Thursday October 25, 2012
The Nest- Computer Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
5:02 PM Local Time
“Do it again, Theresa. You’ve missed spots here, here and here.”
Wendy Briese frowned at her daughter as she pointed to the bookshelf, pointing out the splotches of dust that her daughter had missed. She watched as with a sigh of exasperation, Theresa moped up to the shelves, and began wiping at them again with the dustcloth in a haphazard manner.
“No, no, not like that,” Wendy admonished, kneeling down and taking the dustcloth from the six-year-old. “You want to do it systematically like this. This way you make sure you get it all.”
“This is so stupid,” Theresa whined, pouting as she watched her mom finish the shelf, then hand the cloth back to her. “You and Dad are rich. Why can’t you hire a maid to do this?”
“Because a little housework never killed anyone.” Wendy replied, smiling slightly as she watched her daughter do the next shelf, this time in the same systematic method that Wendy had shown her. “Besides, you should learn what it’s like to do something yourself.
Affluence is not an excuse to be lazy. Besides, I thought you’d WANT to be doing this.”
“You think I’d WANT to be dusting a bookshelf?” Theresa asked skeptically.
“You’re still grounded, young lady,” Wendy admonished her. “I promised you that you could still go to Rachel’s birthday party this weekend- if you helped me clean the house up. You still want to go to that, right?
Theresa frowned, then turned and began on the next shelf. “But I didn’t even do anything that bad.” She whined.
“You put hot sauce on Suzie Wormwood’s chicken sandwhich when she wasn’t looking, didn’t you? That was a pretty mean thing to do.”
“But she’s mean! And ugly! And stupid!” Theresa protested, stopping her wiping to shoot a baleful look at her mother. “Why can’t I just punch her in the face like YOU get to do to the mean women at work?”
Wendy couldn’t help but chuckle. “Because those are women who willingly participate in a sport where getting punched in the face is a part of it. Jenny’s a first-grader in your class. It’s not the same thing. And besides, it’s not like I can just walk up to them and punch them whenever I want. I have to do it in a match, and even then... they can punch me back too. There’s nothing wrong with standing up for youself, but you have to know where the line is. That’s why we have rules, to clearly dictate where those lines are, and if you break the rules, well...” she gestured to the bookshelf. “Then there are consequences.”
Theresa looked back at her mother, skeptically. “So what about those women who keep cheating, and getting away with it? Like that horrible Emma woman who hit you in the head?”
“They won’t get away with it,” Wendy said, some force entering her voice as she glanced back at her daughter. “Consequences aren’t always immediate, hon. Sometimes it can take days... month... even YEARS before they happen. But eventually, what goes around will come around. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned... it’s the longer you think you can get away with something, the worse it is when things finally catch up to you.”
“So you’re saying it’s GOOD that I got in trouble?” Theresa asked, obviously not happy with that thought.
“In a way, yes,” Wendy replied, smiling at the incredulous expression on her daughter’s face. Her voice softened. “Theresa, when we ground you, or punish you otherwise, it’s not because we’re trying to be mean, or malicious, or because we enjoy doing it. We do it because we want you to learn, and remember that what you did wasn’t okay. I mean... how would you feel if someone put hot sauce on YOUR food when you weren’t looking?”
“I’d be fine. I love hot sauce.” Theresa replied with a shrug.
“Okay... but what if it was something you DIDN’T like? What if someone put onions in your sandwich? You wouldn’t like that, would you?”
Theresa bit her lip, and shook her head, but Wendy wasn’t done. “And what if Suzie had been allergic to something in the hot sauce? It could have made her really, really sick.”
Theresa looked down. “I didn’t know.”
“Exactly. You didn’t know. That’s why it’s so important that you think about what could happen before you do it.”
Wendy knelt down, and took the dustcloth from her daughter. “As your parents, your father and I have two major jobs. That you grow up healthy, happy, and knowing that you are loved, and that you are prepared for the world when you come of age. And there’s three basic things. The first is that when you are an adult, you can do anything you want. And I mean ANYTHING.”
“Like... eat ice cream for breakfast? And stay up until midnight watching grown up movies?” Theresa asked, her face brightening.
Wendy laughed. “Well, you COULD. But that brings up the second truth. And that’s the fact that everything has a consequence. And I mean EVERYTHING. If you eat ice cream for breakfast, you’ll risk having a sugar crash early in the day. And if you stay up too late, you could end up being tired.”
“But not all consequences are bad, though.” Wendy continued, smiling. “Like, if you study hard, and do your homeworks, you’ll do well in school. And the consequence of helping me dust today is that you get to go to your friends birthday party. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I so,” Theresa said. “What’s the third thing?”
Wendy smiled.think “That your dad and I will always love you, no matter what. We may not like some of the things you do, but we will always love you.” And then she reached out and hugged her daughter. Theresa didn’t look like she had quite understood everything her mom had said, but she did return the embrace. Mother and daughter then turned back to the bookshelf, with Theresa finishing her dusting of the lower shelves, while Wendy continued to work on the upper shelves. After finishing, they began to replace the books.
“Is Aunt Margaret really going to stay for a month?” Theresa finally asked, after a while.
“She is.” Wendy replied with a smile. “And Cousin Liesel is coming too. You remember her from Christmas, right? And her kids?”
Theresa nodded, her face glum. “They’re not going to go to school with me, are they?”
“No, I’m pretty sure Liesel teaches them herself,” Wendy said gently, then turned stern. “Theresa, we live a life very, very different than they do. I think visiting us is going to be a entirely different experience for them, maybe even a shock. We need to do everything we can to make them feel welcome. Will you help me with that?”
Theresa thought for a second, and nodded. “But why are they even coming here if it’s so different?”
Wendy paused, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I... I don’t really know,” she said. It was a half-truth. She wasn’t certain, but she had a fairly good idea that they were visiting in the hopes of seeing Greta. The only problem was... Greta wasn’t quite where she was supposed to be. THAT worried her as much as anything. She had written a delicately
worded letter to Margaret that Greta had never arrived, that she’d never heard anything about Greta coming to visit in the first place. She couldn’t imagine what her Aunt would be feeling to find out that her daughter had just... disappeared.
“Mom?” Theresa’s voice jolted Wendy back to reality. Wendy stared at her daughter, blinking.
“Sorry, spaced out for a second,” Wendy apologized with a small smile. “Now, let’s hurry up and get these books back on the shelf. I need to have your father get the inflatable mattress out of the attic, and put in your room. Liesel’s kids are going to be sleeping there. And don’t give me that look!” She arched her eyebrow at another Theresa baleful glare. “At least you’re getting to sleep in your bed. Terrence and I are going to be down on the fold out couch.”
“So why should they even come here?” Theresa whined. “They’re going to mess everything up.”
“Because they’re family, and they wanted to come visit.” Wendy said crisply. “And, Theresa, other than you and Terrence, they’re the only family I have left.”
“What about that big ugly man who says he’s your brother?” Theresa asked.
Wendy sighed. “That’s a bit different, hon. Yuri... might be related to me by blood, but he doesn’t really want to be a member of our family. I think he’d much rather fight me.”
“So why don’t you fight him?” Theresa asked, then grinned. “I bet you could beat him up!”
“Perhaps,” Wendy smiled sadly. “But I don’t really ever want to beat him up. I just would rather I never have anything to do with him, at all.”
“How come?”
“Because I think if I were to ever face him in a match, the dislike we have for each other would come to the forefront, and things would get out of hand.” Wendy explained with a sigh.
“Like those matches you won’t let me watch?” Theresa asked.
“Maybe even worse than those,” Wendy said, although she wondered how any match could possibly be worse than that Hardcore War at Conviction. She ultimately decided she’d be better off not trying to find out. “I’m not one to back down from a challenge, you know that. But I really think it’d be better for all of us if Yuri and I never saw each other again. Does that make sense?”
Theresa shrugged, which Wendy assumed to mean “not really”, but since she didnt’ press the issue further, Wendy didnt’ say anything further. She wasn’t exactly comfortable talking about a prospective showdown with her brother. She didn’t like ducking challenges, or being afraid to face someone, but where the gargantuan Ukranian was concerned, it was better safe than sorry.
Theresa was sliding the last of her books onto the bottom shelf, and Wendy bent over to pick up her last stack to replace. “I’m sorry I put hot sauce in Suzie’s food,” Theresa finally said. “I just thought it’d be funny.”
“In some situations, it might have been. But Suzie’s not exactly your friend, the way you talk about her. So it just comes off as malicious.” Wendy shrugged. “Either way, it’s good that you’ve apologized to me, but I’m not the one who you should be apologizing too. You know who you SHOULD say you’re sorry too, right?”
Theresa looked like she’d rather be grounded for another six years. “Suzie,” she mumbled half-heartedly.
“Exactly,” Wendy said, giving her daughter a quick hug. “You don’t have to be her friend, but just saying you’re sorry for something, and meaning it, can go a long way. I won’t make you say you’re sorry, but promise me you’ll at least think about it, okay?”
“I will,” Theresa said, although Wendy had an idea she was just saying that to placate her. Even, so, she smiled and gave her daughter another hug. Both of them looked up as they heard the front door open, and heard Terrence calling up the stairs. Both Wendy and Theresa hurried towards the staircase coming down to meet the husband and father who had just walked in.
“How was the garage?” Wendy asked, referring to the garage Terrence co-owned with his uncle.
“Busy,” Terrence replied, then held out a small stack of envelopes towards her. “Got the mail, by the way.”
“Oh, thank you!” Wendy responded, grinning as she took the envelopes, and begun thumbing through them. “Cable bill, water bill... garbage bill... OH SHIT!”
She heard her daughter gasp, and her head snapped up to see Theresa staring at her, her hand over her mouth in shock. Even Terrence looked stunned.
“Everything okay?” Terrence asked quietly.
She could feel her face getting warm from embarrassment, but simply stuck out an envelope to her husband. Terrence took it, and whistled low.
The envelope was addressed to Aunt Margaret. Wendy had sent it nearly a month ago, since she was unable to call her to discuss the issue of Greta not appearing. The last thing she wanted was for Aunt Margaret and Uncle Karl to show up on their doorstep, fully expecting to see their daughter.
But with the letter sitting in Terrence’s hands, a giant “DELIVERY FAIL, RETURN TO SENDER” stamped on it, the chances of that scenario happening were almost certain at this point.
Terrence said it best when he looked up at Wendy, cringing slightly.
“Uh oh.”
===============================
Saturday October 27, 2012
Beaver Stadium- Field Level
University Park, Pennsylvania
10:31 AM Local Time
The population of University Park, Pennsylvania sits at a little less than thirteen thousand.
The city’s football stadium holds over eight times that amount.
The fourth largest stadium in the world, Beaver Stadium is the home of the Pennsylvania State Nittany Lions, one of the most well-known and established college football teams in the nation. While the facility normally holds well over a hundred thousand people, it’s hardly at its most full as the scene opens. Still, it’s a decent crowd sitting in the stands, maybe a couple hundred people. And they are an enthusiastic couple hundred. Why shouldn’t they be? After all, they’re here to see Wendy Briese!
The former No Surrender Champion is dressed for the nippy weather, wearing a dark blue pullover sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. In her gloved hands is a microphone, while a couple of speakers have been set up on either side of her, for the benefit of the audience. Wendy holds the microphone up to her mouth, and the cheering crowd quiets a tad, preparing to listen to the redhead speak.
“I don’t think it’s a secret that when it comes to College Football, I’m a bit of a Notre Dame fan...”
This is met with a series of jeers from the audience, although mostly good natured.
“But I’ve always admired Penn State. Your fans are classy and dedicated. And this is a university that has always, prided itself on doing things the right way. Of having honor, and integrity, and not putting what is easy above what is right. And earlier this year, when some of the most involved people with this team fell far short of that, I know it was devastating. You’ve all heard enough about it by now, I don’t need to explain what happened. But everyone knows that the wake of the tragedy here is going to affect this school, and this team for a long time to come.”
There’s some silence, as Wendy smiles grimly. This is a fairly sensitive subject she’s talking about here, and she’s obviously choosing the words carefully.
“When the NCAA judgement came down, everyone said that Penn State was ruined. Everyone said that you guys were dead, and could not recover, and would be mired in futility for the next generation. And then opening day came, and you lost to Ohio. That hole was dug deeper, and more dirt was thrown on this fanbase. Then the heartbreaker against Virginia, and people were shouting it from the rooftops. Penn State football was DEAD. And it would be years until life was brought back into it. But did you guys roll over and give up?”
A loud, resounding “NO” echoes from the fanbase and Wendy shakes her head.
“Of course you didn’t! You guys didn’t give up! You came back, and you beat Navy. And then you beat Temple. Then Illinois. Then Northwestern. Then Iowa. And tonight, when you guys beat Ohio State right here on this very field, I don’t think anyone out there is going to deny that the Penn State Nittany Lions are alive and well!”
The crowd pops at Wendy’s proclomation. Wendy stand patiently, letting the cheering die down before continuing.
“I suppose most of you have wondered what this has to do with wrestling. Well, about a month ago, here was a Pay-Per-View called Sin and Sacrifice. And there was a War Games match on that show, between the Power Trip and the Mackenzie Mafia. Most of you knew what happened. Emma MacNamara, one of the so-called leaders of the Mafia, betrayed the team, hit me over the head with a pipe, and got the win. The Power Trip won. Ryan MacKenzie was so upset by this, he acquiesced to Samantha Star, and is now selling his shares in the company because he wants out. Our other supposed leader, Stacey Mackenzie, apparently decided to take a holiday in Samantha Star’s mansion. The Mackenzie Mafia, as my opponent tonight, Kaitlynn Stryfe, is so happy to proclaim, is DEAD.”
“Just one teensy little problem: there were five members of the Mackenzie Mafia that night. And I don’t think three of them were given any say in the matter. And just like the Nittany Lions did, we WILL, and in fact already HAVE, risen back from the dead, stronger than ever!”
Wendy smiles a little bit as the crowd gives a small pop.
“Emma MacNamara may have subscribed to the “if you can’t beat them, then join them” philosophy. Stacey Mackenzie may be off doing whatever Stacey Mackenzie wants. Ryan Mackenzie may have cut his losses and ran. But Cara Stone, Eileen Amaro, and Wendy Briese haven’t. We’re still here. We’re still strong. And we’re still opposing the Power Trip, as Kitty Stryfe certainly found out to her chagrin last Thursday night!”
The crowd cheers, and Wendy grins, feeding off the energy of her fans.
“The Mackenzie Mafia is dead in name only. The spirit lives on, and it’s getting stronger than ever. It lives in Cara. It lives in Eileen. It lives in Scarlett, who’s had enough of Samantha Star sticking her nose in her matches. It lives in every woman in the locker room who’s still not about to bow their head to our selfish and shortsighted owner. And yes, Ms. Star, it lives in me as well.”
“And only the Power Trip thinks that our fight is futile. Are we going to run Samantha Star from the company? Of course not! Are we even going to take her decision making capacity from her hands, no matter how much that would benefit the company? Again, of course not. But until Ms. Star realizes that there’s more to this company than the select few that she’s handpicked, that the world does not revolve around her, and that all the money in the world does change the fact that FFW is here because of the fans, not the other way around, then we WILL continue to fight. And I don’t care if that takes weeks, months, years, or even longer than my career could ever hope to last, we WILL NOT STOP!”
Another pop, and Wendy takes a deep breath, her exhales hanging in clouds in the chilly air.
“We were knocked down at Sin & Sacrifice, but we are getting back up. And we are going to do our parts. Eileen and Cara already did theirs last week. This time, it’s my turn, and my obligation is simple- I’m going to make sure that NO member of the Power Trip is going to win the Femme For All. Once Scarlett beats Isabella at Anarchy, and rips the title from her, and no Power Trip member coming out of this tournament to challenge her, THAT’S IT! The days of the Power Trip manipulating officials, the odds, or anything else they can think of to get out of actually having to EARN the FFW Championship will be OVER!”
“Kitty doesn’t like that thought, of course. It’s been more than a year since Kitty held the FFW Championship. I’m sure she doesn’t feel she held it long enough. I’m sure she’s still stinging in pride over the fact that she couldn’t beat Katherine Stryfe, either to retain the belt, or reclaim it in the rematch. I’m sure she’s still burning over the fact that she couldn’t beat Scarlett at Anarchy, or again at Unstoppable, when the match was SET UP for a member of the Power Trip to walk out with that belt. And now she’s in the Femme For All. She doesn’t have to be a team player here. She just has to sit back, relax and let the magic machine that’s the Power Trip synergy glide her to Anarchy, and beyond as the number one contender, to hopefully set up Samantha’s dream match- Isabella Pazzini and her for the FFW Championship.”
The crowd boos at that thought, and even Wendy looks pretty displeased.
“But she has me standing in her way, and she knows if there’s anyone in this tournament who can derail her- it is me. What happened on St. Patrick’s day in my hometown probably still burns brightly in her mind. The first time we faced, she got me, I’ll give her that, but I vowed it wouldn’t happen again, and it didn’t. I avenged that loss with flying colors, and finally picked up a win over a former FFW Champion. As far as tonight goes, well, I’ve already taken one rubber match in the last couple of months, and there’s nothing that says tonight I can’t take another. And Kitty knows that. Even right now, she’s probably sitting on her laptop, typing snarky comments into her blog to make her feel better. I’m sure there’s going to be something along the lines of how I’m nothing more than an insignificant girl scout, or whatever. It’s pretty much the same old same old with her. Kitty snipes with some condescending remark, smirks as if that somehow makes her special, and the rest of us roll our eyes.”
Wendy demonstrates by rolling her own eyes, and the crowd laughs.
“We roll our eyes because we know the truth. Kaitlynn Stryfe is a good wrestler, a great wrestler even, but she isn’t the silky smooth psychological master she so desperately wants us to believe she is. She’s not in control, she’s not a manipulator, she just wants to pretend to be. Watching her the moment she loses control of a situation- which happens a lot more often than you’d want to think- and we see what she is for real, an imbalanced narcissistic woman who can’t understand why the rest of us don’t just roll over on our backs in submission for her.”
“I’m sure she remembers the first time we met, well over a year ago. She was preparing to enter the Elimination Chamber at Unstoppable, I was in the midst of the first Chase for the Crown. And I mentioned that I’d love to be in her spot, competing for the FFW Championship. Do you remember how she reacted to that? That tantrum she threw because she took my words out of context to think that I was actively trying to take her spot in that match? Was there ever a more spectacular meltdown over a misunderstanding?”
“Well, Kitty, this time, I want there to be no misunderstanding. I’m just going to say it loud and clear. Tonight, I’m taking your spot. Tonight, I’m going to advance in the Femme For All Tourament- and you are going to be OUT!”
The crowd pops at that. Wendy smiles, and looks around, taking a few deep breaths. Her face is flushed with anticipation.
“Colleen once called me Pollyanna, mockingly comparing me to a girl who always looked on the bright side of life. Well, maybe she’s more right than she thought. Because when I lost to Serafina last month, it was crushing, and shaming, and a considerable blow to my ego, which is very real and does exist, contrary to what certain individuals might think.”
Wendy grins and shrugs, as several members of the crowd laugh.
“But that enabled me to be in here. Last year, I DESPERATELY wanted to be in the Femme For All, and I had a chance, but I blew it against Crystal Hilton in a qualifying match. This year, I’m in, and by luck of the draw, I’m one of the last five women remaining. I have a very real, very clear chance to walk out of Anarchy the number one contender to the FFW Championship, and all I have to do is reach out and grab it. And you can call this arrogance, or pride, or whatever, but there is NOTHING and NO ONE that can stop me if I wrestle the way I know I’m able to! Not Valerie. Not Camilla. Not Colleen. And especially NOT KAITLYNN STRYFE!”
“Kitty, you might think tonight is about you! You might think this is merely a stepping stone to your rematch with Valerie, but you could NOT be more wrong! You are in for the fight of your life tonight, and when it’s all said and done, it won’t be you facing Valerie in the semifinals. Call this Wendy’s bounceback. Call it payback from War Games. Call it a changing of the guard. Call it whatever you want. But for me? This only amounts to one thing.”
Wendy pauses, and looks around at the audience.
“Me reaching my full potential.”
Wendy tosses the microphone to a nearby technician, and waves at the cheering crowd, her breath still hanging in the air as her eyes shine with excitement. And it’s with her shaking the hands of some of the people that came out to meet her that the scene fades.
Monday, February 4, 2013
EPISODE 204: Tree House of Escaping The Horror
Monday October 22, 2012
The Nest- Driveway
Indianapolis, Indiana
4:10 PM Local Time
The Nest looked different.
It wasn’t the first time that thought had occurred to Daniel Pollaski during the month of October, and he doubted it would be the last- at least until he could figure out exactly what made the Thompson famly dwelling seem so... odd.
As he pulled into the driveway, he looked up at the house again, biting his lip as he looked up at the two-story suburban dwelling. Try as he might, he was vexed. What was it about the damn house that seemed so different? So... lifeless?
Well, it was a fairly gloomy day, Pollaski thought, looking up at the overcast skies that left in no doubt that summer had come to an end long ago in the crossroads of America. But, no.. the house had seemed odd and depressing even on sunny days. So what was it?
Shrugging, Pollaski flung open his car door, and climbed out of his Saturn, stretching slightly as he stood upright. Scratching his rear in a most undignified manner, the thirty year old manager began trudging up the driveway towards the house.
He paused as he heard a loud banging sound, and something white and fluttery caught his eye. He glanced to his left at the neighbor’s house- it was a windsock, painted to look like a smiling ghost, fluttering in the light breeze. He glanced back at the Thompson house.
At least now he knew what was so weird about the place.
Although many houses decorated for holidays, Terrence and Wendy (well, mainly Terrence) tended to go a bit overboard. Terrence considered the Holidays a failure if the Pike Creek Subdivision didn’t get buzzed at least once by an airplane trying to land at the house. It had gotten to the point that Terrence had bought a snowmaking machine for Christmas.
Halloween should be no different, but the house was barren of decor, save for a small wreath of dried flowers on the front door, and a couple pots of flowers (now dead thanks to the first frost) on the porch. Where normally there would have been orange lights on the house was only painted trim, and instead of several rows of tombstone with macabre puns for names etched into them, only sat browning grass.
Curious, Pollaski thought, as he took it in. Then again, it had been a busy month for the Thompsons, what with Wendy’s concussion, their ani.”niversary, and the last couple of races of the ARCA Season. Maybe they just hadn’t had time.
The banging sounded again, echoing through the houses of the neighborhood. Pollaski bit his lower lip, again pausing. The sounds seemed to be coming from the Thompson’s backyard. The obese manager gave a small shrug. Might as well investigate.
Pollaski walked around the side of the house, slipping through a gate in the fence. To his surprise,the backyard more resembled a construction zone. Bits of plywood and two-by-fours littered the lawn, and several tools- some powered- lay about. Pollaski’s eyes followed one bright orange extention cord across the lawn to a tree, then up the trunk through the branches and inside the treehouse that sat nestled across several of the more sturdy limbs. Beneath the treehouse stood Theresa, who was looking up as more pounding echoed across the neighborhood.
“Hey, Theresa!” Pollaski greeted the brown haired six-year old. “That your dad up there.”
Theresa nodded. “Dad’s making the treehouse better. And hiding from Mom.”
Pollaski snorted. “Really? Why’s he hiding from your mom?”
“Because Mom’s gone street-rat psycho.” Theresa replied with a shrug.
“Theresa!” Terrence’s voice came booming down from the treehouse. “What have I told you about saying that?”
Theresa bit her lip, and looked down at the ground. “Sorry.”
“Your mother is not a street rat,” Terrence reprimanded her, then smiled apologetically down at Pollaski. “I have no idea where she ever got that kind of talk from.”
There were two suspects in Pollaski’s mind, and he knew he was innocent- at least in this case as he smirked up at his best friend and former client.
Terrence shrugged. “I said that about her boss once. Not the evil ginger one... the other one. Not Cody either... the chick.”
“Amanda Saint?”
“That’s the one! She was crazy. And stupid.” se
“That she was,” Pollaski agreed. “So why are you hiding from Wendy?”
“I’m NOT hiding from her.” Terrence protested, shooting his daughter a warning look. “She told me I should get some work done outside, and voila, I’m getting some work done outside!”
“But I thought she wanted you to clean the leaves out of the gutters,” Theresa reminded him, earning another nasty glare.
“Hey, this is similar,” Terrence insisted with a wink to his daughter. “Besides, what would you rather I do? Clean the icky leaves out of the icky gutters, or get cable TV in your treehouse?”
“You’re putting Cable TV in the treehouse?” Pollaski asked.
“And Wi-Fi!” Theresa agreed excitedly. “Then Dad and I can sit up there and watch TV instead of dealing with the weird people who don’t like electricity.”
“Oh, yeah, Wendy’s Aunt’s coming,” Pollaski muttered, then looked up. “I can’t believe you’re getting electricity and cable television in a treehouse. Are you going to get a space heater too, for the winter?”
“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.” Terrence snapped.
“The big dumb man from the city wouldn’t let him,” Theresa added with a giggle. “And he made him pay a bunch of money for not having a permit!”
Terrence glared down at his daughter. “I think you and I are going to have a talk about not telling everyone things about your parents.”
“You have to have a permit to build a treehouse?” Pollaski asked, puzzled.
“Apparently,” Terrence growled. “Although it would have been nice had my neighbors told me, INSTEAD OF SNITCHING ON ME TO THE CITY BUILDING INSPECTOR!”
There was no doubt which of the Thompson’s neighbors had turned him in, as Terrence’s voice was clearly directed to the house directly behind them. Theresa giggled, having obviously heard her father’s tirade against the nosy neighbors before.
“Terrence, for the love of God, please don’t yell at the neighbors,” a female voice said in exasperation. All three of the backyard’s occupants turned to regard the newcomer, who was certainly less amused than her counterparts.
“What are you even doing up there?” Wendy Briese demanded, her hands on her hips as she stared up at the treehouse.
“Making some improvements to Theresa’s treehouse.” Terrence responded happily, holding up the hammer in his hand as if that explained it all.
“With coaxial cable?” Wendy asked, holding up a roll of the thick black wiring. “What, you’re going to watch television in a tree fort, Terrence?”
“I thought it’d be a good idea with Margaret coming. Then you and her and the rest of the Amish can do the seventeenth century thing, and I can watch the Colts up here!
“So that’s your plan? You’re just going to hide in a tree for a month to avoid my relatives?” Wendy asked, the expression on her face indicating that she was not anywhere near impressed with her husband’s ingenuity. “Terrence, I thought you were going to do something PRODUCTIVE... like cleaning out the gutters, or winterizing the sprinkler system, or...”
“How is this not productive?” Terrence countered. “Theresa’s going to be the most popular girl in school once everyone figures out that she has a treehouse with an HD TV, and a minifridge stocked with Sunny Delight.”
“A minifridge?” Pollaski asked, clearly impressed.
“Not nearly as much of a fire hazard as a space heater!” Terrence replied, grinning.
Wendy still wasn’t impressed. “You mean once she stops being grounded and is allowed to have any friends over again,” she saidu, glancing down at her daughter. Her emerald eyes glances over to Pollaski, as if she’d only now just noticed him. “What are you doing here?”
Even the often irritating Pollaski figured out that Wendy wasn’t much in a mood for games. Quickly he reached into the breast pocket of his T-shirt, pulling out a USB flash drive and presenting it to her. “Some footage of Kitty Stryfe’s last few matches for scouting. I annotated some things to look out for.”
“Thanks,” Wendy replied, looking down at the flash drive for a second, and then pocketing it. She sighed. “Going to be a busy week, that’s for sure. Then again, when have we NOT had a busy week lately?” she added with a small smile, although she couldn’t quite resist another dig at her husband. “All the more reason we should be using our time WISELY.”
“Seriously, this is totally awesome. If there was a Nobel Prize for treehouse architecture, I would win it. Unanimously.” Terrence retorted.
But Wendy was no longer paying any attention, and instead was looking at her daughter. “Come on, Theresa. I want you to help me clean the kitchen. Aunt Margaret is arriving in just over a week, and we are going to get this house clean!”
That was hardly how the little girl had been planning on spending her afternoon, and her expression clearly indicated that. Evidently, Wendy wasn’t impressed with her daughter’s attitude, and she fixated her with a glare. “I’m serious, Theresa. Get in the house.”
As soon as she turned back around to look up at the tree house, Theresa started to trudge away, turning around and mouthing a “told you” towards Pollaski, wheeling about-face just before Wendy shot a second glance in her direction, avoiding further annoying her mother. Wendy turned back to look up at her husband. She looked about to say something, but instead merely sighed, shook her head, and followed her daughter back into the house.
“Wow. She’s a bit on edge, isn’t she?” Pollaski said after both mother and daughter had entered the house, and shut the door.
“Tell me about it,” Terrence sighed, rolling his eyes. “Between this upcoming Femme For All, and her Aunt coming to visit, she’s edgier than hell. She wouldn’t even let me put up Halloween decorations, because she’s afraid it’s going to offend the Amish.”
“So *that’s* why you haven’t decorated. But it’s *your* house,” Pollaski replied. “If they don’t want to be offended by our modern living, they should stay the hell back in Pennsylvania.”
“I know, dude.” Terrence sighed. “But you know how she gets, and it’s not worth arguing with her.”
“That’s why you’re turning the treehouse into some weird outdoor den?” Pollaski asked, grinning.
Terrence grinned back. “Well, I have to have SOMEWHERE to escape, right?” he asked. “Otherwise, this is going to be a VERY long month.”
“Aye,” agreed Pollaski, looking back at the house. “A very long month.”
“Just you make sure she doesn’t lose to Kitty,” Terrence said, and sighed. “I think if that happens, it’s going to be even longer.”
Pollaski bit his lip, and gave his best reassuring smile. “I’ll do my best.” He said.
The Nest- Driveway
Indianapolis, Indiana
4:10 PM Local Time
The Nest looked different.
It wasn’t the first time that thought had occurred to Daniel Pollaski during the month of October, and he doubted it would be the last- at least until he could figure out exactly what made the Thompson famly dwelling seem so... odd.
As he pulled into the driveway, he looked up at the house again, biting his lip as he looked up at the two-story suburban dwelling. Try as he might, he was vexed. What was it about the damn house that seemed so different? So... lifeless?
Well, it was a fairly gloomy day, Pollaski thought, looking up at the overcast skies that left in no doubt that summer had come to an end long ago in the crossroads of America. But, no.. the house had seemed odd and depressing even on sunny days. So what was it?
Shrugging, Pollaski flung open his car door, and climbed out of his Saturn, stretching slightly as he stood upright. Scratching his rear in a most undignified manner, the thirty year old manager began trudging up the driveway towards the house.
He paused as he heard a loud banging sound, and something white and fluttery caught his eye. He glanced to his left at the neighbor’s house- it was a windsock, painted to look like a smiling ghost, fluttering in the light breeze. He glanced back at the Thompson house.
At least now he knew what was so weird about the place.
Although many houses decorated for holidays, Terrence and Wendy (well, mainly Terrence) tended to go a bit overboard. Terrence considered the Holidays a failure if the Pike Creek Subdivision didn’t get buzzed at least once by an airplane trying to land at the house. It had gotten to the point that Terrence had bought a snowmaking machine for Christmas.
Halloween should be no different, but the house was barren of decor, save for a small wreath of dried flowers on the front door, and a couple pots of flowers (now dead thanks to the first frost) on the porch. Where normally there would have been orange lights on the house was only painted trim, and instead of several rows of tombstone with macabre puns for names etched into them, only sat browning grass.
Curious, Pollaski thought, as he took it in. Then again, it had been a busy month for the Thompsons, what with Wendy’s concussion, their ani.”niversary, and the last couple of races of the ARCA Season. Maybe they just hadn’t had time.
The banging sounded again, echoing through the houses of the neighborhood. Pollaski bit his lower lip, again pausing. The sounds seemed to be coming from the Thompson’s backyard. The obese manager gave a small shrug. Might as well investigate.
Pollaski walked around the side of the house, slipping through a gate in the fence. To his surprise,the backyard more resembled a construction zone. Bits of plywood and two-by-fours littered the lawn, and several tools- some powered- lay about. Pollaski’s eyes followed one bright orange extention cord across the lawn to a tree, then up the trunk through the branches and inside the treehouse that sat nestled across several of the more sturdy limbs. Beneath the treehouse stood Theresa, who was looking up as more pounding echoed across the neighborhood.
“Hey, Theresa!” Pollaski greeted the brown haired six-year old. “That your dad up there.”
Theresa nodded. “Dad’s making the treehouse better. And hiding from Mom.”
Pollaski snorted. “Really? Why’s he hiding from your mom?”
“Because Mom’s gone street-rat psycho.” Theresa replied with a shrug.
“Theresa!” Terrence’s voice came booming down from the treehouse. “What have I told you about saying that?”
Theresa bit her lip, and looked down at the ground. “Sorry.”
“Your mother is not a street rat,” Terrence reprimanded her, then smiled apologetically down at Pollaski. “I have no idea where she ever got that kind of talk from.”
There were two suspects in Pollaski’s mind, and he knew he was innocent- at least in this case as he smirked up at his best friend and former client.
Terrence shrugged. “I said that about her boss once. Not the evil ginger one... the other one. Not Cody either... the chick.”
“Amanda Saint?”
“That’s the one! She was crazy. And stupid.” se
“That she was,” Pollaski agreed. “So why are you hiding from Wendy?”
“I’m NOT hiding from her.” Terrence protested, shooting his daughter a warning look. “She told me I should get some work done outside, and voila, I’m getting some work done outside!”
“But I thought she wanted you to clean the leaves out of the gutters,” Theresa reminded him, earning another nasty glare.
“Hey, this is similar,” Terrence insisted with a wink to his daughter. “Besides, what would you rather I do? Clean the icky leaves out of the icky gutters, or get cable TV in your treehouse?”
“You’re putting Cable TV in the treehouse?” Pollaski asked.
“And Wi-Fi!” Theresa agreed excitedly. “Then Dad and I can sit up there and watch TV instead of dealing with the weird people who don’t like electricity.”
“Oh, yeah, Wendy’s Aunt’s coming,” Pollaski muttered, then looked up. “I can’t believe you’re getting electricity and cable television in a treehouse. Are you going to get a space heater too, for the winter?”
“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.” Terrence snapped.
“The big dumb man from the city wouldn’t let him,” Theresa added with a giggle. “And he made him pay a bunch of money for not having a permit!”
Terrence glared down at his daughter. “I think you and I are going to have a talk about not telling everyone things about your parents.”
“You have to have a permit to build a treehouse?” Pollaski asked, puzzled.
“Apparently,” Terrence growled. “Although it would have been nice had my neighbors told me, INSTEAD OF SNITCHING ON ME TO THE CITY BUILDING INSPECTOR!”
There was no doubt which of the Thompson’s neighbors had turned him in, as Terrence’s voice was clearly directed to the house directly behind them. Theresa giggled, having obviously heard her father’s tirade against the nosy neighbors before.
“Terrence, for the love of God, please don’t yell at the neighbors,” a female voice said in exasperation. All three of the backyard’s occupants turned to regard the newcomer, who was certainly less amused than her counterparts.
“What are you even doing up there?” Wendy Briese demanded, her hands on her hips as she stared up at the treehouse.
“Making some improvements to Theresa’s treehouse.” Terrence responded happily, holding up the hammer in his hand as if that explained it all.
“With coaxial cable?” Wendy asked, holding up a roll of the thick black wiring. “What, you’re going to watch television in a tree fort, Terrence?”
“I thought it’d be a good idea with Margaret coming. Then you and her and the rest of the Amish can do the seventeenth century thing, and I can watch the Colts up here!
“So that’s your plan? You’re just going to hide in a tree for a month to avoid my relatives?” Wendy asked, the expression on her face indicating that she was not anywhere near impressed with her husband’s ingenuity. “Terrence, I thought you were going to do something PRODUCTIVE... like cleaning out the gutters, or winterizing the sprinkler system, or...”
“How is this not productive?” Terrence countered. “Theresa’s going to be the most popular girl in school once everyone figures out that she has a treehouse with an HD TV, and a minifridge stocked with Sunny Delight.”
“A minifridge?” Pollaski asked, clearly impressed.
“Not nearly as much of a fire hazard as a space heater!” Terrence replied, grinning.
Wendy still wasn’t impressed. “You mean once she stops being grounded and is allowed to have any friends over again,” she saidu, glancing down at her daughter. Her emerald eyes glances over to Pollaski, as if she’d only now just noticed him. “What are you doing here?”
Even the often irritating Pollaski figured out that Wendy wasn’t much in a mood for games. Quickly he reached into the breast pocket of his T-shirt, pulling out a USB flash drive and presenting it to her. “Some footage of Kitty Stryfe’s last few matches for scouting. I annotated some things to look out for.”
“Thanks,” Wendy replied, looking down at the flash drive for a second, and then pocketing it. She sighed. “Going to be a busy week, that’s for sure. Then again, when have we NOT had a busy week lately?” she added with a small smile, although she couldn’t quite resist another dig at her husband. “All the more reason we should be using our time WISELY.”
“Seriously, this is totally awesome. If there was a Nobel Prize for treehouse architecture, I would win it. Unanimously.” Terrence retorted.
But Wendy was no longer paying any attention, and instead was looking at her daughter. “Come on, Theresa. I want you to help me clean the kitchen. Aunt Margaret is arriving in just over a week, and we are going to get this house clean!”
That was hardly how the little girl had been planning on spending her afternoon, and her expression clearly indicated that. Evidently, Wendy wasn’t impressed with her daughter’s attitude, and she fixated her with a glare. “I’m serious, Theresa. Get in the house.”
As soon as she turned back around to look up at the tree house, Theresa started to trudge away, turning around and mouthing a “told you” towards Pollaski, wheeling about-face just before Wendy shot a second glance in her direction, avoiding further annoying her mother. Wendy turned back to look up at her husband. She looked about to say something, but instead merely sighed, shook her head, and followed her daughter back into the house.
“Wow. She’s a bit on edge, isn’t she?” Pollaski said after both mother and daughter had entered the house, and shut the door.
“Tell me about it,” Terrence sighed, rolling his eyes. “Between this upcoming Femme For All, and her Aunt coming to visit, she’s edgier than hell. She wouldn’t even let me put up Halloween decorations, because she’s afraid it’s going to offend the Amish.”
“So *that’s* why you haven’t decorated. But it’s *your* house,” Pollaski replied. “If they don’t want to be offended by our modern living, they should stay the hell back in Pennsylvania.”
“I know, dude.” Terrence sighed. “But you know how she gets, and it’s not worth arguing with her.”
“That’s why you’re turning the treehouse into some weird outdoor den?” Pollaski asked, grinning.
Terrence grinned back. “Well, I have to have SOMEWHERE to escape, right?” he asked. “Otherwise, this is going to be a VERY long month.”
“Aye,” agreed Pollaski, looking back at the house. “A very long month.”
“Just you make sure she doesn’t lose to Kitty,” Terrence said, and sighed. “I think if that happens, it’s going to be even longer.”
Pollaski bit his lip, and gave his best reassuring smile. “I’ll do my best.” He said.
EPISODE 203: They're Coming...
Monday September 24, 2012
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:51 PM Local Time
Terrence Thompson looked down at his wife lying on the living room floor. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes, I’m sure about this!” Wendy replied with the aura of someone who’s repeating herself for the hundredth time. “The doctor says I need to make sure I do these stretching exercises, and its better if I have help with this one.”
“Yeah but, the last time we did it, it seemed to really hurt you,” Terrence replied, clearly reluctant.
Wendy rolled her eyes, “It’s a grade two ankle sprain, Terrence, of course it’s going to hurt. But I still have to do it, if I want to be ready for the match on Saturday.”
“I still don’t think you should even be doing this.” Terrence replied, lifting up her right leg in resignation. “Dr. Quinn even said she’d prefer it if you sat this one out.”
“But she cleared me nonetheless, knowing how much it means to me,” Wendy responded adamantly. “I’m already getting better, Terrence. I can put weight on it, and move around, and I don’t need the brace anymore. We’re five days away, that’s plenty of time for it to heal some more.”
“But this isn’t just a normal match, Wendy. This is one that could ruin your career. If you bowed out, there’d be ten women willing to take your place, even at such short notice.”
“And that’s pyrecisely why I *can’t* bow out, Terrence.” Wendy shot back, “Withdrawing from my first ever major pay-per-view Main Event is just as fatal to my career as any injury would be. I lobbied for months to get into this match, and I can’t bow out now, not when I’m confident I won’t be a detrimental liability to my team. Even if I’m not one hundred percent, I know I’ll be good enough to do my part. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“But...”
“Terry,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes again. “If this had happened to you during YOUR career, what would you have done?”
Terrence pauses, then sighed, knowing he was defeated. “I’d be in the damn ring,” he admitted.
Wendy smiled, “Exactly. At least I *got* medical clearance, Mr. Escaped from a Hospital To Be In A Match. Now come on, help me out here.”
Out of arguments (at least any he could think of at the moment), Terrence sighed and relented, grabbing Wendy’s ankle, and turning it slightly, nervously glancing at his wife for any signs of pain.
“More, Terry. I’ll tell you when to stop,” Wendy ordered, although she was already somewhat gritting her teeth. “Come on, Terry, you’re stretching me, not giving me a foot massage.”
“Alright, alright!” Terrence said, gingerly twisting the ankle tighter, and Wendy began to breathe a bit more rapidly. “Are you sure about this hon?”
“I’m... fine...” Wendy insisted. “That’s good, just hold it there for...”
*WHAM!*
The front door of the house flew open, banging into the wall, and Terrence leapt a mile into the air, dropping Wendy’s foot, which clunked to the floor, illiciting a cry of alarm and pain from the redhead. Terrence looked down in alarm. “Oh, shit! I’m sorry, hon! Are you okay?”
“Y...yeah,” Wendy replied, sitting up and gingerly massaging her leg. “Actually, that feels better. Thank you.”
As one, husband and wife remembered the intruder, and both turned simultaneously towards the foyer. Theresa stood in the doorway to the living room, clearly nonplussed and bemused as she took in the scene before her- her mother sitting on the floor, rubbing her ankle while her father stood over her, both staring at her with rather annnoyed expressions on their faces.
“Um, hi Mom, Dad. I’m home from school.” the six year old replied, somewhat meekly.
“So you are,” Wendy replied, blinking. “Theresa, what have we told you about banging doors like that? You’re going to put a hole in the wall one day.”
“Sorry... I lost my grip on the door opening it.” Theresa looked down at the floor, rebuked. Then she attempted a grin, and held up a stack of envelopes. “I got the mail.”
“Oh, well thank you!” Wendy replied, her stern visage melting away in appreciation. She paused for a second, looking out the living room’s window, where a 12-compartment community mailbox sat across the street. “But... you don’t have a mailbox key...”
“I know!” Theresa replied with a grin, clearly proud of herself. “Billy Horner showed me that you can open all kinds of things with a paper clip! He put a rubber snake in Suzie Wormwoods locker, and when she opened it up to get her lunch...” She snickered. “The fifth graders heard her screaming!”
Wendy exchanged glances with her husband, and was shocked to find that Terrence’s eyes were watery, and he sniffled and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
“That’s my girl,” he said, his voice carrying a measure of pride that Wendy felt was more akin to straight A’s on a report card. “I knew sending you to public school was a good idea!”
“That’s... great.... Theresa,” Wendy responded through clenched teeth, glaring at her husband. Grinning at her, he reached down, and she took his hand as he helped her to her feet. Gingerly testing her ankle at first, and finding it serviceable, she took the mail from her daughter, and began to walk towards her couch. “So, did you learn anything in school that isn’t illegal?”
“Yeah! Ms. Savage showed us that if you put a stalk of celery in a glass of water with blue food coloring, the leaves turn blue!” Theresa said, as if that was the coolest thing she’d ever seen.
“I remember doing that,” Terrence replied. “Didn’t make it taste any better, though.”
“I don’t think you were supposed to eat it, Terrence...” Wendy said, shooting her husband a nervous glance. “Didn’t it have to sit out for a day or two for that to happen?”
“Yeah, maybe that’s why it didn’t taste so good,” Terrence replied, reflecting back on his childhood. “And why I spent the rest of the day in the nurses office.”
“Uh hunh,” Wendy replied, finding that it might be better if she turned her attention to the mail. “Car magazine... car racing magazine... ooh! coupons to Olive Garden! Electric bill, cable bill... gas bill,” Wendy continued to comb through the mail. “Oh! A letter from Auntie Margaret!”
“Ah, how’s your favorite Ahmlette doing?” Terrence asked, taking the two periodicals from her.
“I don’t think that’s an appropriate term for the Amish, Terry. Aunt Margaret joined the community because she loved Karl so much and wanted to marry him. We need to respect that, especially because she’s the only family I have left. And vice versa, come to think of it.” Wendy admonished, tearing open the letter. She read only the first couple of lines, before looking up. “She and Uncle Karl are coming to visit! Cousin Liesl and her family are coming too!”
The room went dead silent, as Terrence looked at Wendy, then over at Theresa, who seemed similarly stunned by the news. Terrence slowly reached into his jeans pocket, and pulled out his cellphone, quickly dialing it.
“Hey, Pollaski? Yeah. We got a Code Fourteen.” And then he hung up.
Wendy looked up from the letter at her husband. “What’s a Code Four-”
*BAM!*
The door again swung open violently, this time nearly off its hinges, forcing every member of the Thompson family to start, wheeling towards the foyer again- where Daniel Pollaski had just stormed in.
Wendy’s jaw dropped, even as she idly wondered how her manager had gotten there so quickly. Pollaski was dressed for war, wearing military fatigues, black facepaint covering his features, with two large firearms slung over his back. In his hands was another firearm- a sawed off shotgun, and Wendy’s eyes widened in horror as she realized two grenades were hanging from his belt. Pollaski looked directly at the equally miffed Terrence. “I got here as soon as I could. Where is it?”
“Uh... where’s what?” Terrence said.
“You said Code Fourteen,” Pollaski said, pumping the shot gun, and looking around warily. “Let’s kill this mother-” he paused as he realized Theresa was in the room.
For a response, Terrence only blinked. “Yeah. Wendy’s relatives are coming in...” he paused, glancing over at his wife. “When are they coming again?”
“End of October...” Wendy whispered. “They’re staying for a month.”
“A MONTH?!” Terrence glanced back at Pollaski. “Maybe we will need those guns...”
Pollaski was less than pleased. “Dude. Wendy’s relatives are a Code TWELVE, not Fourteen!”
Terrence’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure! Check your reference card!”
For a response, Terrence reached into his pocket, and pulled out a laminated card, glancing at it. “Code Twelve... relatives. Hunh, you’re right.. So that makes Code Fourteen a...” he glanced at Pollaski apologetically. “Chupacabra attack. Oh, man, dude. I’m so sorry.”
Pollaski nodded, dejected. “I was really looking forward to it, too.”
Wendy wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed, infuriated, or simply scared. “I’m glad that you think my aunt coming to visit is on the same level as a mythological creature attacking the house,” she sighed. “Dare I even ask what a Code Thirteen is?”
“Psychopathic murderer on the loose, wearing a hockey mask,” Theresa replied, as Terrence again beamed at his daughter in pride.
Wendy stared at her daughter. “How do *you* know these things?”
Theresa stared at Wendy, a serious expression on her face. “It’s always important to be prepared, Mom.”
“That’s my girl,” Terrence said, a clear measure of pride in his voice. “Now go upstairs and do your homework, okay? Once your done, we’ll go out for Olive Garden. I think your mom definitely needs some today.”
“Okay,” Theresa replied, unhappy about having to do her homework so quickly, but quite pleased over the prospect of Olive Garden. Hoisting her backpack, she trudged up the stairs.
“So, you’re aunts coming to visit?” Pollaski said after Theresa had left, and Wendy’s nervous attention had settled back on him.
Wendy nodded. “I’ve always had a standing invitation to them... but I never thought they’d take me up on it.” She murmured, looking over at Terrence. “Aunt Margaret... Karl... Cousin Liesl... her husband... their three kids... plus us. How on earth are we going to fit ten people in this house?”
“We’ll manage,” Terrence said, although he didn’t exactly sound enthusiastic about it. If anything we’ll put the RV in the driveway, and people can sleep there. Just... geesh.
“Well, I’m taking off,” Pollaski grumbled, much to Wendy’s relief. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Wendy. If you’re up to it, we’ll get you in a lighter sparring session, so you can have *some* ring work in before we leave for New York.”
“That’s great,” Wendy said, smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow.
“Yeah. Sorry about the confusion dude,” Terrence added.
Whatever Pollaski’s reply was, it wasn’t entirely audible, although both Birdz got the gist of it before the door slammed.
“Wait a sec,” Wendy said, looking back at the letter. “Listen to this: ‘We cannot express our gratitude enough for your willingness and hospitality to take in our youngest, Greta, on her Rumspringa journey as she discovers the world and determines whether or not to remain in our community. We hope she has not been much of a burden on you, and please tell her that it will be a delight to see her again, and we hope that when we return to Pennsylvania, she will come with us.’” She looked up at Terrence, eyes with alarm. “What is she talking about?”
“I dunno. But if there’s an Amish teenager living in this house, that’s the first I’m hearing about it.” Terrence said with a shrug. “This is the first you’re hearing about it?”
“Of course it is!” Wendy exclaimed, turning her attention back to the letter, rereading it to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. “Neither Margaret nor Liesl have ever said anything about it in their letters! I didn’t even know Greta was going to leave the commmunity!”
“Great.” Terrence muttered. “So... what do we tell Margaret, then?”
“Oh, God...” Wendy whispered, turning to stare out the window in dismay.
How on Earth was she going to tell her aunt that her daughter wasn’t anywhere close to being where she thought she was?
=======================
Saturday September 29, 2012
Liberty Island- Statue Base
New York, New York
11:31 AM Local Time
Obviously, no view of the New York skyline could possibly be complete without the Statue of Liberty, the colossal 300 foot statue that sits on Liberty Island at the entrance to the city’s harbor. It is here that we open our scene, with Wendy Briese standing in front of the statue’s pedestal, the camera angled to look up both at her and the statue behind her. As is usual for the former No Surrender Champion, she is dressed rather conservatively, wearing a simple black woolen skirt, and a matching windbreaker. Her red hair is left unbound, flowing freely behind her in the obviously brisk win coming in from the Atlantic Ocean. After nodding her signal that she’s ready to start, Wendy takes a deep breath, and begins to recite.
“Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"”
“Emma Lazarus wrote that back in 1883, to commemorate the building of this beautiful statue that now stands behind me. The sonnet is commemorated inside, on a plaque in the pedestal. Lazarus originally refused to write a poem when she was asked to, thinking she could not edify a statue in a sonnet. But after working with groups aiding Jewish immigrants who were fleeing pogroms in Europe, all of whom sailed right by the island the statue was being built upon on their way into the harbor. And thus, the idea was formed for the ‘New Colussus’ a poem that took a massive neoclassical lighthouse that was given to us from France, and made it into a beacon, to remind us all of America’s status as a haven for liberty, the metaphorical shining city on a hill, one that many, including my own parents, have flocked to over the years.”
“In a way, Femme Fatale Wrestling is so much like that. Just as the Statue of Liberty was a welcome sight for sea-weary Europeans making the long voyage to better their lives, this company has been a welcome sight to those of us who want women’s wrestling to be something that can be respected, and just as refugees flocked to New York Harbor over the years to escape tyranny elsewhere, women from all over have flocked to FFW in the hopes of having a better career for ourselves. Here, we have a place where it’s not about our physical attributes, but our talent, and will, and drive to succeed. Here we have a place where we aren’t presented as a oversexualized sideshow attraction, but rather legitimate athletes who are among the finest competitors in the world, regardless of gender. Femme Fatale Wrestling is female wrestling’s own shining city on a hill.”[/b]
Wendy takes a deep breath, and sighs.
“But now, that freedom and hope that Femme Fatale Wrestling represents is under attack. Ironically, this isn’t because of some outside assault upon us, or a coalition of rogue wrestlers. No, the very essence of FFW is threatened by none other than its creator, Samantha Star. The same woman who laid the framework for what would become the greatest women’s wrestling company this world has ever seen is the same woman who’s trying to corrupt it. To replace an environment where the glory goes to the hardest working most talented with an environment where her hand picked cronies, a select few aristocracy, gets lord over the rest. She wants to turn our shining city into a feudal village, and the vast majority of her employees into the serfs she views us as.”
“It’s sad, Ms. Star, it really is. This company has been in business for two years, and in that time it has risen to become one of the largest, most influential brands in wrestling history. You have made millions, if not billions, as a result. And yet, for all your success, you STILL fail to see what it is that made this place successful. Because FFW hasn’t become what it is today because of you. It’s become what it is today in SPITE of you.”
“I know exactly what you’ll say in response to that, of course. You’ll point out that you’re the one with the billions of dollars. You’re the one who’s spent her life stomping on little bugs such as myself simply for your own amusement. You’re the one who so single-handedly destroyed a competitor he fled to Africa to make documentaries instead of facing more humiliation at your hands. You’re Samantha Star, the all powerful. I get that, of course.”
“But when it comes to realizing value, Ms. Star.. you have a poor sense of it. Perhaps its because of your affluence-I’m sure with the money you have, anything with less than seven digits to the left of the decimal is simply an insignificant trifle. It’s all about perspective in the end, and when you’re standing atop the mountain, looking miles down into the valley, there’s not much difference between the grass and the trees, is there?”
“You are not the most valuable person in this company, Ms. Star. You never have been, and I think you know it. I think that’s why you’re so hell-bent upon making your mark, throwing your weight around. But the day you do become the most valuable single asset to this place has is a day we are in trouble indeed. The most value lies not with you, nor does it lie with Isabella. Nor with any member of your Power Trip, whether it be Kitty, Caroline, or Tara. It doesn’t lie with Scarlett, or Emma, or Camilla, or Katherine. It certainly doesn’t lie with me. Nor does it lie with any other woman in that locker room, although collectively, of course we are one of the main reasons of what makes this company great.”
Wendy nods her head.
“The greatest single asset to Femme Fatale Wrestling isn’t even a woman. It’s Cody Kincaid. It’s because of him the culture that makes Femme Fatale Wrestling so attractive was born. It’s because of him that women from all over the world flocked here, creating the greatest all-female talent roster the world has ever seen. It’s because of him that you are so much richer now than you were two years ago.”
“You should have learned that a year ago, when Cody went on a sabbatical after the controversy surrounding his decision to place Katherine Stryfe in the Elimination Chamber- a decision he later proven right about. You certainly should have learned that this year, when Cody stepped away to pursue revenge against an imbecile who never should have been within a mile of a major-league wrestling ring. But instead of keeping his seat warm, and welcoming him back with open arms at the conclusion of his mission, you went out and found a replacement. One who is just as arrogant, and short-sighted, and greedy, and self-serving as you are. And ultimately, one who couldn’t command the respect of a gnat, much less a roster of sixty-plus headstrong professional wrestlers.”
Wendy leans forwared, her face suddenly serious.
“Miss Star, the most critical thing happening at Sin & Sacrifice tonight, in determining the future of this company, isn’t War Games. It’s not the FFW Championship. It’s the vote to determine our Chief Operations Officer. It’s the vote that’s taking place because you didn’t have the decency to swallow your pride, be a true leader for once in your life, and place your most valuable asset in the position he should be in.”
“If this is a fair election, Ms. Star, I already know the result. Mr. Kincaid commands a hundred times more respect from the locker room, the production crew, and the fans than Amanda Saint does. But if you tainted, or allowed Ms. Saint to taint, this vote in any way because of your pride, or some sick scheme you’ve developed, then you’ve damned yourself, this company, and all of us.
Her face at this point is intense, and she bites her lip for just a second, looking back at the statue.
“You probably didn’t want to hear that, did you? The last thing you needed is some insignificant employee telling you how to run *your* company, especially right before a monster pay-per-view in the greatest city in the world. If you hadn’t already called me your least favorite person, I certainly would be now.”
Wendy breaks into a chuckle, her lips parting into a smile.
“I take your dislike of me as a compliment, Ms. Star. I wear your scorn like an honor, one I would love to put on my trophy shelf next to my other titles, awards, and accolades. I’m sure it’s too late now, but when the next arena program is printed, I hope it says that. ‘Wendy Briese- two time Evolution and No Surrender Champion, only double champion in FFW history, and Samantha Star’s least favorite person.’ Because considering the friends you keep, and the attributes you value, the last thing I’d ever want is you seeing something in me worth liking.”
“And yet, I was disappointed, Ms. Star. All that hatred and dislike for me, and all you could do was pretty much recite the same tired, hackneyed old lines everyone’s tried on me for the past year. I’m a hypocrite. I don’t play well with others. Alex Houser has exposed me countless times. I mean, really... that’s the best you can come up with for your least favorite person?”
“Two things are worth addressing. The first concerns my ankle. Obviously your assessment that I was looking for way out of a match I spent half the summer campaigning to be in was ludicrous. I was foolish to not have the ankle looked at more closely in the wake of my match with Serafina, and I was even more foolish to launch a Tweet about it. In doing so, I painted a huge target on myself. I got caught up in the the apprehension of the moment, and did something that was a strategic mistake, instead of quietly informing my teamates of the issue and not blaring it to the whole world. Luckily for me, though, my ankle is completely healed, and I’ll be more than ready to go come tonight.”
That last line is a rare outright lie from Wendy, although not easily picked up on in the video. Her ankle is servicable, but hardly in peak condition. But she’s not about to give the Power Trip an even bigger bulls-eye to target.
“The other was your comment that every single one of my teammates could beat me. Perhaps you’re right, Ms. Star. Cara already has, of course, and I certainly would be the underdog in a match against Stacey, possibly even against Emma. And even though you were so quick to dismiss it, I wouldn’t even put it beyond Eileen to be able to beat me. I’m quite beatable, this last month has certainly proven that.”
Wendy flashes a grin.
“But its a good thing I don’t have to deal with any of my fellow Mafia members tonight, now isn’t it?”
“In fact, I’d say that speaks volumes for the team that’s surrounded me. Because while whether or not I can beat my teammates is a question that’s very much up in the air, wealready know the answer to whether or not I can beat my opponents. I’ve beaten three members of the Power Trip, everyone who’s been announced but Caroline. If at least sixty percent of Team Power Trip has fallen by *my* hand, and I’m the second weakest member of my own team... that really doesn’t bode well for your hand picked minions, now does it?”
“Of course, this is different. We’re not facing any of the girls one on one... we, a ragtag group of misfits, are facing the most dominant and COHESIVE group of women in FFW history.”
Wendy bursts out laughing at that, shaking her head.
“Really? Was that cohesiveness when Shane Sanders blindsided Isabella during the Scramble at Unstoppable? Was that cohesiveness when she and Kitty bickered about it in the aftermath? Was that cohesiveness when Caroline said in a blog this week that she would have done the EXACT SAME THING? Where have we seen any member of the Power Trip sacrifice something out of loyalty to her so-called friends?”
“We may be ragtag. We may be disparate and desperate, but at least we can STAND each other long enough to get in the same room and talk about our match as a unit. At least we know that, whatever our philosophies may vary we can at least TRUST one another to have each other’s backs tonight, and not expect someone to make some selfish power play to better their own stock around here.”
Wendy snorts derisively.
“‘Most cohesive unit in FFW history. That might just be even more ludicrous than the notion that FFW succeeds primarily because of you, Ms. Star.”
“The Power Trip is little more than a group of thugs attracted to power, gravitating towards it because it gives them some sense of purpose, a group to belong to to make them feel powerful and dominant. We’ve all seen such factions before, and to a one, we all know how it’s going to end. Sooner or later there will be a crack, and that will widen until it becomes a fissure, and then a full-on crisis. And when that happens, do the thugs in these cliques band together, fight through the attrition, and attempt to save the unit? Or does it become everyone for themselves, abandoning their former comrades- even betraying them, in an attempt at their own salvation? That’s coming. Maybe it’ll be tonight, maybe it’ll be two months from now, maybe even longer. But it will come, I’m sure.”
A group of tourists walk by, laughing and carrying on, and Wendy turns to watch them pass, waiting until they’re gone to continue.
“One of your own members asked me how I can be so sure of such things. How I can know that she’d be better off not in the Power Trip? How do I know that things can work out for the best? How do I know that the good guys win in the end?”
“Because it happens every time. It just sometimes takes longer than most of us have patience for. And it sometimes costs a heavier price than most of us are willing to pay.”
“It can take months, years, decades. Even lifetimes, but hope, and freedom, and love, will always... and I mean ALWAYS outlive tyranny and oppression. Freedom and hope are sustainable. Tryanny isn’t, and historypproves that tyrants will always- WITHOUT FAIL- fall one day. From the Babylonians of ancient times, to the Romans, to the autocratic monarchs of Europe, to Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union, they have ALL come tumbling down. It’s even true in wrestling. Name me one autocratic dictatorial group in our sport that hasn’t come crashing down sooner or later. I can name many... MANY that I’ve seen over the course of my career, and I know you all can too. So here’s my question to you, Samantha, and the rest of your group.”
“What makes you all think you’re so different?”
A small smile.
“Maybe it won’t happen tonight, win or lose. But it WILL happen. The seeds were planted at Unstoppable, when we exposed just how un-dominant you all actually are on an individual basis. Tonight, we’ll prove the same thing, but to you as a group. And we will keep doing so, over and over, until each and every member of the power trip is off her pedestal, whether they voluntarily realize the truth and step off, or we have to knock them off ourselves. And that includes you, Samantha.”
Wendy turns around, and gestures back at the statue, a smile forming on her lips.
“After all, only those that are TRUE beacons and icons should ever be allowed to stand on a pedestal.”
Wendy turns and walks away, the scene fading.
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:51 PM Local Time
Terrence Thompson looked down at his wife lying on the living room floor. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes, I’m sure about this!” Wendy replied with the aura of someone who’s repeating herself for the hundredth time. “The doctor says I need to make sure I do these stretching exercises, and its better if I have help with this one.”
“Yeah but, the last time we did it, it seemed to really hurt you,” Terrence replied, clearly reluctant.
Wendy rolled her eyes, “It’s a grade two ankle sprain, Terrence, of course it’s going to hurt. But I still have to do it, if I want to be ready for the match on Saturday.”
“I still don’t think you should even be doing this.” Terrence replied, lifting up her right leg in resignation. “Dr. Quinn even said she’d prefer it if you sat this one out.”
“But she cleared me nonetheless, knowing how much it means to me,” Wendy responded adamantly. “I’m already getting better, Terrence. I can put weight on it, and move around, and I don’t need the brace anymore. We’re five days away, that’s plenty of time for it to heal some more.”
“But this isn’t just a normal match, Wendy. This is one that could ruin your career. If you bowed out, there’d be ten women willing to take your place, even at such short notice.”
“And that’s pyrecisely why I *can’t* bow out, Terrence.” Wendy shot back, “Withdrawing from my first ever major pay-per-view Main Event is just as fatal to my career as any injury would be. I lobbied for months to get into this match, and I can’t bow out now, not when I’m confident I won’t be a detrimental liability to my team. Even if I’m not one hundred percent, I know I’ll be good enough to do my part. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“But...”
“Terry,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes again. “If this had happened to you during YOUR career, what would you have done?”
Terrence pauses, then sighed, knowing he was defeated. “I’d be in the damn ring,” he admitted.
Wendy smiled, “Exactly. At least I *got* medical clearance, Mr. Escaped from a Hospital To Be In A Match. Now come on, help me out here.”
Out of arguments (at least any he could think of at the moment), Terrence sighed and relented, grabbing Wendy’s ankle, and turning it slightly, nervously glancing at his wife for any signs of pain.
“More, Terry. I’ll tell you when to stop,” Wendy ordered, although she was already somewhat gritting her teeth. “Come on, Terry, you’re stretching me, not giving me a foot massage.”
“Alright, alright!” Terrence said, gingerly twisting the ankle tighter, and Wendy began to breathe a bit more rapidly. “Are you sure about this hon?”
“I’m... fine...” Wendy insisted. “That’s good, just hold it there for...”
*WHAM!*
The front door of the house flew open, banging into the wall, and Terrence leapt a mile into the air, dropping Wendy’s foot, which clunked to the floor, illiciting a cry of alarm and pain from the redhead. Terrence looked down in alarm. “Oh, shit! I’m sorry, hon! Are you okay?”
“Y...yeah,” Wendy replied, sitting up and gingerly massaging her leg. “Actually, that feels better. Thank you.”
As one, husband and wife remembered the intruder, and both turned simultaneously towards the foyer. Theresa stood in the doorway to the living room, clearly nonplussed and bemused as she took in the scene before her- her mother sitting on the floor, rubbing her ankle while her father stood over her, both staring at her with rather annnoyed expressions on their faces.
“Um, hi Mom, Dad. I’m home from school.” the six year old replied, somewhat meekly.
“So you are,” Wendy replied, blinking. “Theresa, what have we told you about banging doors like that? You’re going to put a hole in the wall one day.”
“Sorry... I lost my grip on the door opening it.” Theresa looked down at the floor, rebuked. Then she attempted a grin, and held up a stack of envelopes. “I got the mail.”
“Oh, well thank you!” Wendy replied, her stern visage melting away in appreciation. She paused for a second, looking out the living room’s window, where a 12-compartment community mailbox sat across the street. “But... you don’t have a mailbox key...”
“I know!” Theresa replied with a grin, clearly proud of herself. “Billy Horner showed me that you can open all kinds of things with a paper clip! He put a rubber snake in Suzie Wormwoods locker, and when she opened it up to get her lunch...” She snickered. “The fifth graders heard her screaming!”
Wendy exchanged glances with her husband, and was shocked to find that Terrence’s eyes were watery, and he sniffled and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
“That’s my girl,” he said, his voice carrying a measure of pride that Wendy felt was more akin to straight A’s on a report card. “I knew sending you to public school was a good idea!”
“That’s... great.... Theresa,” Wendy responded through clenched teeth, glaring at her husband. Grinning at her, he reached down, and she took his hand as he helped her to her feet. Gingerly testing her ankle at first, and finding it serviceable, she took the mail from her daughter, and began to walk towards her couch. “So, did you learn anything in school that isn’t illegal?”
“Yeah! Ms. Savage showed us that if you put a stalk of celery in a glass of water with blue food coloring, the leaves turn blue!” Theresa said, as if that was the coolest thing she’d ever seen.
“I remember doing that,” Terrence replied. “Didn’t make it taste any better, though.”
“I don’t think you were supposed to eat it, Terrence...” Wendy said, shooting her husband a nervous glance. “Didn’t it have to sit out for a day or two for that to happen?”
“Yeah, maybe that’s why it didn’t taste so good,” Terrence replied, reflecting back on his childhood. “And why I spent the rest of the day in the nurses office.”
“Uh hunh,” Wendy replied, finding that it might be better if she turned her attention to the mail. “Car magazine... car racing magazine... ooh! coupons to Olive Garden! Electric bill, cable bill... gas bill,” Wendy continued to comb through the mail. “Oh! A letter from Auntie Margaret!”
“Ah, how’s your favorite Ahmlette doing?” Terrence asked, taking the two periodicals from her.
“I don’t think that’s an appropriate term for the Amish, Terry. Aunt Margaret joined the community because she loved Karl so much and wanted to marry him. We need to respect that, especially because she’s the only family I have left. And vice versa, come to think of it.” Wendy admonished, tearing open the letter. She read only the first couple of lines, before looking up. “She and Uncle Karl are coming to visit! Cousin Liesl and her family are coming too!”
The room went dead silent, as Terrence looked at Wendy, then over at Theresa, who seemed similarly stunned by the news. Terrence slowly reached into his jeans pocket, and pulled out his cellphone, quickly dialing it.
“Hey, Pollaski? Yeah. We got a Code Fourteen.” And then he hung up.
Wendy looked up from the letter at her husband. “What’s a Code Four-”
*BAM!*
The door again swung open violently, this time nearly off its hinges, forcing every member of the Thompson family to start, wheeling towards the foyer again- where Daniel Pollaski had just stormed in.
Wendy’s jaw dropped, even as she idly wondered how her manager had gotten there so quickly. Pollaski was dressed for war, wearing military fatigues, black facepaint covering his features, with two large firearms slung over his back. In his hands was another firearm- a sawed off shotgun, and Wendy’s eyes widened in horror as she realized two grenades were hanging from his belt. Pollaski looked directly at the equally miffed Terrence. “I got here as soon as I could. Where is it?”
“Uh... where’s what?” Terrence said.
“You said Code Fourteen,” Pollaski said, pumping the shot gun, and looking around warily. “Let’s kill this mother-” he paused as he realized Theresa was in the room.
For a response, Terrence only blinked. “Yeah. Wendy’s relatives are coming in...” he paused, glancing over at his wife. “When are they coming again?”
“End of October...” Wendy whispered. “They’re staying for a month.”
“A MONTH?!” Terrence glanced back at Pollaski. “Maybe we will need those guns...”
Pollaski was less than pleased. “Dude. Wendy’s relatives are a Code TWELVE, not Fourteen!”
Terrence’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure! Check your reference card!”
For a response, Terrence reached into his pocket, and pulled out a laminated card, glancing at it. “Code Twelve... relatives. Hunh, you’re right.. So that makes Code Fourteen a...” he glanced at Pollaski apologetically. “Chupacabra attack. Oh, man, dude. I’m so sorry.”
Pollaski nodded, dejected. “I was really looking forward to it, too.”
Wendy wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed, infuriated, or simply scared. “I’m glad that you think my aunt coming to visit is on the same level as a mythological creature attacking the house,” she sighed. “Dare I even ask what a Code Thirteen is?”
“Psychopathic murderer on the loose, wearing a hockey mask,” Theresa replied, as Terrence again beamed at his daughter in pride.
Wendy stared at her daughter. “How do *you* know these things?”
Theresa stared at Wendy, a serious expression on her face. “It’s always important to be prepared, Mom.”
“That’s my girl,” Terrence said, a clear measure of pride in his voice. “Now go upstairs and do your homework, okay? Once your done, we’ll go out for Olive Garden. I think your mom definitely needs some today.”
“Okay,” Theresa replied, unhappy about having to do her homework so quickly, but quite pleased over the prospect of Olive Garden. Hoisting her backpack, she trudged up the stairs.
“So, you’re aunts coming to visit?” Pollaski said after Theresa had left, and Wendy’s nervous attention had settled back on him.
Wendy nodded. “I’ve always had a standing invitation to them... but I never thought they’d take me up on it.” She murmured, looking over at Terrence. “Aunt Margaret... Karl... Cousin Liesl... her husband... their three kids... plus us. How on earth are we going to fit ten people in this house?”
“We’ll manage,” Terrence said, although he didn’t exactly sound enthusiastic about it. If anything we’ll put the RV in the driveway, and people can sleep there. Just... geesh.
“Well, I’m taking off,” Pollaski grumbled, much to Wendy’s relief. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Wendy. If you’re up to it, we’ll get you in a lighter sparring session, so you can have *some* ring work in before we leave for New York.”
“That’s great,” Wendy said, smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow.
“Yeah. Sorry about the confusion dude,” Terrence added.
Whatever Pollaski’s reply was, it wasn’t entirely audible, although both Birdz got the gist of it before the door slammed.
“Wait a sec,” Wendy said, looking back at the letter. “Listen to this: ‘We cannot express our gratitude enough for your willingness and hospitality to take in our youngest, Greta, on her Rumspringa journey as she discovers the world and determines whether or not to remain in our community. We hope she has not been much of a burden on you, and please tell her that it will be a delight to see her again, and we hope that when we return to Pennsylvania, she will come with us.’” She looked up at Terrence, eyes with alarm. “What is she talking about?”
“I dunno. But if there’s an Amish teenager living in this house, that’s the first I’m hearing about it.” Terrence said with a shrug. “This is the first you’re hearing about it?”
“Of course it is!” Wendy exclaimed, turning her attention back to the letter, rereading it to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. “Neither Margaret nor Liesl have ever said anything about it in their letters! I didn’t even know Greta was going to leave the commmunity!”
“Great.” Terrence muttered. “So... what do we tell Margaret, then?”
“Oh, God...” Wendy whispered, turning to stare out the window in dismay.
How on Earth was she going to tell her aunt that her daughter wasn’t anywhere close to being where she thought she was?
=======================
Saturday September 29, 2012
Liberty Island- Statue Base
New York, New York
11:31 AM Local Time
Obviously, no view of the New York skyline could possibly be complete without the Statue of Liberty, the colossal 300 foot statue that sits on Liberty Island at the entrance to the city’s harbor. It is here that we open our scene, with Wendy Briese standing in front of the statue’s pedestal, the camera angled to look up both at her and the statue behind her. As is usual for the former No Surrender Champion, she is dressed rather conservatively, wearing a simple black woolen skirt, and a matching windbreaker. Her red hair is left unbound, flowing freely behind her in the obviously brisk win coming in from the Atlantic Ocean. After nodding her signal that she’s ready to start, Wendy takes a deep breath, and begins to recite.
“Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"”
“Emma Lazarus wrote that back in 1883, to commemorate the building of this beautiful statue that now stands behind me. The sonnet is commemorated inside, on a plaque in the pedestal. Lazarus originally refused to write a poem when she was asked to, thinking she could not edify a statue in a sonnet. But after working with groups aiding Jewish immigrants who were fleeing pogroms in Europe, all of whom sailed right by the island the statue was being built upon on their way into the harbor. And thus, the idea was formed for the ‘New Colussus’ a poem that took a massive neoclassical lighthouse that was given to us from France, and made it into a beacon, to remind us all of America’s status as a haven for liberty, the metaphorical shining city on a hill, one that many, including my own parents, have flocked to over the years.”
“In a way, Femme Fatale Wrestling is so much like that. Just as the Statue of Liberty was a welcome sight for sea-weary Europeans making the long voyage to better their lives, this company has been a welcome sight to those of us who want women’s wrestling to be something that can be respected, and just as refugees flocked to New York Harbor over the years to escape tyranny elsewhere, women from all over have flocked to FFW in the hopes of having a better career for ourselves. Here, we have a place where it’s not about our physical attributes, but our talent, and will, and drive to succeed. Here we have a place where we aren’t presented as a oversexualized sideshow attraction, but rather legitimate athletes who are among the finest competitors in the world, regardless of gender. Femme Fatale Wrestling is female wrestling’s own shining city on a hill.”[/b]
Wendy takes a deep breath, and sighs.
“But now, that freedom and hope that Femme Fatale Wrestling represents is under attack. Ironically, this isn’t because of some outside assault upon us, or a coalition of rogue wrestlers. No, the very essence of FFW is threatened by none other than its creator, Samantha Star. The same woman who laid the framework for what would become the greatest women’s wrestling company this world has ever seen is the same woman who’s trying to corrupt it. To replace an environment where the glory goes to the hardest working most talented with an environment where her hand picked cronies, a select few aristocracy, gets lord over the rest. She wants to turn our shining city into a feudal village, and the vast majority of her employees into the serfs she views us as.”
“It’s sad, Ms. Star, it really is. This company has been in business for two years, and in that time it has risen to become one of the largest, most influential brands in wrestling history. You have made millions, if not billions, as a result. And yet, for all your success, you STILL fail to see what it is that made this place successful. Because FFW hasn’t become what it is today because of you. It’s become what it is today in SPITE of you.”
“I know exactly what you’ll say in response to that, of course. You’ll point out that you’re the one with the billions of dollars. You’re the one who’s spent her life stomping on little bugs such as myself simply for your own amusement. You’re the one who so single-handedly destroyed a competitor he fled to Africa to make documentaries instead of facing more humiliation at your hands. You’re Samantha Star, the all powerful. I get that, of course.”
“But when it comes to realizing value, Ms. Star.. you have a poor sense of it. Perhaps its because of your affluence-I’m sure with the money you have, anything with less than seven digits to the left of the decimal is simply an insignificant trifle. It’s all about perspective in the end, and when you’re standing atop the mountain, looking miles down into the valley, there’s not much difference between the grass and the trees, is there?”
“You are not the most valuable person in this company, Ms. Star. You never have been, and I think you know it. I think that’s why you’re so hell-bent upon making your mark, throwing your weight around. But the day you do become the most valuable single asset to this place has is a day we are in trouble indeed. The most value lies not with you, nor does it lie with Isabella. Nor with any member of your Power Trip, whether it be Kitty, Caroline, or Tara. It doesn’t lie with Scarlett, or Emma, or Camilla, or Katherine. It certainly doesn’t lie with me. Nor does it lie with any other woman in that locker room, although collectively, of course we are one of the main reasons of what makes this company great.”
Wendy nods her head.
“The greatest single asset to Femme Fatale Wrestling isn’t even a woman. It’s Cody Kincaid. It’s because of him the culture that makes Femme Fatale Wrestling so attractive was born. It’s because of him that women from all over the world flocked here, creating the greatest all-female talent roster the world has ever seen. It’s because of him that you are so much richer now than you were two years ago.”
“You should have learned that a year ago, when Cody went on a sabbatical after the controversy surrounding his decision to place Katherine Stryfe in the Elimination Chamber- a decision he later proven right about. You certainly should have learned that this year, when Cody stepped away to pursue revenge against an imbecile who never should have been within a mile of a major-league wrestling ring. But instead of keeping his seat warm, and welcoming him back with open arms at the conclusion of his mission, you went out and found a replacement. One who is just as arrogant, and short-sighted, and greedy, and self-serving as you are. And ultimately, one who couldn’t command the respect of a gnat, much less a roster of sixty-plus headstrong professional wrestlers.”
Wendy leans forwared, her face suddenly serious.
“Miss Star, the most critical thing happening at Sin & Sacrifice tonight, in determining the future of this company, isn’t War Games. It’s not the FFW Championship. It’s the vote to determine our Chief Operations Officer. It’s the vote that’s taking place because you didn’t have the decency to swallow your pride, be a true leader for once in your life, and place your most valuable asset in the position he should be in.”
“If this is a fair election, Ms. Star, I already know the result. Mr. Kincaid commands a hundred times more respect from the locker room, the production crew, and the fans than Amanda Saint does. But if you tainted, or allowed Ms. Saint to taint, this vote in any way because of your pride, or some sick scheme you’ve developed, then you’ve damned yourself, this company, and all of us.
Her face at this point is intense, and she bites her lip for just a second, looking back at the statue.
“You probably didn’t want to hear that, did you? The last thing you needed is some insignificant employee telling you how to run *your* company, especially right before a monster pay-per-view in the greatest city in the world. If you hadn’t already called me your least favorite person, I certainly would be now.”
Wendy breaks into a chuckle, her lips parting into a smile.
“I take your dislike of me as a compliment, Ms. Star. I wear your scorn like an honor, one I would love to put on my trophy shelf next to my other titles, awards, and accolades. I’m sure it’s too late now, but when the next arena program is printed, I hope it says that. ‘Wendy Briese- two time Evolution and No Surrender Champion, only double champion in FFW history, and Samantha Star’s least favorite person.’ Because considering the friends you keep, and the attributes you value, the last thing I’d ever want is you seeing something in me worth liking.”
“And yet, I was disappointed, Ms. Star. All that hatred and dislike for me, and all you could do was pretty much recite the same tired, hackneyed old lines everyone’s tried on me for the past year. I’m a hypocrite. I don’t play well with others. Alex Houser has exposed me countless times. I mean, really... that’s the best you can come up with for your least favorite person?”
“Two things are worth addressing. The first concerns my ankle. Obviously your assessment that I was looking for way out of a match I spent half the summer campaigning to be in was ludicrous. I was foolish to not have the ankle looked at more closely in the wake of my match with Serafina, and I was even more foolish to launch a Tweet about it. In doing so, I painted a huge target on myself. I got caught up in the the apprehension of the moment, and did something that was a strategic mistake, instead of quietly informing my teamates of the issue and not blaring it to the whole world. Luckily for me, though, my ankle is completely healed, and I’ll be more than ready to go come tonight.”
That last line is a rare outright lie from Wendy, although not easily picked up on in the video. Her ankle is servicable, but hardly in peak condition. But she’s not about to give the Power Trip an even bigger bulls-eye to target.
“The other was your comment that every single one of my teammates could beat me. Perhaps you’re right, Ms. Star. Cara already has, of course, and I certainly would be the underdog in a match against Stacey, possibly even against Emma. And even though you were so quick to dismiss it, I wouldn’t even put it beyond Eileen to be able to beat me. I’m quite beatable, this last month has certainly proven that.”
Wendy flashes a grin.
“But its a good thing I don’t have to deal with any of my fellow Mafia members tonight, now isn’t it?”
“In fact, I’d say that speaks volumes for the team that’s surrounded me. Because while whether or not I can beat my teammates is a question that’s very much up in the air, wealready know the answer to whether or not I can beat my opponents. I’ve beaten three members of the Power Trip, everyone who’s been announced but Caroline. If at least sixty percent of Team Power Trip has fallen by *my* hand, and I’m the second weakest member of my own team... that really doesn’t bode well for your hand picked minions, now does it?”
“Of course, this is different. We’re not facing any of the girls one on one... we, a ragtag group of misfits, are facing the most dominant and COHESIVE group of women in FFW history.”
Wendy bursts out laughing at that, shaking her head.
“Really? Was that cohesiveness when Shane Sanders blindsided Isabella during the Scramble at Unstoppable? Was that cohesiveness when she and Kitty bickered about it in the aftermath? Was that cohesiveness when Caroline said in a blog this week that she would have done the EXACT SAME THING? Where have we seen any member of the Power Trip sacrifice something out of loyalty to her so-called friends?”
“We may be ragtag. We may be disparate and desperate, but at least we can STAND each other long enough to get in the same room and talk about our match as a unit. At least we know that, whatever our philosophies may vary we can at least TRUST one another to have each other’s backs tonight, and not expect someone to make some selfish power play to better their own stock around here.”
Wendy snorts derisively.
“‘Most cohesive unit in FFW history. That might just be even more ludicrous than the notion that FFW succeeds primarily because of you, Ms. Star.”
“The Power Trip is little more than a group of thugs attracted to power, gravitating towards it because it gives them some sense of purpose, a group to belong to to make them feel powerful and dominant. We’ve all seen such factions before, and to a one, we all know how it’s going to end. Sooner or later there will be a crack, and that will widen until it becomes a fissure, and then a full-on crisis. And when that happens, do the thugs in these cliques band together, fight through the attrition, and attempt to save the unit? Or does it become everyone for themselves, abandoning their former comrades- even betraying them, in an attempt at their own salvation? That’s coming. Maybe it’ll be tonight, maybe it’ll be two months from now, maybe even longer. But it will come, I’m sure.”
A group of tourists walk by, laughing and carrying on, and Wendy turns to watch them pass, waiting until they’re gone to continue.
“One of your own members asked me how I can be so sure of such things. How I can know that she’d be better off not in the Power Trip? How do I know that things can work out for the best? How do I know that the good guys win in the end?”
“Because it happens every time. It just sometimes takes longer than most of us have patience for. And it sometimes costs a heavier price than most of us are willing to pay.”
“It can take months, years, decades. Even lifetimes, but hope, and freedom, and love, will always... and I mean ALWAYS outlive tyranny and oppression. Freedom and hope are sustainable. Tryanny isn’t, and historypproves that tyrants will always- WITHOUT FAIL- fall one day. From the Babylonians of ancient times, to the Romans, to the autocratic monarchs of Europe, to Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union, they have ALL come tumbling down. It’s even true in wrestling. Name me one autocratic dictatorial group in our sport that hasn’t come crashing down sooner or later. I can name many... MANY that I’ve seen over the course of my career, and I know you all can too. So here’s my question to you, Samantha, and the rest of your group.”
“What makes you all think you’re so different?”
A small smile.
“Maybe it won’t happen tonight, win or lose. But it WILL happen. The seeds were planted at Unstoppable, when we exposed just how un-dominant you all actually are on an individual basis. Tonight, we’ll prove the same thing, but to you as a group. And we will keep doing so, over and over, until each and every member of the power trip is off her pedestal, whether they voluntarily realize the truth and step off, or we have to knock them off ourselves. And that includes you, Samantha.”
Wendy turns around, and gestures back at the statue, a smile forming on her lips.
“After all, only those that are TRUE beacons and icons should ever be allowed to stand on a pedestal.”
Wendy turns and walks away, the scene fading.
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