EPISODE 232: The White Knight, Part 3

Saturday November 23, 2013
Marion County Renaissance Faire- Tent G
Indianapolis, Indiana
2:17 PM Local Time

Wendy Briese hated photoshoots. 

Sure, she understood the necessity of them, especially in her line of work, but the idea of standing for hours, holding a smile until your jaw fell off, and going through pose after pose while being blinded with flashes all the while was not her idea of a fun time. 

Still, she had to give Adam Grant credit.  FFW’s webmaster and chief photographer was better than most photographers she’d worked with before, and had a way of making what was normally a tedious exercise into a fun one. 

“How’s this look?” The flame haired champion asked as she posed in a leather jerkin and breeches.  It had been Adam’s idea to use the Renaissance fair as a way to take the “White Knight” bit more literally, and while Wendy thought the concept was a bit corny, she had to admit it was a lot better than she thought it was.  

“I like it. After we are done, you could probably go cosplay for a World of Warcraft commercial. Just have to 86 one or two things and give you a dagger.” He replied as he knelt down and resumed snapping pictures with the digital camera. As he finished a few, he rose back up and turned the camera around for her to see what he had taken. “What do you think of these? Any you don’t like won’t ever see the light of day.”

“I like them!” Wendy said, staring at the photos.  “I also liked the ones you took of me in those royal gowns.  Very classy.”  she said with a smile.  “I’m sorry you have to do Indianapolis in November instead of a sandy beach somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico.” 

“It’s alright, I’ve done far worse. One of the last times we went to Canada, I was in charge of making three FFW roster members relax and pose in front of a ski lift dressed like Santa’s little helpers. This is nothing!” He added as he turned the camera back, touching the screen to change the filter. “Oh yeah, I got the ring you helped me buy well hidden. Though I think she’s onto me or ...onto something. A few days ago, I came back and all her sisters were there and Andy was eating all the candy. She’s been acting a bit...strangely..for her...ever since.”

“You think the secret’s out?” Wendy asked, frowning.  “Probably tough to keep things under wraps with Megan and Meredith around now.” 

“I don’t know, but lately she’s been acting like she’s waiting for something. I came out of the office with a small box in my hand, and she lit up like a Christmas tree until she saw it was a carrying case for some of my memory cards.” He shrugged his shoulders at the recollection. “She’s either expecting something, or has developed a neurosis.”

“Well, then you probably shouldn’t keep her waiting too long, if you think she’s onto you.  Jestine seems like she could be a bit… impatient.”  Wendy always tried to be careful with her words with Adam.  She wasn’t much of a fan of his girlfriend, but she didn’t think it was worth antagonizing her friend over. 

“I plan to. Thanksgiving. We don’t really do anything that day, none of my family live in LA and she could care less being Welsh. So hopefully it will become a significant day for her going forward.” He paused here, because the idea of it had given him plenty of pause since he decided to do it. “If she says yes. And if she doesn’t, well...I’ve got a really nice paperweight.”

“You can probably take it back if she declines, but I don’t think she will,” Wendy said.  “You two have… worked through your previous issues, right?” 

“Far as I know. Biggest issue was Christelle driving her crazy, and she moved out. And it’s been nothing but clear sailing since. But I don’t like to presume I can predict her all the time. I mean she wanted to pose in Playboy since before I met her, and she turned that down when the chance came around. So there’s not really any telling when it comes to these decisions.” Adam replied. “She turned them down, could very well do the same with me.” It wasn’t a prospect that clearly made him happy, judging by his expression. “She’s….difficult to predict at times.”

“Then try not to predict her.  Just… go with what happens.  The worst that can happen is she says no, and you can worry about what that if it comes up.”  Wendy suggested. 

“That’s the plan. I appreciate you helping me pick out the ring. You were the first choice really. And well I didn’t want to have to ask Christelle if you were busy. Probably would have suggested an onion ring.” He added as he popped open one of the small latches on the camera, swapping out memory cards before closing it back. “Shame you didn’t bring the title with you, could have done some stuff with it too. I’m supposed to have these loaded up on the site the day of Anarchy.”

“Sorry,” Wendy said with a sigh.  “I should have brought it.  But then again, we’re dealing with enough heavy metal here,” she said, gesturing to an empty suit of armor, so well polished it was gleaming white. 

“It would look a bit out of place here. And we wouldn’t want to take the risk of someone trying to steal it with all these people wandering around. I’ve never been to one of these things.” He admitted, glancing around at their surroundings. “I saw something about a joust that is coming up. I’m going to guess no one actually gets injured at one of those?” 

“God, I hope not.  Terrence is one of the jousters.  I don’t even want to THINK about what his race team would say if they found out he was doing this.  I know Ms. Star would kill me if I ever did anything like this.”  Wendy glanced down at the armor.  “Did you want me to change into this, then?” she asked. 

“You can in a minute. I think I know one shot that would be perfect. One with you looking over your shoulder like someone just called your name with a smile on your face. I can see that as maybe the first picture in the set as the people click through. Then you can become Iron Woman….” He looked towards the armor, shaking his head. “That doesn’t look enjoyable to wear at all.”

“I haven’t even tried it on, yet.  I just hope it fits.  Otherwise it’s going to be some very awkward photos.”  She turned the way Adam wanted her, and flashed a smile.  “Like this?” 

“Perfect. Hold that for a couple seconds.” He moved into position and tapped the button as a whirring of clicks went off, snapping several pictures in a row before he gave the all clear. “I take several of the same pose, just in case one or two don’t come out right. Or...if someone photobombs which happens more often than you’d think.”

“I can imagine.  I hear there’s sites devoted to doing that, which is stupid.”  WEndy frowned, then looked down at the armor.  “Okay, I’ll change into this then, and we can do the final set.”  

He checked his watch and shook his head. “Okay, I promised I’d call Jes. Apparently her sisters are visiting again, and she needs a moment of not being trolled. I’ll catch up with you in a bit and we’ll finish up. You did great, Wendy. Best centerfold I’ve had all day.” He said with a grin as he headed off in another direction. 

The armor was heavy and unwieldy, and it took Wendy a lot of effort to put it on by herself.  Several times, she had to remove one piece or another as she realized something else had to go on first.  Finally, through a great deal of trial and error, frustration, and dropping a gauntlet on her foot, she had gotten the armor on.  For a finishing touch, she picked up the helmet and slid it over her head, turning to the mirror to admire herself, through the eyeslits of the helmet. 

She had to admit she made an impressive scene, standing there looking every inch a knight.  A valkerie, she figured, although the armor lacked any sense of a winged motif.  The armor wasn’t as heavy as she thought it would be, but it was still pretty weighted.  And it was considerably hot, too.  With effort, she moved her hand up to her head, and raised the visor… only for it to come back down.  Again she raised it, and it fell back down over her face.

“Well, that’s no good.” Wendy muttered, and raised both hands to take off her helmet. 

It was stuck.  

“Uh oh…” Wendy said, a considerably more benign statement than she was feeling.  Was she stuck here in this tin can?  Could they get her out?  Was she doomed to walk around for the rest of her life in armor?  

Through the growing sense of panic in her mind, a comical thought appeared of Valerie Lamb trying to get at her through the armor, only for every kick or punch to glance harmlessly off the plate metal, and Val illiciting yelps of pain with each blow. 

But the situation wasn’t funny, and Wendy again tried to remove the stuck helmet, twisting this way and that, nearly falling over as she overbalanced herself.  Still, the darn thing remained stuck. 

“Crap!” Wendy swore, then paused, panting for breath.  It took a lot of effort to move in this armor, and there was nothing she could do.  Her only option was to wait patiently for Adam to get back, and have him go get the blacksmith.  That wasn’t exactly something she was looking forward to. 

But from her (dark, hot, and heavy) perspective, she didn’t have much of an option.  So she leaned against a pillar in the tent, and waited for FFW’s webmaster to return. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” came a voice five minutes later, and Wendy turned, her eyes narrowing to peer through the slit in her helmet. It wasn’t Adam who had come in, but another man, stocky yet tall, wearing a faded brown tunic and breeches.  He was marching towards her, clearly impatient.  “Let’s go.  We’re about to start!” 

“I...uh… what?” Wendy said, but before she could react, the man had grabbed her arm, starting to drag her out of the tent.  Too stunned to resist, Wendy followed, although to her relief the man stopped dragging her once he got the sense that she was coming.  He led her outside, to another tent, this one with a brilliant white charger inside, eating from a bucket of oats. Two other men were attending the horse, one brushing it, the other checking it’s hooves and shoes. 

“Alright,” the man said impatiently.  “This here is Cressida.  She’s fast, but gentle, and a bit stubborn, so you need to keep a firm hold on the reigns.  Up you go.” 

“Up?  Onto the horse?”  Wendy gulped.  She hadn’t ridden a horse in ages, and the ones she had were significantly smaller than this monster.  

“Yes, onto the horse!” The man sneered impatiently.  “What else are you going to ride on.  Here, Harry and I will help you. 

Wendy still balked.  Was this some sort of surprise from Adam?  Had he arranged for the last segment to be on a horse?  She had to admit, it would probably make an impressive shot, her atop the charger, her red hair flowing behind her (if she could ever get the darned helmet off!  With assistant from the groomers, she was boosted up onto the horse, and sat asaddle, looking down at her impromptu assistants. 

“Thanks” she said, her voice muffled.  Then something caught the corner of her eye, and Wendy looked over to see half a dozen men, each carrying a handful of jousting lances out of the tent.  

And suddenly, she knew what she was about to do. 

“Oh, no…” Wendy said, a wave of panic again rising in her mind.  “I’m not… this isn’t… no…”
 
“Getting cold feet now?” The man who had led her from her own tent sneered.  “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon enough.  Brutus doesn’t like to play with his food too much.  Just try and make a good show out there.”
 
“No, you don’t understand!  You have the wrong guy!  I’m not even a guy!  I’m a girl!” But no one was listening to her, instead focusing on leading the horse outside of the tent.  She looked around wildly for someone, anyone who could help her and make these men understand that she wasn’t supposed to be here.  Where was Terrence?   HE was doing this stupid joust, not her!

A man in a herald’s revelry was walking towards her, an almost sympathetic smile on her face.  Wendy sighed.  It didn’t help matters that all these men were clearly thinking that she was simply cannon fodder for the Black Knight.  Vaguely, out of the corner of her ear, she heard the herald asking for her name, but her eyes finally caught on the one chance she had at salvation- Adam Grant, easily walking back towards her tent. 

“ADAM!”  she screamed as loud as she could.  “ADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!” 

“Uh, thank you, good sir,” the Herald said, and walked away.  Wendy didn’t notice, as she was trying to get the photogapher to notice her.  It failed, Adam disappeared inside the tent, having never heard her.  Wendy groaned.  Was there anyone who was going to help her? 

Trumpets were blowing as she entered the jousting ground, and the crowd cheered her as the herald announced ‘Sir Adam’, but again Wendy wasn’t listening, desperately trying to find Terrence, or Pollaski, or someone who could set this confusion aright.   And then she saw them- leaning against a fence at the edge of the field.  Terrence was staring at her, looking utterly cross.  Pollaski was standing next to him, looking slightly amused.  Theresa was yelling things at the top of her lungs, her voice slightly slurred. 

“What is going on?” Wendy said, as her horse was led into a position.  A giant lance was thrust into her hand, and she nearly dropped it.  She looked across the lists at the Black Knight, who was also receiving a lance. 

“Alright, good luck!” The man who had been leading her horse chortled, as if he had just made a great joke.  He stepped away, and immediately, the horse reared and bucked, clearly alarmed at the inexperienced hands holding the reigns.  Wendy shrieked, but somehow managed to both stay on the horse, and hold the lance.   For a second, all was still, and she took a deep breath.  

Then the trumpets blew, and the horse took off, charging down the list.  

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Wendy screamed, squinting her eyes against the rushing wind.  She could see the Black Knight getting closer, his lance dangling over the barrier between the two sides.  A lance that was going to hit her any…

*CRUNCH*

The lance slammed into her shoulder and snapped in two, bits of splinters flying through the air around her.  Wendy pitched forward, moaning in pain, her left arm hanging limply at her side.  She sobbed, gasping for breath, as she struggled to stay on the horse.  Her own lance had been dropped, long forgotten, and tears welled in her eyes at the pain. 

“Owwwiee…” Wendy moaned, trying to shake some feeling into her left arm.  At the very least, she found she could move it.  That meant it wasn’t dislocated, right?

The horse had reached the end of the list, and another attendant grabbed it.  “Nice job!” he said, grinning.  “Half of ‘em don’t even survive the first pass with the Black Knight. Good luck on the second!”  He thrust a lance into her hand, and turned the hrose to face down the list. 

“No, please” Wendy said, trying to keep from crying.  “I don’t want to play any moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooore!” 

The horse had taken off at another blow of trumpets, and again she was pounding down the list, right in the path of that lance coming from the other side.  Feebly, her left shoulder burning in pain, she tried to raise her own lance.  If anything, maybe she could deflect the Black Knight’s lance away?   

Good luck with that, a voice said in her mind.  She’d be lucky if she could raise the dang thing well enough. 

But she tried as she could. 

*CRU-*

To her surprise, the lances struck each other, and Wendy’s lance deflected to the side, right into the Black Knight’s abdomen.  His lance, on the other hand, swung upwards…

*CRUNCH!*

...right into Wendy’s helmet, exploding again on impact. 

A wave of pain and nausea swept over Wendy, and she slumped in the saddle.  Faintly, she heard the sound of a heavy thud behind her, and then the crowd erupting in cheers.  But her vision was growing dark, the view through her eye slits was blurring.  So this was what death was like, her mind thought.  

And then she pitched sidways off the horse, into blackness. 

The crowd was still cheering when she came too, lying on the muddy ground.  She couldn’t have been out for more than a few seconds, and her head was still swimming.  Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself up, trying to get to her feet despite the pain and the weight of the armor.  Slowly, she heard footsteps approaching, and breathed with a sigh of relief.  Someone was coming to help her, and soon this charade would be all over. 

And then something large and heavy slammed into the back of her head, knocking her sprawling.  Wendy rolled over in the dirt, looking up at the Black Knight, who stood over her, a sword in his hands.  Before she could even react, the man brought the sword down hard, her armor clanging as the blade smacked it. 

“Not so funny now, is it, meat?” The Black Knight sneered through his helmet.  “You think you can just come in here, and fuck with me like that?” And then he hit her again, and again.  It was a dull blade, and couldn’t pierce through the armor, but the bludgeoning blows still hurt, and Wendy tried to roll away, but the man pursued, adding kicks to her side as he worked out his rage.

“That was a fucking fluke!  You are not the champion!  I still am!” the knight growled, punctuating his words with more kicks, and the occasional smack with the sword.  “Stay there,” he barked.  “I’m not done with you!” 

Wendy wasn’t exactly in the mood to oblige, and she again struggled to her feet, trying to gain a vertical base before the Black Knight returned.  She got halfway, before she heard a whistling sound above her head.  The Black Knight had a morning star, and it was whirling above his head.  With his other arm, he grabbed Wendy’s arm, pinning it behind her, and spinning her to look over at the crowd.

“Look,” he sneered into her ear.  “Your little girl’s come to watch you.  What’s she going to think of you after I beat you bloody in front of her own eyes?  And where’s that little redhead tart you walked in with.  She couldn’t even bring herself to be here to watch?  Maybe after the show, I’ll find her and show her what a real man is like.”
 
“How are you going to do that when you’re not one?”  Wendy hissed, anger rising in her at someone using Theresa to taunt her.  “Oh, and that little redheaded tart is right here.”  She then burst her head forward, her helmet colliding with the Black Knights, sending him staggering away.  

She raised her hands, ready to fight this thug.  Even slowed down by the armor, she threw a gauntlented punch at his head, connecting so that he staggered back even further.  Another punch, and another, sending him staggering back, although Wendy doubted how much damage she really was doing through his own armor.  At least she had him on his heels and buying her time to think.  

And then something slammed into her shoulder, forcing her to gasp in pain.  The Black Knight had remembered the morning star in his hands, and he was swinging it at her over and over, now driving her back, occasionally landing a hard blow on her armor.  Wendy staggered, off balance for just a second, and the Knight swung his star with all his force, ready to end this pesky challenger for good. 

Wendy caught his arm as it came forward, and ripped the morning star from his hand, then threw another punch to drive her opponent back.  For a split second, she paused, looking at the morning star in her hand.  She’d never even consider it in a wrestling ring, but this wasn’t wrestling, and she couldn’t see any other way to get this jerk to stop coming after her.  Sometimes, one had to be pragmatic.  

She swung the morning star with all her might, right at the Black Knights head.  The crowd groaned as he was decapitated, his head flying off his shoulders to roll away a few feet. 

Actually, it was just his helmet, Wendy realized with some relief.  It looked like his head…

The real head was still attached to the Black Knight’s shoulders, although the eyes were somewhat out of focus.  For a second time, froze.  Wendy with her morning star in her hand, Brutus standing woozily in front of her, the crowd roaring for her to finish it.
 
“Speed limit in the parking lot’s fifteen, jerk.” Wendy hissed.  And then she punched him in the face. 
 
Blood and a tooth went flying, and Brutus’ eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed like a sack of potatoes.   The crowd erupted in cheers, and Wendy stood swaying over her defeated opponent.   The morning star fell from her hands, and she fought not to collapse on the ground herself. 

Then she saw a pink and gold streak running straight for her, and she looked up to see the woman who had arrived with the Black Knight charging at her.  She was pretty, blonde, and wearing the crown- the queen of the fair, Wendy realized.  The redhead groaned inwardly, not in the mood to for another fight, especially against an unarmored woman. 

But the woman paused, looking down at Brutus, and then grabbed Wendy’s arm, raising it high in the air, to the ovation of the crowd.  “My champion!  My hero!!” she proclaimed.   And then, before Wendy could react, she raised the visor on her helmet, and planted a deep, passionate kiss on her lips. 

Wendy went rigid, unable to properly process what was happening.  The woman broke off the kiss, her face flushing red as she realized that the person under the helmet wasn’t exactly what she had been expecting.  “Erm… my heroINE,” the queen said weakly, her face as red as Wendy’s hair. 

“Glad.. to… help…” Wendy weakly said.  Then she herself collapsed to the ground. 

She wasn’t certain how long she was out, but the next thing she knew, a crowd of people were standing over her, including her daughter, husband, and manager.   Terrence was looking annoyed at her, although Pollaski was seemingly fighting back a fit of giggles.  Theresa, for her part, was swaying back and forth,  

“I THINK SHE’S DEAD!” bellowed her daughter, her voice filled with excitement.  

“She’s not dead,” came a voice from behind her, and Wendy shifted her eyes towards a medic that was kneeling beside her.  “How are you feeling, ma’am?  We got the blacksmith coming to see if he can get you out of that helmet. It’s pretty dented.” 

“I’m fine.  Just sore… and tired…” Wendy said quietly, looking up at the crowd hanging over her.  She saw one familiar face, and grasped onto it.  “Adam… please don’t let Ms. Star fire me over this!  I didn’t mean to…”  her voice trailed off as some foul smell overwhelmed her, and her nose wrinkled.  If she didn’t know better, she’d think that-

“Well, look on the bright side, dude,” Pollaski chuckled, clapping Terrence on the shoulder.  “You probably wouldn’t have done much better.”  He grinned as Terrence shot him a glowering look.  

“Terry, I’m sorry,” Wendy said, looking at her husband’s annoyed expression.  “It all was just a huge misunderstanding and I never meant to take your place and steal your thunder, and-” her voice trailed off again.  This time, she had no doubts about it, and the thought ripped all wooziness and sympathy from her husband from her mind. 

“Terrence, why does my daughter’s breath smell like she’s been drinking?” 

=========================================
Saturday November 30, 2013
Pike Creek Subdivision- Wabash Circle
Indianapolis, Indiana
1:37 PM Local Time

Its a surprisingly nice day this Black Saturday as we fade in.  The sky is blue, and bright behind the leaveless trees of Wabash Circle, the Thompson family’s street.  Wendy Briese (thankfully healthy,hale, and definitely not concussed despite her adventure the previous week) is standing in front of the camera, next to a large posterboard on an easel, showing  picture of her and Terrence wrestling in a small arena against two unidentifiable men.  On the poster is a large number “1”.

“April Twelfth, Twenty Ten.  WhirlyBirdz against the The Fallen in their PWX debut and their official return to wrestling after nearly five years of hiatus..  We won when I pinned Grayson Willis.  Match number one.” 

Behind the poster is more posters, lining the sidewalk, each with a progressively higher number on them.  Wendy begins to walk past them, the camera catching moments from her history, as she stops at certain major ones, taking in the memories. 

“Match four… I face Terrence in the semifinals of a tournament.  He ended up winning.  Match ten, I finish second in the final WFWA Summer Games, an event I had never been in before.  Match Fourteen, Terrence and I win the PWX Tag Team Championships.  Match Thirty-Seven, we win the Teaming Panda Championships in our first match in CPW.  Match forty-four, I beat Madman Szalinski in a ladder match to win the X3 Championship, my first singles title since returning to wrestling.”

Wendy smiles nostalgically, and walks past a few more, stopping at  picture of Charity Deas trapped in the Banshee, tapping out. 

“Match fifty-two.  April Twenty First, Twenty-Eleven.  Wendy Briese against Charity Deas.  My FFW Debut.  Match sixty-one, I beat Crystal Hilton in the finals of the first ever Chase For the Crown, and my first match as an exclusive to FFW.  Match sixty-five, I become the Evolution Champion in a ladder match, beating Colleen and Tara Thunder.  Match sixty-six, I lose the Evolution Championship to Crystal HIlton… in a two out of three falls match.”

A small, self deprecating smile.  Wendy knows all too well what happened the last time she had a match similar to the one she has tonight. 

“Match seventy-five, I become the first No Surrender Champion.  Match eighty-two, I win the NO Surrender Championship again, beating Starla McCloud in a rematch.  Match eighty-five, I complete my only successful title defense, also winning the Evolution Championship in a winner take all match against Tara Thunder.  Of course, I went on to lose the No Surrender Championship to Serafina in match eighty-seven.” 

Wendy crosses a couple of more posters, then stops at an all too recognizable, and painful scene.

“Match ninety.  I don’t think there’s many that have forgotten this one.  Wendy Briese vs. Valerie Lamb.  November tenth, Twenty-Twelve.  Semifinals of the Femme For All Tournament.  An errant charge into some ringsteps, a few cracked vertebrae, and I’m sidelined for five months” 

Wendy progresses to the next one, although there is a considerable gap to the next one. 

“Match ninety-one, at Byte This Four… my first match back ends ina DQ win when the Cardinal cracked me on the head.   Match ninety-six, the main event of Unstoppable IV, when I beat Isabella Pazzini in her retirement match.  Which opened the door for match ninety-eight.  I defeat Valerie Lamb to win my first FFW Championship, the highest, greatest honor I’ve ever had in this business.” 

The camera pulls back as Wendy reluctantly leaves the placard showing her winning the title, to reveal that she is right in front of her home.

“Match ninety-nine, I team with Witches Brew to beat Tara, Aimee, and Lightning.  And that brings us to… match one hundred.  Wendy Briese defending her title against Valerie Lamb.  Two out of three falls at Anarchy in Indianapolis.  And the road, so long, nearly four years, has led right back here.  Home.”

Wendy’s voice catches at the end, as if the enormity of what she is dealing with this weekend has hit her. 

“Tonight couldn’t possibly be any more of a storybook setup for me.  My one hundredth match.  My first defense of the FFW Championship.  In a match designed to eliminate all doubts of who’s better- best two out of three falls.  In my hometown for the last pay-per-view of the year.  How perfect of a setup is that?”

Wendy begins to walk up the driveway talking back over her shoulder as the camera follows her into the house. 

“Of course, there’s going to be one woman in the building who’s hoping to rain on this parade of perfection.  Valerie Lamb doesn’t care about any of the narratives heading into this match, but one.  She wants the title back, and she’s coming full force to get it.  That, and she likes the idea of revisiting the heartbreak she had in her surrogate hometown upon me in my true hometown.”

“And you know, Val?  I can sympathize with that.  I know what it’s like to lose a title, I know what it’s like to leave the arena with less than what you came in with.  I know what it’s like to put hours and hours of effort and preparation into training for a match, only to unravel in three seconds.  There’s not a woman in the upper level of this company  who hasn’t been there before.  It’s gutting yet, but it’s the nature of the beast.”

“I remember the first tweet you made after the show ended, how you said the one who walked out with the title would be the one who wanted it more.  Do you really believe that’s the case, Val?  DO you really believe that’s the only reason I became champion?  Because I had greater desire?” 

A small scoff, and Wendy shakes her head. 

“You’re wrong.  It was never about desire in that ring.  We both wanted it with every soul of our being.  We both were willing to do anything we could to get our hands raised as the victor.  It didn’t come down to will or desire.  There was no question about that from either or us.  It came down to strategy, who had the better gameplan.  And, Val you went into that match making the biggest mistake any champion could.” 

Wendy looks directly at the camera, her voice completely matter-of-fact.

“You didn’t fight to win.  You fought not to lose.”

“And yes, Val.  There is a difference.  You came into that match with a defensive mindset from the getgo.  Your promo focused on how you couldn’t lose this match.  You couldn’t let something you spent five years working towards slip away in a single night especially to me.  And when we got into that ring, it was no different.  You had every single big move of mine scouted, ready to be countered.  I couldn’t get the Vortexinator off.  I couldn’t get the Banshee off.  You were prepared.”

“But the thing is, Val… I never felt you had an end game of your own.  Your entire mindset that match was ‘don’t let Wendy hit a finisher’.  You fought not to lose, and you went a long time trying not to lose.  But even the most stout wall can be cracked, and when I found that crack, you had no answer.  You were so focused on not losing your title, you never had any plan to WIN it.”

“Unfortunately for me, that won’t be the case this time.  You’re not fighting to hang on to a title, you’re fighting to win one back.  I’ll be stunned if you take the same approach this time.  But unfortunately for you, I’m not going to just pucker up and fight to not lose.  I’ve learned from your mistake, and my own mistakes from the past.”

A small smile.

“It’s one of the big differences between you and I.  I’m capable of learning from my mistakes, of adapting and evolving, of bettering myself.  You are still in 2010 with your mindset where it concerns me, Val.  Nothings changed with you in the past two months, just like nothing’s changed with you in the past three years.  It’s one of the reasons why, both times I’ve pinned you in my career, I’ve managed to do it with the exact same move.”

“You are so wrapped up in your preconceptions, it’s almost sad.  Like this whole idea that I’ve won pretty much every time we faced, save for you beating me last November in the Femme For All.  We’ve faced six times, Val over the span of two companies.  You’ve been on the winning side three times.  I’ve been on the winnning side three times.  Now, I’d say my wins are a bit more decisive on the overall front, but how is that even close to being lopsided?  And what a great rivalry we have when one side can’t even be bothered to know the score!”

Wendy sighs, and shakes her head, somewhat annoyed.

“A rivalry where half of the vitriol on your part stems from events YEARS ago that were never even all that controversial to begin with.  You’ve been bitter for THREE YEARS because people lost track of who the legal people were in a tag match.  You’ve been bitter for THREE YEARS because I elected to leave a company you owned because Terrence retired and decided to come here instead.”

“Get over it, Val. Seriously.  Every time we face, you have to dredge up ancient history in some pathetic attempt to prove that I’m really not who the FFW Faithful think I am.  Heck, you even fedtalking points to your SISTER twice, so SHE could bring it up. And yet every time, no one buys it, because one in maybe fifty people might actually have a clue what you’re talking about, and those who do know the full story, and how flimsy the straws you grasp at truly are.”

“I have never been anything but an asset to this company.  And, outside of what my job entails inside that ring, I have never done anything to you, either.  And yet, for some reason, I rank just a little bit above Michelle Taylor on your totem pole.  Think about it.  Camilla Pazzini flat out intentioally embarasses you in your homeland, and its a shrug and a ‘I understand why she did it.’   But I make the comment that finishing high school should be a higher priority than wrestling, and you immediately take offense, because you happened to have the connections to become one person out of a million who can live a lucrative life without a diploma.  Isabella Pazzini tries to smash your head in with a bell hammer, and you’re more upset with me because I stopped it from happening.”

Wendy shakes her head again, clearly nonplussed.

“So let’s talk about that for a second, Val.  Go back to Relentless, where I ripped a bell hammer from Isabella’s hands before she could cave your skull in with it.  I didn’t do it because I wanted to embarass you, Val.  I didn’t do it because of some ulterior motive.  I did it because I was sick and tired of people like her breaking out something like that and screwing up the match the moment things didn’t go their way.”

“So both of us went into Sin & Sacrifice each thinking we were indebted to the other for something.  I felt indebted to you for my career, you felt indebted to me because I stopped Isabella, and you went on to win the title as a result.  Its another fundamental difference of between us how we each acted to that development.”

“I was grateful, and I showed you that gratitude the best way I knew how- by making the most of the gift you’d given me, a second chance at a career here.  You weren’t grateful, Val.  You whined about it.  Like I was supposed to just sit there and watch Isabella wreck another match with her stupid bell hammer, because you’d rather have your brains beaten out and keep your pride than the other way around.  Never minding how asinine and petty that actually sounds, is there one reasonable person on the planet who truly thought your title win was tainted?  Of course not!”

Wendy sits down on her couch, looking straight into the camera, her voice calm.

“Because, once again, Val, you fail to understand the difference between winning and not losing.  I didn’t help you win that match.  You did it on your own.  I just stopped you from losing the match in that method.  And if you’re so prideful and arrogant that you can’t stand to bear the thought of someone keeping you from being screwed over.. that’s something you need to get over.  I did the right thing, Val, and I’ll never had any second thoughts about it.”

“But let say, hypothetically, that you did owe me for what I did.  You paid it back already, Val, because it was the same thing I owed you- for you to make the most out of it.  Without your head being taken off, you were able to overcome Starla and Isabella, and win the FFW Title.  Then you defended against Desirae and Starla, and, completely fought your heart out against me at Sin & Sacrifice.  You did everything anyone could have asked from you, Val.”

“In fact, I’d say we’re all square at this point.  All debts are paid.  We’ve each won once in FFW.  We each won twice in the various weird tag team contests we were subjected to in PWX.  Which is why this is the perfect rubber match.  Winner takes the title, winner walks out of Lucas Oil Stadium universally regarded as the best women’s wrestler in the world today.” 

A small smile.

“But here’s your problem.  For that to be you, you’re going to have to start being right about some things.  You haven’t been lately.  You’ve been wrong about my motives.  You’ve been wrong about my mindset.  You’ve been wrong about our history.  You were wrong about people’s blame on you after my injury.  You’ve been wrong about my capabilities.  And you’ve been wrong about how to face me.  And it baffles me that after six matches against each other over nearly four years, how wrong about me you truly are.”

“And you’re wrong in the way you think about titles.  You keep bringing up the fact that I don’t have many successful defenses, like that’s supposedly some slight on me.  And to that I say so what?  I won those belts, and whether or not I held  them for two weeks or six months, no one can take them away from me.  You fall into this trap, Val, in thinking that defenses are what makes the champion.  You’re wrong… surprise, surprise.  Defenses add to the prestige of the reign, no doubt, but just getting here is an accomplishment in itself.  You can take this belt away tonight, but you will never take away the fact that I held it, or the hurdles I had to leap to get here.”

“So let me give you a hint, Val.   Tonight, don’t expect me to be fighting as if I’m going to be retaining my title.  I’m not out to keep this belt from you, because I know you’ll carry it with pride should you win.  That’s not a concession, that’s me telling you tht I’m not falling for the defensive trap you did.  Instead, think of me as trying to win this belt all over again.  I’m going to be on the attack, I’m going to go for broke, and I’m going to take risks.  In short I’m going to fight to win.  To walk out of Lucas Oil Stadium the toast of the town with everyone celebrating my victory.”

A deep breath, and Wendy leans forward, the intensity in her emerald eyes evident.

“Because Val, I’m aware of how fleeting life at the top ultimately is.  At any point, I’m three seconds away from losing that perch, and whether it comes tonight, or in a year, the best thing I can do is make sure that when I go down, I can look back on my reign and say that I made the most of the time I had.  That I was a CHAMPION, not just someone who got to parade around with the belt around their waist.  Secure in the knowledge that whatever happens in the future, what I’ve done, my legacy, is already secured and unchangeable. ”

“Tonight, Val, I’m going to be that champion.  Tonight, I’m going to bring an entire city to a standstill, as they root me on.  Tonight, I’m going to go two out of three falls with one of the brightest stars in the company.  Tonight, I celebrate my hundredth match.  Tonight, I’m going to leave my heart and soul in the middle of that ring, and I know that whatever else happens, I’ll be going backstage with my head held high.

“Because, tonight, Valerie Lamb, is going to be the greatest night of my career.” 

The scene fades.

EPISODE 231: The White Knight, Part 2

Saturday November 23, 2013
Marion County Renaissance Fair- Jousting Grounds
Indianapolis, IN
2:36 PM Local Time 

Daniel Pollaski leaned against the fence, and stared across the jousting arena, where a steady trickle of fans were filling in the ‘commoners stands’, although across the way, the grand dais arranged for the costumed royalty remained empty, still awaiting the procession that would fill it.  He was looking forward to watching the event, although probably not nearly as impatient for it as the person sitting next to him. 

“What time is it?” Theresa Thompson whined, sitting atop the fence and swinging her legs back and forth.  “We’ve been waiting for HOURS.” 

Rolling his eyes, Pollaski glanced at his watch.  “Two thirty-seven,” he said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his tone.  

“The last time you said it was two thirty-five!” Theresa moaned.  

“That’s because you asked two minutes ago.  And three minutes before that.  And four minutes before that.  And two minutes before that… need I go on?” 

“I’m bored!” Theresa complained, kicking her feet idly again.  “Can’t I play Angry Birds on your phone?” 

“No.  I didn’t bring my phone in.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because its a RENAISSANCE FAIRE.  They didn’t have Androids back then.”  Pollaski sighed.  

“They also didn’t have New Balance sneakers, I bet.” Theresa said, pointing down. 

Pollaski looked down at his feet (he had to suck in his stomach and brown burlap robe in a bit), and sighed again, glancing at Theresa.  “Touche.” 

“I’m thirsty.  Can I go get something to drink?” 

“Yeah, fine, sure…” Pollaski said, reaching into a fold of his friar’s robe and pulling out his wallet, snickering softly at the irony of friar’s taking vows of poverty.  He sorted through the bills inside, finally pulling out a five.  He handed it to Theresa.  “Stay in sight, alright?  I’d rather not your mom kill me for losing you.”

“Alright.  Thanks!” Theresa said, taking the money and bounding off, nearly tripping over her own princess dress as she ran to a nearby booth.  

Pollaski looked up at the azure sky.  The last twenty minutes notwithstanding, it had been a pretty good day so far.  He’d always loved Renaissance festivals, ever since he was a kid.  Wendy had gushed over all the historical lessons to be learned, and had pounded her daughter’s head over and over with bits of information on costumed historical figures as they had passed.  Theresa had barely registered any of it, Pollaski had guessed, but she had enjoyed the jugglers and dancing bear and watching glass blowing.  Even Terrence had enjoyed himself, although he had certainly grown more quiet and intense as the afternoon wore on, and the time of the joust neared. 

Pollaski glanced over to check on Theresa, who stood out in her bright pink dress, still waiting in line for a beverage.  He then scanned the crowd for the flame-red hair of his client.  It was getting close to the appointed meeting time.  Wendy had left them just after lunch to go do her photoshoot with Adam, and Terrence had parted just after two to go get ready to joust.  Wendy was supposed to reappear at two forty-five to take Theresa to join the procession on the dais, leaving Pollaski all by himself to watch the show from here.  At least it was a good view, he figured, looking back over at the jousting grounds.  

Theresa returned soon after, holding a large wooden mug that she practically guzzled from.  “Thirsty?” Pollaski asked, amused. 

“Yup.” Theresa responded, drinking some more.  “Want some?” 

“Nah, I’m good.  Better hurry up though, your mom should be coming back any minute, and then you’ll go watch the joust.  Nervous about that?” 

Theresa shook her head, the mug she was drinking from swaying back and forth.  “Nope,” she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.  “Daddy’ll kick that stupid black knight’s fat butt.” 

“I hope so,” Pollaski replied although inwardly he doubted it.  Terrence had practiced for several weeks to learn how to joust, but from all accounts, this Brutus Cato guy had been doing it for years, even working at the Excalibur hotel in Vegas for a few years.  It’d be a miracle if Terrence even survived a pass against him.  He decided it best to change the subject.  “So what’s been your favorite part of the fair so far?” 

“The dancing bear.” Theresa replied immediately, but then shrugged.  “Although I guess I also liked the glass blowing, and some of the singing.  And it’s cool seeing people in costumes like that.”  she gestured to one of the costumed historical impersonators, a young woman with long hair that was even redder than Wendy’s, and a crown on her head, as she walked by.  

“Any idea who that is?” Pollaski quizzed the seven year old, not surprised in the least when she shook her head.  “That’s Jane Grey.  When she was sixteen, she became Queen of England for a whopping nine days.”

“Why only nine?” Theresa asked, hiccuping, then swigging from her mug again. 

“Because then everyone decided they’d rather her aunt be queen instead.  So they put Mary on the throne instead.  Bummer, eh?” 

“That would stink,” Theresa said.  “To be queen and then find out no one wanted you?  I’d be pretty sad.” 

“Oh, she was very sad.  Probably even more so when they chopped her head off.”  Pollaski said, smirking as Theresa’s eyes went wide.  

“Why did they do that?” the little girl asked, hiccuping again. 

“Because when you play the game of thrones, you win or you die.”  

“There’s no middle ground!”  came a voice behind them, and Pollaski and Theresa turned to watch Terrence walking up to them.  “Who got their head chopped off?” 

“Jane Grey,” Theresa said, her voice muffled by her mug.  

Terrence’s brow furrowed.  “No she didn’t.  She got washed away when the dam burst in the second movie, then came back as Phoenix.  What’s that got to do with Game of Thrones, anyways?” 

For a second, no one spoke, Pollaski’s mouth hanging open, not sure where he could even begin to correct his friend.  Finally, he settled for just asking the obvious question.  “Why are you here?” 

Terrence’s mood darkened immediately, as if he was hoping Pollaski wouldn’t ask that.  “They, ah, didn’t need me,” he said.  “They found someone else.” 

“But you’d been practicing for weeks!” Pollaski exclaimed, appalled.  “What the heck?” 

“Yeah, well, I went over there to get ready, and they said they had someone else ready to go,”  Terrence said glumly.  “I tried to protest, but they had none of it.  They were about to call security to get me tossed out, and I relented.”  He sighed.  “Man, I was so going to make that Black Knight pay for…” 

“I’m sorry, man,” Pollaski patted his friend on the shoulder sympathetically.  “Ain’t right.  Maybe they’ll let you do it next year.” 

“Yeah, maybe…” Terrence sighed, and looked around.  “Let’s just get the hell out of here.  I’m done with this stupid fair.  Where’s Wendy?” 

Pollaski shrugged in response.  “Haven’t seen her.  We figured she’d show up before you did.  She must have ran long with Adam.”

“Damn,” Terrence sighed, shaking his head.  He then looked down at his daughter and her cup.  “Mind if I have a sip, Terr-Bear?  I’m thirsty.” 

“Sure,” the seven year old acquiesced, handing her mug to Terrence, who tilted up to take a sip, then spat it back out onto the ground.  

“WHY THE HELL ARE YOU DRINKING BEER?!”  Terrence roared, glaring at Pollaski as he began to choke on his own saliva.  

“Because they didn’t have any Sprite!” Theresa chipped indignantly.  “It’s fine, dad.  The man selling it said that kids drank this all the time back in the middle ages.”

“Yeah, well, they also died of the bubonic plague before they were ten too.  Should I get some rats to bite you?” Terrence said, dumping out what was left of the beer, an alarmingly small amount.  “Jesus, Theresa.  And what the hell, Pollaski?!   You were supposed to be watching her!”  He punctuated the rebuke by smacking the portly wrestler upside the head.  

Pollaski opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a fanfare of trumpets blaring over the field.  He looked over, and saw the procession beginning to climb onto the dais.  He glanced over at Theresa with concern at how she’d take being left out, but the little girl was busy singing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider”... at the top of her lungs.  

“I don’t see her anywhere,” Terrence sighed, glancing over at Pollaski in concern.  “She’s not in the procession.” 

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Pollaski responded.  “She wouldn’t have gone up there without getting Theresa first.”

“Yeah,” Terrence grimaced, looking at his daughter.  “Sorry, kiddo.  Guess you’re watching the joust from here.”  Theresa expressed her disappointment with a rumbling belch that Pollaski wasn’t certain he himself could imitate- which was saying something. 

Another fanfare rang out, and a herald stepped forward in front of the platform where the king and queen of the faire sat.  His voice rang across the jousting grounds, assisted by the decisively un-medieval like microphone he was holding.  

“Hear ye, hear ye, hark, and welcome to the joust!  Two brave knights are prepared to duel for your entertainment and for the honor of their chivalry!”

“SPEAK UP!” Theresa roared, her voice echoing across the grounds at the herald.  Nearby, Terrence buried his face in his hands.  

SUrprisingly, the herald obliged.  “And now, please welcome the two brave souls willing to partake in this most noble and dangerous of competitions.  I give you first… the champion of champions and unhorser of a thousand men… THE BLACK KNIGHT!” 

The crowd booed as a man in dark armor rode onto the field, black pennant snapping from the end of his lance.  Pollaski looked over and saw Terrence fuming, his teeth clenched, and his hands looking like they wanted to strangle something. Theresa, for her part, was booing at the top of her lungs.  

“And now, his opponent, the brave challenger who will attempt to survive, let alone defeat, this master of the lance, I give you…. SIR ADAM!” 

“Adam?!” Terrence barked as a fanfare trumpet blew, and a knight in armor so polished it was almost white came in on the other side.  “That low down lousy two-timing son of a-” 

“You sure it’s Grant?”  Pollaski interjected, his brow furrowed in skepticism.  The rider clearly had absolutely no clue what he was doing, considering the way the horse was dancing around, as if a sack of potatoes was tied to it.  Then again… he strongly doubted that FFW’s webmaster was any kind of horseman, so maybe…

“Oh, I know it’s that bastard.  He waylaid Wendy, took my spot, and now he’s going to-”

“KICK HIS BUTT, SIR ADAM!” Theresa bellowed, cutting her father off. 

“What?  NO!  Don’t kick his butt!  I want that asshole to get his butt kicked!” 

“But, Dad!  He nearly hit me with his car!”  Theresa protested. 

“Yeah, but this jackass screwed me out of a chance to avenge you myself.” Terrence shot back.  “That’s way more important.” 

“Oh,” Theresa blinking, her face more akin to one who had just had the theory of relativity explained to them.  She cupped her hand over her mouth and screamed again.  “GET YOUR BUTT KICKED, SIR ADAM!” 

“Much better.” Terrence sighed. 

Sir Adam was still have difficulties controlling the horse, but soon found a lance shoved in his hand as he approached the lists.  Another fanfare sounded, and the black knight saluted his soon to be victim, while Sir Adam flailed helplessly in the saddle, then the two horses charged towards each other, the breath of nearly every spectator catching in their throats. 

“Oh, this is gonna suck…” Pollaski said under his breath. 

*CRUNCH!*

The crowd groaned as the Black Knight’s lance splintered from the impact, nearly sending his poor unfortunate opponent flying from the saddle, but Sir Adam somehow managed to hang on, although he looked even more like a sack of dead weight than before.  The crowd erupted as the black knight cast aside the remains of his lance, his fist in the air in triumph.  

“HA!  That’s a point!” Terrence said vindictively as attendants shoved more lances into the combatants hand, preparing for another round.  Another fanfare started as the horses turned to face each other. 

“ENOUGH ALREADY WITH THE TRUMPETS!”  Theresa screamed.  

Again, the horses charged at each other, the crowd hushing so that the only sound was the clopping of hooves.  Several members of the audience closed their eyes, lest they see the murder that was about to happen…

*CRU-*

*CRUNCH!*

The Black Knight’s lance exploded on Sir Adam’s helmet, the white armored figure going limp in the saddle.  But Adam’s lance caught the Knight in the chest, and the crowd gasped as the dark armored figure went flying off the side of his horse, to pitch into the dirt.  

“YEAH!  Wait… NO!” Theresa cheered… then booed. 

“Wow…” Was all Pollaski could say. 

“But...but…” Terrence said, his mouth open in disbelief.  “That was… my…”

The crowd was too busy cheering to notice that Sir Adam had finally fallen off his horse, clattering to the ground in a heap, or that the black knight was on his feet, an aura of unbridled rage permeating through his armor.  The cheering crowd went silent as the Black Knight drew a sword, advancing on his downed opponent.  

“Uh oh…” Terrence said, chuckling.  “Guess FFW better find a new web master… serves the bastard right.” 

“It does?” Said a voice from a few feet away as it approached the trio. Adam Grant gave them both a confused look as he looked from Terrence down to the fallen knight that they had been watching. “Did I do something and no one told me?” 

“Yeah, you took Daddy’s place so now he can’t avenge the black knight for nearly running me over, you stupid jerk!”  Theresa hissed angrily, before realizing the logic of what she just said. 

Terrence turned beet red, scratching his head nervously, while Pollaski muttered “told you it was a different Adam.”  Then he winced, as a rising Sir Adam took a sword hilt to the head, sending them sprawling, to the groans of the crowd. 

Adam once more did a double take, looking from the small angry girl back to Terrence and then to Sir Adam on the field before them. His eyes squinted a bit as he tried to make sense of all this. “You sure you got the right Adam? I….wouldn’t ride a horse. Not even for cash.” 

“Yeah… we’re just… ah… noticing that…” Terrence said, clearly chagrined. “Have you seen Wendy?” 

“Last time I saw Wendy was when she went for a costume change. Then I had to go check in with Jestine about some things. I haven’t seen her since. Why? How do you lose Wendy? It’s not like she’s a set of car keys…” Adam answered, a beverage in his hand which he tilted up to his mouth as he awaited a response. “And why is me getting a new job being mentioned?”

“Well, ah, we thought that was you about to be killed out there.  Sorry… mistaken identity, eh?”  Terrence smiled apologetically.  

Pollaski sighed.  Terrence was right on one front, whoever was in the white armor was getting their ass handed to them.  Even as he watched, the Black Knight battered them with the sword repeatedly, knocking them down, the crowd groaning with each hit.   “Whoever it is, I bet you’re glad you’re not them, eh dude?” 

“See, I wouldn’t even be on a horse. Much less in a joust!” Adam replied. “Though if I were to get on a horse, I’d probably end up like that Adam over there. Stupid basta….man.”

“Yeah,” Pollaski said as he watched the Black Knight grab a morning star and start twirling it.  “Stupid.”