Tuesday February 7, 2012
The Nest- Kitchen
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:17 PM Local Time
It’s certainly not often that we get to see a part of The Nest on television outside of the living room, but today, that is the case, as we open our scene in the Nest’s kitchen instead. It’s a fairly nice kitchen, especially by cookie-cutter suburban homes standards. The food preparation area is u-shaped, with the oven at the enclosed end of the U, a microwve mounted above it, and the sink and dishwasher on the right hand side facing in from the open end. The left hand side features the refridgerator, and plenty of counter space. The equipment is definitely all in the newer, mid-upper end quality.
Considering this IS her promo, it’s also not surprising that Wendy is also in the kitchen. What would be shocking is Wendy’s attire- the redhead has gone completely over the top today. Wendy’s already well known for her modest attire, but at least her clothing carries somewhat of a modern style. Today... well, the only word that could even begin to describe her clothing is “frock,” making her look like a washerwoman from the 19th century instead of a 21st century female pro-wrestler.
Despite the stifling attire, Wendy is smiling, although she definitely looks a little warm. Still, with the clash of her old-fashioned look and the modern kitchen, combined with a certain glint of her eye, there is definitely a sardonic quality about this.
“You know, Johnny. I understand how difficult it must be for you. I know that you must be confused and overwhelmed. It must have been quite a traumatic experience when you stumbled through that temporal warp, and emerged into this strange new world where women are allowed to vote and drive cars and even compete in a combat sport against their male superiors!”
The sarcasm level here would be about equivalent to the promo she cut in Dallas just before Violent Night.
“So to make this all a little less confusing for you, I’m here in one of the two rooms in the house that you think a woman actually belongs in. My apologies, but the thought of a man like you so much as glimpsing my bedroom over a television screen gives me the creeps, so here we are. So what would you like, Johnny?”
Wendy reaches over, and with a bit of effort, lifts up a rather sizeable bag of potatoes, cradling it in her arms as she turns back to the camera.
“After all, you’ve made it pretty clear that you’re aware of my Irish ancestry. And like any good Irishwoman... I can cook potatoes in any way you can imagine. So what will it be, Moxie? Would you like them whipped, or scalloped, or baked, or twice baked, or mashed, or fried, or... how about Potatoes O’Brien?”
Wendy pauses, as if she’s actually expecting Moxie to scream his answer into the television. With a shrug, she turns and sets the potatoes back down, moving to a nearby bowl.
“Or would you just prefer some breakfast? I have the quintessential Irish cereal here, Lucky Charms. Oh, and of course, since we drink whiskey like it’s milk, I poured that on them instead. Or maybe, you’re the kind of person who subscribes into the theory ‘you are what you eat’. In that case...
Wendy sets the bowl of Lucky Charms down, and turns to a plate that has been covered by a cloth. She hesitates just for a second, then pulls the cloth off, stepping away quickly. Underneath is a roast of ham that looks like it has been sitting in a swamp for the better part of a month. The ham is completely green, with little patches of white fuzzy mold growing on it. Wendy moves away from the ham, a nauseous look on her face, but the camera stays on the rotting meat.
“Because you are the slimiest, most disgusting, rotten, foul, decrepit pig I have EVER had the misfortune of knowing.”
Now the camera turns to Wendy, who’s now leaning against the sink, still looking a little queasy, but better now that she’s put some distance between her and the ham.
“I could go on and on about the past here, I suppose. Recite all the horrible things you’ve done over the years, whether in SVW, or FFW, or elsewhere. But what’s the point? We’d be here all day, and I’m sure everyone well remembers what you’ve done. So let’s discuss the future for a second, Moxie. What’s going to be happening over the next week or so. A week that, if all goes well, is going to become the worst of your professional career.”
“You feel it too, don’t you? Everything is about to fall apart for you, and it will culminate on Sunday. Because not only are you going to lose your title back to someone who actually deserves it, whether Nathan or Rex, but your beneficiary, Anthony Gambini, is going to be shown the door as well, leaving you with NO ONE to enable you.”
“But when the dust settles, and you look back at the week everything came crashing down, you’re going to remember that Thursday night, FFW Velocity from Miami, Florida, was when it all began.”
Wendy tugs at the collar of her dress for a second, then brushes a loose strand of red hair from her face.
“I didn’t ask for this match. Honestly, considering what an unprofessional disgrace you were the last two times you appeared here in FFW, I’m shocked that Mr. Kincaid would allow you within a hundred feet of our ring again. But he chose you for the talent exchange, and he chose me for your opponent. And while I did not ask for it, I couldn’t be more honored that the woman he feels is the best candidate to put you in your place is myself.”
“I’m not going to be blindfolded here. You won’t have Gambini around to make it so you have no chance of losing. There won’t be any excuses for you this time, Moxie. The only way out of this match with your pride intact is beating me fair and square. Do you have what it takes to do that? You might... but I don’t think even you believe you do. You wouldn’t resort to the garbage you do if you did.”
Wendy pauses, and takes a deep breath, closing her eyes.
“Unfortunately... there still is a wildcard here in this match. A variable I was hoping wouldn’t be there, but... it is what it is. Of course, I’m speaking of the guest referee for this match... Starla McCloud.”
Another deep breath, and Wendy grimaces.
“Starla... I know you don’t like me. I know you think it should be you holding the No Surrender Championship, and I know that you’re counting down the days until March 31 when you have another chance at it. We have a less than amiable history, and I know that I’m to blame for at least some of it.”
“But that’s not what tonight is about. This isn’t about the A-List and the Mafia, this isn’t about the No Surrender title. This is about me facing a man who is a disgrace to our sport, and an insult to our company. He doesn’t respect you any more than he respects me, or anyone else in FFW. Moxie’s slithered away from justice one too many times, and I want this to be the week all that finally catches up with him. And I know that the only way I can control that happening is to do it myself.”
Wendy looks into the camera, and behind the determination in her eyes, there’s a measure of pleading... even desperation.
“So I’m asking... no I’m BEGGING you, Dr. McCloud. Call this down the middle, with no assistance to either side. I don’t want Moxie walking out of this with any excuses. And more importantly, I don’t want anything ruining this for me. I don’t care if you think I’m the worst wrestler in the history of mankind... let me sink or swim on my own here. If I can’t beat Moxie in my own company’s ring, then I’ll gladly face the music of my own failure. But please, Starla. Just... let me do this.”
Wendy nods to the camera, then turns to walk back across the kitchen, wrinkling her nose as she does, as she approaches the moldy ham.
“As far as you go, Moxie. I hope you’re ready, because you’ve sown a lot of seeds over the years, and it’s about time for the harvest. Nathan and Rex have their scythe’s ready, and they’ll reap the best of the crop, but I’m going to be in that field first, and I guarantee you, I will cut enough of a swath through you so that you remember where this all started. And after it’s all over, your ego, your pride, your chauvanism, your cheating ways, your awful attitude, your reputation, all that you’ve flaunted everywhere you walked is going to end up EXACTLY where it belongs...”
Wendy quickly grabs the plate, and with a quick motion, shoves it off the counter, where it falls neatly into the open garbage can sitting nearby. Wendy slams the lid closed, and then looks back at the camera, smiling grimly, while we fade to black.
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