Sunday July 7, 2002
Hartford Civic Center
Hartford, Connecticut
8:48 PM Local Time
Wendy Briese grimaced with strain as she grabbed her opponent’s arm, and roughly jerked him to his feet. He was a big guy, outweighing her by at least a hundred pounds, but she still managed to get him vertical, giving him an elbow to the sternum in an attempt to maintain control. It probably wasn’t needed- she had kept him in the camel clutch for a good couple of minutes, and she could tell he was about done, but still, the rookie didn’t want to take any chances. Not tonight, in a match this big. With a grunt of exertion, she whipped the man across the ring, biting her lip as he bounced off the ropes at the opposite end. She had to time this perfectly, and hope no one got in the way…
Finally she leapt, backwards, turning her back to the approaching opponent as she did. Grabbing the top rope for stability, she felt her feet hit the middle rope, preparing as it gave jut a bit, then launched herself into the air, straight up, turning back to face the man, who suddenly went wide eyed at the sight of the woman in mid air. He was still gawking as Wendy came down, wrapping both her legs around his head, and twisting herself backwards. If she had done it right, and had both the timing and spacing down…
She did. The man was pitched headfirst over the ropes, his right hand desperately trying to grasp them as he did. It was no dice, his fingers let go, and Wendy watched as the man continued to fall, catching one hand on the apron, before falling hard on his side on the protective mats that were surrounding the ring. Wendy let out a sigh of relief, and broke into a grin. That was six gone.
Which meant just three teams remained in the running to claim the vacant World Tag Team Championships.
Wendy slowly climbed to her feet, looking around at the remaining wrestlers in the ring. Terrence was pounding away on the man she had just eliminated’s partner, only to find himself without an opponent as security grabbed the man’s leg, and hauled him out of the ring- only one partner needed to be eliminated to finish off the team. Protesting at first, until he realized what happened, he turned around, catching Wendy’s eye, and the two exchanged a brief grin. Considering how it had barely been six months since she had finished training, she could hardly believe that they were down to the final three teams. Even better, the other two teams were occupied with each other, giving her some time to recover.
What struck her as even more remarkable was how they had gotten to this point despite a horribly rocky beginning. Wendy had excelled at training, but in all honesty had been pushed through too quick, and had been ill-prepared for full-scale competition when she had made her debut. It had cost them, as she and Terrence had lost four of their first five matches, including a handicapped match that had seen the both of them get completely humiliated by a single opponent. Trying to figure out something, Terrence had hired a manager- some snot nosed little fat kid even younger than Wendy that had somehow managed to con Terrence into thinking he could guide them to the top. As far as Wendy could tell, all he guided them to was beatdowns backstage, mainly because the idiot ran his mouth all the time, and took great delight in infuriating everyone he ran into- herself included. Actually, Daniel Pollaski seemed to take EXTRA joy in ticking her off. That irritated her even more… wasn’t he hired to be SUPPORTIVE?
Still, despite the obese moron now on their payroll, they had managed to gain some semblance of success. They had started winning matches, finally, and had even mustered a regional tag belt, and Wendy herself had managed a women’s championship (albeit, she was probably the only one in the division who actually took wrestling seriously).
She smirked as she saw her next target, a Welshman with brightly dyed red hair who went by the name Red Dragon. He and his partner had seemed to make a hobby out of torturing her and Terrence for the better part of the last two months- Wendy had lost count of the number of times they had been jumped backstage by the duo. Taking him out would be a sweet revenge indeed. Even better, Red hadn’t a clue she was there, so focused he was on pummelling the man beneath him, a large Bostonian who simply went by Rowell.
Wendy quickly moved forward, raising her leg for a kick to Red’s head, but at the last second, he noticed her, grabbing the foot, and twisting it. Wendy yelped as she lost her balance, falling hard facedown on the mat. Abandoning Rowell, Dragon got to his feet, and leveled a kick into her side, then another one. The crowd booed the blows, although Wendy knew it was fair game. She had agreed to be in this match, after all. Still, she couldn’t help but curl up into the ball at the sudden pain Dragon’s boots had put into her abdomen. She barely had a chance to though- Dragon quickly grabbed her hair, and pulled her to her feet, flinging her into the corner, and raining body blows on her, while she could do nothing but hang limply off the ropes and take them.
Salvation came in the form of her boyfriend, who came up from behind and delivered an axehandle to Red’s back. Red lurched forward, but before Terrence could react, he was caught from behind by Red’s partner, a thin, yet strong Japanese man. Terrence was flipped away in a belly to belly suplex, and Dragon turned back to her, knowing she was cornered, tired, and for the most part, helpless.
Wendy tried to block the next punch, but it was a knee instead, doubling her over. Dragon caught her head, pulled her roughly out of the corner, and planted her into the mat with a snap DDT. Wendy closed her eyes in pain, trying to will herself to get up, but couldn’t get her body to move. A couple more stomps and she was being hauled up again. Red Dragon lifted her, and tossed her onto the top rope, one leg on each side so she was astraddle. Panting from the pain and fatigue, she glared angrily at the Welshman. He was playing with her, trying to embarrass her before he ended her hopes of ever being the World Champion. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Terrence backed against the ropes, only to catch a spinning heel kick from Hamaguri, and go tumbling over the top.
Then Dragon’s own kick came in, and Wendy was pitched to the outside as well, falling. It was a cruel twist of fate- Terrence’s own fall had eliminated her, yet she doubted Dragon minded making her take the plunge as well. She closed her eyes, trying to extend her arms to brace for impact…
And yelped as her ankle wrenched, which quickly turned into a wheeze as her body slammed into the side of the apron. She dangled, her arms just barely inches from the grou, the only thing keeping her up was her ankle pinned between the bottom and middle ropes. Wincing, she pushed herself back onto the apron, breathing heavily. She glanced into the ring, and was startled to see Terrence lying on the apron across from her, completely dazed, but still there. Had he hung on too? We’re they both still in this?
The two remaining teams had paired off, each man slugging away on each other as they sensed the final prize was so close. Neither had noticed that both Birdz had survived their tumbles, and Wendy frantically went to work on freeing herself, hoping she could before anyone noticed and came back to finish the job. Gritting her teeth, she managed to get her leg unpinned, moaning in pain as the blood rushed back into the appendage. She was okay though. All she had to do was…
A roar forced her to look back into the ring, and she saw Red Dragon go tumbling to the outside, courtesy of Rowell’s superkick. But on the other side, Rowell’s own partner had just gone over, thanks to Hamaguri. That meant…
Oh dear god…. That meant….
Wendy rolled into the ring, and got to her knees as the bell rang, the crowd going completely haywire as Rowell and Hamaguri stared at each other, then looked down at her and Terrence rolling back into the ring. As one, both men’s jaws dropped as the realization hit them.
“HERE ARE YOUR WINNERS… AND NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS… THE WHIRLYBIRDZ VHS!!!!!”
Hamaguri looked ready to charge her, but was quickly dragged out of the ring by security, while Rowell simply slid out on his own, shaking his head. Wendy got to her feet, covering her mouth in disbelief. It was hardly the most decisive dominating way to win a tag belt, and she knew they were going to hear over and over about how they got lucky, but it didn’t matter to her. She remembered five months previous, crying in her locker room after yet another loss, wondering if they’d managed to ever do anything right in this business. But tonight, they had. They had won the World Tag Team Championships.
The referee handed her one of the belts, and she accepted it, cradling it in her arms, fighting back the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm her. The ref turned to hand the other strap to Terrence, but her boyfriend had gone. She looked around, and was surprised to see him outside the ring, calm as could be, talking to Pollaski, and then getting a microphone. He slid into the ring, finally getting his own tag belt, and holding it high. The crowd popped, but he quickly put the microphone to his mouth, and began to talk.
“Hang on guys. I’m eager to start the party as much as you are, but we’re almost out of time here, and I got something that needs to be done.”
Wendy looked at Terrence quizzically as the audience around them quieted down. Terrence hadn’t told her anything about this, and she didn’t really like to be kept in the dark about things. She glanced over to her manager, and saw him leaning against the ringside, smirking at her. What the heck was going on?
“Wendy… you and I haven’t been doing this all that long, but we’ve already gone through so much. We started off slow, but then we’ve picked up steam, and got better and better, until here we are today, the World Tag Team Champions. And I gotta say, Wendy, for better or for worse, for all that I didn’t want you doing this in the first place, you’ve been the best partner a guy could ask for. And we just faced eight other teams tonight, some of the best wrestlers in the world, and not a single came close to doing what you’ve done. And that’s bring me to my knees.”
Terrence kneeled down, and for the first time, Wendy realized that there was something in his hand other than the microphone. Her heart beating rapidly, her brain racing, she watched as Terrence unclasped his hand, and saw that it was a small box… the kind you’d keep a-
“I know we have these tag titles. And I know you have your women’s championship. But I was wondering, Wendy, if you wouldn’t mind carrying around one more piece of gold.”
Wendy covered her mouth as Terrence opened the box, and saw inside was a golden ring, a large, brilliant emerald inset. The jewel gleamed in the arena lights as Terrence took a second, to steady both himself and his emotions, and raised the microphone to his lips.
“Wendy Constance Briese, will you marry me?”
The roar of the crowd buzzed around her, Wendy felt tears beginning to leak out of her eyes, and realized she was trembling. Finally, she managed a nod, and catch enough of her breath to say “Yes… YES!”
Now the crowd erupted, and Terrence stood up, embracing her, as she hugged him back. She felt so silly for crying, especially right after winning a wrestling championship, but she couldn’t help it. Terrence pressed his lips to hers, and she returned the passion eagerly, as the crowd continued to cheer around them.
“Thank you,” Terrence whispered into her ear after they had broken apart. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Wendy whispered back, her voice still trembling. “But… what would you have done if we had lost?”
Terrence shook his head, and smiled. “We weren’t gonna lose, hon. Not tonight.”
He broke his embrace, and raised Wendy’s hand in the air, the flashbulbs going off blinding her through the tears that were still watering in her eyes. Still hanging onto her hand, he took the ring, and slid it onto her finger.
Of course, it fit perfectly.
========================
Sunday July 7, 2002
Briese Household- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
11:23 PM Local Time
“…held the Cubs to just three hits. Bottom seventh, Blanco singles to right, and that brings in Castilla, giving the Braves a two-nothing lead, and that’s how it ends. Cubs fall to thirty-five and fifty-one, twelve and a half games back as they head to the All Star Break.”
Augustus Briese barely looked up from his book as the WISH-TV news as the news broadcast cut into an interview of the Cubs manager, some poor incompetent who kept being paraded out in front of the cameras to explain why his team was awful. Gus found baseball a boring sport to begin with, but for the life of him, he couldn’t see why everyone found so much appeal in a team that was known for losing, over and over again every single year. Gus had no use for losers or underachievers, and it certainly said something about the people of this country that they put so much interest in a group of them.
“And finally, pro-wrestling has crowned new World Tag Team Champions. Indianapolis’ own Terrence Thompson and Wendy Briese better known as the…”
NOW Gus’ head snapped up at the mention of his daughters name, just in time to watch her wrapping her legs around a guys head, and throwing him out of the ring. “What the FUCK?” he bellowed, staring as the rest of the match played out.
“What is it?” Gayle was passing by, a full glass of Scotch in her hand as she headed from the kitchen towards the bedroom, but stopped at her husband’s outburst. “For heaven’s sake, Gus-“
“Did you know about this?” Gus demanded, pointing at the television screen. “Did you know that our DAUGHTER was involved with this… crap?”
“N…no.” Gayle was wide-eyed herself, staring at the television screen. “I thought she was at Boston University…”
“Evidently not!” snarled the Irishman, glaring at the television. What the hell had possessed his daughter to take up such an unrefined and brutal sport?
The sportscaster droned on, as video continued to play of the match. “And the celebrations didn’t stop with their victory either, as after the match Terrence got down and proposed to…”
“THE HELL HE DID!” Gus roared, standing straight up, glaring at the television, feeling the pit of his stomach sinking as he watched his daughter, his LEGACY, covered in sweat and a bit of blood, hugging and kissing her derelict boyfriend on national television for everyone to see! The feed cut away, to the anchors exchanging small talk about what a cute couple they made. That was quickly cut off by the shattering of the television screen as a half-full bottle of Glenfidditch flew into it.
For a second, there was nothing but silence. Then Gayle spoke up, full of disbelief. “I can’t believe she said yes!”
Gus turned away, glaring at his wife as if this was somehow her fault. “I told you to never let her go,” he snarled. “You said there was no harm in it. Well, it looks like there’s fucking harm now!”
“Gus, I had no idea that she would do… that,” Gayle said defensively.
“I’m leaving for Boston. Tomorrow.” Gus growled, brushing by his wife, and heading towards the stairs, leaving the shattered television and bottle behind. “I’m putting a stop to this nonsense.”
“Gus, wait, maybe…”
“And why should I listen to you?” Gus snarled. “Every idea you have come up with, dear wife, has created more problems than we started with. I’m handling this, myself.”
Gus left Gayle behind, storming up the stairs, his mind racing. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew one thing was certain. Champion or not, his daughter was going to be out of that disgrace of a sport by the end of the week. And over his dead body would Terrence Thompson ever marry his darling little girl.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. Not his. But certainly someone else’s.
And at that particular moment, he really didn’t care whose.
=============================
Saturday April 21, 2012
Myrtle Edwards Park- Waterfront
Seattle, Washington
1:59 PM Local Time
Meteorologically speaking, it’s not too bad a day in Seattle. Partly cloudy, mid-sixties, a light wind blowing in off the sound. Definitely nicer than the sludge we got the last time FFW was in Seattle, that’s for sure. Wendy’s certainly enjoying the weather, standing with her back to Elliot Bay, wearing a pair of blue jeans with a windbreaker over her shirt, the wind billowing the coat just a bit to make Wendy appear slightly more stocky than the slender redhead tends to be. Wendy doesn’t seem to mind this, but she does seem to have a probem keeping her flame-colored hair tamed. Evidently, she’s regretting leaving her scrunchie in her gym bag. Still, she smiles slightly as she looks into the camera.
“I suppose by now everyone has seen my… ‘editorial piece’ on what happened at Chaos Theory.”
Wendy can’t help but smile at her euphemism for cracking a right hook right into Starla McCloud’s jaw.
“I’m not proud of doing that. It’s hardly an accomplishment to suckerpunch someone, even if it was pretty darn gratifying. But I’m not exactly feeling remorse over it either. Because it was a heck of a lot more of a message than picking up a microphone and whining about how things just weren’t fair, and I got screwed, and all that. I don’t need to do that- I’ll let the videotape speak for itself. Anyone who has watched that match knows that unless I’m possessing some sort of phenomenal ventriloquism skill, I never said anything. And everyone knows that Starla’s time with the No Surrender title isn’t running past Conviction, and I say let Starla’s throbbing jaw and bruised ego serve as an adequate reminder as to what’s waiting for her next month.”
“I know there’s been a myriad of opinions on what I did at Velocity, and for the most part, I’m not too much for caring. People are going to believe about that what they are going to believe, and I doubt I’m going to be much in changing people’s minds. But there’s one I am kind of curious abut, and that’s my opponent for this week. So, Whitley, there’s the question. How did you feel when I socked Starla in the jaw? Were you amused? Elated? Outraged? Did you not even see it, because you were in the back spending time listening to your pig of a boyfriend come up with various slang for prts of the female anatomy? Or are you still waiting to talk to Camilla Pazzini, so she can tell you what you should think?”
Wendy smiles coldly, and takes a couple of steps to her right, the camera panning to follow her.
“Personally, I think you should be a bit on the afraid side. Maybe not exactly shaking in your little ring-boots, but hopefully for your sake a tiny bell’s gone off in your head telling you that maybe, just maybe you could be in a bit of trouble here. Because, guess what, Whit? You’re in trouble. Big time.”
“See, I don’t think there’s too many people remember that this is a rematch from back in August. I’m sure you remember it, it was your last match before your hiatus. It was part of something called the Carpe Diem series, and it was a great idea thought up by Mark Horton. Take a lesser-regarded wrestler, stick them against one of the bigger names in the company, and give them a chance to show what they can do. That was YOUR chance, Whitley. I had just come off winning the Chase for the Crown and narrowly missing out on beating Colleen for the Evolution Championship. You came close to winning that Pick Your Poison ladder match. Everybody had talked for months about how close you were to turning that corner, and finally becoming something. So why not see how she can handle herself against Wendy Briese, right?”
“Except… you know… yeah.”
Wendy sighs, but can’t help but give a brief chuckle.
“The thing I remember most about that match against you? It’s not anything that happened during it. It’s what happened before. You showed nothing leading up to that match. No sense of drive. No indication that you realized just what an opportunity you had. You never even appeared on video to cut a promo. You just showed up at the arena, looked completely overwhelmed, and was sent packing. And I think that was the last time Mr. Horton tried the Carpe Diem match.”
“I’m not even that proud of beating you, Whitley. I’m actually annoyed, because I think its an honor that Mr. Horton considered me at the level where I could be used as a measuring stick for wrestlers who wanted to break through. And it kind of steams me that apparently even THAT wasn’t a big enough deal to light a fire under your rear. For all the issues I have with Jo McFarlane, I’ll at least say this for her- she TRIED. At least she seemed to have some indication that beating Wendy Briese might actually be an accomplishment around her.”
“But maybe you were just burnt out, right? Just needed some time away, because that… rigorous schedule you were on was just so demanding. So take some time off, recharge the batteries, come back to wrestling all rejuvenated and ready to splatter my manager’s head into the canvas. And lo and behold, the little wrecking ball is back! Watch in awe as she beats Daniel Pollaski by holding his shorts! Fear the pink haired one as she shoves around a personal assistant! This is the new and improved Whitley Mercer!”
Wendy bursts out laughing, shaking her head.
“Except, not really. You’re as disconcerted as you’ve ever been, Whitley. You’re just a lot more insufferable and bratty. You think it means something because you amuse Camilla Pazzini enough so she’ll gladly serve as your enabler? You think just because you can call Christian Kincaid your manager, that magically makes you some prodigy? I saw your promo when you faced Eileen. You stood on a beach, and giggled with your new best friend that Eileen stood absolutely no chance against you. You neglected to give a reason why the biggest underachiever in FFW history was going to have automatic win over one of its hottest rising stars, but then again, we’ve pretty much gotten the hint that common sense flew out your window a good while ago. And guess what? Eileen ‘no chance’ Amaro wiped the floor with you.”
“Like I said before, Whitley, this is technically a rematch, only you and I seem to be the only ones remembering. Why is that, when that’s half the hype behind the match between Eileen and Alyssa? Or Kitty and Jenny? It’s simple. The appeal behind a rematch is that the result might be different this time around. Everyone wants to see Eileen get revenge on Alyssa. Kaitlynn and Queen Machine are so closely matched you never know what’s going to happen. You and me? Well, look at the billing of the card. Is it about Whitley getting a second chance to seize the day? No. It’s about a ticked-off recently dethroned champion getting a rebound match, and guess who we’ll string up for her as a piñata?”
Wendy smiles at the image of Whitley actually being used as a piñata.
“That sounds arrogant, Whitley. It really does, but that seriously is the way so many people are viewing this match right now. I’m hot to get something going again after Chaos Theory, and you’re just in my way.”
“But of course, all these problems you’re having… they can’t possibly be YOUR fault, right? It never is for people like you. Gretchen held you back. Dani got in your way. I’m sure your laundry list of people who are responsible for your mediocrity stretches on and on, because that’s a lot easier than going out, getting in the ring, and trying to improve. The sad thing is, I faced Gretchen before too, in the first Chase for the Crown. And you know what? With a bad draw in the team department, she still managed to put up a decent fight against Crystal Hilton, Kassandra, and I. And from what I heard, Dani Mason worked her absolute butt off preparing to face you.”
“But of course, that wasn’t your fault either. You dominated Dani, and the only reason you didn’t beat her, or kill her, is because the referee stopped you and disqualified you, right? That’s something else in its entirety, how you managed to lose focus so awfully that you couldn’t beat a girl who had barely enough time to get her ring gear fitted, much less train. And how is it that Danielle’s come out of that match with so much confidence she’s gone and signed up for Season Eight of Future Shock? You tried to break a girl in half to make your own miserable self-feel better, and you ended up giving her a career option. I guess that’s what they call delightful irony.”
“So maybe that’s why I’m looking forward to this match, Whitley. Because you know how I’m always going on about how hard work and dedication and proper technicque is far more important than relying on natural talent and taking shortcuts? It’s a lot easier to use you to prove me right than someone like Starla. She at least has figured out how to get away with her shenanigans.”
Wendy walks another couple of steps, obviously looking to get a better angle on the changing wind so that her hair doesn’t keep blowing into her face.
“Don’t think I’m overlooking you here. I’m not, and I wouldn’t have just stood here talking for fifteen minutes about you if I was. But I am confident that tonight is going to go exactly the same way our first match back in August did. That’s not good news for you.”
“But it is good news for the rest of us. Because everyone likes to watch a bully get put in her place. That’s exactly what you are, Whitley. You’re a bully. You like to push around those you think are weaker than you to make yourself feel better, but the moment you pick on someone your own size, you get swatted like the little gnat you really are. So let’s see how Whitley the bully likes being bullied. Let’s see how you enjoyed feeling helpless, weak, and frustrated because someone’s shoving you around and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Maybe it’ll be an eye opening experience for you, and you’ll figure out just how pathetic you’re looking, and you can dump your weasel of a boyfriend, find some personal accountability, and actually live up to the potential you have.”
Wendy shrugs, and turns to walk away.
“Either way, you’re going to be leaving Seattle tonight wishing people forget tonight just as quickly as they forgot the last time.”
And the scene fades.
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