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.
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