Wednesday June 25, 2014
2:32 PM Eastern Daylight Time
The Nest- Driveway
Indianapolis, Indiana
“Is everything alright here?”
At the sound of her voice both her daughter and Clinton Sickles stopped in their tracks, glancing over at her. Clinton looked somewhat sullen, but her daughter barely even acknowledged her, continuing to stare at Clinton, not answering.
“Theresa, Is everything okay?” Wendy tried again, but it was clear that her words were simply bouncing off her daughter’s skull. “Shut up Fireball!” she snapped, turning back to dog who had been annoyingly yipping through the entire confrontation. She glanced back at Theresa, and for some reason, her daughter wasn’t exactly all there. She had zoned out, her eyes in a faraway place, a wistful smile on her lips. Wendy couldn’t blame her, really- this heat was making it hard for anyone to focus. She’d caught herself slipping into daydreams several times already.
Still, this wasn’t exactly the best time for it…
“THERESA! HEY, THERESA!”
THAT jarred the little girl out of her trance, and she looked over at her mom, blinking as if just waking from a sleep. “I’m sorry, Mom. What?”
“I was asking if everything was okay.”
For an answer, Theresa pointed at Clinton’s hand, and Wendy realized that the bucket in his hands looked awfully familiar. “He stole my chalk!” she protested.
Oh for crying out loud, Wendy thought. The last thing she needed today (or any day really) was that spoiled selfish brat starting more altercations with her daughter. He’d already done enough damage. She took a deep calming breath, rubbing her eyes. “Why did you steal her chalk?”
Clinton shrugged. “Just havin’ some fun.”
“Well, I don’t think its very much fun for her. Give it back, please.”
For a second she thought he was going do be defiant, which she really, REALLY wasn’t in the mood for. But the third (or rather now, fourth… assuming somehow he passed) grader simply shrugged. “I don’t want your stupid girl chalk anyhow,” he sneered to Theresa, then tossed the bucket high in the air, the contents spilling out and raining down as Theresa shrieked and covered. Before Wendy could even say a word, the boy had ran off between the houses across the street, to find a more unsupervised target to torture.
“ASSHOLE!” Theresa screamed after him.
“THERESA!”
“Well, he IS, Mom!” Theresa protested. “You should have kicked his stupid head off!”
“I’m not going to kick an eight year old, Theresa,” Wendy sighed, as she looked around at the sticks of chalk littering the ground, groaning silently as a green one rolled into the stormwater drain, disappearing with a plop. “Come on, I’ll help you pick these up.”
It didn’t take too long to pick up find all the remaining sidewalk chalk pieces, although at least six had broken on impact, while a few more were chipped. Soon though, the rest of the sticks were in the bucket, and Wendy picked up the bucket, grateful to get off the scorching pavement.
“You didn’t touch him or anything, did you?”
“No. Of course not,” Theresa replied innocently. “Although I was probably going to…”
“Well you have to keep your cool, okay? Remember, YOU’RE the one who’s going to get in trouble if anything happens. Don’t let him goad you into doing something you’ll regret.”
“I know,” Theresa huffed irritably. “But it’s not fair!”
“I know, hon,” Wendy said sadly. “It isn’t, and it’s wrong that reacting to that jerk put such a stigma on you with the school district and the courts. But until we get that all taken care of, the last thing we want to do is give the Sickles and the courts MORE ammo…” her voice trailed off
“I know. Just… UGH.” Theresa grumbled. “Well, thanks for helping out, anyways, Mom.”
“No problem, I was on my way to get the mail and just walked in,” Wendy said, handing her daughter the bucket of chalk. “Well, you better head on in. You’ve been out for a while, and you don’t want to get sunburned. And maybe you should finish up your schoolwork so you can go with your dad to the races Friday night.”
“Oh, I’m done,” Theresa proclaimed.
“Really?” Wendy asked skeptically. “With everything?”
“Yup! I know they’re not due until the end of the month, but watching how vigiliant you are in keeping on top of things, I’ve realized how important time management is,” Theresa replied. “I’ve read them over every night too, making sure that everything is in order. When you have time, could you and Daddy read them and double check to make sure I did everything properly?”
“No problem, Theresa!” Wendy said, smiling warmly with pride. “We’ll look them over tonight.”
“Great! Thanks mom! I’m going to get the best scores I can, make you and Daddy proud, and make St. Joseph’s have no choice but to accept me next year!”
“That’s wonderful, Theresa. Now run along. I’ll get the mail and check with your father on the air conditioning, and then you and I can have some cookies to celebrate the end of your school year!”
“MOM! HEY, MOM!”
Wendy jumped at her daughter’s voice, startled. Evidently in the heat, she had let her mind wander. She looked down at Theresa, rubbing her eyes.
“Sorry, Terr-Bear. I was daydreaming for a second. What were you saying?”
“I was telling you thanks for helping me out with Clint.”
“Oh! No problem, Terr-Bear. I was just walking out to get the mail and saw the commotion.” Wendy held out the bucket of chalk for her daughter to take. “Well, you better head on in. You’ve been out a while and I don’t want you getting sunburned.”
“But it’s so stuffy inside!” Theresa whined. “It’s like an oven!”
“It’s not so bad now,” Wendy promised. “I opened all the windows, and got some fans running. It’s aired out quite a bit.”
“When’s Dad going to be done with the stupid air conditioning?” Theresa pouted.
“I was going to get the mail, and then I was going to ask him,” Wendy said. “Can’t be too much longer. He’s been at it for a couple of hours. By the way, have you gotten your schoolwork done yet?”
“It’s not due until the end of the month,” Theresa replied. “I got five days.”
“You *have* five days. Why don’t you just do it now? Then you’ll have it out of the way, can enjoy the weekend instead of surrying to get it all done, and save yourself the headache of having to do things at the last minute?”
“I still dont’ see why I have to do it anyways. I did my 180 days. You said so yourself.”
“Yes, but the accredation service were using wants to make sure you learned the material right. This way, when we try to get you into a school, we’ll have proof that you mastered the second grade. And with good score, it’ll help you get into a better school next year.”
“Fine, whatever,” Theresa said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll get the stupid exams done. Don’t worry about it, mom,” she turned to stomp off into the house.
“Make sure you take your time! Don’t rush things!” Wendy reminded her.
“I know..”
“And I’ll want to look it over when it’s done!”
“Yeah, whatever,” Theresa said in the snottiest tone Wendy’d ever heard from her, as she stalked up the steps into the house. Wendy watched the door slam behind her, and sighed. She enjoyed being Theresa’s teacher, for the most part, but sometimes getting her to do the work was such a fight.
And it’s not like she hadn’t had a month to work on these exams. But like it or not, they WERE going to be done by next Monday. Of that she had no doubt.
“Right, the mail,” she finally said, reaching into her pocket, and pulling out the key, turning back towards the street, and the communal mailbox waiting across.
===================================
Wednesday June 25, 2014
2:43 PM Eastern Daylight Time
The Nest- Side Yard (Right Side facing the street)
Indianapolis, Indiana
"I've brought you a drink, Terry,"
Terrence Thompson craned his neck up to see his wife standing over him, holding a tall plastic tumbler almost overflowing with ice and lemonade. "Oh? Great, thank you. It's murder in this heat" he said, pushing himself off the ground where he had been lying next to the air conditioner unit.
"Well, you've been out here a while, working so hard. How much longer do you think it's going to take?"
Terrence shrugged. "Not one hundred percent sure, but I think I'm getting the idea. Shouldn't be too much longer."
"Thank God," Wendy huffed. "It's so bleeping HOT today!"
"Well, if you're so hot, you could always take something off, " Terrence offered with a wink, eyeing his wife, who was wearing a bright yellow T-shirt and white cargo shorts, along with a pair of sandals.
Wendy pondered for a second, then shrugged. "I suppose I could for a bit. It's not like anyone's going to see me, since the Andersons are out of town," she said, gesturing over at the house next door. She grabbed the hem of her shirt, lifting it up and off over her head, so that now she only stood in her bra.
"There. Bet you feel a lot cooler now, don't you?" Terrence asked with a wink.
"Actually,” Wendy said, panting and fanning her chest. “I feel… hotter.”
They looked at each other, and suddenly they had collided, mouths and tongues pressing into each other, as their hands ripped at the clothes they were still wearing, sweating even more in the sweltering sun, despite the discarded garments. With a grunt, Terrence spun, throwing Wendy atop the air conditioning unit, falling atop her and kissing her neck, as she gasped. “Oh, Terry…. Terry!”
“TERRENCE! HEY, TERRENCE!”
Terrence looked up, squinting into the bright sunlight to see his wife standing over him, arms on her hips. He blinked, rubbing his eyes, and stifled a yawn. “Sorry, hon. What was that?”
“I was asking you how much longer it’s going to be. We’re you sleeping?”
“No!” Terrence said defensively… and perhaps a tad untruthfully. “I just got… lost in thought for a second. This heat… it plays tricks with your brain.”
“Tell me about it,” Wendy said, fanning herself with a small stack of envelopes in her hand. “So, how much longer, you think?”
“Can’t say for certain. I think I’m pretty sure what I need to do, just… I’ve never done it before, so new territory.”
Wendy closed her eyes and sighed. “Maybe you should just call a repairman.”
“Nah, I got this. I’ve come this far, haven’t I?”
“Well, hurry it up. It’s so bleeping HOT today!”
Terrence grinned at his irritated wife. “Well, if you’re so hot, you could always take something off.”
The look that Wendy gave him was not one of amusement. “And walk around in exactly what, Terrence?”
“Well, nothing if you want.” He said, putting his hands on his shoulders, and pulling her in. “But that might just make you hotter.”
“Oh, God, Terry,” Wendy said, pulling away. “Not now. You’re all sweaty and gross and anyone could see us…”
“Hey, you never objected, before, like after we were done training or anything.”
“Well, that’s different. That’s like good sweat. You’re all greasy and icky and… no…” she quickly changed the subject, waving the envelopes in her hand. “Mail came. You got something from NASCAR. I’ll drop it off at Cassie’s office tomorrow when I go in to train.”
“Nah, all the track stuff goes there anyways,” Terrence said, breaking out into a grin. “That’s actually for me. It’s my Nationwide license application.”
Wendy’s eyes narrowed. “Wait… Nationwide license?”
“Yeah, you know, the Nationwide Series? The second-highest one, one step below Sprint Cup. I was talking to a guy at Michigan, and he was expressing interest in maybe me running some races for him next year. But I gotta get myself licensed right to race in the division, so I figured I’d look into it.”
“When were you going to tell me about this?” Wendy asked. She was a lot less happier than he had anticipated her hearing this news.
“I dunno. It’s not like it’s all that big of a deal, hon,” Terrence said with a shrug. “Nothings set in stone yet, but I just figure that maybe at least looking into it would be good. Even if I don’t get a full time ride, maybe doing a few here and there on intersecting weekends with ARCA would be a good way to get my feet wet.”
He could see her mouth moving to mimic the words “full time ride”, although no audio came out. Wendy took a deep breath, and nodded. “Alright. Well, I better get back inside before my skin starts to peel off. Let me know when you get the AC fixed, alright?”
“I think you’ll know,” Terrence said, still miffed at his wife’s less than receptive attitude, but she only nodded and turned to walk away, rounding the house. It was then that something else suddenly popped in his brain.
“Hey, could you bring me some lemonade?” Terrence called after her.
The sound of the front door slamming without a reply was a pretty good indication that he probably wasn’t getting refreshments any time soon.
Ah well, he thought, dropping back down to look at the air conditioning unit.
Back to work.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
EPISODE 254: Overheated (Part 1)
From the Private Journal of Wendy Briese
6-3-2014
Losing to Tara Thunder hurt.
I mean that literally. I don’t think I’ve ever taken a shot as hard as I did when Tara connected with that Down and Dead. It certainly lived up to the name- I don’t remember being pinned, the bell ringing, the ref raising Tara’s hand… I was going for the Cyclone, then Pollaski was helping me up. Pretty scary to think you took a shot that hard that you blacked out, and can’t even remember a good fifteen seconds. Thankfully, the concussion tests came back negative.
And I can’t fault Tara. She wrestled that math like it was a referendum on her very existence. That match was her career or bust, her one chance to shatter this bugaboo that had haunted her for twenty-two months, and she pulled it off. And it meant a lot to her. Honestly, hearing that a win over you means THAT much to someone is an excellent salve for whatever sting your pride takes in defeat.
So Tara’s finally pinned me, has that feather in her cap and that monkey off her back. I hope it makes her happy, brings her peace, and quiets the voices of self-doubt that had been plaguing her for so long. I know that won’t be the last I ever see of her, but hopefully in the future it’ll be more about two excellent wrestlers positioning themselves for the FFW Championship than any particular “have to beat or else” mentality.
All in all though, the show was great. The fans were into it, the wrestling was high calibur, Eileen won. Caroline knocked off that obnoxious loudmouth, and Val knocked off that even more obnoxious loudermouth. Pretty much every result at Relentless was satisfactory.
Except one.
Watching Jennifer Stringer’s hand hit the mat for a third time after that Soviet Burial ruined Relentless. For me, for the fans, for anyone who cares about this company, watching Mika Demidov win that title ruined EVERYTHING. She ruined what could very well have been the biggest dream match in FFW history, at the biggest show of the year. She ruined the reputation of one of the brightest stars this company has ever seen, and she’s ruined (or at least is about to) everything the belt her grubby little hands now hold stood or.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be me and Scarlett, one magical night in a contest where it didn’t ultimately matter who won or lost, because the simply beauty of the purity of the competition would have shone over all. But that’s gone, shattered, and I don’t even know if we’ll ever get the chance again. Not in the way it was going to be.
Mika ruined that.
And now it does matter who wins or loses at Unstoppable. Now I’m no longer fighting for an idealied manifestation of competition at its purest, but on a rescue mission. To save the title from an arrogant Russian toerag who devalues the belt every second she holds it.
I won’t be saying this out loud of course. I don’t want to sound bitter, no matter how much of a right I have to be. That’s why I have this journal, after all- so I can say what’s on my mind without saying what I really oughtn’t to others. So I’ll go ahead and brush off the acting skills and play the Stepford smiler. I’ll smile and nod as Mika goes on to trash everyone who has ever made this company great, let her go on her rants and celebrations and self-effacing dramatics that no one cares about. But all the while I will be counting the days. Days until Unstoppable. Days until I take away what Mikaela Demidov never should have had. With interest.
Days until I save Femme Fatale Wrestling from a fluke.
So the pressure is on, and the clock is ticking. Fifty-Nine days until Unstoppable. Fifty-nine days until I fight for the soul and heart of this company. Fifty-nine days until I become the FFW Champion for the second time. Because I *WILL* win this.
I have to win this.
Because God help this company if I don’t.
-Wendy
====================
Wednesday June 25, 2014
2:19 PM Eastern Daylight Time
The Nest- Front Driveway
Indianapolis, Indiana
Theresa Thompson finished drawing her pirate ship, and stood up, stepping back to admire her handiwork. It was a fairly rudimentary drawing, of course- she was only seven years old, after all, and seemed to have inherited far more of her father’s artistic ability than her mother’s. BUt still, she was pretty happy with it. But it needed a cannon.
She went back to the ship, kneeling down on the adjacent hopscotch board she had drawn earlier for her and ANgela to use. That hand’t gone too well- the sudden heat wave that had gripped central Indiana was making most outdoor physical activity unbearable, and it wasn’t long before Angela was fleeing home to the sheltered air-conditioned bliss of her own home. Theresa almost wished she had followed her, on two accounts.
The first was that the Thompson family had arrived home just the previoius day to discover that their own air-conditioning system had been broken. Even now, her father was on the side of the house, banging away on the large metal box, his hammering blows (and occasional curse words) echoing off the Parkinson’s house next door to rattle around the neighborhood.
The second reason was her mother.
It certainly wasn’t helping that their house was now a veritable oven, but Mom had been a lot more irritable than normal since the last pay-per-view show, and when she was irritable, she got a lot stricter with Theresa. And when she got stricter with Theresa, she tended to be a lot better at remembering tasks she had assigned her that hadn’t been completed, like say, a pile of schoolwork that Theresa had absolutely no desire to do at the moment.
So, she stayed out here. At least here there was a bit of a breeze, too, so it wasn’t as stuffy as inside. And Dad had allowed her to bring Fireball out, so long as the goldendoodle was attached to a longline. The restraint wasn’t exactly needed- in this heat, all the puppy was up for was lying in the shade, ocasionally twitching its legs to bat at a butterfly or bee. Still, she could feel the suntan lotion Mom had slathered her with before letting her go out veritably melting under the shorching rays of the sun.
Theresa finished her cannon, complete with a ball being launched with copious motion lines behind it. She went to return the piece of dark blue chalk to her bucket, only for the stick to clatter on the driveway. Theresa looked, startled. Her bucket was gone. It was just here-
And then she saw what had happened.
Clinton Sickles stood at the edge of the driveway, the bucket of chalk in his hands, grinning evilly. “Thanks!” He sneered.
“Give it back!” Theresa howled, getting to her feet, angry both at the thief and herself for letting him sneak up on her while she was lost in thought- although to be fair, this heat made daydreaming easy. Furious, she started after the ex-third grader.
“Ah-ah-ah!” Clint admonished, wagging his fingers. “You can’t come within a hundred yards of me! In fact, you’re too close now, so start backing up.” He looked over at Fireball, who had roused from her nap, and was barking (well, yipping) at the neighborhood bully.
“The restraining order doesn’t apply if YOU come over HERE,” Theresa fumed at the bratty boy who had gotten her expelled from College Park. “Just give me my chalk back, and get out of here.”
“But I want this chalk,” Clint said simply. “Could come in handy.”
“Those are GIRL colors,” Theresa said pointing to the bucket, where sure enough there were plenty of pinks and purples inside, even though there were as many non-feminine colors as well. Still, she thought that maybe if she appealed to Clinton’s pride…
It worked… kind of. Clinton looked down in the bucket, and made a face. “Yeah, you’re right. Some of these suck. I don’t need them.” He picked out a pink, a purple, and a lavender, then looked up, grinning. “Guess I’ll just throw them down the storm drain.”
“NO!” Theresa yelled, running at him. She didn’t care anymore. She wasn’t going to let this jerk throw her chalk down the sewer and continue to torture her, especially after all he’d already done. She could hear Fireball barking behind her, and Clinton’s laughter as he backpedaled away, waving the chalk tauntingly. If she caught him, she would-
“Is everything alright here?”
Theresa looked up at the sound of her mother’s voice, and even Clinton stopped. Wendy had evidently heard the commotion and gone outside to investigate. Theresa grinned inwardly. Busted!
“Clint tried to steal my chalk, mom.” She said, pointing at the bucket.
Evidently her mom had already come to that conlusion, as she was nodding. “Why’d you steal her chalk, Clinton?”
The boy shrugged sullen and defiant. “Just havin’ some fun.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s very much fun for her. Give it back, please.”
For a second, Clinton looked like he was about to obey, but then stopped and defiantly shook his head. “No. You can’t make me, you’re not my mom. In fact I have a restraining order and if you come anywhere near me then-”
Wendy wasn’t listening. Instead, she was reaching down, grabbing Fireball by the collar, and unhitching the tether. Clint’s voice died in his throat as the now-freed puppy bolted straight at him, snarling as vicious as a four month old goldendoodle could. As Theresa watched with glee, the dog leapt, tiny jaws clamping down around his arm, and with a twist of Fireball’s head, Clinton Sickle’s arm was ripped clean off at the socket.
Clint screamed as the dog ran off with his arm, tail happily wagging, and he fell to his knees as blood seeped from the wound, using his free hand to try and cover it. Wendy looked over at Theresa, as if asking for permission, and Theresa nodded. Wendy ran at the obnoxious bully, giving a soccer kick connecting under his chin. There was a loud, anguished scream and a ripping sound.
And then Clinton Sickle’s head was free of his shoulders, tumbling end over end as it flew onto the neighbors lawn, where it rolled to a stop.
6-3-2014
Losing to Tara Thunder hurt.
I mean that literally. I don’t think I’ve ever taken a shot as hard as I did when Tara connected with that Down and Dead. It certainly lived up to the name- I don’t remember being pinned, the bell ringing, the ref raising Tara’s hand… I was going for the Cyclone, then Pollaski was helping me up. Pretty scary to think you took a shot that hard that you blacked out, and can’t even remember a good fifteen seconds. Thankfully, the concussion tests came back negative.
And I can’t fault Tara. She wrestled that math like it was a referendum on her very existence. That match was her career or bust, her one chance to shatter this bugaboo that had haunted her for twenty-two months, and she pulled it off. And it meant a lot to her. Honestly, hearing that a win over you means THAT much to someone is an excellent salve for whatever sting your pride takes in defeat.
So Tara’s finally pinned me, has that feather in her cap and that monkey off her back. I hope it makes her happy, brings her peace, and quiets the voices of self-doubt that had been plaguing her for so long. I know that won’t be the last I ever see of her, but hopefully in the future it’ll be more about two excellent wrestlers positioning themselves for the FFW Championship than any particular “have to beat or else” mentality.
All in all though, the show was great. The fans were into it, the wrestling was high calibur, Eileen won. Caroline knocked off that obnoxious loudmouth, and Val knocked off that even more obnoxious loudermouth. Pretty much every result at Relentless was satisfactory.
Except one.
Watching Jennifer Stringer’s hand hit the mat for a third time after that Soviet Burial ruined Relentless. For me, for the fans, for anyone who cares about this company, watching Mika Demidov win that title ruined EVERYTHING. She ruined what could very well have been the biggest dream match in FFW history, at the biggest show of the year. She ruined the reputation of one of the brightest stars this company has ever seen, and she’s ruined (or at least is about to) everything the belt her grubby little hands now hold stood or.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be me and Scarlett, one magical night in a contest where it didn’t ultimately matter who won or lost, because the simply beauty of the purity of the competition would have shone over all. But that’s gone, shattered, and I don’t even know if we’ll ever get the chance again. Not in the way it was going to be.
Mika ruined that.
And now it does matter who wins or loses at Unstoppable. Now I’m no longer fighting for an idealied manifestation of competition at its purest, but on a rescue mission. To save the title from an arrogant Russian toerag who devalues the belt every second she holds it.
I won’t be saying this out loud of course. I don’t want to sound bitter, no matter how much of a right I have to be. That’s why I have this journal, after all- so I can say what’s on my mind without saying what I really oughtn’t to others. So I’ll go ahead and brush off the acting skills and play the Stepford smiler. I’ll smile and nod as Mika goes on to trash everyone who has ever made this company great, let her go on her rants and celebrations and self-effacing dramatics that no one cares about. But all the while I will be counting the days. Days until Unstoppable. Days until I take away what Mikaela Demidov never should have had. With interest.
Days until I save Femme Fatale Wrestling from a fluke.
So the pressure is on, and the clock is ticking. Fifty-Nine days until Unstoppable. Fifty-nine days until I fight for the soul and heart of this company. Fifty-nine days until I become the FFW Champion for the second time. Because I *WILL* win this.
I have to win this.
Because God help this company if I don’t.
-Wendy
====================
Wednesday June 25, 2014
2:19 PM Eastern Daylight Time
The Nest- Front Driveway
Indianapolis, Indiana
Theresa Thompson finished drawing her pirate ship, and stood up, stepping back to admire her handiwork. It was a fairly rudimentary drawing, of course- she was only seven years old, after all, and seemed to have inherited far more of her father’s artistic ability than her mother’s. BUt still, she was pretty happy with it. But it needed a cannon.
She went back to the ship, kneeling down on the adjacent hopscotch board she had drawn earlier for her and ANgela to use. That hand’t gone too well- the sudden heat wave that had gripped central Indiana was making most outdoor physical activity unbearable, and it wasn’t long before Angela was fleeing home to the sheltered air-conditioned bliss of her own home. Theresa almost wished she had followed her, on two accounts.
The first was that the Thompson family had arrived home just the previoius day to discover that their own air-conditioning system had been broken. Even now, her father was on the side of the house, banging away on the large metal box, his hammering blows (and occasional curse words) echoing off the Parkinson’s house next door to rattle around the neighborhood.
The second reason was her mother.
It certainly wasn’t helping that their house was now a veritable oven, but Mom had been a lot more irritable than normal since the last pay-per-view show, and when she was irritable, she got a lot stricter with Theresa. And when she got stricter with Theresa, she tended to be a lot better at remembering tasks she had assigned her that hadn’t been completed, like say, a pile of schoolwork that Theresa had absolutely no desire to do at the moment.
So, she stayed out here. At least here there was a bit of a breeze, too, so it wasn’t as stuffy as inside. And Dad had allowed her to bring Fireball out, so long as the goldendoodle was attached to a longline. The restraint wasn’t exactly needed- in this heat, all the puppy was up for was lying in the shade, ocasionally twitching its legs to bat at a butterfly or bee. Still, she could feel the suntan lotion Mom had slathered her with before letting her go out veritably melting under the shorching rays of the sun.
Theresa finished her cannon, complete with a ball being launched with copious motion lines behind it. She went to return the piece of dark blue chalk to her bucket, only for the stick to clatter on the driveway. Theresa looked, startled. Her bucket was gone. It was just here-
And then she saw what had happened.
Clinton Sickles stood at the edge of the driveway, the bucket of chalk in his hands, grinning evilly. “Thanks!” He sneered.
“Give it back!” Theresa howled, getting to her feet, angry both at the thief and herself for letting him sneak up on her while she was lost in thought- although to be fair, this heat made daydreaming easy. Furious, she started after the ex-third grader.
“Ah-ah-ah!” Clint admonished, wagging his fingers. “You can’t come within a hundred yards of me! In fact, you’re too close now, so start backing up.” He looked over at Fireball, who had roused from her nap, and was barking (well, yipping) at the neighborhood bully.
“The restraining order doesn’t apply if YOU come over HERE,” Theresa fumed at the bratty boy who had gotten her expelled from College Park. “Just give me my chalk back, and get out of here.”
“But I want this chalk,” Clint said simply. “Could come in handy.”
“Those are GIRL colors,” Theresa said pointing to the bucket, where sure enough there were plenty of pinks and purples inside, even though there were as many non-feminine colors as well. Still, she thought that maybe if she appealed to Clinton’s pride…
It worked… kind of. Clinton looked down in the bucket, and made a face. “Yeah, you’re right. Some of these suck. I don’t need them.” He picked out a pink, a purple, and a lavender, then looked up, grinning. “Guess I’ll just throw them down the storm drain.”
“NO!” Theresa yelled, running at him. She didn’t care anymore. She wasn’t going to let this jerk throw her chalk down the sewer and continue to torture her, especially after all he’d already done. She could hear Fireball barking behind her, and Clinton’s laughter as he backpedaled away, waving the chalk tauntingly. If she caught him, she would-
“Is everything alright here?”
Theresa looked up at the sound of her mother’s voice, and even Clinton stopped. Wendy had evidently heard the commotion and gone outside to investigate. Theresa grinned inwardly. Busted!
“Clint tried to steal my chalk, mom.” She said, pointing at the bucket.
Evidently her mom had already come to that conlusion, as she was nodding. “Why’d you steal her chalk, Clinton?”
The boy shrugged sullen and defiant. “Just havin’ some fun.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s very much fun for her. Give it back, please.”
For a second, Clinton looked like he was about to obey, but then stopped and defiantly shook his head. “No. You can’t make me, you’re not my mom. In fact I have a restraining order and if you come anywhere near me then-”
Wendy wasn’t listening. Instead, she was reaching down, grabbing Fireball by the collar, and unhitching the tether. Clint’s voice died in his throat as the now-freed puppy bolted straight at him, snarling as vicious as a four month old goldendoodle could. As Theresa watched with glee, the dog leapt, tiny jaws clamping down around his arm, and with a twist of Fireball’s head, Clinton Sickle’s arm was ripped clean off at the socket.
Clint screamed as the dog ran off with his arm, tail happily wagging, and he fell to his knees as blood seeped from the wound, using his free hand to try and cover it. Wendy looked over at Theresa, as if asking for permission, and Theresa nodded. Wendy ran at the obnoxious bully, giving a soccer kick connecting under his chin. There was a loud, anguished scream and a ripping sound.
And then Clinton Sickle’s head was free of his shoulders, tumbling end over end as it flew onto the neighbors lawn, where it rolled to a stop.
EPISODE 253: INCOMING! (Part 3)
FRIDAY MAY 30, 2014
7:58 AM EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
THE RV- MASTER BEDROOM
BELFORD, NEW JERSEY
Wendy Briese smiled contently as the sunlight filtered in through the RV’s windows, penetrating her closed eyelids and rousing her from her slumber. Without opening, she sighed, turning her head and nestling back into her pillow. She had probably overslept by at least an hour, but it felt worth it. A little decadance now and then wasn’t a sin, after all.
She really should open her eyes and get going, she knew. She had a busy day ahead of her, she knew, with several pre show activities in downtown New York, not to mention her promo scheduled to be shot tonight. But the bed just felt so nice and relaxing, and she was loathe to get up. Another fifteen minutes of sleep or so wouldn’t hurt.
She winced slightly as a tongue began to lick her face, starting at her chin, and moving to her nose. She giggled from the tickling sensation. “Terry, I told you, not until tonight,” she rebuked, reaching out to push her husband’s face away.
She got a fistful of fur instead.
Now Wendy’s eyes opened, and she found herself staring in the face of Fireball, who was panting happily at her wagging its tail. Terrence had named the copper-colored goldendoodle after a legendary stock car driver, and Theresa had happily agreed with the “cool” name. Wendy didn’t really care about the mutt’s name, but she certainly cared that the animal was somehow on her bed, when it was supposed to be tightly locked away in its cage.
“What are you doing in here?” the Flame haired wrestler growled. Beyond the dog, she could see that the other side of the bed was empty. Evidently Terrence had woken up, let the beast out of its cage, and lost track of it. Surprise, surprise.
She was already annoyed and frustrated as it was. The drive from Indianapolis to New York, on a good day, took 12 hours. With a cursed mutt with an unpredictable bladder, it had turned into an unbearable grind, pulling of every hour or so to allow the dog to do its business. Half the time they wouldn’t be on time, and had to spend several more minutes cleaning yet another ruined upholstery with Terrence’s “Magic Enzyme Spray”. It actually worked quite well, but that was beside the point.
For an answer, Fireball simply yipped, and wagged her tail some more.
“Alright, you’re not supposed to be in here,” Wendy said, pushing herself up, and grabbing the squirming goldendoodle. She held it in front of her, and made to stand up, but stopped as an unpleasant odor wafted into her nostrils. Automatically, she turned her head, and quickly discovered, to her horror, the source of the odor lying in a rather watery pile mere inches from where she had been lying.
“You. Have. GOT. To. Be. Kid-YEARGH!”
At that moment, the puppy had let it’s other end go, Wendy catching the stream full on in the chest. Shrieking in rage and disgust, she threw Fireball onto the bed, and leapt across the room, tearing at her nightgown and throwing it aside, onto the bed. Fireball happily bit into it, shaking her newfound chewtoy and wagging her tail again.
At that moment Terrence bolted in, alarmed by his wife’s shriek. He looked at Wendy, standing naked save for her socks, then over at the messed bed, then back at Wendy again, a grin coming over his features.
“Didn’t think you’d ever be into that kind of stuff, but if you’re feeling adventurous, I’m willing to try it.”
The thunderous look on his wife’s face indicated the attempt at levity was greatly unappreciated. “Alright, come on, you. Let’s get you outside,” And he picked up the dog, and carried it out of the room. Her face having passed her hair in redness, Wendy threw open the wardrobe door and began furiously throwing on clothes. Through the door, she could hear her husband telling Theresa to get the leash, and take Fireball outside. Again.
“Okay, that’s IT.” Wendy informed her husband as she furiously adjusted her bra as he returned to the room. “Either that HELLHOUND leaves, or I do.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Terrence muttered, although to his credit he managed to avoid rolling his eyes. “The bed should be easy enough to clean.”
“It’s not just the bed, Terrence,” Wendy snarled, pulling on her pants halfway before realizing they were backwards. “It’s the living room carpet. The hallway. The stairs. The couch. The KITCHEN TABLE in the RV. The galley floor…”
“Okay, so Fireball is a little bit… leaky.”
“Fireball, is a lot bit DISGUSTING, Terrence. And we were HAPPY in marriage for eight years without a dog, so why did you suddenly feel the need to UNILATERALLY change that?”
“Well, they only had one-”
“Don’t TELL me it’s because they only had one left!” Wendy shot back. “You could have taken the same phone you used to call Puppy Mills USA, and dialed ME to talk to me about it. I’m fairly certain I’m in your contact list. And then we could have conferred, I would have told you absolutely not, and that would have been the end of it!”
Terrence blinked. “Wait, so why does your ‘no’ vote count more than my ‘yes’ vote?”
“Because, you’ve made ENOUGH unilateral decisions in this family for my lifetime, Terrence,” Wendy snapped out, reaching for a shirt so aggressively the plastic hanger snapped. “YOu unilaterally made the decision to buy the RV. You unilaterally made the decision to sell my car. You unilaterally made the decision to retire from wrestling. You unilaterally made the decision to buy North Marion. ANd now you’ve unilaterally made a decision to buy a freaking DOG.”
“Okay, whoah, timeout.” Terrence said, making the customary signal. “First of all, you already got me back for selling your car by pretending to sell mine, so you can’t use that. You yourself have said time and again that the RV is a godsend for when we’re on the road. My retiring got you into the company that has made you a bigger star than ever. And North Marion included a training gym that you’ve used rigorously. Damn near everything I’ve done has turned out for the better. You can’t argue with that.”
“And the dog has somehow, in the span of less than forty-eight hours, get excrement all over it.” Wendy shot back.
“You never know, hon,” Terrence said with a small smile. “There may come a day where you’ll be damn glad we have a dog. A fully grown goldendoodle might have been able to handle that rat.”
“I doubt it,” Wendy responded cooly.
Terrence took a deep breath. “Look, you’re right. I dont’ apologize for my decisions, because they were the right ones, and have made my life better, your life better, and Theresa’s life better. But...I shouldn’t have sprung so much of this on you with no notice. It’s unfair to you. Especially this dog, because I know you don’t like them. But… it was the heat of the moment Theresa got excited, and I got excited, and the next thing we knew, we were in the car with Fireball in a box throwing up on a towel.”
Wendy rolled her eyes as she looked in the wardrobe’s mirror. At least now she was fully dressed and ready to take on the last day before Relentless. She sighed, looking over at Terrence. “Alright. Two week trial from next Monday. Sixteen days to see if this can work out, and if not, the dog goes back.”
“Oh, come on,” Terrence argued, “At least give it some time after once we can housetrain her. Three months.”
“Absolutely not! One month.” Wendy countered. She looked back over at the bed with a frustrated sigh. “This is going to take that long to clean up as it is. Thirty-six hours from a match with Tara Thunder of all people, and I’m dealing with this. Why is it, major life-altering events happen right before pay-per-views?”
“You already asked that once,” Terrence pointed out. “And, I don’t know why, but it’s not exactly a bad thing.”
“Seriously?” Wendy demanded, glaring at him.
“Seriously!” Terrence affirmed. “I mean, think about it. They kind of bring you luck. Theresa got kicked out of school right before you won the FFW Championship. I bought the race track right before you knocked the shit out of Jodie in that open challenge to the Power Trip. Your dad escaped from prison right before you won the No Surrender title for the first time. And right before you beat Tara in that Winner Takes All match, you shot-”
“I get the picture!” Wendy snapped, cutting off her husband with a glare. Her expression softened as she looked at the bed. “Although I suppose between getting a dog and going through that again… I’d take the dog.”
Silence reigned for several seconds, before Wendy turned back to her husband. “Two months.” she said firmly. “Two months to see if this works out. But it’s my call. Not yours. Not Theresa’s. If, on August 1 I want the mutt gone, the mutt’s gone. Got it?”
Terrence studied her for several more seconds, then reluctantly nodded. “Deal.”
Neither Terrence nor Wendy sensed the eight year old girl with her ear pressed up against the bedroom door, even when she pulled away with a gasp of horror. Tears of panic in her eyes, she ran across the RV, picking up the goldendoodle and cradling it in her arms.
“Come on, Fireball. We have to make you the best dog ever so mommy doesn’t get rid of you!”
As Theresa set the dog down, again Fireball dipped and let loose another stream of pee onto the floor. Theresa stared down at her, cross.
“That’s so not a good start.”
====================================
SUNDAY MAY 31, 2014
2:05 AM EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
CONEY ISLAND- DENO’S WONDER WHEEL AMUSEMENT PARK
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
There’s realy nothing in the world more creepier than an amusement park that’s gone dark. But that is exactly where our scene opens up, just off the Coney Island Midway, the camera slowly approaching the ghostly silhouettes of the attractions against both the night sky and the glaring lights of Brooklyn lying just beyond. The camera goes through a small gate, and begins walking towards the carousel, going around it deeper into the park. It finally comes to a stop as it rounds a corner, and comes face to face with a lone feminine figure, shrouded in darkness.
“Hello, Tara Thunder. We’ve been expecting you. We’ve been expecting you for a good long while. Too long. But you’re here now. You’ve finally made it. So, welcome, Tara Thunder. Welcome… to CONTENDERLAND!”
With that, the amusement park suddenly comes to life, with the carousel, a nearby roller coaster, and the world famous Wonder Wheel coming to life in a dazzling array of lights and carnival style music. The woman is illuminated by the lights, revealing herself (to no ones surprise) as Wendy Briese, dressed in a simple green dress, along with a black windbreaker open down the front, as it’s a bit chilly.
“Yes, Tara. Contenderland. The exclusive club for women who are in serious contention to challenge for the FFW Championship, the greatest prize in all of women’s wrestling. Not many women are allowed into these Hallowed grounds. Scarlett, of course, since she’s the champion. Mika Demidov challenges tonight. I challenge again in two months. Valerie Lamb, especially if she beats Stacey tonight, remains solidly in the discussion as well, even if she doesn’t have a specific shot lined up. Four women. Four women out of seventy-six on the roster. A little over five percent of the roster are currently considered true, honest to God contenders to the top championship in this company.”
“And now you make the number five, Tara. Like I said before… welcome to the club.”
Wendy gestures to her side, over towards the gate the camera walked through earlier.
“Yes, welcome. Because you may have noticed, Tara, that we’re not standing at the gate. I’m not here blocking your admittance. You’re inside the park. You already got your ticket and had your hand stamped, you’ve had that for a couple years. All you’ve had to do was find the RESOLVE to put one foot in front of the other, and walk inside.”
“So let me get that big elephant in the room out of the way, clear up a couple of misconceptions. Tonight is not about whether or not Tara Thunder deserves to be in the main event FFW Championship picture. That question has been answered through three and a half years of blood, sweat, and tears on her part. Tonight is simply a rivalry reborn. A reunion of two women who, twenty-two months ago, took each other to the limit in one of the greatest, most emotional matches in this company’s history.”
“If there’s a question to any of this, Tara… it’s where the heck have you been since that night? Because when the lights went out at Safeco field and the curtain fell on Unstoppable III… your road here was clear. All you had to do was come down the ramp on the next show, hold up a microphone, and say ‘I want Scarlett Kincaid’, and you may have well been FFW Champion by the end of the year. But you didn’t. No, instead you focused on getting a pointless revenge win against Hanna Elliot, and then subversing yourself to the Power Trip, content to be their hired muscle and lackey. And that’s was tragic. There’s no other way to describe one of the best female wrestlers in the world, one so seemingly hungry to prove just how great she was, utterly lacking the AMBITION needed to put her in the arena to do just so.”
“And then finally… FINALLY you were ready to pursue that gold again, and you placed yourself directly in contendership for the No Surrender Championship.”
Wendy shakes her head softly laughing, her emotions in three parts- annoyed, amused, and sad.
“The irony of that just kills me. Everyone knows that I, Wendy Briese, spit on the Evolution Championship to favor the No Surrender Division. That I cast aside the second-highest belt in the company like GARBAGE for the sake of my own ego. And everyone knows this, Tara because you have spent TWO YEARS pushing this narrative. Because of your… dedication to the story, it’s become almost a stock talking point where I’m concerned, echoed ad nauseum by the great parrots of our locker room, such as Stephanie Sullivan. I’m sure you’re absolutely proud listening to her adopt your crackpot ideas as her own.”
“Yes, Tara. Crackpot. Because the simple fact of the matter is, I made a tough decision I didn’t want to have to make. You would have had to make the same decision had you won that match. I had two belts, could only keep one, I chose. I would have loved to have defended both, but I was told no. I did everything I could to make sure that when I released the Evolution Championship, it retained as much prestige as I could possibly manage. That’s why I held the mini-ceremony, and bought the travel case, and personally handed the belt to Mr. Horton, because I wanted to make sure everyone knew that I wasn’t casting aside some trinket like it was garbage, that I was reluctantly, tearfully parting with a treasured posession that I wasn’t allowed to keep.”
“And I never regretted it for a second. Even after hearing your distorted take on the matter. Even after losing the No Surrender Championship to Serafina. Even after watching Crystal Hilton win the Evolution Championship, and then seeing the belt pass on to that great bastion of unhallowed misery Katherine Stryfe, I didn’t regret my decision. I made the right one, and seeing where those belts- BOTH those belts are today confirms it.”
Wendy takes a deep breath. Her voice has been calm, although there’s a definite spark of anger in her emerald eyes.
“But now here’s the killer irony. You did the exact same thing, Tara. When all was said and done, you could have cashed in that rematch clause, zeroed in on Crystal or Katherine, and won that Evolution Championship, the one that hurt you so much to see cast aside, back and held it for another eight months. You could have done that easily. But you didn’t. You turned your back on the Evolution division, and went to the No Surrender. The exact same thing I did. So why did you do that, Tara? Why did you turn your back on the title you loved, the title you thought I disgraced, and that you could have restored the honor to only if you held it again?”
“Because of me.”
There’s no trace of arrogance or bragging in her voice. Wendy says it matter of factly with a shade of weariness, and perhaps, a little bit of disgust.
“You went to the No Surrender division because of me, didn’t you? You said as much last September, right before you defended against Stephanie Sullivan. I quote… ‘ I set my sights on the very division Wendy Briese made famous, she had risen up that division to defeat me and if I went through it myself, maybe I could show that I can do just what she did, be one of the greatest submissionists around.... Watching Serafina beat Wendy after Briese had vacated my beloved Evolution Championship made her my prime target. I hoped and prayed that one day I could face her and do something Wendy Briese could not do, beat Serafina for a title.’”
Wendy looks up, a clear ‘what the hell?!’ expression on her face.
“And see, that’s got me thinking, Tara. Because things just keep popping up, and more and more I feel like they aren’t coincidences. Your career in Femme Fatale Wrestling has shadowed mine almost EXACTLY. You started in the Evolution Division. You then moved to the No Surrender Division. Both times you claimed the title from the woman who beat me for it, and then you went on to hold it longer than I did. And now that I’ve won the FFW Championship, you’re coming for that too.”
“And through it all, you CONSTANTLY kept bringing me up. Dang near every single time you have appeared in front of a television camera in an FFW capacity, my name comes out of your raving mouth. Wendy did this. Gwendolyn couldn’t do that. Briese threw away the title. And through it all the constant need to remind EVERYONE that you have NEVER beaten me, which isn’t technically true, but never let the facts get in the way of a good narrative, right?”
Wendy rubs her eyes, as if she suddenly has a migraine, before taking a deep breath, and looking directly into the camera.
“It feels like you’re stalking me, Tara. Not in the physical sense… I’m not looking over my shoulder when I go for a walk, but… in some weird temporal sense, you’re following my every move, and I don’t think its a coincidence. Heck, the last time we faced,you even took my promo, and went down it line by line, rebutting it. Even THEN you were trying to follow me.”
“So I want you to answer this question truthfully, Tara Thunder. Don’t scoff. Don’t laugh. Just think about it. How much of your FFW career is guided by some desire to one-up me? How much of your motivation over the past two to three years has been to stick it to Wendy Briese?”
Wendy takes a deep breath, and sighs, sadly shaking her head.
“I hope to God that I’m wrong on this. I hope my ego is fuelling my imagination and giving me groundless suspicions but somehow, deep down, I know I’m right. And that makes me sad, and a little bit angry.”
“You have any idea how short you’re selling yourself with this attitude, Tara? The ranting, the raving, the obsession? It makes you look second rate, which you are so very much not. You’re one of the few women in this company that everyone- from the champion Scarlett all the way down to our newest signee Ravyn Taylor- dreads to face. And that includes me too.”
“But I will tell this to you plain as day, Tara. As long as you remain obsessed with one-upping me, or anyone else. As long as my existence is a driving force behind your career decisions, it doesnt matter how many titles you win, or what they are, or how long you hold them. It won’t matter how many wins you have, or how many main events you sell out. You will ALWAYS be second-fiddle, until you learn to LET IT GO and become your OWN woman.”
As Wendy pauses to catch her breath, the sound of a male humming is heard from behind the camera, the tune being “Let It Go” from Frozen. Wendy shoots a glare at the camera, and the humming immediately stops. Another pause while Wendy takes another deep breath.
“But it’s put me on notice, too. I’ve seen what happens in rematches with people who’ve beaten you, and it’s not pretty. You nearly broke poor Hanna Elliott in half, and you actually knocked Caroline out of the company for several months. And your animosity for me is far greater than it was for either of them. I know what you’re going to do if the opportunity presents itself, but that opportunity will not be presenting itself. You may be all to eager to fall into MY patterns, Tara Thunder, but I’ll be DAMNED if I’m going to fall into yours!”
“And I’ll be damned if I’m going to be YOUR scapegoat for whatever failings you possess. I am not going to be blamed because I did my job well and won a match. I’m not going to be blamed because I was forced to make a tough decision, and you didn’t like it. I’m not going to be blamed because you’re too insecure to do what was best for your career, and I’m not going to be blamed because of the path your own decisions led you on. And if I do win tonight, I will not be blamed for whatever mopey petulant funk you throw yourself in because you can’t handle it!”
“So do yourself a HUGE favor, Tara, and SHUT UP.”
“Shut up about the non-exisistant disrespect you’re not getting. Shut up about the perceived insults that could only be interpreted as such by a paranoid MANIAC. Shut up about being offended to death about every little thing you don’t agree with. And for the love of God, shut up about everything being some kind of conspiracy against you and realize that some things are actually to be taken at face value here! You’re in the big girl division now, Tara, so START ACTING LIKE ONE.”
Wendy takes a deep breath before continuing.
“But all that aside, do you feel it now? Are you beginning to sense just how close you are? Because this is the point where the stakes get higher, but everything becomes that much more difficult. Where dreams are either made or doomed to be left unfulfilled. This is not a level for the faint of heart, and there’s a reason why so few are ever up at this level at once.”
“But you know what, Tara Thunder, you’re going to be just fine. Because for all the ranting and raving you do, for all the crazy mumbo-jumbo your mouth spouts and your unhealthy obsession with anyone who’s ever beaten you… you’re on the right track. You have the talent. You have the drive- no matter how scrwed up your motivations are. And you also do things the right way. It may take you months, maybe even a year or two, but I do think that sooner or later, you will be standing on top of the mountain.”
“And that’s all the more reason I need to beat you tonight.”
“You’re like a flooding river, Tara. When you have your mind on something, you start rising towards it. And you can’t stop a river from rising. The only thing you can do is keep piling on the sandbags, and hope you can slow it down enough so it won’t spill over. I don’t think I can stop you. Even if I were to beat you tonight, even if it were in dominant fashion, I couldn’t stop you. You’d just keep on rising.”
“But I can slow you down. I will slow you down. I have to slow you down.”
Wendy looks directly at the camera, her emerald eyes twinkling in the midway lights
“I’ll tell it to you plain, Tara Thunder. If I can’t beat you tonight, when I have virtually nothing to lose, then I’m going to have to deal with you again MUCH sooner rather than later, and this time, I could have EVERYTHING to lose.”
A small, crooked smile covers Wendy’s features.
“Does that sound like someone who doesn’t think you belong? Or does that sound like someone who knows what it’s like to go to hell and back in the ring, and is steeling herself up to do it once more?”
Wendy turns away, looking up at the Ferris Wheel awash in Midway lights.
“Just a few hours, Tara. Just a few hours and we will be in that ring, tearing the house down, just like we did in Seattle two years ago. But just remember, Tara. You may be fighting for pride. You may be fighting to get a monkey after your back. You may be even fighting for the inside track to challenge for the title at Sin & Sacrifice. But you are NOT fighting for your place here amongst the contenders. You proved that to everyone years ago. It’s just taken you this long to find your way in.”
Wendy looks back over her shoulder.
“Welcome home, Tara. I’ll see you in the ring tomorrow.”
Wendy turns and walks away up the midway, and the scene fades.
7:58 AM EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
THE RV- MASTER BEDROOM
BELFORD, NEW JERSEY
Wendy Briese smiled contently as the sunlight filtered in through the RV’s windows, penetrating her closed eyelids and rousing her from her slumber. Without opening, she sighed, turning her head and nestling back into her pillow. She had probably overslept by at least an hour, but it felt worth it. A little decadance now and then wasn’t a sin, after all.
She really should open her eyes and get going, she knew. She had a busy day ahead of her, she knew, with several pre show activities in downtown New York, not to mention her promo scheduled to be shot tonight. But the bed just felt so nice and relaxing, and she was loathe to get up. Another fifteen minutes of sleep or so wouldn’t hurt.
She winced slightly as a tongue began to lick her face, starting at her chin, and moving to her nose. She giggled from the tickling sensation. “Terry, I told you, not until tonight,” she rebuked, reaching out to push her husband’s face away.
She got a fistful of fur instead.
Now Wendy’s eyes opened, and she found herself staring in the face of Fireball, who was panting happily at her wagging its tail. Terrence had named the copper-colored goldendoodle after a legendary stock car driver, and Theresa had happily agreed with the “cool” name. Wendy didn’t really care about the mutt’s name, but she certainly cared that the animal was somehow on her bed, when it was supposed to be tightly locked away in its cage.
“What are you doing in here?” the Flame haired wrestler growled. Beyond the dog, she could see that the other side of the bed was empty. Evidently Terrence had woken up, let the beast out of its cage, and lost track of it. Surprise, surprise.
She was already annoyed and frustrated as it was. The drive from Indianapolis to New York, on a good day, took 12 hours. With a cursed mutt with an unpredictable bladder, it had turned into an unbearable grind, pulling of every hour or so to allow the dog to do its business. Half the time they wouldn’t be on time, and had to spend several more minutes cleaning yet another ruined upholstery with Terrence’s “Magic Enzyme Spray”. It actually worked quite well, but that was beside the point.
For an answer, Fireball simply yipped, and wagged her tail some more.
“Alright, you’re not supposed to be in here,” Wendy said, pushing herself up, and grabbing the squirming goldendoodle. She held it in front of her, and made to stand up, but stopped as an unpleasant odor wafted into her nostrils. Automatically, she turned her head, and quickly discovered, to her horror, the source of the odor lying in a rather watery pile mere inches from where she had been lying.
“You. Have. GOT. To. Be. Kid-YEARGH!”
At that moment, the puppy had let it’s other end go, Wendy catching the stream full on in the chest. Shrieking in rage and disgust, she threw Fireball onto the bed, and leapt across the room, tearing at her nightgown and throwing it aside, onto the bed. Fireball happily bit into it, shaking her newfound chewtoy and wagging her tail again.
At that moment Terrence bolted in, alarmed by his wife’s shriek. He looked at Wendy, standing naked save for her socks, then over at the messed bed, then back at Wendy again, a grin coming over his features.
“Didn’t think you’d ever be into that kind of stuff, but if you’re feeling adventurous, I’m willing to try it.”
The thunderous look on his wife’s face indicated the attempt at levity was greatly unappreciated. “Alright, come on, you. Let’s get you outside,” And he picked up the dog, and carried it out of the room. Her face having passed her hair in redness, Wendy threw open the wardrobe door and began furiously throwing on clothes. Through the door, she could hear her husband telling Theresa to get the leash, and take Fireball outside. Again.
“Okay, that’s IT.” Wendy informed her husband as she furiously adjusted her bra as he returned to the room. “Either that HELLHOUND leaves, or I do.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Terrence muttered, although to his credit he managed to avoid rolling his eyes. “The bed should be easy enough to clean.”
“It’s not just the bed, Terrence,” Wendy snarled, pulling on her pants halfway before realizing they were backwards. “It’s the living room carpet. The hallway. The stairs. The couch. The KITCHEN TABLE in the RV. The galley floor…”
“Okay, so Fireball is a little bit… leaky.”
“Fireball, is a lot bit DISGUSTING, Terrence. And we were HAPPY in marriage for eight years without a dog, so why did you suddenly feel the need to UNILATERALLY change that?”
“Well, they only had one-”
“Don’t TELL me it’s because they only had one left!” Wendy shot back. “You could have taken the same phone you used to call Puppy Mills USA, and dialed ME to talk to me about it. I’m fairly certain I’m in your contact list. And then we could have conferred, I would have told you absolutely not, and that would have been the end of it!”
Terrence blinked. “Wait, so why does your ‘no’ vote count more than my ‘yes’ vote?”
“Because, you’ve made ENOUGH unilateral decisions in this family for my lifetime, Terrence,” Wendy snapped out, reaching for a shirt so aggressively the plastic hanger snapped. “YOu unilaterally made the decision to buy the RV. You unilaterally made the decision to sell my car. You unilaterally made the decision to retire from wrestling. You unilaterally made the decision to buy North Marion. ANd now you’ve unilaterally made a decision to buy a freaking DOG.”
“Okay, whoah, timeout.” Terrence said, making the customary signal. “First of all, you already got me back for selling your car by pretending to sell mine, so you can’t use that. You yourself have said time and again that the RV is a godsend for when we’re on the road. My retiring got you into the company that has made you a bigger star than ever. And North Marion included a training gym that you’ve used rigorously. Damn near everything I’ve done has turned out for the better. You can’t argue with that.”
“And the dog has somehow, in the span of less than forty-eight hours, get excrement all over it.” Wendy shot back.
“You never know, hon,” Terrence said with a small smile. “There may come a day where you’ll be damn glad we have a dog. A fully grown goldendoodle might have been able to handle that rat.”
“I doubt it,” Wendy responded cooly.
Terrence took a deep breath. “Look, you’re right. I dont’ apologize for my decisions, because they were the right ones, and have made my life better, your life better, and Theresa’s life better. But...I shouldn’t have sprung so much of this on you with no notice. It’s unfair to you. Especially this dog, because I know you don’t like them. But… it was the heat of the moment Theresa got excited, and I got excited, and the next thing we knew, we were in the car with Fireball in a box throwing up on a towel.”
Wendy rolled her eyes as she looked in the wardrobe’s mirror. At least now she was fully dressed and ready to take on the last day before Relentless. She sighed, looking over at Terrence. “Alright. Two week trial from next Monday. Sixteen days to see if this can work out, and if not, the dog goes back.”
“Oh, come on,” Terrence argued, “At least give it some time after once we can housetrain her. Three months.”
“Absolutely not! One month.” Wendy countered. She looked back over at the bed with a frustrated sigh. “This is going to take that long to clean up as it is. Thirty-six hours from a match with Tara Thunder of all people, and I’m dealing with this. Why is it, major life-altering events happen right before pay-per-views?”
“You already asked that once,” Terrence pointed out. “And, I don’t know why, but it’s not exactly a bad thing.”
“Seriously?” Wendy demanded, glaring at him.
“Seriously!” Terrence affirmed. “I mean, think about it. They kind of bring you luck. Theresa got kicked out of school right before you won the FFW Championship. I bought the race track right before you knocked the shit out of Jodie in that open challenge to the Power Trip. Your dad escaped from prison right before you won the No Surrender title for the first time. And right before you beat Tara in that Winner Takes All match, you shot-”
“I get the picture!” Wendy snapped, cutting off her husband with a glare. Her expression softened as she looked at the bed. “Although I suppose between getting a dog and going through that again… I’d take the dog.”
Silence reigned for several seconds, before Wendy turned back to her husband. “Two months.” she said firmly. “Two months to see if this works out. But it’s my call. Not yours. Not Theresa’s. If, on August 1 I want the mutt gone, the mutt’s gone. Got it?”
Terrence studied her for several more seconds, then reluctantly nodded. “Deal.”
Neither Terrence nor Wendy sensed the eight year old girl with her ear pressed up against the bedroom door, even when she pulled away with a gasp of horror. Tears of panic in her eyes, she ran across the RV, picking up the goldendoodle and cradling it in her arms.
“Come on, Fireball. We have to make you the best dog ever so mommy doesn’t get rid of you!”
As Theresa set the dog down, again Fireball dipped and let loose another stream of pee onto the floor. Theresa stared down at her, cross.
“That’s so not a good start.”
====================================
SUNDAY MAY 31, 2014
2:05 AM EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
CONEY ISLAND- DENO’S WONDER WHEEL AMUSEMENT PARK
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
There’s realy nothing in the world more creepier than an amusement park that’s gone dark. But that is exactly where our scene opens up, just off the Coney Island Midway, the camera slowly approaching the ghostly silhouettes of the attractions against both the night sky and the glaring lights of Brooklyn lying just beyond. The camera goes through a small gate, and begins walking towards the carousel, going around it deeper into the park. It finally comes to a stop as it rounds a corner, and comes face to face with a lone feminine figure, shrouded in darkness.
“Hello, Tara Thunder. We’ve been expecting you. We’ve been expecting you for a good long while. Too long. But you’re here now. You’ve finally made it. So, welcome, Tara Thunder. Welcome… to CONTENDERLAND!”
With that, the amusement park suddenly comes to life, with the carousel, a nearby roller coaster, and the world famous Wonder Wheel coming to life in a dazzling array of lights and carnival style music. The woman is illuminated by the lights, revealing herself (to no ones surprise) as Wendy Briese, dressed in a simple green dress, along with a black windbreaker open down the front, as it’s a bit chilly.
“Yes, Tara. Contenderland. The exclusive club for women who are in serious contention to challenge for the FFW Championship, the greatest prize in all of women’s wrestling. Not many women are allowed into these Hallowed grounds. Scarlett, of course, since she’s the champion. Mika Demidov challenges tonight. I challenge again in two months. Valerie Lamb, especially if she beats Stacey tonight, remains solidly in the discussion as well, even if she doesn’t have a specific shot lined up. Four women. Four women out of seventy-six on the roster. A little over five percent of the roster are currently considered true, honest to God contenders to the top championship in this company.”
“And now you make the number five, Tara. Like I said before… welcome to the club.”
Wendy gestures to her side, over towards the gate the camera walked through earlier.
“Yes, welcome. Because you may have noticed, Tara, that we’re not standing at the gate. I’m not here blocking your admittance. You’re inside the park. You already got your ticket and had your hand stamped, you’ve had that for a couple years. All you’ve had to do was find the RESOLVE to put one foot in front of the other, and walk inside.”
“So let me get that big elephant in the room out of the way, clear up a couple of misconceptions. Tonight is not about whether or not Tara Thunder deserves to be in the main event FFW Championship picture. That question has been answered through three and a half years of blood, sweat, and tears on her part. Tonight is simply a rivalry reborn. A reunion of two women who, twenty-two months ago, took each other to the limit in one of the greatest, most emotional matches in this company’s history.”
“If there’s a question to any of this, Tara… it’s where the heck have you been since that night? Because when the lights went out at Safeco field and the curtain fell on Unstoppable III… your road here was clear. All you had to do was come down the ramp on the next show, hold up a microphone, and say ‘I want Scarlett Kincaid’, and you may have well been FFW Champion by the end of the year. But you didn’t. No, instead you focused on getting a pointless revenge win against Hanna Elliot, and then subversing yourself to the Power Trip, content to be their hired muscle and lackey. And that’s was tragic. There’s no other way to describe one of the best female wrestlers in the world, one so seemingly hungry to prove just how great she was, utterly lacking the AMBITION needed to put her in the arena to do just so.”
“And then finally… FINALLY you were ready to pursue that gold again, and you placed yourself directly in contendership for the No Surrender Championship.”
Wendy shakes her head softly laughing, her emotions in three parts- annoyed, amused, and sad.
“The irony of that just kills me. Everyone knows that I, Wendy Briese, spit on the Evolution Championship to favor the No Surrender Division. That I cast aside the second-highest belt in the company like GARBAGE for the sake of my own ego. And everyone knows this, Tara because you have spent TWO YEARS pushing this narrative. Because of your… dedication to the story, it’s become almost a stock talking point where I’m concerned, echoed ad nauseum by the great parrots of our locker room, such as Stephanie Sullivan. I’m sure you’re absolutely proud listening to her adopt your crackpot ideas as her own.”
“Yes, Tara. Crackpot. Because the simple fact of the matter is, I made a tough decision I didn’t want to have to make. You would have had to make the same decision had you won that match. I had two belts, could only keep one, I chose. I would have loved to have defended both, but I was told no. I did everything I could to make sure that when I released the Evolution Championship, it retained as much prestige as I could possibly manage. That’s why I held the mini-ceremony, and bought the travel case, and personally handed the belt to Mr. Horton, because I wanted to make sure everyone knew that I wasn’t casting aside some trinket like it was garbage, that I was reluctantly, tearfully parting with a treasured posession that I wasn’t allowed to keep.”
“And I never regretted it for a second. Even after hearing your distorted take on the matter. Even after losing the No Surrender Championship to Serafina. Even after watching Crystal Hilton win the Evolution Championship, and then seeing the belt pass on to that great bastion of unhallowed misery Katherine Stryfe, I didn’t regret my decision. I made the right one, and seeing where those belts- BOTH those belts are today confirms it.”
Wendy takes a deep breath. Her voice has been calm, although there’s a definite spark of anger in her emerald eyes.
“But now here’s the killer irony. You did the exact same thing, Tara. When all was said and done, you could have cashed in that rematch clause, zeroed in on Crystal or Katherine, and won that Evolution Championship, the one that hurt you so much to see cast aside, back and held it for another eight months. You could have done that easily. But you didn’t. You turned your back on the Evolution division, and went to the No Surrender. The exact same thing I did. So why did you do that, Tara? Why did you turn your back on the title you loved, the title you thought I disgraced, and that you could have restored the honor to only if you held it again?”
“Because of me.”
There’s no trace of arrogance or bragging in her voice. Wendy says it matter of factly with a shade of weariness, and perhaps, a little bit of disgust.
“You went to the No Surrender division because of me, didn’t you? You said as much last September, right before you defended against Stephanie Sullivan. I quote… ‘ I set my sights on the very division Wendy Briese made famous, she had risen up that division to defeat me and if I went through it myself, maybe I could show that I can do just what she did, be one of the greatest submissionists around.... Watching Serafina beat Wendy after Briese had vacated my beloved Evolution Championship made her my prime target. I hoped and prayed that one day I could face her and do something Wendy Briese could not do, beat Serafina for a title.’”
Wendy looks up, a clear ‘what the hell?!’ expression on her face.
“And see, that’s got me thinking, Tara. Because things just keep popping up, and more and more I feel like they aren’t coincidences. Your career in Femme Fatale Wrestling has shadowed mine almost EXACTLY. You started in the Evolution Division. You then moved to the No Surrender Division. Both times you claimed the title from the woman who beat me for it, and then you went on to hold it longer than I did. And now that I’ve won the FFW Championship, you’re coming for that too.”
“And through it all, you CONSTANTLY kept bringing me up. Dang near every single time you have appeared in front of a television camera in an FFW capacity, my name comes out of your raving mouth. Wendy did this. Gwendolyn couldn’t do that. Briese threw away the title. And through it all the constant need to remind EVERYONE that you have NEVER beaten me, which isn’t technically true, but never let the facts get in the way of a good narrative, right?”
Wendy rubs her eyes, as if she suddenly has a migraine, before taking a deep breath, and looking directly into the camera.
“It feels like you’re stalking me, Tara. Not in the physical sense… I’m not looking over my shoulder when I go for a walk, but… in some weird temporal sense, you’re following my every move, and I don’t think its a coincidence. Heck, the last time we faced,you even took my promo, and went down it line by line, rebutting it. Even THEN you were trying to follow me.”
“So I want you to answer this question truthfully, Tara Thunder. Don’t scoff. Don’t laugh. Just think about it. How much of your FFW career is guided by some desire to one-up me? How much of your motivation over the past two to three years has been to stick it to Wendy Briese?”
Wendy takes a deep breath, and sighs, sadly shaking her head.
“I hope to God that I’m wrong on this. I hope my ego is fuelling my imagination and giving me groundless suspicions but somehow, deep down, I know I’m right. And that makes me sad, and a little bit angry.”
“You have any idea how short you’re selling yourself with this attitude, Tara? The ranting, the raving, the obsession? It makes you look second rate, which you are so very much not. You’re one of the few women in this company that everyone- from the champion Scarlett all the way down to our newest signee Ravyn Taylor- dreads to face. And that includes me too.”
“But I will tell this to you plain as day, Tara. As long as you remain obsessed with one-upping me, or anyone else. As long as my existence is a driving force behind your career decisions, it doesnt matter how many titles you win, or what they are, or how long you hold them. It won’t matter how many wins you have, or how many main events you sell out. You will ALWAYS be second-fiddle, until you learn to LET IT GO and become your OWN woman.”
As Wendy pauses to catch her breath, the sound of a male humming is heard from behind the camera, the tune being “Let It Go” from Frozen. Wendy shoots a glare at the camera, and the humming immediately stops. Another pause while Wendy takes another deep breath.
“But it’s put me on notice, too. I’ve seen what happens in rematches with people who’ve beaten you, and it’s not pretty. You nearly broke poor Hanna Elliott in half, and you actually knocked Caroline out of the company for several months. And your animosity for me is far greater than it was for either of them. I know what you’re going to do if the opportunity presents itself, but that opportunity will not be presenting itself. You may be all to eager to fall into MY patterns, Tara Thunder, but I’ll be DAMNED if I’m going to fall into yours!”
“And I’ll be damned if I’m going to be YOUR scapegoat for whatever failings you possess. I am not going to be blamed because I did my job well and won a match. I’m not going to be blamed because I was forced to make a tough decision, and you didn’t like it. I’m not going to be blamed because you’re too insecure to do what was best for your career, and I’m not going to be blamed because of the path your own decisions led you on. And if I do win tonight, I will not be blamed for whatever mopey petulant funk you throw yourself in because you can’t handle it!”
“So do yourself a HUGE favor, Tara, and SHUT UP.”
“Shut up about the non-exisistant disrespect you’re not getting. Shut up about the perceived insults that could only be interpreted as such by a paranoid MANIAC. Shut up about being offended to death about every little thing you don’t agree with. And for the love of God, shut up about everything being some kind of conspiracy against you and realize that some things are actually to be taken at face value here! You’re in the big girl division now, Tara, so START ACTING LIKE ONE.”
Wendy takes a deep breath before continuing.
“But all that aside, do you feel it now? Are you beginning to sense just how close you are? Because this is the point where the stakes get higher, but everything becomes that much more difficult. Where dreams are either made or doomed to be left unfulfilled. This is not a level for the faint of heart, and there’s a reason why so few are ever up at this level at once.”
“But you know what, Tara Thunder, you’re going to be just fine. Because for all the ranting and raving you do, for all the crazy mumbo-jumbo your mouth spouts and your unhealthy obsession with anyone who’s ever beaten you… you’re on the right track. You have the talent. You have the drive- no matter how scrwed up your motivations are. And you also do things the right way. It may take you months, maybe even a year or two, but I do think that sooner or later, you will be standing on top of the mountain.”
“And that’s all the more reason I need to beat you tonight.”
“You’re like a flooding river, Tara. When you have your mind on something, you start rising towards it. And you can’t stop a river from rising. The only thing you can do is keep piling on the sandbags, and hope you can slow it down enough so it won’t spill over. I don’t think I can stop you. Even if I were to beat you tonight, even if it were in dominant fashion, I couldn’t stop you. You’d just keep on rising.”
“But I can slow you down. I will slow you down. I have to slow you down.”
Wendy looks directly at the camera, her emerald eyes twinkling in the midway lights
“I’ll tell it to you plain, Tara Thunder. If I can’t beat you tonight, when I have virtually nothing to lose, then I’m going to have to deal with you again MUCH sooner rather than later, and this time, I could have EVERYTHING to lose.”
A small, crooked smile covers Wendy’s features.
“Does that sound like someone who doesn’t think you belong? Or does that sound like someone who knows what it’s like to go to hell and back in the ring, and is steeling herself up to do it once more?”
Wendy turns away, looking up at the Ferris Wheel awash in Midway lights.
“Just a few hours, Tara. Just a few hours and we will be in that ring, tearing the house down, just like we did in Seattle two years ago. But just remember, Tara. You may be fighting for pride. You may be fighting to get a monkey after your back. You may be even fighting for the inside track to challenge for the title at Sin & Sacrifice. But you are NOT fighting for your place here amongst the contenders. You proved that to everyone years ago. It’s just taken you this long to find your way in.”
Wendy looks back over her shoulder.
“Welcome home, Tara. I’ll see you in the ring tomorrow.”
Wendy turns and walks away up the midway, and the scene fades.
EPISODE 252: INCOMING! (Part 2)
Wednesday May 28, 2014
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:34 PM Local Time
What in the blooming tarnation had just happened?
One minute Wendy Briese had been petting Chanticleer, musing about the challenges she’d be facing in the next week, the next Chant had punctured about a dozen tiny holes in her jeans (and perhaps a few in her own skin, by the feel of it), had fled upstairs, leaving her in the room with… a puppy?
At least she HOPED it was a puppy. Because if it was really an animated teddy bear that had just bouned into the room on all fours, she was having a nightmare she hadn’t had since she was nine.
But that’s the only way she could describe the dog- a canine version of a teddy bear. It had a face that resembled a retriever, and the long floppy ears on the side, but was covered with coarse looking, copper-colored curly fur. It had evide, ntly gotten over the shock of being smacked by the cat, and was looking at her with large glassy eyes, panting slightly, it’s tiny pink tongue visible in its open mouth.
Wendy finally found her voice as she looked up at her husband and daughter in the entrance way. “Terry… what is… this…”
“It’s a dog, hon.” Terrence said matter-of-factly, in the same tone he used to answer his daughter’s queries at a petting zoo. “A goldendoodle, . Half golden retriever, half poodle.”
“Actually, three quarters poodle, a quarter retriever, Dad.” Theresa connected. “It’s a type F1B”
“Oh, is THAT what they were talking about at the farm?” Terrence spoke as if a massive revelation had just been bestowed. “I thought they were telling me about a tornado that had hit or something. Y’know, with all the F1’s, F2… ”
“Well, regardless of whatever the ‘F’ it is,” Wendy huffed irritably. “What is it DOING here?”
Terrence looked at her like the answer was obvious. “Getting acquainted with its new home?”
New home. They weren’t exactly surprising words, given the situation, but they hardly weren’t ones she was wanting to hear. Mostly for the sake or her daughter in the room, Wendy looked up, took a deep breath, and tried as calmly as she could to get some clarification on the matter.
“You got a new dog.”
Both husband and daughter nodded.
“As a pet.”
More nods.
“Without telling me.”
“We’re telling you now, Mom,” Theresa offered helpfully.
“Thank you, Theresa. That’s most helpful.” Wendy couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “So where exactly did this sudden inspiration to bring a dog into the house arise?” The word ‘dog’ being in the same inflection with words such as ‘Power Trip’, or ‘Crystal Hilton’.
“Well,” Terrence mused, looking up at the ceiling and tapping his chin as he gathered his thoughts on where to begin. “It’s kinda warm today, so we stopped at Dairy Queen for Arctic Rushes, and well, I probably drank too much, cause when we got to the supermarket, I REALLY had to go, and so I told Theresa to wait outside the restroom while I went in, and she got to looking at the message board, and saw a flyer for puppies for sale, and we called them, curious, and they said there was only one left so-”
“FOR SALE?! You paid MONEY for it?”
“Well yeah,” Terrence scratched the back of his head. “These aren’t exactly the kind of puppies you throw in a cardboard box and write ‘Free To A Good Home’ on it.”
“How much…”
For the first time, Terrence actually looked a bit unsettled. “Well, ah… you see, they…”
“How. Much. Terrence?”
“Oh. Well… eleven...”
Wendy exhaled. “Well, that’s not so bad. Although it does add up with food and-”
“...hundred.”
A LONG silence reigned over the living room, with Wendy staring icily at her husband, while both Terrence and Theresa fidgeted uncomfortably under the withering gaze.
“You spent eleven hundred dollars on a dog.”
“Yup,” Terrence nodded.
“One thousand, one hundred bucks.”
“That’s right.”
“Dollar sign. One. One. Zero. Zero. Dot. Zero. Zero.”
“It doesn’t really matter HOW you say it, hon. The answer’s still yes.” Terrence said, with the slightest hint of irritability.
Wendy, of course, had cleared irritable a good while ago, and was rapidly approaching cold seething fury. Terrence KNEW she disliked dogs. They stank, made the houses of their owners stink, got fur everywhere, and got into everything. Moreover, they already had a cat, who hated being disrupted and now was going to be perpetually disrupted. And even worse they had actually spent MONEY on this abomination! And not just a little money, but…
“Eleven hundred dollars.” Wendy repeated again between clenched teeeth. She (ironically) barked out a laugh. “With that kind of price tag, we should be winning dog shows with it.”
“Not really. Goldendoodles aren’t exactly recognized as as a purebreed. So you can’t enter them in dog shows.”
“So it’s a mutt.”
“They prefer to call them ‘designer’.” Terrence asserted. “And in reality, they’re the perfect dogs. They’re friendly, loyal, extremely intelligent, don’t shed, don’t get all that big-”
“Pee on our rug…” Wendy observed, sighing in dismay as she looked over at the dog, who had been sniffing around the room, and had lowered it’s backside to emit a stream of yellow liquid. She had just had the carpets steamed not a week ago…
“Oh, not good! No no no! Take her out, Theresa!”
Theresa had already sprung into action, and picked the dog up with both hands under its front leg joints, running for the door, which Terrence opened for her. All the while the dog continued to pee, creating a nice trail leading from the original spot to the front door. Once Theresa and the dog were outside, Wendy glared at Terrence, who at least had the good nature to cringe this time.
“They, ah, said that could happen until we get her housetrained.”
“Great,” Wendy snarled as she rose to her feet, looking over at the stain. She stared down at it for several seconds. “Just… blooming… great.”
“Hang on. They gave us this bottle of stuff… it has like enzymes in it. Supposed to get stains out of the carpet in a jiffy.” He turned to leave.
“Take it back,” Wendy blurted.
“Excuse me?”
“Take. It. Back.” Wendy repeated, more forcefully this time. “Terry, we are in absolutely NO position to get a dog! Especially a puppy! Do you have any idea how much time and attention it’s going to take? More than either you or I have!”
Terrence shrugged, and nodded his head towards the still-open door. “Theresa can handle it.”
“Theresa forgets to do her homework half the time, Terrence. And she’s HOMESCHOOLED. Do you honestly trust her with a living, breathing animal?”
“Why not? If anything, it’ll teach her responsibility. Besides, look at her, she loves it.”
Terrence beckoned outside. The dog had evidently finished urinating on everything, and was chasing a laughing Theresa around the front yard, yipping at her heels. Wendy fought back a smile at the innocent, joy filled scene.
“Don’t let her get attached, Terrence,” she finally said. “That’s just going to make it harder when we send it away.”
“We’re not sending it away,” Terrence replied, his voice firmer than she’d heard it in a while. “Look, hon. I’ve done some research on this. It’s really the perfect dog for us.”
“Research?” Wendy laughed angrily. “You just said five minutes ago that you impulse bought it after reading a flyer at Kroger!”
“Actually, it was Marsh’s” Terrence muttered in correction. His voice became clearer. “Yeah, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And Pollaski’s parents have a goldendoodle, and Daniel’s always going on about what a sweetheart she is.”
“Daniel’s also been banned by half the city in the last month because he keeps doing stupid things.”
“Well, to be fair, they got the dog WAY before Marla Lee loosened a few screws.” Terrence pointed out. “Honestly, hon. I think you’re being utterly unreasonable about this.”
“Unreasonable? ME?!” Wendy was incredulous. “When you went over my head and behind my back to do this… and I’M the unreasonable one?”
“Yeah. The only reason I went over your back and around your head is because I knew you’d act like this.”
“FOR GOOD REASON!” Wendy hissed.
“What reason’s that? You don’t like dogs? Well, guess what, Wendy? I dont like cats. And yet I’ve happily put up with THREE of the vicious little hellbeasts over the years I’ve been with you. Now all I’m asking is you do the same for me. And your daughter. She’ll hate us forever if we have to send the dog away”
“That is so not fair that you’re bringing her into this.” Wendy growled. “You’re the one who set her up for disappointment for ME acting responsibly.”
“Perhaps. But, sorry hon. I’m not yielding on this. I want a dog, we get a dog. I acquiesce to you enough, but not in this case.”
Wendy opened her mouth, but no words could come out. It wasn’t like Terrence to be so… there was no other word for it- DEFIANT. Finally, with an angry and frustrated sigh, she spun on her heels towards the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Terrence asked.
“To call a kennel.” Wendy replied wearily. “Being that we ARE leaving on a WEEK-LONG road trip tomorrow morning. We can’t keep it in the house like the cat.”
“Oh, right. We’re taking it with us. I bought a kennel carrier for it and everything.”
Wendy turned back around, with clenched teeth, her fists balled up at her side. “Do you have any idea how much a dog is going to devalue the RV?”
“No more than having a kid in it for four years has.” Terrence said mildly. “Just calm down, Wendy, okay? Relax. It’s going to work out way better than you ever imagined.” Then he turned and left the house, no doubt to get the mounds of paraphanelia required for the ownership of a new puppy. With a sigh, Wendy looked back over to the stain on the carpet, and stared down at it.
So much for minimizing distractions for this week.
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:34 PM Local Time
What in the blooming tarnation had just happened?
One minute Wendy Briese had been petting Chanticleer, musing about the challenges she’d be facing in the next week, the next Chant had punctured about a dozen tiny holes in her jeans (and perhaps a few in her own skin, by the feel of it), had fled upstairs, leaving her in the room with… a puppy?
At least she HOPED it was a puppy. Because if it was really an animated teddy bear that had just bouned into the room on all fours, she was having a nightmare she hadn’t had since she was nine.
But that’s the only way she could describe the dog- a canine version of a teddy bear. It had a face that resembled a retriever, and the long floppy ears on the side, but was covered with coarse looking, copper-colored curly fur. It had evide, ntly gotten over the shock of being smacked by the cat, and was looking at her with large glassy eyes, panting slightly, it’s tiny pink tongue visible in its open mouth.
Wendy finally found her voice as she looked up at her husband and daughter in the entrance way. “Terry… what is… this…”
“It’s a dog, hon.” Terrence said matter-of-factly, in the same tone he used to answer his daughter’s queries at a petting zoo. “A goldendoodle, . Half golden retriever, half poodle.”
“Actually, three quarters poodle, a quarter retriever, Dad.” Theresa connected. “It’s a type F1B”
“Oh, is THAT what they were talking about at the farm?” Terrence spoke as if a massive revelation had just been bestowed. “I thought they were telling me about a tornado that had hit or something. Y’know, with all the F1’s, F2… ”
“Well, regardless of whatever the ‘F’ it is,” Wendy huffed irritably. “What is it DOING here?”
Terrence looked at her like the answer was obvious. “Getting acquainted with its new home?”
New home. They weren’t exactly surprising words, given the situation, but they hardly weren’t ones she was wanting to hear. Mostly for the sake or her daughter in the room, Wendy looked up, took a deep breath, and tried as calmly as she could to get some clarification on the matter.
“You got a new dog.”
Both husband and daughter nodded.
“As a pet.”
More nods.
“Without telling me.”
“We’re telling you now, Mom,” Theresa offered helpfully.
“Thank you, Theresa. That’s most helpful.” Wendy couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “So where exactly did this sudden inspiration to bring a dog into the house arise?” The word ‘dog’ being in the same inflection with words such as ‘Power Trip’, or ‘Crystal Hilton’.
“Well,” Terrence mused, looking up at the ceiling and tapping his chin as he gathered his thoughts on where to begin. “It’s kinda warm today, so we stopped at Dairy Queen for Arctic Rushes, and well, I probably drank too much, cause when we got to the supermarket, I REALLY had to go, and so I told Theresa to wait outside the restroom while I went in, and she got to looking at the message board, and saw a flyer for puppies for sale, and we called them, curious, and they said there was only one left so-”
“FOR SALE?! You paid MONEY for it?”
“Well yeah,” Terrence scratched the back of his head. “These aren’t exactly the kind of puppies you throw in a cardboard box and write ‘Free To A Good Home’ on it.”
“How much…”
For the first time, Terrence actually looked a bit unsettled. “Well, ah… you see, they…”
“How. Much. Terrence?”
“Oh. Well… eleven...”
Wendy exhaled. “Well, that’s not so bad. Although it does add up with food and-”
“...hundred.”
A LONG silence reigned over the living room, with Wendy staring icily at her husband, while both Terrence and Theresa fidgeted uncomfortably under the withering gaze.
“You spent eleven hundred dollars on a dog.”
“Yup,” Terrence nodded.
“One thousand, one hundred bucks.”
“That’s right.”
“Dollar sign. One. One. Zero. Zero. Dot. Zero. Zero.”
“It doesn’t really matter HOW you say it, hon. The answer’s still yes.” Terrence said, with the slightest hint of irritability.
Wendy, of course, had cleared irritable a good while ago, and was rapidly approaching cold seething fury. Terrence KNEW she disliked dogs. They stank, made the houses of their owners stink, got fur everywhere, and got into everything. Moreover, they already had a cat, who hated being disrupted and now was going to be perpetually disrupted. And even worse they had actually spent MONEY on this abomination! And not just a little money, but…
“Eleven hundred dollars.” Wendy repeated again between clenched teeeth. She (ironically) barked out a laugh. “With that kind of price tag, we should be winning dog shows with it.”
“Not really. Goldendoodles aren’t exactly recognized as as a purebreed. So you can’t enter them in dog shows.”
“So it’s a mutt.”
“They prefer to call them ‘designer’.” Terrence asserted. “And in reality, they’re the perfect dogs. They’re friendly, loyal, extremely intelligent, don’t shed, don’t get all that big-”
“Pee on our rug…” Wendy observed, sighing in dismay as she looked over at the dog, who had been sniffing around the room, and had lowered it’s backside to emit a stream of yellow liquid. She had just had the carpets steamed not a week ago…
“Oh, not good! No no no! Take her out, Theresa!”
Theresa had already sprung into action, and picked the dog up with both hands under its front leg joints, running for the door, which Terrence opened for her. All the while the dog continued to pee, creating a nice trail leading from the original spot to the front door. Once Theresa and the dog were outside, Wendy glared at Terrence, who at least had the good nature to cringe this time.
“They, ah, said that could happen until we get her housetrained.”
“Great,” Wendy snarled as she rose to her feet, looking over at the stain. She stared down at it for several seconds. “Just… blooming… great.”
“Hang on. They gave us this bottle of stuff… it has like enzymes in it. Supposed to get stains out of the carpet in a jiffy.” He turned to leave.
“Take it back,” Wendy blurted.
“Excuse me?”
“Take. It. Back.” Wendy repeated, more forcefully this time. “Terry, we are in absolutely NO position to get a dog! Especially a puppy! Do you have any idea how much time and attention it’s going to take? More than either you or I have!”
Terrence shrugged, and nodded his head towards the still-open door. “Theresa can handle it.”
“Theresa forgets to do her homework half the time, Terrence. And she’s HOMESCHOOLED. Do you honestly trust her with a living, breathing animal?”
“Why not? If anything, it’ll teach her responsibility. Besides, look at her, she loves it.”
Terrence beckoned outside. The dog had evidently finished urinating on everything, and was chasing a laughing Theresa around the front yard, yipping at her heels. Wendy fought back a smile at the innocent, joy filled scene.
“Don’t let her get attached, Terrence,” she finally said. “That’s just going to make it harder when we send it away.”
“We’re not sending it away,” Terrence replied, his voice firmer than she’d heard it in a while. “Look, hon. I’ve done some research on this. It’s really the perfect dog for us.”
“Research?” Wendy laughed angrily. “You just said five minutes ago that you impulse bought it after reading a flyer at Kroger!”
“Actually, it was Marsh’s” Terrence muttered in correction. His voice became clearer. “Yeah, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And Pollaski’s parents have a goldendoodle, and Daniel’s always going on about what a sweetheart she is.”
“Daniel’s also been banned by half the city in the last month because he keeps doing stupid things.”
“Well, to be fair, they got the dog WAY before Marla Lee loosened a few screws.” Terrence pointed out. “Honestly, hon. I think you’re being utterly unreasonable about this.”
“Unreasonable? ME?!” Wendy was incredulous. “When you went over my head and behind my back to do this… and I’M the unreasonable one?”
“Yeah. The only reason I went over your back and around your head is because I knew you’d act like this.”
“FOR GOOD REASON!” Wendy hissed.
“What reason’s that? You don’t like dogs? Well, guess what, Wendy? I dont like cats. And yet I’ve happily put up with THREE of the vicious little hellbeasts over the years I’ve been with you. Now all I’m asking is you do the same for me. And your daughter. She’ll hate us forever if we have to send the dog away”
“That is so not fair that you’re bringing her into this.” Wendy growled. “You’re the one who set her up for disappointment for ME acting responsibly.”
“Perhaps. But, sorry hon. I’m not yielding on this. I want a dog, we get a dog. I acquiesce to you enough, but not in this case.”
Wendy opened her mouth, but no words could come out. It wasn’t like Terrence to be so… there was no other word for it- DEFIANT. Finally, with an angry and frustrated sigh, she spun on her heels towards the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Terrence asked.
“To call a kennel.” Wendy replied wearily. “Being that we ARE leaving on a WEEK-LONG road trip tomorrow morning. We can’t keep it in the house like the cat.”
“Oh, right. We’re taking it with us. I bought a kennel carrier for it and everything.”
Wendy turned back around, with clenched teeth, her fists balled up at her side. “Do you have any idea how much a dog is going to devalue the RV?”
“No more than having a kid in it for four years has.” Terrence said mildly. “Just calm down, Wendy, okay? Relax. It’s going to work out way better than you ever imagined.” Then he turned and left the house, no doubt to get the mounds of paraphanelia required for the ownership of a new puppy. With a sigh, Wendy looked back over to the stain on the carpet, and stared down at it.
So much for minimizing distractions for this week.
EPISODE 251: INCOMING! (Part 1)
From the private journal of Wendy Briese
5-28-14 What a weekend. Started off well enough. Stephanie Sullivan was every bit the snot-nosed pretentious stuck up brat I’d figure she’d be, but she actually gave me a decent contest which just belies that there is talent buried under that cruddy attitude she parades around. Either way, a loss there would have been utterly humiliating, so thank God I avoided it! The race Friday Night was a godsend. We had nearly as many people as we did for opening night, and this time we didn’t have the FFW name to help draw people in. The first 100 Pieces of Eight was a blast, even if Terrence ended up flipping his car and catching on fire on the 46th lap. He was okay, and I let him watch the rest of the race before I made him go to the hospital to get checked out. We spent Saturday unwinding after a couple packed days, which was nice. And then came Sunday. Going to the Indy 500 was fun, as usual but… God did it get marred. Pollaski somehow thought the caterer was Marla Lee in disguise, and attacked her. He beat up a defenseless woman in front of everyone, and is lucky he’s not in jail. Luckily the caterer is alright, and agreed not to press charges, but Indianapolis Motor Speedway still threw him into the parking lot. So now that’s TWO Indianapolis race tracks that Daniel has gotten himself banned from. I’m frustrated. This war between him and Marla got out of hand several weeks ago, and it’s only getting worse, and now completely innocent people are getting hurt. I’ve seen Pollaski get upset and lose his temper before, but NEVER to that extent. And he’s contrite, at least about what happened at the speedway. But he’s placed the blame fully on Marla as well, as if she’s a witch haunting him, and the only way to end it all is to completely and utterly destroy her. That thought scares me, because it’s going to end in ruin, and I doubt it’s going to be Marla’s. If Pollaski doesn’t destroy himself in his hatred (and even if he does), there’s going to be more collateral damage. I’m not about to allow myself, or- even worse- my family, to be sucked into that. I’m not going to watch people I love get hurt because Pollaski wants his Segway paid for and Marla wants her skull back and neither is capable of dealing with this like a rational person. I’ve thought many, MANY times about just cutting my ties, and walking away. I can’t do it now, not more than any of the other hundred times I’ve thought about it over the last thirteen years. Despite all the frustration and grief he gives me, Daniel Pollaski is still my friend, and one of the few people in this industry I trust implicitly. He’s gone to bat for me more than enough times, the least I can do is not evacuate the stadium when it’s his turn. If anything, that’s all the more reason for me to be here for him. No man is an island, and Pollaski is no different. He needs friends, and positive relationships, and I don’t mean the minions he’s made out of the Scarborough fair. Ditching him now is only going to make things worse for him, and I don’t want to do that. But the truth of the matter is, right now, Daniel Pollaski needs to be my manager far more than I need Daniel Pollaski as my manager. At least the SVW show’s have stopped for the time being as they prepare for their own PPV. With Tara Thunder and her vengeful insanity hovering on the horizon, I need minimized distractions, not additional ones. Tara will pick her teeth with splintered shards of my knee if I go into Saturday Night’s match anything less than one hundred percent, and at least now I don’t have to worry about my manager and his nemesis slaughtering each other until after the PPV. But that brings in its own concern. Tara’s a unique case of wrestling opponents I’ve faced lately. I’ve been by and large spoiled lately, most of the women I’ve gotten in the ring with recently I’ve been on fairly good terms with, and those I haven’t been haven’t had much opportunity to do anything for one reason or another. But Tara… there’s no sugar-coating… she HATES me. And even worse, most of her hate is based completely on skewed perspective, so there’s no chance that it’s going to be rationalized. I’ve heard some analysts say that in this match I’m trying to defend my main event spot, which is crazy. That’s assured, and will continue to be assured through at least Unstoppable, provided I remain healthy. And THAT is the major crux of all of this. Tara’s the most fearful thing you can face in professional wrestling- an extremely talented competitor who is emotionally unbalanced and has already sidelined at least two wrestlers for an extended period of time. Tara could injure me just as easily as she did Caroline or Undine. The only problem is- I really can’t afford another major injury. Not so soon after my back. No, on Saturday, I’m not defending my own place on the card. There’s something far bigger on the table now that Tara will rip away from me the moment I give her the opportunity. My career. - Wendy =========================== Wednesday May 28, 2014 The Nest- Living Room Indianapolis, Indiana 3:17 PM Local Time Irritable, the master opened his green eye, looking disapprovingly at the sudden terminus of his pampering. He couldn’t recall giving the slave permission to stop scratching his chin. No, she had picked up a pen, and was writing in a book again, as she was so wont to do when she was supposed to be pampering her master. Annoyed, the master ducked his head, and drove it into her leg, rocking it back and forth to make sure he got her attention. It was a fairly pleasant experience for him, as well. She was wearing denim, which scratched against his face in a very comforting manner. He loved it when she wore denim. His efforts were rewarded as the slave’s hand came down, scratching behind his ears, and let out a purr, nestling down to recieve more pampering. But just as quickly as it had started, it stopped again, with her going back to writing in her book. The master was annoyed, and about to ive the impudent slave something to REALLY make her pay attention when she scratched his ears again, and again a few seconds later, although she did continue to write in her book. The master nestled in again. He supposed that was satisfactory. Finally, the slave finished writing in her book, and shut it, setting it aside. Her attention could now be fully devoted to him, and both sides began to scratch him, one on the head, one on his back. Now this was more like it! “I wish my life could be as simple and pampered as yours sometimes, Chant.” the slave said with a sigh, using the shortened form of his full name, Chanticleer, as she was often wont to do. In truth, Chanticleer didn’t care one bit what she called him. He really didn’t care about anything his slave said, so long as she continued to feed him, massage him, and clean out his literbox like the dutiful wench she was. And she was dutiful, unlike the other two slaves he had. The male, this female’s mate, was pompous, arrogant, and quite frankly uncontrollable. Chanticleer had tried to assert his authority several times, but the man resisted, going so once to literally throw him out of the house in a jealous fit of rage. That tub of butter had been bought for HIM, and he had every right to be up on that counter! The younger female was more tractable, to an extent. While not openly defiant, she was flighty. One minute she’d be petting his brilliant orange fur, the next she’s be running out of the house, or upstairs or God knows what, leaving Chanticleer to pamper himself. She was sufficient for when the elder female wasn’t around to suit his needs, but too unreliable in the long run. There were other servants too. A fat man frequented the house, and occasionally pet him. And then there’d be moments where all his slaves would disappear- sometimes for months at a time, and two young females would come over to feed him, pet him, and play with him. They were satisfactory surrogates, if a bit brief in their stays. Ultimately, he didn’t have it too bad here, Chanticleer decided as he rolled onto his back, an inaudbile order for the slave to scratch his belly. He could ignore the recalcitrant male, and this female was completely and utterly devoted to him. Chant’s ears pricked slightly at the sound of a slamming, and his green eyes narrowed. Generally such a sound indicated that the male had returned home. This session of pleasant bliss was likely coming to an end. Sure enough, the door opened, and in walked the male, followed closely behind by the younger female. But then something small and copper colored darted between their legs, making a beeline towards him, it’s glassy eyes shining and it’s tongue lolling out. It wasn’t very big- indeed, Chant was probably a tad larger, but that didn’t make it any less of an enemy. In a flash, Chant was on his feet hissing, his fur on end, his ears flattened back. Instinctively, his claws extended, his slave yelping in pain as they dug in through the denim into the flesh of her legs. He didn’t care. For this betrayal, she deserved to suffer. They ALL deserved to suffer! And suddenly, he was airborne, having been shoved off. He landed on the floor, glaring back at the redheaded slave who had just thrown him, literally, to the wolves. The beast was closing in on him, sniffing, tail wagging. Chant reared up on his hind legs, and with all the force he could muster, brought his front paw down as hard as he could into the evil creature’s nose, drawing a yelp, and an uproar from the younger female. With one last scornful look at the creature he bolted from the room, flying up the stairs before anyone could stop him. Seconds later he was angrily sprawled on the sleeping bed of his slaves, licking himself in an attempt to groom his orange fur back into some semblance of dignity. But his mind was furious. How dare they! How dare they bring a DOG under HIS roof! |
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