Tell Theresa I’m sorry, but I have got to take care of this.”
Pollaski’s voice was filled with concern. “What’s going on?”
“They buried dad in the same cemetery as mom. I’m trying to get his body moved.”
The pause on the line was very, very long. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I know, right!” Wendy snapped, shooting a nasty glare at the two Ukranians still standing in the doorway to the cathedral. “Yuri knew where she was buried. He had him interred here to hurt-“
“You’re seriously going to waste an entire afternoon whining about where a dead body is buried?”
There was a long pause, before Wendy finally spoke. “What did you just say?”
“This is your last full day in Northern Ireland for God knows how long, you have your daughter with you, and you’re worried about a dead body,” Pollaski repeated. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
Realistically, the answer at the moment was likely ‘yes,’ although Wendy herself was far from admitting it. “Dan, you don’t understand! They buried him in the same cemetery as my *mother!*”
“Awesome!” Pollaski responded. “Then they can hang out together during the zombie apocalypse!”
“DAN!”
“Oh come on.” She could almost see her manager grinning on the other end of the line. “You’ve flipped out about a lot of stupid shit over the years, Wendy, but this one is up there towards the top. I mean, what harm is there in this?”
“It’s disgraceful!” Wendy replied, hissing into the phone. “Putting her anywhere near my father desecrates her-“
“Again, its corpses being buried in a cemetery. With other corpses.” Pollaski said. “You gotta stick them somewhere. Quit worrying so much about the damn dead, and get back here and LIVE, for Christ sakes.”
Wendy glanced over, and to her surprise, saw the priest smiling at her. Evidently, he was piecing her conversation together somewhat. She gritted her teeth, and looked away.
“Dan, you don’t understand. I don’t expect you to understand, just please-“
“Fine. Have it your way. But if you’re not back here soon, we’re going to miss that boat tour on the River Lagan. And if we miss the boat tour, Theresa and I are gonna get bored. And if we get bored, I might just end up teaching her every bad habit I know.“
“Are you blackmailing me?’ Wendy demanded.
“It’s for your own good,” Pollaski said cheerfully. “Balls in your court! Ta-ta!”
And then he hung up.
Wendy gritted her teeth, and stared down at the phone, resisting all temptation to fling it across the room as hard as she could. She noticed that Yuri and Ivana, and both priests were all looking at her, and all seemed to be amused, at least in varying degree. She could feel her face burning.
“Now, then, miss. You were saying something?” The priest asked.
Wendy blinked rapidly. For some reason, the argument with Pollaski had taken all the fight out of her. “There’s nothing you can do? At all?”
The priest shook his head, grimacing apologetically.
“Then I guess I won’t be needing the Bishop’s number after all,” Wendy said weakly, her face turning redder by the second. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
Before the priest could respond, Wendy quickly bolted for the cathedral’s doors, brushing by a still bemused Yuri and Ivana as she did so. Tears of anger and humiliation burning her eyes, she burst through the doors and out into the street, leaving St. Gregory’s behind her.
=================
Saturday August 18, 2012
Streets of the Pike Creek Subdivision
Indianapolis, Indiana
4:51 PM Local Time
The screen is black for maybe a second and a half, before an intro graphic is played, showing a fish swimming in the water, before being speared and lifted up. The image freezes as a watermark-style logo, as the words PCSN appear on the screen.
Voice-Over: The Pike Creek Sports Network… for over fifty minutes your leader in the coverage of Pike Creek sports!
And thus the scene opens in, what appears to be the Thompson family lawn. However, judging by the crowd milling around on the lawn and in the street in front of it, it’s probably not a normal day. The most telling sign of this fact, though, would be the desk that has been placed on the lawn, with the PCSN logo duct-taped to the front of it. Sitting behind the desk is none other than Daniel Pollaski, dressed to the nines in one of those godawful mustard-yellow blazers they used to wear on ABC’s Wide World of Sports.
Pollaski: “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I’m Daniel Pollaski for PCSN, and welcome to exclusive coverage of the first ever Hiltonlympics! The only sporting event in the world where being like Crystal Hilton could actually be considered a good thing. We are just minutes away from the final event of the day, which will determine the all-important overall team champion. But first of all, let’s go back show you what happened earlier during this exciting day of Hiltonlympics competition.”
A brief graphic flashes across the screen, and we’re treated to a scene in the exact same location, albeit earlier in the day, with a crowd gathered around the desk.
Pollaski V/O: “Unfortunately, things got off to a rocky start, as a disgruntled protester tried to interrupt the games.”
Three guesses who the ‘disgruntled protester is.’
Wendy: “You cannot be serious, Pollaski. You’ve taken the annual neighborhood field day, and turned it into something mocking Crystal Hilton? What’s wrong with you?”
On the screen, Wendy’s evidently tearing into Pollaski, although her manager is certainly quick to defend himself.
Pollaski: “Hey! We talked it over with everyone, they’re cool with it! Besides, now we all get to be on television! Wave to the camera, guys!”
As the mingling people around the desk grin cheesily and wave at the camera, Wendy puts her hands on her hips, and glares at Pollaski.
Wendy: “The woman’s husband is in a COMA, Dan, and we’re going to make fun of her like this? How insensitive is that?”
There’s a sudden murmuring from the rest of the neighborhood, which doesn’t sound happy.
Woman: “You never told us her husband was in a coma!”
Other People: “YEAH!”
Pollaski only looks mildly dismayed by this, and he rises from his seat. Holding his hands up to quiet the crowd.
Pollaski: “People! Please! Your attention! Some may say that what we are doing today may be insensitive, even downright tasteless and offensive given recent events. However, do you know what I find insensitive, tasteless and offensive? This woman’s husband lies in a coma in a hospital in Belfast, and what does she do? Does she stay by her husband’s side, giving him her emotional support? Does she return home to her ten-year old daughter, to be with her in this tough trying time? NO! This woman flew to Los Angeles the very next day… AND WENT SHOPPING!”
Everyone looks over at Wendy, expressions of shock and revulsion on their faces. Finding herself on the spot, Wendy smiles sheepishly.
Wendy: “She did say that on Twitter…”
Same Woman: “Aw, hell no! This idiot gets everything she deserves! I say the games go on!”
Other People: “Yeah! GAMES ON! GAMES ON! GAMES ON! GAMES ON!”
As the sudden mob chants itself into a frenzy, Wendy looks over at Pollaski, complete incredulity on her face.
Wendy: “Did you take your leadership methods from Lord of the Flies or something?”
Pollaski laughs, and claps Wendy on the shoulder, smirking at her in sympathy.
Pollaski: “No, Wendy. We’re not going to go pig-hunting. Now LET THE GAMES BEGIN!”
A huge cheer comes up, as Pollaski’s voice-over comes back in.
Pollaski V/O: And after that, it was time for the teams to make their grand entrances!
The camera flashes to each group of people, men women and children, all who start cheering as they appear on television as the voice-over announces them, their only commonality a color coded armband indicating their team- red, yellow, blue, black, white, and green, respectively.
Pollaski V/O: The team representing Fulton Street! Miami Court! Pulaski Way… heheh. St. Joseph’s Place! Tippecanoe Terrace! And… Wabash Circle!
Fun trivia: The streets in the Pike Creek Subdivision are named after counties in Indiana. Oh, and Terrence, Wendy, and Theresa are all on the Wabash Circle team.
Pollaski V/O: And then it was on to our first event of the day, Perfection in Repetition! The goal was simple- be the first to say ‘Perfection Never Fails’ a hundred times, just like Crystal Hilton does in her promos! It wasn’t as easy as it looks, as some unfortunate contestants found out.”
Cut to a woman, wearing a yellow arm band for the Miami team, reciting quickly in front of a judge.
Woman: “Perfection never fails! Perfection never fails! Perfection never flails! Erection never flails! Porkrinds never…
Judge: “Yeah… you lose, sorry.”
Pollaski V/O: “In the end though, Mindy Gates of Tippecanoe Terrace took home the first prize of the day!”
Shot to Mindy getting her medal.
Mindy Gates: “Woo-hoo!! Fifteen years of speech therapy finally paid OFF!”
Pollaski V/O: “And then it was onto event number two- the “I Hate You Shriek-off” Each contestant had three attempts to scream “I Hate You” as loud as they possibly could. And while no one could match Crystal Hilton’s ability for mindless hysteria, we did find ourselves quite the gem.
Shot to a small girl in a red armband, standing in front of a microphone, taking a deep breath.
Girl: “I HAAAAATE YOOOOOOOOOOOOU!”
Everybody winces from this, and there’s a short pause.
Judge: “One hundred forty-six decibels! That’s above the threshold of pain! We have our winner!”
Everyone applauds as the girl gets her medal.
Girl: “I imagined the time my sister told me Carly Rae Jespen stunk!”
The applause immediately stops.
Nearby Person: "Uh, Carly Rae Jespen *does* stink."
The little girl stares at him in horror.
Girl: "I HAAATE YOUUUUU!"
Everyone winces again.
Pollaski V/O: “Then it was the “Rose Goddess Karaoke” event, in which each team had to sing a song with either “Rose” or “Goddess” in the title. The proud winners were Pulaski Street, with a heart-rending rendition of David Lee Roth’s “Yankee Rose”, that moved the audience to tears! And then, came the moment that so many had been waiting for. The potato salad taste-off!”
Scene cuts to a dozen women, standing shoulder to shoulder behind a table, each one with a bowl of potato salad in front of her. Pollaski is standing in front of them, a large “judge” badge on his mustard blazer.
Pollaski: “And the winner of the potato salad taste-off is… WABASH CIRCLE’S WENDY BRIESE!”
Everyone bursts into applause, especially Terrence and Theresa, as the shocked Wendy grins excitedly at her cooking being recognized. It should be noted, however, that some of the women next to her look shocked, even downright offended. One woman over on the righthand side, however, is less pleased than most.
Woman: “Oh, that is BULLSHIT!”
She pounds the table, hard enough to knock her bowl of potato salad off, onto the ground, as the crowd gasps. Pollaski, who had been about to slip the medal around Wendy’s neck, immediately yanks it away, and presents it to the woman.
Pollaski: “And the winner of the SECRET CONTEST is Kelly Sickles of Tippecanoe Terrace!”
Wendy: “…what?”
The crowd is stunned, but nonetheless applauds as Kelly accepts her medal, seemingly mollified. Pollaski turns to the crowd to explain.
Pollaski: “The secret contest was to see who could throw the best tantrum when Wendy Briese beat them out for an award, just like Crystal Hilton did when Wendy won Breakout Star of the Year. Of course, unlike this, Wendy actually *deserved* the Breakout Star of the year. Anyways, well done, Kelly!”
Wendy: “So… I didn’t really win the potato salad contest?”
Pollaski bursts out laughing.
Pollaski: “Alright, guys, let’s move on to the backyard for the next event!”
Everyone else begins to get up, and move away from the table, save for Wendy who looks completely crestfallen.
Wendy: “Did you even try it? I mean… I spent two hours making it…”
Pollaski: “Wendy, it’s a good effort, but you can stop trying now. Kelly won the sore-loser award. We’re not gonna change it.”
Wendy: “But…”
Pollaski walks away, leaving Wendy by herself. With a sigh, she grabs a spoon, and begins to eat her potato salad.
Wendy: (sadly) “I think its good…”
Pollaski V/O: “Next up was the throwing people down the stairs contest! Unfortunately, we were unable to get Elizabeth Showtime to agree to be thrown off the Thompson family’s back deck repeatedly, so we had to settle for a dummy. Not like a Deas. One of those mannequin thingies.”
We’re now on the back deck, where a Hispanic woman is standing calmly, waiting for her okay to go. At the signal, she picks up the dummy and begins screaming at it in Spanish, even slapping it a few times. Then, with a spinning move that nearly knocks over a couple of spectators, she hurls the dummy off the staircase, the dummy hitting halfway down the stairs, and tumbling the rest of the way, to the roar of approval from the audience. Pollaski again steps forward, looking impressed.
Pollaski: WOW! What a great throw by Juanita! Distance was superb, as was velocity and we’re waiting for the judges with their style marks. It should be… YES! It’s a gold medal for Juanita Sanchez of Wabash Circle!
Juanita grins excitedly, as the crowd cheers her, and she’s presented with her medal.
Pollaski: “Juanita, you had some tough competition in this event. How did you manage to become so good at throwing people down the stairs?”
Juanita: “Before I moved to America, I worked on a Mexican Soap Opera…”
As one, the crowd goes “Ohhhh,” as if that explains everything.
Juanita: “… so I just imagined the time my character was getting out of the shower, and saw her husband in bed with another woman. That’s what happened to the puta after a fifteen minute fight in our lingerie!”
Long pause.
Pollaski: “Can, I… uh… get a tape of that?”
Pollaski V/O: “So after that.. awesome moment, it was on to our penultimate event of the day, one especially for the kids- The Mountain Dew Chug!
Shot to about twenty kids, all of them with a six pack of Mountain Dew in front of them, as they all attempt to be the first to drink their alottment. Unfortunately, Theresa is way behind, although an older boy of about twelve who’s on her team looks to be winning by the four empty cans in front of him. Terrence is standing next to Pollaski, and their conversation can be overheard.
Terrence: “I thought Mountain Dew drinking is a Jennifer Williams thing, not Crystal Hilton.
Pollaski: “It is. But I couldn’t think of any more events, and besides, its something for the kids to do.”
The boy slams down his sixth and final can, and a judge checks to verify all six are empty, declaring him a winner. Everyone cheers as the parents practically weep in the front row.
Father: “That’s my boy. You’re gonna be so popular when you get to college!”
The coverage returns to Pollaski sitting at his desk, on the now “live feed.”
Pollaski: “What a day it’s been. What a day. As we head into our final event of the day, the standings for the overall championship is tight. Let’s take a look at them.
An overlay pops up, showing the scores, and that Tippecanoe Terrace and Wabash Circle are separated by only four points, while everyone else is considerably further back.
Pollaski: “And, it all comes down to this- the Ultimate Crystal Hilton Relay Race! Each street has fielded four members to their team for this all important final event, and let’s take you to the starting area!”
The feed cuts to a yard just a bit up the way, where the six starting participants are each sitting at a table, a laptop computer in front of them. Pollaski continues to call the action in voice-over, however.
Pollaski V/O: “At the whistle, each of the participants in this first leg has to delete ten Twitter accounts as fast as they can. However, they have to constantly be crying and moaning about how no one loves them the entire time, or there will be penalties incurred.
The whistle blows, and every one immediately starts crying pitifully and muttering to themselves as they quickly work on deleting the twitter accounts, ever wary that the judges are behind them, watching carefully.
Pollaski V/O: “And we’re off! And look at the mouse-work by Fulton Street! They are really deleting those accounts one after another, and he is making sure to keep making sure that everyone knows that nobody loves him. Look at that judge! He’s getting annoyed, and he’s *supposed* to be listening to this!
Finally, the Fulton representative deletes their last profile, and stands up, tagging in his teammate, who runs to another table, this one with six glass bottles of wine on it. She grabs one, and begins to pour it into the glass.
Pollaski V/O: "You have to drink the whole bottle and wash your miseries away! Fulton Street is ahead, but Miami Court has elected to use a soccer mom for this, so they could be gaining some ground! Oh, but here comes Pulaski Way and Wabash Circle! This is going to be a close one!”
It takes several minutes for a frontrunner to emerge, but as to Pollaski’s prediction, the woman from Miami Court staggers out first, tagging in her partner, who immediately runs to a breathalyzer machine that’s attached to a balloon. Wabash Circle and, Surprisingly, Tippecanoe Terrace are right behind them.
Pollaski V/O: “That’s right! You have to fake a breathalyzer by blowing up that balloon until it bursts! And look out for Tippecanoe… that’s the local high school football coach, and he’s full of hot air!
In the background the rest of the Hiltonlympics participants can be heard screaming and cheering on their teams, as now all six streets are blowing into the breathalyzers, the balloons getting bigger and bigger. Suddenly, a loud *bang* is heard, and the heavyset man in a white armband stands up, and makes the tag.
Pollaski V/O: “It’s Tippecanoe Terrace in the lead heading into the final stretch!”
The fourth member puts on a pair of goggles, and immediately finds himself disoriented, as he tries to stagger towards a row of waiting go karts. He trips over one of the kart’s wheels, sprawling, then picking himself back up. Other balloons are now bursting behind him, and more tags are being made- including one to Terrence, who’s anchoring the Wabash Circle team.
Pollaski V/O: “This last run isn’t as easy as it looks! Those are drunk goggles they are wearing, and they have to drive through a field of obstacles to the final challenge to get home!”
The Tippecanoe driver finally gets into his kart starting it, as the other bumble and stumble towards their rides. The white driver takes off- immediately crashing into the curb, as the other karts roar to life behind him.
Pollaski V/O: Tippecanoe’s in trouble! It’s still anyone’s race, and there’s a pro race car driver on the Wabash team!
Terrence has started his kart, and is moving forward, except he’s suddenly cut off by the Miami kart, the two crashing into a traffic cone. The Tippecanoe kart has gotten under control, as the driver has figured out to go a little slower, the better to easily navigate the obstacles, and he begins to pull away from the rest of the field.
Pollaski V/O: “Tippecanoe’s in the lead! This could be a huge upset!”
As the rest of the field maneuvers their go-karts, the Tippecanoe kart makes its way towards the finish line. Suddenly a rather sizeable stuffed doll is thrown in front of the kart, which promptly runs it over!
Pollaski V/O: “Oh no! He’s hit someone! It might even be his daughter, but he can’t let that stop him! He’s gotta pull it out from under the car, and keep going!”
The man staggers from his kart, tripping again as he’s still disoriented from the goggles. Other cars are now coming down the stretch, hitting their dolls an coming to a stop, including Terrence, who dives out of the car, and begins tugging on his doll, who’s lodged under the back wheel. Suddenly, there’s a loud rip, and the Tippecanoe driver looks horrified, as he holds the severed leg of his doll.
Pollaski V/O: “OH THE HUMANITY!”
There’s a crashing sound, as the Fulton driver, in his efforts to dislodge the doll, has tipped over his go kart, much to the dismay of his teammates. Finally Terrence tugs the doll out from under his car, drops it on the asphalt, and hops back in.
Pollaski V/O: “WABASH CIRCLE IS FREE! THEYRE GONNA WIN IT!”
Terrence takes off towards the finish line, a hundred yards away, as the fumbling Tippecanoe driver gets into his car, trying to pursue. But Terrence crosses, to the cheers of the Wabash team!
Pollaski V/O: ‘WABASH WINS IT! TERRENCE THOMPSON WINS IT FOR WABASH CIRCLE!”
Everyone cheers, and gathers around Terrence, who’s grinning as he pulls off his goggles, raising his arms triumphantly in the air. The rest of his team surrounds him, congratulating him (including Wendy, although she looks more disgusted than completely into it). The trophy is given to the team, and Terrence raises it high in the air, as the rest of his team chants “Wabash! Wabash!” Pollaski walks in front of the camera, still in his mustard blazer, a microphone in his hand.
Pollaski: “What an exciting finish to an exciting day! Wabash Circle comes from behind to take the First Ever Hiltonlympics grand prize! But just remember, folks. Do not try any of what you’ve seen today at home, because Crystal Hilton is just simply someone you should never… ever… want to emulate. Unless you can get a trophy out of it.”
Pollaski gestures behind him, to where Terrence is still holding up the prize.
Pollaski: “From all of us here at PCSN, I’m Daniel Pollaski, wishing you a-“
Pollaski pauses as a bunch of yelling is heard, and he stares behind the camera, which slowly turns around to show that nearly every kid in the neighborhood has ran into the street now that the race is over. They’re pretty much hellbent on mayhem, kicking over the obstacles, a couple even throwing them. Two kids are stomping on one of the dolls while a couple others are knocking things off the tables on the Thompson’s lawn. It’s bedlam.
Wendy: (Hissing) “Remember what I said about Lord of the Flies?”
Pollaski: “Yeah… um… maybe we shouldn’t have done the Mountain Dew Chug after all…”
Everyone nods in agreement, then hurries to get their kids under control as the scene fades.
St. Gregory’s Cathedral- Cemetery
Belfast, Northern Ireland
11:46 AM Local Time
Wendy Briese rose from her seat as the bus pulled into the stop, staggering towards the front while trying to avoid bumping into or tripping over the other passengers. Finally, she made it to the front, disembarking after muttering a thanks to the driver. Stepping off, she looked across the street, shielding her eyes against the sunlight. It was odd- all the previous occasions she had been in Belfast, the weather was dark and gloomy.
Now, the sun was shining brightly, the sky a beautiful azure. The cemetery had never seemed so bright before, she thought, as she hustled across the streets towards the gates, the two small bouquets clutched in her hand. Although the visual appearance of the cemetery had been brightened, her mood was considerably darker than the last time she had visited.
Last time had been the first time ever Wendy had ever visited her mother’s grave, and realized she had completely managed to put the tragedy behind her. The only feeling she had felt looking at her headstone was one of content, the knowledge that her mother was in a better place, and that all the pain and sorrow that had been brought by her death ten years prior had been moved away from. The wound had healed cleanly, and while there would always be a scar, it was one that she’d learned to accept.
The events that had transpired had sliced the wound open again, almost to the point to where she felt like she was starting from square one. The worst part was- this time, she didn’t even know what to feel. Her father was not a good man by any stretch of the imagination, but he was still her father. Didn’t that mean she had some moral obligation to mourn him? Or should she feel happy that he was no longer part of her life? And just thinking that she derived some sort of contentment from another human being’s death, no matter how awful a person he had been. And through it all, there had been a tragic undertone. After all, her father had been killed in one of the worst ways imaginable- betrayed by someone he had trusted for years.
She sighed, and stopped walking to lean against the outer gate to the cemetery, pausing to rub her tired eyes. It was supposed to be more simple than this, wasn’t it? The bad guys were dead. The good guy had won. Justice was served. This was when the happy ending happened, right?
Then why the hell was every thought she was thinking about it a miserable one?
She took a deep breath, and proceeded into the cemetery, her thoughts still ajumbled. So far, the trip had been wonderful, despite the many nights she’d found herself unable to sleep. Theresa’d had a blast at the Olympics, particularily watching the equestrian and rhythmic gymnastics events. And they’d had a lot of fun going up the London Eye, and touring both Westminster Palace and the Tower of London. Yesterday in Belfast had been enjoyable too, touring Belfast Castle and the Waterfront. Today they were going to take a barge tour on the River Lagan, once she finished her business here.
And yet, for all the enjoyment she’d had touring two of the world’s most beautiful cities with her daughter, she couldn’t help but worry if she was just making another stupid decision in a long string of careless ones. The police had assured her that the CLF problem was under control, with the leaders all in custody. But she didn’t know. What if some fringe nutjob was still on the loose, and wanted to take revenge? Was she being stupid in coming here? And even more stupid for bringing her daughter?
More questions she didn’t have any answer to.
Theresa wasn’t with her now. Wendy had left her with Pollaski (oddly, the one decision she made in the last week she was sure she was comfortable with), in order to do this alone. Theresa had never known her grandmother, and barely known her great-grandmother, so Wendy knew that the six-year old would find this excursion quite boring. But even more, she knew that this would be emotional, and she didn’t want her daughter to see her like this. She still felt horrible about Theresa having to see her the afternoon they returned home from Seattle, and she had resolved never to let her daughter see her upset again.
She and Terrence hadn’t even told Theresa what had happened that night, agreeing it would be far better if they waited until Theresa was old enough to understand. Maybe by then Wendy would have come to understand everything that happened that night to herself. It hadn’t been easy, although Theresa had been asleep during most of Terrence’s worrying that night when she had failed to return Terrence’s calls. And while she was certain the girl knew something had happened that made her mom very sad, every question Theresa had asked on the matter had been deflected, and the little girl had never really pursued the matter. She hoped she wouldn’t for a long time.
Wendy cautiously picked her way through the rows of gravestones, quickly finding the ones that had belonged to her mother and grandmother. She was surprised to see that the flowers that had left on her previous visit remained there, although they had obviously wilted away in the time. Grimacing, she knelt down in front of the graves, and placed a flower on each grave, grabbing the withered husks of the old flowers. She stood up, looking down, then to her right as something caught the corner of her eye.
Two people were standing, maybe fifty yards away, staring at her. The woman on the left was older- probably in her fifties or sixties, although her hair remained jet black, although whether through dye or good fortune, Wendy couldn’t tell. The other, a man, towered over her, large and muscular, and a face that would always be ingrained in Wendy’s memory.
For a second, an alarm went off in Wendy’s head, that this could possibly be another ambush of some sort, but it was soon washed away by an anger so fierce it made Wendy’s hands tremble.
What in the HELL was he doing here?
“Why aren’t you in jail?” she demanded, her voice cutting into the quiet peace of the cemetery. Abandoning all sense of caution, she stormed towards the two unwelcomed intruders, her fists clenched so tight the stems of the dead flowers cut into her palms. “Did you escape?”
Her brother laughed at the notion. “If I did, I’d be doing a pretty awful job of hiding, sister.”
“Then what…?” Wendy demanded, stopping perhaps twenty feet from the man she had never expected- or wanted- to see ever in her life again. “Why are you not rotting away for the rest of your life in Crumlin Road?”
The older woman began to angrily respond to Wendy’s words, only for Yuri to grab her shoulder and squeeze, placating her. “Mother, please,” Yuri said quietly, as Ivana swallowed her words, before turning back to Wendy. “I was released.” He responded simply, his voice thick with his Ukranian accent. “One week ago.”
Wendy scoffed in disbelief. “Kidnapping, attempted murder, conspiracy to commit terrorist acts, and they let you stroll out the door after two weeks?”
“Which was nothing compared to what the evidence I was able to provide gave them,” Yuri replied. “I alone have enough information to put ten men away for life, you think they care that I just simply went along with my father’s plans?”
“So you ratted out everyone else to save your own hide. Sold out your friends-“
“My friends?” Yuri burst into a callous laughter. “They were Father’s friends, the soldiers for a cause I couldn’t have given a damn about. Those men meant nothing to me, and I meant nothing to them. I didn’t know them, they didn’t know me, and I didn’t like it much in jail the first time.” He shrugged. “I leave for America in just a couple of days. Plan to still be at Climax to teach that impudent brat Nathan…”
“So why are you *here* then?” Wendy interrupted, her patience running thin. “Were you waiting for me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ivana sneered. “Yuri hardly spends his entire life thinking about some worthless sister who...”
“His actions in the past have indicated otherwise,” Wendy replied hotly.
“That’s over and done with,” Yuri rumbled, surprisingly calm, although he involuntarily rubbed his shoulder. “If you have such an issue with my presence, then you should have resolved it when you had a chance.”
Wendy looked away, biting her lip at the pointed remark, and feeling hler face flush as she remembered that horrible night. She had Yuri at her mercy, him down on the floor wounded, a bullet having passed through his shoulder. He had told her to end it… practically begged her, and she had refused, fleeing the room instead. Even now she wasn’t sure if it had been mercy or fear that had kept her from pulling the trigger again.
“There was no need…” she said lamely.
“Your sense of mercy lives up to your reputation,” Yuri said, a clear taunt in his voice. “For your sake, I hope you never come to regret it.”
Wendy’s head snapped up, and her eyes bored into her half-brother’s. “Is that a threat?”
“Merely an observation,” Yuri replied, shrugging nonchalantly, although Wendy didn’t entirely miss the wince. “Either way, I have no desire for a rematch with you right here and now. I’m here as you are, to pay respect to those who have left us.”
It took a second for Wendy to realize who he was talking about, and her face went pale. “No,” she said, shaking her head in denial. “Not here…”
Yuri almost looked surprised at Wendy’s denial. “This is a cemetery…”
“Where? Where is it?” she demanded. Yuri pointed to the side of the path, at a group of headstones not far away. Dropping the old flowers she had still been holding in her hands, she ran down the row of gravestones. The plot in question was pretty hard to miss, a mound of fresh earth in front of the headstone, where the grass had barely begun to grow back. She rubbed her eyes, and looked at the headstone.
AUGUSTUS TEAGUE BRIESE
August 28, 1948- July 24, 2012
“No!” Wendy protested, abandoning all semblance of dignity as she dropped to her knees on the ground, her hands curled into a cup. Angrily, she began to dig at the dirt with her hands as if a dog. She didn’t care where else or how, but there was no way in HELL this man was going to be buried in the same cemetery as her mother!
“What the hell are you doing?” Ivana demanded, reaching down and grabbing Wendy by the shoulder to pull her away.
“Get off me!” Wendy snarled, turning and shoving the older woman hard. Ivana stumbled back with a cry, reaching out and catching a headstone to break her fall. It only partially worked- she managed to not fall as hard, but still flopped in the grass.
Alarmed, Wendy scrambled to her feet as a furious Yuri closed in on her. “Don’t you dare touch her!” the behemoth growled.
“That’s *real* rich, coming from you!” Wendy snapped back, her own temper rising again. “You touched my mom! You shoved her in front of a bloody truck! She’s buried over *there* because of you!”
But Yuri had turned away from her, and was kneeling down, reaching his hand out to Ivana, concern on his face. “Are you okay, Mother?” he asked.
“I’m… I’m fine…” Ivana said, accepting her son’s assistance in getting up.
Wendy looked back at the grave, breathing heavily. This wasn’t going to stand. Barely paying Yuri and Ivana anymore attention, she stormed towards the Cathedral. The priest would certainly see reason here, and correct this indignity. And if not, she was prepared to march into the Vatican itself and put Benedict in the Banshee if it meant righting this!
She heard footsteps behind her, and was dimly aware that she was being followed, but she simply walked on, quickening her pace. She burst through the doors of St. Gregory’s, looking for someone, anyone she could take her wrath on. She saw a young man, one of the associate priests, most likely, standing at the rear of the sanctuary, looking thoughtfully at the painting.
“Where is the Father?” she demanded, in a tone that she’d normally never think about using on a member of the clergy. “I need to speak with him, now!”
“What?” The young man was obviously caught off guard. “I’m sorry, he’s busy at the moment. If I could take a message-“
“I SAID NOW!” Her voice echoed through the empty sanctuary, and her emerald eyes bore into the poor priest.
The associate was obviously nonplussed, but held his ground. “Ma’am, this is a place of worship, and if you are going to act like this, I’m going to have to ask you to-“
“What’s the commotion, Patrick?” she heard an older voice behind her, and wheeled around. This man, she thought, was obviously the Parish Priest for St. Gregory’s. An older man, well into his sixties, maybe even seventies, dressed in a long black robe. He shuffled towards her, hunched over, and using a cane. Yet, he commanded such a presence that Wendy instantly remembered her manners, and immediately regretted her treatment of the younger priest.
“This… woman has insisted upon seeing you,” the younger priest intoned, a measure of relief in his voice that his superior had stepped in at the most opportune time.
“Very well, I’ll handle it,” the priest nodded.
Wendy glanced over towards the door, and saw Yuri and Ivana standing there, both looking completely bemused. She stepped forward, trying to smooth out what remained of her grace and dignity. “I’m sorry for troubling you, Father…” she trailed off, uncertain.
“Joseph,” he obliged, with a slight nod.
“Father Joseph,” she amended “There has been a mistake in your cemetery. A man… an evil man… has been buried there. You need to exhume him, and move him elsewhere.”
The priest paused, and looked at her evenly. “And why should this body not be buried on church ground?”
“He killed my mother,” Wendy replied.
“Being a murderer is not grounds to deny someone the right to be buried on church property,” the priest said gently.
“But my mom’s buried here too!” Wendy insisted, unwilling to give the issue some rest. “I had her moved from my father’s plot in New York to here so she WOULDN’T be buried with him! And now…”
“Are they buried in the same family plot then? Was there a mistake?”
Wendy opened her mouth to respond, but was stopped by the ringing of her mobile phone. She pulled it out, and glanced at it. Her manager was calling. With a huff of exasperation, she ignored the call, turning her attention back on the priest. “No… it’s a different plot. But… this monster doesn’t even deserve to be in the same city as her, much less the same cemetery!”
The priest studied her with some level of interest, and Wendy felt her face blushing. Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry you find the arrangement so distasteful, ma’am. But alas, there is nothing I can do.”
Had she been in a more rational state of mind, she certainly would have expected the answer. But at the moment, it was the last thing she wanted to hear. “All I want is the body moved elsewhere. I will pay all expenses incurred in reinternment, I just want him OUT…”
The priest shook his head again. “Again, miss, there’s nothing I can do. Unless the man in question is a proven heretic, or has been excommunicated in any way, he is entitled to a burial here, regardless of what sins-“
“I want the number for the bishop.” Wendy demanded, cutting the priest off. She remembered her thought from several minutes prior that she would take the matter to the Pope if necessary. She hadn’t thought it would be necessary, but it looked like she might just have to after all.
The priest opened his mouth to respond, but her mobile rang again, cutting him off. He smiled slightly. “It seems someone is quite eager to get ahold of you,” he said, a faint smile forming on his lips.
It was her manager again. If he was going to be this hell-bent on nagging her, there better be an emergency. “What?!” she demanded as she answered the phone.
“How long until you’re gonna be back?” Pollaski asked on the other end of the line.
“I… I don’t know. I’m busy with something.”
“Oh, well, Theresa’s hungry, and I kinda am too. So should we go ahead and eat somewhere, or should I wait til you get back?”
“Just go ahead. I don’t know how long it’s going to be. It could be a couple of hours.” Wendy replied.
There was a long pause on the line. “That’s going to be cutting it pretty close for the river tour.”
“I know,” Wendy said, suddenly feeling miserable. “Tell Theresa I’m sorry, but I have got to take care of this.”
Pollaski’s voice was filled with concern. “What’s going on?”
“They buried dad in the same cemetery as mom. I’m trying to get his body moved.”
The pause on the line was very, very long. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I know, right!” Wendy snapped, shooting a nasty glare at the two Ukranians still standing in the doorway to the cathedral. “Yuri knew where she was buried. He had him interred here to hurt-“
“You’re seriously going to waste an entire afternoon whining about where a dead body is buried?”
There was a long pause, before Wendy finally spoke. “What did you just say?”
“This is your last full day in Northern Ireland for God knows how long, you have your daughter with you, and you’re worried about a dead body,” Pollaski repeated. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
Realistically, the answer at the moment was likely ‘yes,’ although Wendy herself was far from admitting it. “Dan, you don’t understand! They buried him in the same cemetery as my *mother!*”
“Awesome!” Pollaski responded. “Then they can hang out together during the zombie apocalypse!”
“DAN!”
“Oh come on.” She could almost see her manager grinning on the other end of the line. “You’ve flipped out about a lot of stupid shit over the years, Wendy, but this one is up there towards the top. I mean, what harm is there in this?”
“It’s disgraceful!” Wendy replied, hissing into the phone. “Putting her anywhere near my father desecrates her-“
“Again, its corpses being buried in a cemetery. With other corpses.” Pollaski said. “You gotta stick them somewhere. Quit worrying so much about the damn dead, and get back here and LIVE, for Christ sakes.”
Wendy glanced over, and to her surprise, saw the priest smiling at her. Evidently, he was piecing her conversation together somewhat. She gritted her teeth, and looked away.
“Dan, you don’t understand. I don’t expect you to understand, just please-“
“Fine. Have it your way. But if you’re not back here soon, we’re going to miss that boat tour on the River Lagan. And if we miss the boat tour, Theresa and I are gonna get bored. And if we get bored, I might just end up teaching her every bad habit I know.“
“Are you blackmailing me?’ Wendy demanded.
“It’s for your own good,” Pollaski said cheerfully. “Balls in your court! Ta-ta!”
And then he hung up.
Wendy gritted her teeth, and stared down at the phone, resisting all temptation to fling it across the room as hard as she could. She noticed that Yuri and Ivana, and both priests were all looking at her, and all seemed to be amused, at least in varying degree. She could feel her face burning.
“Now, then, miss. You were saying something?” The priest asked.
Wendy blinked rapidly. For some reason, the argument with Pollaski had taken all the fight out of her. “There’s nothing you can do? At all?”
The priest shook his head, grimacing apologetically.
“Then I guess I won’t be needing the Bishop’s number after all,” Wendy said weakly, her face turning redder by the second. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
Before the priest could respond, Wendy quickly bolted for the cathedral’s doors, brushing by a still bemused Yuri and Ivana as she did so. Tears of anger and humiliation burning her eyes, she burst through the doors and out into the street, leaving St. Gregory’s behind her.
=================
Saturday August 18, 2012
Streets of the Pike Creek Subdivision
Indianapolis, Indiana
4:51 PM Local Time
The screen is black for maybe a second and a half, before an intro graphic is played, showing a fish swimming in the water, before being speared and lifted up. The image freezes as a watermark-style logo, as the words PCSN appear on the screen.
Voice-Over: The Pike Creek Sports Network… for over fifty minutes your leader in the coverage of Pike Creek sports!
And thus the scene opens in, what appears to be the Thompson family lawn. However, judging by the crowd milling around on the lawn and in the street in front of it, it’s probably not a normal day. The most telling sign of this fact, though, would be the desk that has been placed on the lawn, with the PCSN logo duct-taped to the front of it. Sitting behind the desk is none other than Daniel Pollaski, dressed to the nines in one of those godawful mustard-yellow blazers they used to wear on ABC’s Wide World of Sports.
Pollaski: “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I’m Daniel Pollaski for PCSN, and welcome to exclusive coverage of the first ever Hiltonlympics! The only sporting event in the world where being like Crystal Hilton could actually be considered a good thing. We are just minutes away from the final event of the day, which will determine the all-important overall team champion. But first of all, let’s go back show you what happened earlier during this exciting day of Hiltonlympics competition.”
A brief graphic flashes across the screen, and we’re treated to a scene in the exact same location, albeit earlier in the day, with a crowd gathered around the desk.
Pollaski V/O: “Unfortunately, things got off to a rocky start, as a disgruntled protester tried to interrupt the games.”
Three guesses who the ‘disgruntled protester is.’
Wendy: “You cannot be serious, Pollaski. You’ve taken the annual neighborhood field day, and turned it into something mocking Crystal Hilton? What’s wrong with you?”
On the screen, Wendy’s evidently tearing into Pollaski, although her manager is certainly quick to defend himself.
Pollaski: “Hey! We talked it over with everyone, they’re cool with it! Besides, now we all get to be on television! Wave to the camera, guys!”
As the mingling people around the desk grin cheesily and wave at the camera, Wendy puts her hands on her hips, and glares at Pollaski.
Wendy: “The woman’s husband is in a COMA, Dan, and we’re going to make fun of her like this? How insensitive is that?”
There’s a sudden murmuring from the rest of the neighborhood, which doesn’t sound happy.
Woman: “You never told us her husband was in a coma!”
Other People: “YEAH!”
Pollaski only looks mildly dismayed by this, and he rises from his seat. Holding his hands up to quiet the crowd.
Pollaski: “People! Please! Your attention! Some may say that what we are doing today may be insensitive, even downright tasteless and offensive given recent events. However, do you know what I find insensitive, tasteless and offensive? This woman’s husband lies in a coma in a hospital in Belfast, and what does she do? Does she stay by her husband’s side, giving him her emotional support? Does she return home to her ten-year old daughter, to be with her in this tough trying time? NO! This woman flew to Los Angeles the very next day… AND WENT SHOPPING!”
Everyone looks over at Wendy, expressions of shock and revulsion on their faces. Finding herself on the spot, Wendy smiles sheepishly.
Wendy: “She did say that on Twitter…”
Same Woman: “Aw, hell no! This idiot gets everything she deserves! I say the games go on!”
Other People: “Yeah! GAMES ON! GAMES ON! GAMES ON! GAMES ON!”
As the sudden mob chants itself into a frenzy, Wendy looks over at Pollaski, complete incredulity on her face.
Wendy: “Did you take your leadership methods from Lord of the Flies or something?”
Pollaski laughs, and claps Wendy on the shoulder, smirking at her in sympathy.
Pollaski: “No, Wendy. We’re not going to go pig-hunting. Now LET THE GAMES BEGIN!”
A huge cheer comes up, as Pollaski’s voice-over comes back in.
Pollaski V/O: And after that, it was time for the teams to make their grand entrances!
The camera flashes to each group of people, men women and children, all who start cheering as they appear on television as the voice-over announces them, their only commonality a color coded armband indicating their team- red, yellow, blue, black, white, and green, respectively.
Pollaski V/O: The team representing Fulton Street! Miami Court! Pulaski Way… heheh. St. Joseph’s Place! Tippecanoe Terrace! And… Wabash Circle!
Fun trivia: The streets in the Pike Creek Subdivision are named after counties in Indiana. Oh, and Terrence, Wendy, and Theresa are all on the Wabash Circle team.
Pollaski V/O: And then it was on to our first event of the day, Perfection in Repetition! The goal was simple- be the first to say ‘Perfection Never Fails’ a hundred times, just like Crystal Hilton does in her promos! It wasn’t as easy as it looks, as some unfortunate contestants found out.”
Cut to a woman, wearing a yellow arm band for the Miami team, reciting quickly in front of a judge.
Woman: “Perfection never fails! Perfection never fails! Perfection never flails! Erection never flails! Porkrinds never…
Judge: “Yeah… you lose, sorry.”
Pollaski V/O: “In the end though, Mindy Gates of Tippecanoe Terrace took home the first prize of the day!”
Shot to Mindy getting her medal.
Mindy Gates: “Woo-hoo!! Fifteen years of speech therapy finally paid OFF!”
Pollaski V/O: “And then it was onto event number two- the “I Hate You Shriek-off” Each contestant had three attempts to scream “I Hate You” as loud as they possibly could. And while no one could match Crystal Hilton’s ability for mindless hysteria, we did find ourselves quite the gem.
Shot to a small girl in a red armband, standing in front of a microphone, taking a deep breath.
Girl: “I HAAAAATE YOOOOOOOOOOOOU!”
Everybody winces from this, and there’s a short pause.
Judge: “One hundred forty-six decibels! That’s above the threshold of pain! We have our winner!”
Everyone applauds as the girl gets her medal.
Girl: “I imagined the time my sister told me Carly Rae Jespen stunk!”
The applause immediately stops.
Nearby Person: "Uh, Carly Rae Jespen *does* stink."
The little girl stares at him in horror.
Girl: "I HAAATE YOUUUUU!"
Everyone winces again.
Pollaski V/O: “Then it was the “Rose Goddess Karaoke” event, in which each team had to sing a song with either “Rose” or “Goddess” in the title. The proud winners were Pulaski Street, with a heart-rending rendition of David Lee Roth’s “Yankee Rose”, that moved the audience to tears! And then, came the moment that so many had been waiting for. The potato salad taste-off!”
Scene cuts to a dozen women, standing shoulder to shoulder behind a table, each one with a bowl of potato salad in front of her. Pollaski is standing in front of them, a large “judge” badge on his mustard blazer.
Pollaski: “And the winner of the potato salad taste-off is… WABASH CIRCLE’S WENDY BRIESE!”
Everyone bursts into applause, especially Terrence and Theresa, as the shocked Wendy grins excitedly at her cooking being recognized. It should be noted, however, that some of the women next to her look shocked, even downright offended. One woman over on the righthand side, however, is less pleased than most.
Woman: “Oh, that is BULLSHIT!”
She pounds the table, hard enough to knock her bowl of potato salad off, onto the ground, as the crowd gasps. Pollaski, who had been about to slip the medal around Wendy’s neck, immediately yanks it away, and presents it to the woman.
Pollaski: “And the winner of the SECRET CONTEST is Kelly Sickles of Tippecanoe Terrace!”
Wendy: “…what?”
The crowd is stunned, but nonetheless applauds as Kelly accepts her medal, seemingly mollified. Pollaski turns to the crowd to explain.
Pollaski: “The secret contest was to see who could throw the best tantrum when Wendy Briese beat them out for an award, just like Crystal Hilton did when Wendy won Breakout Star of the Year. Of course, unlike this, Wendy actually *deserved* the Breakout Star of the year. Anyways, well done, Kelly!”
Wendy: “So… I didn’t really win the potato salad contest?”
Pollaski bursts out laughing.
Pollaski: “Alright, guys, let’s move on to the backyard for the next event!”
Everyone else begins to get up, and move away from the table, save for Wendy who looks completely crestfallen.
Wendy: “Did you even try it? I mean… I spent two hours making it…”
Pollaski: “Wendy, it’s a good effort, but you can stop trying now. Kelly won the sore-loser award. We’re not gonna change it.”
Wendy: “But…”
Pollaski walks away, leaving Wendy by herself. With a sigh, she grabs a spoon, and begins to eat her potato salad.
Wendy: (sadly) “I think its good…”
Pollaski V/O: “Next up was the throwing people down the stairs contest! Unfortunately, we were unable to get Elizabeth Showtime to agree to be thrown off the Thompson family’s back deck repeatedly, so we had to settle for a dummy. Not like a Deas. One of those mannequin thingies.”
We’re now on the back deck, where a Hispanic woman is standing calmly, waiting for her okay to go. At the signal, she picks up the dummy and begins screaming at it in Spanish, even slapping it a few times. Then, with a spinning move that nearly knocks over a couple of spectators, she hurls the dummy off the staircase, the dummy hitting halfway down the stairs, and tumbling the rest of the way, to the roar of approval from the audience. Pollaski again steps forward, looking impressed.
Pollaski: WOW! What a great throw by Juanita! Distance was superb, as was velocity and we’re waiting for the judges with their style marks. It should be… YES! It’s a gold medal for Juanita Sanchez of Wabash Circle!
Juanita grins excitedly, as the crowd cheers her, and she’s presented with her medal.
Pollaski: “Juanita, you had some tough competition in this event. How did you manage to become so good at throwing people down the stairs?”
Juanita: “Before I moved to America, I worked on a Mexican Soap Opera…”
As one, the crowd goes “Ohhhh,” as if that explains everything.
Juanita: “… so I just imagined the time my character was getting out of the shower, and saw her husband in bed with another woman. That’s what happened to the puta after a fifteen minute fight in our lingerie!”
Long pause.
Pollaski: “Can, I… uh… get a tape of that?”
Pollaski V/O: “So after that.. awesome moment, it was on to our penultimate event of the day, one especially for the kids- The Mountain Dew Chug!
Shot to about twenty kids, all of them with a six pack of Mountain Dew in front of them, as they all attempt to be the first to drink their alottment. Unfortunately, Theresa is way behind, although an older boy of about twelve who’s on her team looks to be winning by the four empty cans in front of him. Terrence is standing next to Pollaski, and their conversation can be overheard.
Terrence: “I thought Mountain Dew drinking is a Jennifer Williams thing, not Crystal Hilton.
Pollaski: “It is. But I couldn’t think of any more events, and besides, its something for the kids to do.”
The boy slams down his sixth and final can, and a judge checks to verify all six are empty, declaring him a winner. Everyone cheers as the parents practically weep in the front row.
Father: “That’s my boy. You’re gonna be so popular when you get to college!”
The coverage returns to Pollaski sitting at his desk, on the now “live feed.”
Pollaski: “What a day it’s been. What a day. As we head into our final event of the day, the standings for the overall championship is tight. Let’s take a look at them.
An overlay pops up, showing the scores, and that Tippecanoe Terrace and Wabash Circle are separated by only four points, while everyone else is considerably further back.
Pollaski: “And, it all comes down to this- the Ultimate Crystal Hilton Relay Race! Each street has fielded four members to their team for this all important final event, and let’s take you to the starting area!”
The feed cuts to a yard just a bit up the way, where the six starting participants are each sitting at a table, a laptop computer in front of them. Pollaski continues to call the action in voice-over, however.
Pollaski V/O: “At the whistle, each of the participants in this first leg has to delete ten Twitter accounts as fast as they can. However, they have to constantly be crying and moaning about how no one loves them the entire time, or there will be penalties incurred.
The whistle blows, and every one immediately starts crying pitifully and muttering to themselves as they quickly work on deleting the twitter accounts, ever wary that the judges are behind them, watching carefully.
Pollaski V/O: “And we’re off! And look at the mouse-work by Fulton Street! They are really deleting those accounts one after another, and he is making sure to keep making sure that everyone knows that nobody loves him. Look at that judge! He’s getting annoyed, and he’s *supposed* to be listening to this!
Finally, the Fulton representative deletes their last profile, and stands up, tagging in his teammate, who runs to another table, this one with six glass bottles of wine on it. She grabs one, and begins to pour it into the glass.
Pollaski V/O: "You have to drink the whole bottle and wash your miseries away! Fulton Street is ahead, but Miami Court has elected to use a soccer mom for this, so they could be gaining some ground! Oh, but here comes Pulaski Way and Wabash Circle! This is going to be a close one!”
It takes several minutes for a frontrunner to emerge, but as to Pollaski’s prediction, the woman from Miami Court staggers out first, tagging in her partner, who immediately runs to a breathalyzer machine that’s attached to a balloon. Wabash Circle and, Surprisingly, Tippecanoe Terrace are right behind them.
Pollaski V/O: “That’s right! You have to fake a breathalyzer by blowing up that balloon until it bursts! And look out for Tippecanoe… that’s the local high school football coach, and he’s full of hot air!
In the background the rest of the Hiltonlympics participants can be heard screaming and cheering on their teams, as now all six streets are blowing into the breathalyzers, the balloons getting bigger and bigger. Suddenly, a loud *bang* is heard, and the heavyset man in a white armband stands up, and makes the tag.
Pollaski V/O: “It’s Tippecanoe Terrace in the lead heading into the final stretch!”
The fourth member puts on a pair of goggles, and immediately finds himself disoriented, as he tries to stagger towards a row of waiting go karts. He trips over one of the kart’s wheels, sprawling, then picking himself back up. Other balloons are now bursting behind him, and more tags are being made- including one to Terrence, who’s anchoring the Wabash Circle team.
Pollaski V/O: “This last run isn’t as easy as it looks! Those are drunk goggles they are wearing, and they have to drive through a field of obstacles to the final challenge to get home!”
The Tippecanoe driver finally gets into his kart starting it, as the other bumble and stumble towards their rides. The white driver takes off- immediately crashing into the curb, as the other karts roar to life behind him.
Pollaski V/O: Tippecanoe’s in trouble! It’s still anyone’s race, and there’s a pro race car driver on the Wabash team!
Terrence has started his kart, and is moving forward, except he’s suddenly cut off by the Miami kart, the two crashing into a traffic cone. The Tippecanoe kart has gotten under control, as the driver has figured out to go a little slower, the better to easily navigate the obstacles, and he begins to pull away from the rest of the field.
Pollaski V/O: “Tippecanoe’s in the lead! This could be a huge upset!”
As the rest of the field maneuvers their go-karts, the Tippecanoe kart makes its way towards the finish line. Suddenly a rather sizeable stuffed doll is thrown in front of the kart, which promptly runs it over!
Pollaski V/O: “Oh no! He’s hit someone! It might even be his daughter, but he can’t let that stop him! He’s gotta pull it out from under the car, and keep going!”
The man staggers from his kart, tripping again as he’s still disoriented from the goggles. Other cars are now coming down the stretch, hitting their dolls an coming to a stop, including Terrence, who dives out of the car, and begins tugging on his doll, who’s lodged under the back wheel. Suddenly, there’s a loud rip, and the Tippecanoe driver looks horrified, as he holds the severed leg of his doll.
Pollaski V/O: “OH THE HUMANITY!”
There’s a crashing sound, as the Fulton driver, in his efforts to dislodge the doll, has tipped over his go kart, much to the dismay of his teammates. Finally Terrence tugs the doll out from under his car, drops it on the asphalt, and hops back in.
Pollaski V/O: “WABASH CIRCLE IS FREE! THEYRE GONNA WIN IT!”
Terrence takes off towards the finish line, a hundred yards away, as the fumbling Tippecanoe driver gets into his car, trying to pursue. But Terrence crosses, to the cheers of the Wabash team!
Pollaski V/O: ‘WABASH WINS IT! TERRENCE THOMPSON WINS IT FOR WABASH CIRCLE!”
Everyone cheers, and gathers around Terrence, who’s grinning as he pulls off his goggles, raising his arms triumphantly in the air. The rest of his team surrounds him, congratulating him (including Wendy, although she looks more disgusted than completely into it). The trophy is given to the team, and Terrence raises it high in the air, as the rest of his team chants “Wabash! Wabash!” Pollaski walks in front of the camera, still in his mustard blazer, a microphone in his hand.
Pollaski: “What an exciting finish to an exciting day! Wabash Circle comes from behind to take the First Ever Hiltonlympics grand prize! But just remember, folks. Do not try any of what you’ve seen today at home, because Crystal Hilton is just simply someone you should never… ever… want to emulate. Unless you can get a trophy out of it.”
Pollaski gestures behind him, to where Terrence is still holding up the prize.
Pollaski: “From all of us here at PCSN, I’m Daniel Pollaski, wishing you a-“
Pollaski pauses as a bunch of yelling is heard, and he stares behind the camera, which slowly turns around to show that nearly every kid in the neighborhood has ran into the street now that the race is over. They’re pretty much hellbent on mayhem, kicking over the obstacles, a couple even throwing them. Two kids are stomping on one of the dolls while a couple others are knocking things off the tables on the Thompson’s lawn. It’s bedlam.
Wendy: (Hissing) “Remember what I said about Lord of the Flies?”
Pollaski: “Yeah… um… maybe we shouldn’t have done the Mountain Dew Chug after all…”
Everyone nods in agreement, then hurries to get their kids under control as the scene fades.
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