Tuesday August 10, 2010
The Nest- Dining Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
9:15 AM Local Time
Pro Wrestling X would like to wish Victor Mandrake well in all his future endeavors.
Wendy Briese-Thompson stared quietly at the announcement on the PWX Newswire, then closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Finally,” she exhaled.
She had no illusions that she would never see the monster again. With Terrence and Mandrake still in Defiance, they were bound to still run into each other. And since Mandrake had visited the house before, the only thing that would stop Victor from visiting The Nest were the inevitable consequences of doing so (such as Terrence killing him). But at least from one aspect of her life, Victor Mandrake was truly, irrevocably GONE.
And yet, the elation of that fact was somewhat tempered by the guilt that had settled into the bottom of her stomach. She disliked Mandrake- perhaps even hated him. But she derived no joy in watching what had happened to him. And even worse, Wendy knew that it had all come about because Victor Mandrake had tried to save her from a beating.
It wasn’t the way she hoped it would happen, but she’d take it.
“Goodbye, Victor,” Wendy said quietly, closing the FireFox window on her laptop.
It was over.
=======================================================================
Wednesday August 11, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:10 PM Local Time
Wendy winced as Ben Steven’s foot smashed into the side of Jenna Himmler’s head, the smaller blonde’s eyes nearly rolling back in her head as she pitched face first to the mat. She had seen the move exactly seven times over the past couple hours, and still it made her wince. For Jenna Himmler to be able to move after taking that showed that the new girl had a toughness and resiliency.
Seven times, she had watched the Welcome to PWX match, because it was the only in-ring footage of Jenna Himmler that existed. It was irritating, because the match was a four-way battle, and there was simply too much going on with everybody for Wendy to get an accurate gauge on Jenna’s strengths and weaknesses.
The one thing she could figure out was that Jenna was an opportunist. She had taken advantage of the chaos that comes with a four-way match masterfully, she picked her shots carefully, and while Wendy wasn’t exactly approving in some of the methods Jenna used, she couldn’t deny the girl was effective.
“I love the expression on Luke’s face when Ben Stevens nailed him,” a male voice snickered to the side of her. Wendy nodded quietly as she watched Blue and Steven’s tumble out of the ring, then watched impassively as Jenna perched herself on the top turnbuckle, hit the Lufthansa Bomb, and score the win.
Opportunist, indeed.
This match was making her nervous. Something told her that Himmler was no ordinary rookie. What little information she could gain on the woman indicated that while Himmler was new to professional wrestling, she had been in street fights for the better part of the past decade. Besides, any girl who ran with John Ojeda had to be tough as nails.
Wendy pursed her lips, and leaned back on the couch. She had one match to go on for Himmler, and it was hardly a good gauge of the full extent of Jenna’s talents. Meanwhile, Jenna had nearly a score of matches of Wendy’s to look at, and with a man like Ojeda working with her, she had no doubt that Himmler would be more prepared for this match than anyone else was going to think.
But Wendy looked back over at the television. After the conclusion of the match, Pollaski had left the video running, and she was treated to a glimpse of her, repeatedly firing clotheslines into Wild, trying to knock the larger man off his feet. That realization sent a jolt of shock into Wendy. She was a PWX Tag Team Champion, and had made a name for herself beating men twice her size. How the heck was she going to lose to a rookie? It was inconceivable!
If you think the ‘little’ matches don’t matter, try losing one.
She couldn’t remember when she had heard that saying, or who had told her that, but someone had, told her that very early in her career, and she had always taken it to heart. This week was going to be no exception. Regardless of her information, or lack thereof, she was the seasoned veteran here. She’d have no excuse for losing.
“I’m home!” the voice of her husband echoed in from the front entryway, breaking into Wendy’s thoughts. Wendy looked up as Terrence Thompson strolled into the room, a bag from NAPA slung over one of his arms, and a stack of envelopes in his hand. Wendy hopped up from the couch, and embraced her husband, giving him a quick kiss. Theresa bounded into the room as well, making a beeline for the couch, and hopping next to Pollaski, who smiled and tousled her hair.
After Wendy broke away, Terrence began looking through the envelopes. “I got the mail,” he unnecessarily explained to his wife. Terrence paused, looking at a manilla envelope in his hand. “You got something from Notre Dame?” he asked.
Breaking into a grin, Wendy snatched the envelope from Terrence’s hands, ripping it open with the aura of a child on Christmas morning. ‘Yes!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “Its our tickets!”
“Our... tickets?” Terrence asked arching his eyebrow.
“Oh,” Wendy froze, suddenly realizing something very important she had forgotten to tell her husband. “I got us all season tickets to the Irish. I figured that with us being in Valparaiso every weekend, and South Bend so close, and Brian Kelly the new head coach, and...”
Wendy broke off from her excited rambling at Pollaski’s groan. “Well, then YOU don’t have to go,” she snapped. “It’s not MY fault we beat your Huskies twice in the past-”
Terrence knew a fight brewing when he saw one, and he quickly grabbed another envelope. “You also got something from the Attorney General.”
“Election stuff,” Wendy said dismissively, rolling her eyes, but Terrence shook his head. “It looks pretty official.”
Looking more curious than anything, Wendy grabbed the envelope, tearing it open, and removing a small packet of papers. She began reading the pages, her mood darkening with every word.
“What is it?” Terrence asked, concern coming over his features.
“It’s a notification about my father’s parole hearing.” Wendy whispered in horror. “It’s scheduled for mid-October.”
‘What?” Terrence outburst, his mouth dropping in shock and anger. “That bastard was even ELIGIBLE for parole?”
Wendy nodded grimly, and angrily stuffed the papers back in the envelope. Gus Briese was the one man in the world she hated more than anyone else, and that included Victor Mandrake. She couldn’t feel any different about the man who had cheated on her mother, then murdered her by shoving her in front of a semi truck on the highway almost eight years ago.
Even worse had been the trial, when Gus, the consummate actor that he was, had so expertly portrayed himself as the victim. Wendy had listened with horror as her mother was turned into an alcoholic slut, and herself into an ungrateful bitch of a daughter who had betrayed her own father. Even though the jury had still convicted him, it was on a lesser second-degree charge. Hence, the parole.
“He won’t get it,” Terrence said reassuringly. “No parole board in the world would ever let that monster out of prison.”
Wendy felt a liquid trickling down her cheek, and she angrily wiped the tear away. Her father or not, this man had ruined too many lives. It had long been rumored that one of the reasons the Briese’s had even come to America was because the investigation into Gus’ alleged ties with funding Irish terrorist organizations had become too hot. Wendy had long believed the rumors false, but knowing her father as she did now, she found it all too believable that Gus would have funded the bombings and assassinations he had been tied to.
Gus needed to pay for more than just the murder of her mother.
“I need to lie down,” Wendy said, handing the envelope back to Terrence, and turning to walk away.
Terrence, however, grabbed her, and pulled her into his embrace. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered into her ear. Wendy nodded, more water leaking from her eyes, and Terrence kissed her on the forehead. He finally let go, and Wendy turned away again, walking to the stairs.
Terrence sighed, and turned back to Pollaski and Theresa. Pollaski had turned pale, but his eyes were narrowed, and he was shaking his head in disbelief. Theresa, on the other hand, was wide eyed, and confused.
“What wrong with mama?” the four-year old asked.
Terrence said nothing, just looked to Pollaski. There was nothing he really could say.
How the hell do you explain to a four-year old that her grandfather is a monster?
========================================================================
Sunday August 15, 2010
Embassy Suites Hotel- Suite 716
Santa Monica, California
4:24 PM Local Time
[Wait.. what are the WhirlyBirdz doing in California?]
[Well, like was announced in Pollaski’s Power X column earlier this week, Daniel’s making his in-ring debut today in Catholic Panda Wrestling, one of PWX’s many affiliates.]
[It’s also owned by Valerie Belmont, another PWX figure. How bout them apples?]
[Anyways, Wendy seems to have managed to get herself some alone time, as the rest of the gang has headed out to the Santa Monica Pier to get in some sightseeing. Wendy’s elected to stay behind, and get her interview video done, considering that she’s running out of time.]
[And so we open in the front room of an Embassy Suites suite, where Wendy is sitting on a couch. Even being in SoCal hasn’t done much to Wendy’s dress code, as it’s she’s decked out in a fairly conservative knee-legnth light green floral dress.]
[For having just had a traumatic experience about her father a couple days ago, Wendy looks to be in pretty good spirits. She’s still sitting as rigidly as ever, but her face- it’s not the normally warm smile that’s plasterd across her face. Nope, the best way to describe Wendy right now would be smug.]
Wendy: “Well, that paid off rather nicely.”
[Wendy can’t help herself- she breaks into an ear to ear grin. After the win she and Terrence pulled off at Respect is Earned, she’s got a right to be upbeat.]
Wendy: “To beat a team like John Pariah and Wild- especially when the stipulations in the match favor them, you can’t hold anything back. We knew we were going to have to take some risks, and if it means keeping these belts from the waists of despicable people like the Cartel, I would let myself be powerbombed a hundred times over.”
[Wendy may not use weapons, but she’s not above becoming one!]
Wendy: “And considering I keep having people asking this, let me just say- yes, it did hurt. Although not as bad as I thought. John Pariah made an excellent landing cushion.”
[Another grin from Briese, although Wendy almost looks guilty that she’s having so much fun at her opponents expense. Finally, Wendy’s smile fades, and she sighs.]
Wendy: “But we move onward, to Adrenaline 42, where I face Jenna Himmler in her first one-on-one match.”
[Wendy’s smile fades completely as she enters into the subject of this week. Obviously, Wendy’s not a fan of Jenna Himmler, nor what she stands for. She’s also been fairly annoyed that Pollaski’s been goose-stepping all week, solely for the purpose of driving her nuts. He’s succeeded. Big time.]
Wendy: “I suppose many ‘experts’ would pick me as the favorite going into this match. After all, I have over five years of in-ring experience under my belt, and this is Jenna’s second wrestling contest ever. But beneath the surface, this is actually a challenging matchup. What little experience Jenna has in the ring, she more than makes up for with her experiences outside of it. Many streetfighters have gone on to have very successful in-ring careers, and if I’m not careful, I could very well be Himmler’s first stepping stone.”
[Wendy shakes her head, and in her face, there’s a bit of anger, and a bit of sorrow..”
Wendy: “Under normal circumstances, I would be excited about the challenge this contest holds. I’m honestly not used to facing people smaller than me, and I outweigh Jenna by a whopping five pounds. I’ve been working all week on adapting to face smaller, quicker opponents. At least, for once in my life, I’ll actually get to suplex somebody.”
[A small smile from Wendy. It’s one of the frustrations of the poor girl- Wendy can do quite a few good suplexes, but considering she’s about a hundred pound lighter than her average opponent, she doesn’t get to do them that often.]
Wendy: “But while it won’t be easy, I still think my knowledge and experience will get me the victory on Monday. Jenna did very well in her debut, beating three other guys. But how is Miss Himmler in a one-on-one situation? When four people are in the ring, focus changes quickly. You could be fighting one person one second, and then a completely different person the next. And it’s all too easy to be so focused on one person, you get blindsided by another. We saw that way too often in her debut match. This week, however, its just me and her in that ring. There won’t be anyone else to distract me.”
[Pause, as something suddenly hits the redhead]
Wendy: “Unless someone interferes, which, considering her boyfriend is a member of the Cartel, is actually a very strong possibility.”
[Wendy grimaces at the though of dealing with more Cartel bullshit. She’s getting annoyed with it.]
Wendy: “Jenna, you and I are so different, and yet, we both have one thing in common. Both of us thinks the other is naive for their ideals. I would be more than happy to judge you as a wrestler, and not on your ideals, but when you saddle yourself with the ring name The Aryan Princess, you’re asking to be identified that way.”
[Wendy shakes her head sadly.]
Wendy: “I think its fairly safe to say you hate me, Jenna. You don’t like my ideals, you don’t like the way I wrestle, you want to see me get hurt. But let’s not stop there. Do you really want to hate me, Jenna? Then look at this.”
[Wendy calmly raises her right hand, and reaches into the top of her dress. Calmly, she pulls out a gold chain that’s around her neck, and tucked into her dress. She lets the gold chain, and the item at the end of it, rest against her chest, the chain still around her neck.]
[Even without the camera zooming in, we can see it’s a rosary.]
Wendy: “I’m Catholic”
[Wendy’s voice is cool, but her emerald eyes are blazing into the camera, as Wendy pauses, to let her revelation sink in.]
Wendy: “Are you confused? See Jenna, I know my history, and I know that while it wasn’t nearly as widespread and horrendous as the atrocities against the Jews, persecution of Catholics existed in Nazi Germany as well. Clergy in Germany were captured and taken to concentration camps. Nearly half of the priesthood in the city of Chelmno, Poland was executed inside that city’s death camp. A priest and a nun that perished in the Auschwitz concentration camp were later canonized as martyred saints. Even in America, one of the tenants of the Ku Klux Klan was the removal of Catholics from offices of power.”
[Wendy’s eyes are blazing hotter now than before, and she idly grabs at her rosary, again holding it up for all to see.]
Wendy: “Take it all in. Because I wouldn’t want you to go into our match without enough hatred for me. “
[Wendy blinks, and it’s clear that while she’s doing her best to remain calm, it’s obvious that she’s fairly angry at the whole notion of what Jenna Himmler is.]
Wendy: “Come Monday night, every ounce of hatred that’s in your heart is going to make it that much more bitter for you when I beat you in the middle of the ring. When you walk to the back, your head hung in shame, you will know that you just got bested by a goody-two-shoes Irish-catholic girl. That’s the downside of hatred, when you’re bested by that thing you hate- it’s makes the sting of defeat that much more painful.”
[Yipes. Wendy might just be taking this match a little personally.]
Wendy: “But there’s one thing, Jenna, that you haven’t been able to figure out. You say I THINK I can win my matches without cheating or using weapons?”
[Wendy flashes a humorless smile.]
Wendy: “I KNOW I can. I already have, time and again. There is nothing you can throw at me, from a punch, to a kick, to a chair, that I cannot endure. And when you’ve thrown everything you can think of at me, and I’m still standing proud...
[Short pause, and when Wendy speaks, her eyes are narrowed, and she finishes off with as much disdain in her voice as we have heard from anyone.]
Wendy: “I will ground your precious Lufthansa. Permanently.”
[Fade]
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
CPW #2- Boarding Call
The following column was posted at whirlybirdz.com
Hey kids.
Not much time to talk, as the flight to Los Angeles is about to take off, but I was just surfing the web, and I just happened to notice that David Anderson's gone running his mouth all over again. So, I'm gonna take a couple minutes to rebut it.
The sum of David's argument is that I'm a fat asshole.
Really? This is supposed to be fucking news to me?
I'm not an honorable person, I'm a cuthroat wrestling manager who's trying his hand in the ring for the first time. You want honorable, look at the wrestlers I manage, not at me.
Yeah look at my history, dumbass. I dumped a truck full of shit on a girl because she annoyed me. I hired snipers to stand in the balcony, and shoot my opponents with tranquilizer darts so I could win what few matches I've ever been in.
You know, I was trying to get away from that. I was trying to do this the right way, get a little competition, and maybe even get some exercise. But when I see a moronic twat like David Anderson go around acting like he has a clue, well, its go time.
And don't you fucking dare turn it around and say I don't respect the military. I have plenty of respect for the boys in uniform, and the sacrifices they make.
Where my respect ends, is when drunken dishonorable discharges try to coast on it for respect, when they haven't done anything respectable in years.
So David, here's what's going to happen. I'll use little words so your booze addled jarhead brain can understand it.
I. Am. Going. To. Beat. The. Shit. Out. Of. You.
There, nuff said.
And I don't care how much energy you think I'm going to have, I'll have enough to smear your blood all over Los Angeles.
I also have respect for flight attendants, and they're closing the cabin door, and telling me to shut this laptop off. So I'm going to.
Until then POLLA OUT.
Bitches.
Hey kids.
Not much time to talk, as the flight to Los Angeles is about to take off, but I was just surfing the web, and I just happened to notice that David Anderson's gone running his mouth all over again. So, I'm gonna take a couple minutes to rebut it.
The sum of David's argument is that I'm a fat asshole.
Really? This is supposed to be fucking news to me?
I'm not an honorable person, I'm a cuthroat wrestling manager who's trying his hand in the ring for the first time. You want honorable, look at the wrestlers I manage, not at me.
Yeah look at my history, dumbass. I dumped a truck full of shit on a girl because she annoyed me. I hired snipers to stand in the balcony, and shoot my opponents with tranquilizer darts so I could win what few matches I've ever been in.
You know, I was trying to get away from that. I was trying to do this the right way, get a little competition, and maybe even get some exercise. But when I see a moronic twat like David Anderson go around acting like he has a clue, well, its go time.
And don't you fucking dare turn it around and say I don't respect the military. I have plenty of respect for the boys in uniform, and the sacrifices they make.
Where my respect ends, is when drunken dishonorable discharges try to coast on it for respect, when they haven't done anything respectable in years.
So David, here's what's going to happen. I'll use little words so your booze addled jarhead brain can understand it.
I. Am. Going. To. Beat. The. Shit. Out. Of. You.
There, nuff said.
And I don't care how much energy you think I'm going to have, I'll have enough to smear your blood all over Los Angeles.
I also have respect for flight attendants, and they're closing the cabin door, and telling me to shut this laptop off. So I'm going to.
Until then POLLA OUT.
Bitches.
EPISODE 35: The Wager
Monday August 9, 2010
Broadbent Arena- WhirlyBirdz Locker Room
Louisville, Kentucky
10:41 PM Local Time
Terrence Thompson had lost enough fights in his career to know that seeing ceiling lights immediately after regaining consciousness was probably a pretty good indication one just got his ass kicked.
“Oh, God... dammit,” Terrence moaned, as he rolled onto his side, blinking rapidly as he tried to steady the swaying locker room. Clutching his throbbing skull in pain, Terrence was dismayed, if not surprised, to find his forehead sticky with blood.
Closing his eyes in an attempt to clear the cobwebs, Terrence forced himself to sit up, fighting down the small wave of nausea that attacked him as he did so. Dimly, the events leading up to his knockout began to take shape in his muddled mind.
He had been in here with Wendy, celebrating the end of their match, when John Pariah had come in, and, to Terrence and Wendy’s shock, seemed fairly gracious over their match, and even shook Terrence’s hand. Then he had left, and Terrence had barely time to breathe when the door had burst open again, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground, the entire cartel above him, taunting him.
He didn’t remember much else, but he could piece the puzzle together well enough to make a silent promise that the next member of the Cartel to cross him was going to end up in a body bag.
Terrence heard a weak, feminine groan off to his side, and, slowly opening his eyes, he looked in that direction.
Oh God, Wendy.
The red haired woman was crumpled against the wall, curled up in the fetal position, her hands on top of her head. With a jolt of panic, Terrence crawled over to the still form of his wife, rolling her on her back, and looking down at her.
“Wendy! Are you okay?”
Even as he spoke, he saw her eyelids flutter. A small trickle of blood ran from a cut on Wendy’s lip, but all that Wendy showed for her being shoved headfirst into the wall was a small red bump on her forehead. She must have gotten her hands over her head to protect her, Terrence realized gratefully, although he noted with rising anger that Grave’s shove still had been forceful enough to knock her out.
With another soft moan, Wendy’s eyes opened, her emerald irises staring up at Terrence. “Wha... what happened, Terry?”
“The fucking Cartel blindsided us! That’s what happened!” Terrence growled back, looking intently into his wifes eyes, checking for signs of a concussion. Her pupils were dilating- at least that was a good sign.
Wendy closed her eyes, grimacing as the memories of the past few moments came back to her. “I remember now,” she said weakly. “Tyler Graves threw me into the wall. He must have... joined the Cartel.”
Terrence nodded, opening his mouth to say as many disparaging things about Tyler Graves that he could think of, but all that came out was a grunt of protest as Wendy struggled to sit up. “No, hon. You should lay down,” Terrence admonished his wife gently.
Wendy, however, shoved his arms away, sitting fully upright. “I’m fine, Terry,” she snapped, harder than she meant to. Terrence blinked, surprised at the outburst, but he finally nodded. From the looks of things, she had come off better than he did. Still, he couldn’t help but worry about his wife.
For a short while, the two sat silently on the locker room floor. Terrence grimaced in pain as he felt the cut on his forehead. It was maybe a quarter inch long, and narrow. Better yet, it wasn’t very deep, so he would likely not require stitches. Wendy, for her part, raised the collar on the top of her ring gear, using it to wipe away the blood that had now stopped trickling from her lip.
“Thank GOD our daughter wasn’t here to see this,” Terrence muttered.
“Why?” Wendy huffed, and for a second Terrence stared at his wife in shock, amazed that she would disagree with him. But then he realizes she wasn’t- she was pursuing her own line of thought.
“Why would The Cartel attack us now?” Wendy asked, her voice thick with frustration. “They could have done it during the match- they were allowed to!”
“Because they knew we were expecting that.” Terrence responded. “We spent that entire match waiting for the hammer to fall, and, it never came. This way, they caught us when we were least expecting it.”
“Well, I can say one thing,” a third voice piped in, and both Birdz jumped, turning to see Daniel Pollaski at the other end of the room. “There was no way in HELL Brian Hollywood would have gotten involved in your match. Not with so much at stake riding on Cage Rage.”
Wendy paled. “Oh, God,” she said, wobbly getting to her feet, and running over to the telelvision. She had to know- if Brian Hollywood, God forbid, won the Grand Prix title...
“I’m fine, by the way,” Pollaski muttered, rubbing his jaw where Wild’s clothesline had connected.
Wendy flipped on the television, and gaped in amazement as she saw Brian Hollywood running through the crowd, Darin Zion in hot pursuit.
“It’s official,” Terrence declared behind her. “This is the most fucked up pay-per-view EVER.”
Terrence grabbed a chair, and sat down to watch the main event of the evening, but Wendy, relieved that at least Hollywood wasn’t winning the match, flipped the television off.
“Hey!” Terrence protested, but Wendy ignored him.
“We need to go get checked out by the medical staff,” Wendy replied firmly. “For all we know, we have concussions.”
“I’m fine,” Terrence declared, eyeballing his wife. “I’ve taken worse shots than that.”
But Wendy wasn’t finished. “Before we were attacked, we were telling Cassie to bring Theresa back to the arena,” she reminded her husband, “Do you want her to see you like this?”
Terrence grunted, although conceding the point. He didn’t really want his daughter seeing him covered in blood, that’s for sure. Lord knows how the confrontation with Mandrake would even effect her.
“Alright, let’s go,” Terrence grumbled, heading towards the locker room door. With a grim smile, Wendy followed behind, leaving Pollaski to scurry after them.
“Wait up!” The portly manager called as he left the room.
=======================================================================
Tuesday August 10, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
5:12 PM Local Time
Make up your mind...
Decide to walk with me...
Around the lake tonight
Around the lake tonight by my side.
Daniel Pollaski swore under his breath as the Toadies’ legendary hit “Possum Kingdom” began blaring from his cellphone. He was quickly learning that it was a bad idea to make one of your favorite songs your phone’s ringtone- it was too easy to develop a severe dislike when one kept hearing it whenever someone wanted to bother them.
Nevertheless, Daniel pressed pause on the X-Box 360 controller, pausing the Split/Second race he was facing (and losing to) Terrence in, and grabbed his Droid, flipping it on.
“‘Yallo...” Pollaski greeted the caller nonchalantly, looking over at Terrence and rolling his eyes. “Yeah, this is him. What’s up?”
At that moment, Wendy entered, holding a basket of laundry straight from the dryer, Theresa on her heels, holding two Hot Wheels in her hands. As Wendy sat down in the recliner, intending to fold while she watched her husband play his game, she looked over at Terrence. “Who is it?” she mouthed quietly.
Terrence shrugged, and set his controller on the end table. From the way Pollaski was talking, he could be on the phone for a while. He smiled at his daughter, who was busy running the cars back and forth over the carpet, quietly making ‘vroom’ sounds.
“How’s your forehead?” his wife asked, pointing to the band-aid that covered Terrence’s forehead. Wendy’s cut lip had healed quickly with minimal swelling, but Terrence hadn’t been as lucky. While he hadn’t needed stitches, an ugly scab still dotted Terrence’s face where he had been busted open, and Terrence had been covering it with a bandage. He looked over and smiled at his wife. “It’s fine,” he said.
Wendy looked as if she was going to respond, but Pollaski distracted them both by lowering the phone, covering the mouthpiece and clearing his throat.
“They want you to face Brian Hollywood in a number one contenders match this week,” Pollaski announced to the room.
Terrence blinked in surprise, and Wendy broke into a grin. “That’s great!” she said. “Congratulations, Terrence!”
Pollaski didn’t quite share their enthusiasm. “They’re making it a ‘luchas de apuestas’ match.”
“A... what?” Terrence asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“Literally, it’s a ‘match of wagers’,” Wendy explained calmly. “Each of you puts something on the line, and the winner takes all.”
“Oh, so what are the wagers?” Terrence asked.
“Well, for Brian, its his number one contendership to the Grand Prix title,” Pollaski explained, cringing at the expected outbursts from both the Birdz.
“What?” Wendy said furiously. “HIS number one- when did that happen?”
“At the pay-per-view,” Pollaski said. While all the WhirlyBirdz had been unconscious at the start of the main event,, Pollaski had gone back and rewatched the tape. “He removed himself from that Cage Rage match, then announced that he ‘got next’, so to speak. I guest he still thinks he’s ‘got next’, despite Darin Zion running him off.”
Wendy’s brow furrowed in anger, but she merely crossed her arms over her chest and said nothing. Terrence, on the other hand, calmly shrugged. “Either way, I win, and I ‘got next’. So what am I supposed to bet?”
Pollaski grimaced, and looked from Terrence, over to Wendy, then back to Terrence again. “If you lose, you’re stripped of the tag team titles. What do you think?”
Immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed, and both Terrence and Wendy paled slightly, looking at each other. Even little Theresa sensed that something was amiss, and she looked up from her cars at her parents.
“It’s your call, “ Pollaski prompted, his hand still over his phone’s mouthpiece.
The room was quiet for sometime after that. Finally, Terrence scratched under his chin, and sighed. “Talk about your all or nothing gambles,” he said quietly, then shook his head. “Tell them no thanks, I would, if the tag titles were solely mine, but I’m not screwing Wendy over because I want to-”
“Do it.” Wendy said fiercely, interrupting her husband.
Both Terrence and Pollaski looked over at the redhead, stunned by the words. Wendy merely shrugged. “You’ve had to make so many sacrifices for my career over teh past few months, Terry. I walked out on you before Summer Games, and I betrayed you at that press conference back in March.”
“Yeah, cause you were blackmailed,” Terrence growled, remembering all too well the situation Victor Mandrake had forced Wendy into. “It’s still-”
“Tell them we say yes,” Wendy interrupted again, this time ignoring Terrence and speaking directly to Pollaski. “I’m not going to let your loyalty to me hold you back when it doesn’t have to. Besides, I’d be a poor wife indeed if I didn’t have faith in you.”
“It could be a trap,” Terrence warned.
“So was last week, and the week before that,” Wendy countered. “There’s nothing the Cartel can throw at us that we can’t handle. If you don’t want the match, decline. But don’t hold out because you’re afraid of costing me my belt.”
The room fell silent again as Terrence stared blankly ahead for several seconds. Finally, he took a deep breath, and turned towards Pollaski.
“Fine. I’m in.” He said, his eyes glaring into Pollsaki’s. And you tell them that Brian Hollywood better look really closely at the company medical plan, because he’s going to need it by the time I’m done with him.”
Pollaski nodded, and finally put his phone back to his ear. “You there? Sorry ‘bout that. Yeah, he’s in.”
While Pollaski continued to talk to PWX corporate, Terrence turned to his wife, smiling.
“Thanks,” he said.
Wendy merely shrugged and smiled. “What are wives for/ Just try not to lose.”
Terrence burst into laughter. “To Brian Hollywood? I thought you said you had faith in me!”
Even Wendy had to smile at that.
=======================================================================
Thursday August 12, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
4:10 PM Local Time
[Well, this is a little interesting.]
[As is the case with a good percentage of WhirlyBirdz promos, we are in the rather nice living room of The Nest, which, for all you new Birdz fans, is the trendy nickname for the WhirlyBirdz house, located in the northwestern corner of Indianapolis.]
[On the couch, alone in the room, sits the Mechanical Mayhem. As usual, Terrence is dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, the t-shirt being a dark blue NAPA Auto screenprint. He’s sitting fairly relaxed in the couch, wearing that customary smirk that pretty much appears in every single one of his promos.]
[What’s interesting though, is the item that Terrence Thompson is holding in his hand as he fades in. Small, Gray. Plastic, with a paper sticker covering the front and the top.]
[A Super Nintendo Cartridge]
[Street Fighter II: TURBO]
[Now THAT is what we call old-school]
Twister- “When I was a kid, one of my favorite games was Street Fighter II. I would play that game for hours, but the funny thing is, every time I played the Arcade mode, I wuould beat everybody down. I’d bash Balrog, I’d Vex Vega, and I’d stymie Sagat. But then... I would get to Bison, and that blue fire wielding motherfucker would kick my ass from one side of Shadowloo to the next. And everytime I lost, I would continue the game, and get my ass kicked all over again. This could continue for a long time- either until I tired of the game, and went on to do something else, or, by some freaking miracle, I managed to eek out a win on my thirty-fourth attempt, and finally beat the damn thing. I always imagined that one fluke victory was because Bison just got fucking sick of facing me, and figured that if he let me win once, I would finally go away.”
[For the record, Terrence’s favorite character was Guile. Is anybody honestly surprised?]
[SONIC BOOM!]
Twister: “Facing the Cartel is like being Bison in Street Fighter II. Every time you beat them, they just hit the damned Start button, and come back for more. I beat John Ojeda, they come back. My wife beats Brian Hollywood, they come back. My wife beats Wild with John Pariah as the freakin’ referee, they come back. We beat the Cartel in a Cartel rules match...”
[Exasperated eyeroll from Terrence as he finishes the sentence]
Twister: “They come back.”
[Terrence leans over, and sets the cartridge on the end table, then turns his attention back to the camera.]
Twister: “I’m sure we’ll hear some bragging from the Cartel. After all, they’ve brought Tyler Graves, who has yet to even win a match since returning to PWX, into their organization, and they managed to catch Wendy and I by surprise in our own locker room. I’m sure that more than makes up for every single Cartel member not named Brian Willett getting their asses handed to them in the ring.”
[Well, to be fair, Chris Stern never lost a match either., He lost a loot of blood, and probably a few brain cells, but not the match!]
Twister: “But I suppose when you’re the boss, no matter how shitty you and your friends are made to look, you can keep yourself in the limelight with just a few words. And that’s why, once again, Brian Hollywood is the number one contender to the Grand Prix title.”
[Terrence breaks into an ear to ear smirk]
Twister: “For about a week.”
[Small chuckle]
Twister: “Brian, I suppose I owe you and the Cartel a small ‘thank you’ for getting Mandrake out of our lives. I supposed if I was gutless and spineless,, I would have gone with the ‘five guys with a cattle prod’ method as well. “
[Small shrug]
Twister: “I guess whatever’s effective, right?”
[Pause for a second.]
Twister: “But Brian, you need a wake up call. You’re the owner of PWX- I can’t dispute that. And you can do anything you want with this company, so long as you don’t compromise our contracts. But I know you, Brian. You’re a businessman at heart, and you want to make money.”
[Terrence straightens up, and even leans forward a bit, his smirk still boring into the camera.]
Twister: “So, since you were nice enough to run Victor Mandrake out of the PWX, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
[Terrence cups his right hand to his mouth, and speaks in a stage-whisper.]
Twister: “What’s good for business in the PWX is not you.”
[And the smirk is back.]
Twister: “Look through the history books, Brian. How many great wrestling promotions were destroyed because the morons running them thought they and their friends were still the best in the company, despite all evidence to the contrary?“
[Terrence slightly shifts his position on the couch to make himself more comfortable. As he talks, it sounds less like a wrestling promo, and more like Terrence trying to explain something to a five year old.]
Twister: “Believe me Brian, while next week is going to hurt- a lot- take solace in the fact that its really the best thing for the PWX, even if its the worst thing possible for you.”
[Another small pause, and the smirk disappears completely from Terrence’s face. His eyes harden, and he snorts in annoyance.]
Twister: “And yes, it is going to be very bad for you, Brian. Because even without a chance at the belt on the line, I’ve been wanting a shot at you. Like I’ve said before, I bear no grudge for what happens to my wife in a wrestling match- she’s made her own bed there. But see, when you start trying to drive a chair into her skull, or holding her down so that another man can slap her, you’re no longer messing with Wendy Briese, the wrestler. You’re messing with Wendy Briese-Thompson, my wife. You’re messing with my family.”
[Terrence leans forward, his narrrowed eyes never leaving the camera.]
Twister: “Nobody fucking messes with my family.”
[Terrence leans back slightly, and raises his right arm, as if he’s grabbing for something hanging from the ceiling.]
Twister: “And now you’re dangling that carrot, telling me that all I have to do to get a shot at the Grand Prix title is to kick your sorry ass?”
[Malicious grin.]
Twister: “Almost seems a little too good to be true.”
[Shrug]
Twister: “And it probably is. After all, even Helen Keller could see that the carrot you’re dangling is little more than bait. You’ve made it no secret that you want these tag titles off of Wendy and I, and this is just your latest scheme to do so. I’m sure you have some plan, probably involving four or five of your friends, to make sure you come out on top this week.”
[Terrence scoffs and shakes his head]
Twister: “Yeah, ain’t gonna work.”
[Smirk: On]
Twister: “You see, my personal issues with you aside, ever since I lost that match at Full Throttle to Jacob Wright, I’ve been wanting another crack at the belt. I’ve paid my dues by demolishing every single person that’s gotten in my way. And now, that title shot, that chance to once again be the top man in PWX, is right in front of me, and you think I’m going to choke?”
[Terrence shakes his head again, as if the notion of him failing here was even possible.]
Twister: “Do whatever you think you need to do to win, Brian. I’ve beaten every member of your pathetic Cartel, and if I have to do it again, I will. I don’t care if five, ten, twenty, or even fifty guys run down that ramp, the end result is going to be the same. You flat on your back, and me the new number one contender.”
[Terrence reaches to his other side, and grabs something off the camera. He holds it up, and we can see that it’s both of the PWX Tag Titles.]
Twister: “And yes, I’ll be taking our tag belts home as well.”
[Terrence sets both belts on his lap, and leans forward to the camera, his eyes blazing with intensity.]
Twister: “And that, Brian, isn’t an Executive Promise.”
[One last smirk]
Twister: “It’s the fucking truth.”
[Fade]
Broadbent Arena- WhirlyBirdz Locker Room
Louisville, Kentucky
10:41 PM Local Time
Terrence Thompson had lost enough fights in his career to know that seeing ceiling lights immediately after regaining consciousness was probably a pretty good indication one just got his ass kicked.
“Oh, God... dammit,” Terrence moaned, as he rolled onto his side, blinking rapidly as he tried to steady the swaying locker room. Clutching his throbbing skull in pain, Terrence was dismayed, if not surprised, to find his forehead sticky with blood.
Closing his eyes in an attempt to clear the cobwebs, Terrence forced himself to sit up, fighting down the small wave of nausea that attacked him as he did so. Dimly, the events leading up to his knockout began to take shape in his muddled mind.
He had been in here with Wendy, celebrating the end of their match, when John Pariah had come in, and, to Terrence and Wendy’s shock, seemed fairly gracious over their match, and even shook Terrence’s hand. Then he had left, and Terrence had barely time to breathe when the door had burst open again, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground, the entire cartel above him, taunting him.
He didn’t remember much else, but he could piece the puzzle together well enough to make a silent promise that the next member of the Cartel to cross him was going to end up in a body bag.
Terrence heard a weak, feminine groan off to his side, and, slowly opening his eyes, he looked in that direction.
Oh God, Wendy.
The red haired woman was crumpled against the wall, curled up in the fetal position, her hands on top of her head. With a jolt of panic, Terrence crawled over to the still form of his wife, rolling her on her back, and looking down at her.
“Wendy! Are you okay?”
Even as he spoke, he saw her eyelids flutter. A small trickle of blood ran from a cut on Wendy’s lip, but all that Wendy showed for her being shoved headfirst into the wall was a small red bump on her forehead. She must have gotten her hands over her head to protect her, Terrence realized gratefully, although he noted with rising anger that Grave’s shove still had been forceful enough to knock her out.
With another soft moan, Wendy’s eyes opened, her emerald irises staring up at Terrence. “Wha... what happened, Terry?”
“The fucking Cartel blindsided us! That’s what happened!” Terrence growled back, looking intently into his wifes eyes, checking for signs of a concussion. Her pupils were dilating- at least that was a good sign.
Wendy closed her eyes, grimacing as the memories of the past few moments came back to her. “I remember now,” she said weakly. “Tyler Graves threw me into the wall. He must have... joined the Cartel.”
Terrence nodded, opening his mouth to say as many disparaging things about Tyler Graves that he could think of, but all that came out was a grunt of protest as Wendy struggled to sit up. “No, hon. You should lay down,” Terrence admonished his wife gently.
Wendy, however, shoved his arms away, sitting fully upright. “I’m fine, Terry,” she snapped, harder than she meant to. Terrence blinked, surprised at the outburst, but he finally nodded. From the looks of things, she had come off better than he did. Still, he couldn’t help but worry about his wife.
For a short while, the two sat silently on the locker room floor. Terrence grimaced in pain as he felt the cut on his forehead. It was maybe a quarter inch long, and narrow. Better yet, it wasn’t very deep, so he would likely not require stitches. Wendy, for her part, raised the collar on the top of her ring gear, using it to wipe away the blood that had now stopped trickling from her lip.
“Thank GOD our daughter wasn’t here to see this,” Terrence muttered.
“Why?” Wendy huffed, and for a second Terrence stared at his wife in shock, amazed that she would disagree with him. But then he realizes she wasn’t- she was pursuing her own line of thought.
“Why would The Cartel attack us now?” Wendy asked, her voice thick with frustration. “They could have done it during the match- they were allowed to!”
“Because they knew we were expecting that.” Terrence responded. “We spent that entire match waiting for the hammer to fall, and, it never came. This way, they caught us when we were least expecting it.”
“Well, I can say one thing,” a third voice piped in, and both Birdz jumped, turning to see Daniel Pollaski at the other end of the room. “There was no way in HELL Brian Hollywood would have gotten involved in your match. Not with so much at stake riding on Cage Rage.”
Wendy paled. “Oh, God,” she said, wobbly getting to her feet, and running over to the telelvision. She had to know- if Brian Hollywood, God forbid, won the Grand Prix title...
“I’m fine, by the way,” Pollaski muttered, rubbing his jaw where Wild’s clothesline had connected.
Wendy flipped on the television, and gaped in amazement as she saw Brian Hollywood running through the crowd, Darin Zion in hot pursuit.
“It’s official,” Terrence declared behind her. “This is the most fucked up pay-per-view EVER.”
Terrence grabbed a chair, and sat down to watch the main event of the evening, but Wendy, relieved that at least Hollywood wasn’t winning the match, flipped the television off.
“Hey!” Terrence protested, but Wendy ignored him.
“We need to go get checked out by the medical staff,” Wendy replied firmly. “For all we know, we have concussions.”
“I’m fine,” Terrence declared, eyeballing his wife. “I’ve taken worse shots than that.”
But Wendy wasn’t finished. “Before we were attacked, we were telling Cassie to bring Theresa back to the arena,” she reminded her husband, “Do you want her to see you like this?”
Terrence grunted, although conceding the point. He didn’t really want his daughter seeing him covered in blood, that’s for sure. Lord knows how the confrontation with Mandrake would even effect her.
“Alright, let’s go,” Terrence grumbled, heading towards the locker room door. With a grim smile, Wendy followed behind, leaving Pollaski to scurry after them.
“Wait up!” The portly manager called as he left the room.
=======================================================================
Tuesday August 10, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
5:12 PM Local Time
Make up your mind...
Decide to walk with me...
Around the lake tonight
Around the lake tonight by my side.
Daniel Pollaski swore under his breath as the Toadies’ legendary hit “Possum Kingdom” began blaring from his cellphone. He was quickly learning that it was a bad idea to make one of your favorite songs your phone’s ringtone- it was too easy to develop a severe dislike when one kept hearing it whenever someone wanted to bother them.
Nevertheless, Daniel pressed pause on the X-Box 360 controller, pausing the Split/Second race he was facing (and losing to) Terrence in, and grabbed his Droid, flipping it on.
“‘Yallo...” Pollaski greeted the caller nonchalantly, looking over at Terrence and rolling his eyes. “Yeah, this is him. What’s up?”
At that moment, Wendy entered, holding a basket of laundry straight from the dryer, Theresa on her heels, holding two Hot Wheels in her hands. As Wendy sat down in the recliner, intending to fold while she watched her husband play his game, she looked over at Terrence. “Who is it?” she mouthed quietly.
Terrence shrugged, and set his controller on the end table. From the way Pollaski was talking, he could be on the phone for a while. He smiled at his daughter, who was busy running the cars back and forth over the carpet, quietly making ‘vroom’ sounds.
“How’s your forehead?” his wife asked, pointing to the band-aid that covered Terrence’s forehead. Wendy’s cut lip had healed quickly with minimal swelling, but Terrence hadn’t been as lucky. While he hadn’t needed stitches, an ugly scab still dotted Terrence’s face where he had been busted open, and Terrence had been covering it with a bandage. He looked over and smiled at his wife. “It’s fine,” he said.
Wendy looked as if she was going to respond, but Pollaski distracted them both by lowering the phone, covering the mouthpiece and clearing his throat.
“They want you to face Brian Hollywood in a number one contenders match this week,” Pollaski announced to the room.
Terrence blinked in surprise, and Wendy broke into a grin. “That’s great!” she said. “Congratulations, Terrence!”
Pollaski didn’t quite share their enthusiasm. “They’re making it a ‘luchas de apuestas’ match.”
“A... what?” Terrence asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“Literally, it’s a ‘match of wagers’,” Wendy explained calmly. “Each of you puts something on the line, and the winner takes all.”
“Oh, so what are the wagers?” Terrence asked.
“Well, for Brian, its his number one contendership to the Grand Prix title,” Pollaski explained, cringing at the expected outbursts from both the Birdz.
“What?” Wendy said furiously. “HIS number one- when did that happen?”
“At the pay-per-view,” Pollaski said. While all the WhirlyBirdz had been unconscious at the start of the main event,, Pollaski had gone back and rewatched the tape. “He removed himself from that Cage Rage match, then announced that he ‘got next’, so to speak. I guest he still thinks he’s ‘got next’, despite Darin Zion running him off.”
Wendy’s brow furrowed in anger, but she merely crossed her arms over her chest and said nothing. Terrence, on the other hand, calmly shrugged. “Either way, I win, and I ‘got next’. So what am I supposed to bet?”
Pollaski grimaced, and looked from Terrence, over to Wendy, then back to Terrence again. “If you lose, you’re stripped of the tag team titles. What do you think?”
Immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed, and both Terrence and Wendy paled slightly, looking at each other. Even little Theresa sensed that something was amiss, and she looked up from her cars at her parents.
“It’s your call, “ Pollaski prompted, his hand still over his phone’s mouthpiece.
The room was quiet for sometime after that. Finally, Terrence scratched under his chin, and sighed. “Talk about your all or nothing gambles,” he said quietly, then shook his head. “Tell them no thanks, I would, if the tag titles were solely mine, but I’m not screwing Wendy over because I want to-”
“Do it.” Wendy said fiercely, interrupting her husband.
Both Terrence and Pollaski looked over at the redhead, stunned by the words. Wendy merely shrugged. “You’ve had to make so many sacrifices for my career over teh past few months, Terry. I walked out on you before Summer Games, and I betrayed you at that press conference back in March.”
“Yeah, cause you were blackmailed,” Terrence growled, remembering all too well the situation Victor Mandrake had forced Wendy into. “It’s still-”
“Tell them we say yes,” Wendy interrupted again, this time ignoring Terrence and speaking directly to Pollaski. “I’m not going to let your loyalty to me hold you back when it doesn’t have to. Besides, I’d be a poor wife indeed if I didn’t have faith in you.”
“It could be a trap,” Terrence warned.
“So was last week, and the week before that,” Wendy countered. “There’s nothing the Cartel can throw at us that we can’t handle. If you don’t want the match, decline. But don’t hold out because you’re afraid of costing me my belt.”
The room fell silent again as Terrence stared blankly ahead for several seconds. Finally, he took a deep breath, and turned towards Pollaski.
“Fine. I’m in.” He said, his eyes glaring into Pollsaki’s. And you tell them that Brian Hollywood better look really closely at the company medical plan, because he’s going to need it by the time I’m done with him.”
Pollaski nodded, and finally put his phone back to his ear. “You there? Sorry ‘bout that. Yeah, he’s in.”
While Pollaski continued to talk to PWX corporate, Terrence turned to his wife, smiling.
“Thanks,” he said.
Wendy merely shrugged and smiled. “What are wives for/ Just try not to lose.”
Terrence burst into laughter. “To Brian Hollywood? I thought you said you had faith in me!”
Even Wendy had to smile at that.
=======================================================================
Thursday August 12, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
4:10 PM Local Time
[Well, this is a little interesting.]
[As is the case with a good percentage of WhirlyBirdz promos, we are in the rather nice living room of The Nest, which, for all you new Birdz fans, is the trendy nickname for the WhirlyBirdz house, located in the northwestern corner of Indianapolis.]
[On the couch, alone in the room, sits the Mechanical Mayhem. As usual, Terrence is dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, the t-shirt being a dark blue NAPA Auto screenprint. He’s sitting fairly relaxed in the couch, wearing that customary smirk that pretty much appears in every single one of his promos.]
[What’s interesting though, is the item that Terrence Thompson is holding in his hand as he fades in. Small, Gray. Plastic, with a paper sticker covering the front and the top.]
[A Super Nintendo Cartridge]
[Street Fighter II: TURBO]
[Now THAT is what we call old-school]
Twister- “When I was a kid, one of my favorite games was Street Fighter II. I would play that game for hours, but the funny thing is, every time I played the Arcade mode, I wuould beat everybody down. I’d bash Balrog, I’d Vex Vega, and I’d stymie Sagat. But then... I would get to Bison, and that blue fire wielding motherfucker would kick my ass from one side of Shadowloo to the next. And everytime I lost, I would continue the game, and get my ass kicked all over again. This could continue for a long time- either until I tired of the game, and went on to do something else, or, by some freaking miracle, I managed to eek out a win on my thirty-fourth attempt, and finally beat the damn thing. I always imagined that one fluke victory was because Bison just got fucking sick of facing me, and figured that if he let me win once, I would finally go away.”
[For the record, Terrence’s favorite character was Guile. Is anybody honestly surprised?]
[SONIC BOOM!]
Twister: “Facing the Cartel is like being Bison in Street Fighter II. Every time you beat them, they just hit the damned Start button, and come back for more. I beat John Ojeda, they come back. My wife beats Brian Hollywood, they come back. My wife beats Wild with John Pariah as the freakin’ referee, they come back. We beat the Cartel in a Cartel rules match...”
[Exasperated eyeroll from Terrence as he finishes the sentence]
Twister: “They come back.”
[Terrence leans over, and sets the cartridge on the end table, then turns his attention back to the camera.]
Twister: “I’m sure we’ll hear some bragging from the Cartel. After all, they’ve brought Tyler Graves, who has yet to even win a match since returning to PWX, into their organization, and they managed to catch Wendy and I by surprise in our own locker room. I’m sure that more than makes up for every single Cartel member not named Brian Willett getting their asses handed to them in the ring.”
[Well, to be fair, Chris Stern never lost a match either., He lost a loot of blood, and probably a few brain cells, but not the match!]
Twister: “But I suppose when you’re the boss, no matter how shitty you and your friends are made to look, you can keep yourself in the limelight with just a few words. And that’s why, once again, Brian Hollywood is the number one contender to the Grand Prix title.”
[Terrence breaks into an ear to ear smirk]
Twister: “For about a week.”
[Small chuckle]
Twister: “Brian, I suppose I owe you and the Cartel a small ‘thank you’ for getting Mandrake out of our lives. I supposed if I was gutless and spineless,, I would have gone with the ‘five guys with a cattle prod’ method as well. “
[Small shrug]
Twister: “I guess whatever’s effective, right?”
[Pause for a second.]
Twister: “But Brian, you need a wake up call. You’re the owner of PWX- I can’t dispute that. And you can do anything you want with this company, so long as you don’t compromise our contracts. But I know you, Brian. You’re a businessman at heart, and you want to make money.”
[Terrence straightens up, and even leans forward a bit, his smirk still boring into the camera.]
Twister: “So, since you were nice enough to run Victor Mandrake out of the PWX, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
[Terrence cups his right hand to his mouth, and speaks in a stage-whisper.]
Twister: “What’s good for business in the PWX is not you.”
[And the smirk is back.]
Twister: “Look through the history books, Brian. How many great wrestling promotions were destroyed because the morons running them thought they and their friends were still the best in the company, despite all evidence to the contrary?“
[Terrence slightly shifts his position on the couch to make himself more comfortable. As he talks, it sounds less like a wrestling promo, and more like Terrence trying to explain something to a five year old.]
Twister: “Believe me Brian, while next week is going to hurt- a lot- take solace in the fact that its really the best thing for the PWX, even if its the worst thing possible for you.”
[Another small pause, and the smirk disappears completely from Terrence’s face. His eyes harden, and he snorts in annoyance.]
Twister: “And yes, it is going to be very bad for you, Brian. Because even without a chance at the belt on the line, I’ve been wanting a shot at you. Like I’ve said before, I bear no grudge for what happens to my wife in a wrestling match- she’s made her own bed there. But see, when you start trying to drive a chair into her skull, or holding her down so that another man can slap her, you’re no longer messing with Wendy Briese, the wrestler. You’re messing with Wendy Briese-Thompson, my wife. You’re messing with my family.”
[Terrence leans forward, his narrrowed eyes never leaving the camera.]
Twister: “Nobody fucking messes with my family.”
[Terrence leans back slightly, and raises his right arm, as if he’s grabbing for something hanging from the ceiling.]
Twister: “And now you’re dangling that carrot, telling me that all I have to do to get a shot at the Grand Prix title is to kick your sorry ass?”
[Malicious grin.]
Twister: “Almost seems a little too good to be true.”
[Shrug]
Twister: “And it probably is. After all, even Helen Keller could see that the carrot you’re dangling is little more than bait. You’ve made it no secret that you want these tag titles off of Wendy and I, and this is just your latest scheme to do so. I’m sure you have some plan, probably involving four or five of your friends, to make sure you come out on top this week.”
[Terrence scoffs and shakes his head]
Twister: “Yeah, ain’t gonna work.”
[Smirk: On]
Twister: “You see, my personal issues with you aside, ever since I lost that match at Full Throttle to Jacob Wright, I’ve been wanting another crack at the belt. I’ve paid my dues by demolishing every single person that’s gotten in my way. And now, that title shot, that chance to once again be the top man in PWX, is right in front of me, and you think I’m going to choke?”
[Terrence shakes his head again, as if the notion of him failing here was even possible.]
Twister: “Do whatever you think you need to do to win, Brian. I’ve beaten every member of your pathetic Cartel, and if I have to do it again, I will. I don’t care if five, ten, twenty, or even fifty guys run down that ramp, the end result is going to be the same. You flat on your back, and me the new number one contender.”
[Terrence reaches to his other side, and grabs something off the camera. He holds it up, and we can see that it’s both of the PWX Tag Titles.]
Twister: “And yes, I’ll be taking our tag belts home as well.”
[Terrence sets both belts on his lap, and leans forward to the camera, his eyes blazing with intensity.]
Twister: “And that, Brian, isn’t an Executive Promise.”
[One last smirk]
Twister: “It’s the fucking truth.”
[Fade]
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Defiance Podcast #4- (With Boston Bancroft)
Club Midnight was a very, very popular spot in Indianapolis. Boston had found the perfect intersection of “perfect location”, “perfect promotion” and “luck”. Three powerful forces, especially in the entertainment industry.
Upon the meeting of the famed duo in question with the nightclub’s ticket-takers with the Whirly Birdz, Terrence and Wendy, the two were brought through the club’s main floor, and upstairs to the manager’s office. It wasn’t the fodder of video games and films with a massive room and mirrored glass on the back. But it wasn’t a shabby, paper-pile-filled closet, either.
It was large, but full of equipment, storage closets, and had a large window on the back wall. Part of A, part of B. Two comfortable-looking chairs sat across a large oak desk from the chair with the manager ensconced inside. The manager in question was unquestionably Boston Bancroft, dressed in a black, but collared shirt, a tie loosely draped around his shoulders, left undone. Upon the entrance of the others, Boston sat up and smiled brightly to his guests.
“Ah. Decided to take me up on my free entrance to the club? Welcome,” he said, his voice somewhat... quieter than the Boston that Twister and Wendy were used to. Boston seemed... less exciteable. Less powerful. Less... attention-whore-y. Then again, he had a shirt on and wasn’t holding a World Title belt.
Terrence had actually dressed up for the occasion, foregoing the usual t-shirt and jeans, and had elected for a blue/black patterened buttoned shirt (although he left the collar and the next button down undone), and a black pair of slacks. He stared at Boston, careful to keep his expression neutral. Despite having words with him throughout most of the Summer Games buildup, this was the first time Terrence and Bancroft had ever met face to face, and he was definitely unsure of what to make of the man.
Even more unsure seemed Wendy, who tugged nervously at the straps of her dark green knee-legnth dress. Unlike Terrence, the small redhead HAD ran into Boston before, and she hadn’t exactly found the experience to enjoyable. Even so, she struggled to smile politely, although her emerald eyes clearly showed the animosity she held for Bancroft, as well as the nervousness she clearly felt for being in such a situation.
“Thank you for inviting us,” Wendy replied, unable to completely keep the stiffness from her voice.
“Well, I couldn’t very well leave the first impression you two had of myself as the only one, could I?” Boston seemed... almost relaxed. In direct opposition to how Boston found himself on television, constantly “up”, constantly trying to catch the attention, the winner of Summer Games ‘09 and ‘10 looked comfortable.
“Please, sit. I was eager to meet some other wrestlers from Indianapolis. I try to make it a point to know the other people in the game in my hometown. Ever been to an IPW show?” The company was the recent “name” in Indy’s wrestling scene, doing the majority of the shows promoted in either the high school, armory or VFW halls. They plastered posters all over town, but a person so constantly on the road like the Birdz could easily miss something so small-scale.
The husband-wife tag team sat down, Wendy smoothing her dress and crossing her legs as she did. Although Wendy still seemed uncomfortably rigid, Terrence relaxed somewhat, shaking his head at the nightclub’s owner.
“No,” Terrence said, shrugging. “Wendy and I really didn’t pay much attention to the wrestling scene while we were retired, and we’ve just been too busy to really take in anything locally. I heard your kid did a number on their champion, though,” he finished, chuckling as he said so.
Boston shrugged, as he leaned back in his seat. “The promoter is a good guy. They’re a bunch of good kids over there, trying to put on an enjoyable product. Can’t fault ‘em for their heart. If DEFIANCE didn’t have so many nutjobs in it who take this stuff way, way too seriously, I’d say the same about that place.” Boston pulled open a drawer, taking out a black, leatherbound menu. He slid it across the desk, smile broadening a bit.
“Would you care for anything to eat, or drink? The wine list is in the back. It’ll be on the house, of course,” Boston finished, a jolly tone to his voice. “I hope you two understand my intentions for inviting you here. I just want you to know that what I said, what I did at Summer Games, was simply business. If you took offense to anything I said, I flat-out apologise. You do what’s necessary to get people to tune in, right?”
Terrence picked up the menu, opening it, saying nothing, but looking slightly confused. Wendy’s cheeks had flushed slightly, and a small fire had leapt into her eyes at the remarks. “It wasn’t what you said that was so offensive,” she said, quietly enough so that even Boston had to lean slightly forward to hear her. “It was what you did.”
Boston lifted an eyebrow, smile dimming just a tad. “It wasn’t you who took a slapjack to the back of the head. All I ever did to you was throw a few punches, and trade a few holds. I wasn’t DEFIANCE like Dane, and I’m not the Devil, like Victor Mandrake seems to think.” Boston’s hands came up, clasping on the desk.
“All I did was wrestle. Like I always do. Like I’m paid to do.” Boston reached over, turning a picture-frame ‘pon his desk around. His gorgeous Irish redhead of a wife, and his curly-haired little muppet of a son beamed from the frame. “To be honest, I wanted the extra, quite large payday to be able to pay for some extra dental work for Jeremy. He had a tooth coming in in a bad way, and Dane came knocking at just the right time.”
The big black man gave a shrug. “I had already told him, Cito, and nearly every other major promoter, PTC, NWA and all the rest that I was willing to do a show or three for ‘em if they helped with the mangled contracts from the disastrous move from the SSB to WWA: West. Never work with a fellow as messy as Bloodgood.” Boston shook his head, eyes rolling in remembrance of the hassle they put him through.
Terrence, noticing the tension between Bancroft and his wife had busied himself with the menu, although keeping a wary eye out in the unlikely event things suddenly got out of hand. Wendy was silent, but reached out, and picked up the picture frame.
“You have a beautiful family.” She said, then paused for just a second. “We’re sorry to hear about Justin.”
Boston sighed softly, shaking his head. “There’s a difference between an attack like what I did to Jiles and what Long did to Justin. I didn’t attack anywhere he can’t get fixed, I pulled a good half of those shots, and if he’s smart, he’ll take the lesson about not stepping on someone’s toes when they’re trying to up their stock, and he won’t butt into stuff that doesn’t concern him.”
Boston crossed his arms and gritted his teeth, fists closing and popping his knuckles. “But Long... What he did was barbaric. Poor kid is still comatose. I don’t know if he’ll ever come out of it.”
“Too many people got hurt last show,” Terrence finally said, closing his menu, and passing it to Wendy. “Hurley, Brooks, Dane. I even heard Langston had to go to the hospital.”
Boston nodded sadly, a grim look on his face. “Too many people who make this personal. At the end of the day, which of us didn’t get into the ring for a little physical competition and a paycheck? Greer and his crew just took away a man’s livelihood. And Mandrake? The man’s a damn clinical case.”
Wendy snorted at the mere thought of anyone telling her just how out of control Victor Mandrake was, considering all the man had done to her. Terrence looked over at Boston, a grim smile upon his face. “If I have my way, Greer and the Hydra won’t be a problem after the sixteenth.”
“Not all of Hydra. I still have to defend my title belt against Andrews no matter what you do. Then again, I’ve wanted to have a tussle with the man. He’s a good competitor, even if he’s haunted by his demons.” Boston waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s not talk about our matches. Just like a couple of wrestlers to meet and brag who will lose to who at what supercard, right?”
Boston spread a hand towards the two. “Anything look good on there? Our sliders have gotten rave reviews, our Jell-O shots sell like hotcakes, and the wine cellar is top-notch. Just to list a few things.” The moustachio’d man smiled.amicably. “I’m not trying to bribe you or anything. It would be nice, though, to be able to introduce Karen to someone else who understands our life.”
“You said she’s Irish,” Wendy said, smiling wryly. “That’s points in my book. And a water will do just fine, thank you.”
“I’ll have a Budweiser,” Terrence declared, drawing an astonished glare from his wife. He shot her a small grin. “Hey, when in Rome, right?”
Boston tapped a button on his intercom. “Alice? Can you bring up a carafe of ice water, two bottles of Budweiser...” Boston glanced up to the two. “You sure I can’t interest you in any wine? I was going to try some of a new vintage out of California. Very light, sweet, and fruity.”
Wendy paused, her initial instinct to repeat that water was fine, but for some reason, she felt awfully tempted by the generous offer. Finally, Terrence leaned over, and whispered in her ear, although loud enough so Boston could just barely hear the words.
“Wendy, a glass of wine is not going to turn you into your parents.”
Wendy shot her husband a dark glare, and finally sighed, nodding. “I suppose a glass wouldn’t hurt.”
Terrence nodded as well. “Cancel the Bud, I’ll give it a shot.”
“Make that the ‘01 wine we got in earlier tonight, Alice.” Boston let go of the intercom, and straightened, grinning once more. “I’m glad that you two don’t take this wrestling business as crazy seriously as folks like Drago and Box. I mean... It’s just a job, right?”
Terrence nodded, but Wendy shook her head. “I take it very seriously,” she said quietly. “If I didn’t, every single match could result in me getting seriously hurt... or worse.” She smiled slightly. “I just know when to let bygones be bygones.”
Terrence nodded, and at that moment, a young woman walked in, holding a bottle of wine in her hand, and three glasses, she set everything on Bancrofts desk, and Boston nodded, dismissing her. Pulling a corkscrew out of his desk, Boston quickly opened the bottle, and poured the liquor into the three glasses. Taking one for himself, Boston slid the other two to the edge of his desk, and both Terrence and Wendy took one.
Terrence immediately took a drink, nodding his approval at the taste, but Wendy merely stared at the glass in her hand, finally, she raised it to her lips, taking a small sip of the wine.
“Its good!” she finally said, taking another sip.
Boston smiled. “To Defiance,” he finally said, raising his glass.
“To Defiance,” Terrence said, raising his glass at Boston. Wendy remained silent, but she amiably raised her glass as well.
Boston merely smiled.
Upon the meeting of the famed duo in question with the nightclub’s ticket-takers with the Whirly Birdz, Terrence and Wendy, the two were brought through the club’s main floor, and upstairs to the manager’s office. It wasn’t the fodder of video games and films with a massive room and mirrored glass on the back. But it wasn’t a shabby, paper-pile-filled closet, either.
It was large, but full of equipment, storage closets, and had a large window on the back wall. Part of A, part of B. Two comfortable-looking chairs sat across a large oak desk from the chair with the manager ensconced inside. The manager in question was unquestionably Boston Bancroft, dressed in a black, but collared shirt, a tie loosely draped around his shoulders, left undone. Upon the entrance of the others, Boston sat up and smiled brightly to his guests.
“Ah. Decided to take me up on my free entrance to the club? Welcome,” he said, his voice somewhat... quieter than the Boston that Twister and Wendy were used to. Boston seemed... less exciteable. Less powerful. Less... attention-whore-y. Then again, he had a shirt on and wasn’t holding a World Title belt.
Terrence had actually dressed up for the occasion, foregoing the usual t-shirt and jeans, and had elected for a blue/black patterened buttoned shirt (although he left the collar and the next button down undone), and a black pair of slacks. He stared at Boston, careful to keep his expression neutral. Despite having words with him throughout most of the Summer Games buildup, this was the first time Terrence and Bancroft had ever met face to face, and he was definitely unsure of what to make of the man.
Even more unsure seemed Wendy, who tugged nervously at the straps of her dark green knee-legnth dress. Unlike Terrence, the small redhead HAD ran into Boston before, and she hadn’t exactly found the experience to enjoyable. Even so, she struggled to smile politely, although her emerald eyes clearly showed the animosity she held for Bancroft, as well as the nervousness she clearly felt for being in such a situation.
“Thank you for inviting us,” Wendy replied, unable to completely keep the stiffness from her voice.
“Well, I couldn’t very well leave the first impression you two had of myself as the only one, could I?” Boston seemed... almost relaxed. In direct opposition to how Boston found himself on television, constantly “up”, constantly trying to catch the attention, the winner of Summer Games ‘09 and ‘10 looked comfortable.
“Please, sit. I was eager to meet some other wrestlers from Indianapolis. I try to make it a point to know the other people in the game in my hometown. Ever been to an IPW show?” The company was the recent “name” in Indy’s wrestling scene, doing the majority of the shows promoted in either the high school, armory or VFW halls. They plastered posters all over town, but a person so constantly on the road like the Birdz could easily miss something so small-scale.
The husband-wife tag team sat down, Wendy smoothing her dress and crossing her legs as she did. Although Wendy still seemed uncomfortably rigid, Terrence relaxed somewhat, shaking his head at the nightclub’s owner.
“No,” Terrence said, shrugging. “Wendy and I really didn’t pay much attention to the wrestling scene while we were retired, and we’ve just been too busy to really take in anything locally. I heard your kid did a number on their champion, though,” he finished, chuckling as he said so.
Boston shrugged, as he leaned back in his seat. “The promoter is a good guy. They’re a bunch of good kids over there, trying to put on an enjoyable product. Can’t fault ‘em for their heart. If DEFIANCE didn’t have so many nutjobs in it who take this stuff way, way too seriously, I’d say the same about that place.” Boston pulled open a drawer, taking out a black, leatherbound menu. He slid it across the desk, smile broadening a bit.
“Would you care for anything to eat, or drink? The wine list is in the back. It’ll be on the house, of course,” Boston finished, a jolly tone to his voice. “I hope you two understand my intentions for inviting you here. I just want you to know that what I said, what I did at Summer Games, was simply business. If you took offense to anything I said, I flat-out apologise. You do what’s necessary to get people to tune in, right?”
Terrence picked up the menu, opening it, saying nothing, but looking slightly confused. Wendy’s cheeks had flushed slightly, and a small fire had leapt into her eyes at the remarks. “It wasn’t what you said that was so offensive,” she said, quietly enough so that even Boston had to lean slightly forward to hear her. “It was what you did.”
Boston lifted an eyebrow, smile dimming just a tad. “It wasn’t you who took a slapjack to the back of the head. All I ever did to you was throw a few punches, and trade a few holds. I wasn’t DEFIANCE like Dane, and I’m not the Devil, like Victor Mandrake seems to think.” Boston’s hands came up, clasping on the desk.
“All I did was wrestle. Like I always do. Like I’m paid to do.” Boston reached over, turning a picture-frame ‘pon his desk around. His gorgeous Irish redhead of a wife, and his curly-haired little muppet of a son beamed from the frame. “To be honest, I wanted the extra, quite large payday to be able to pay for some extra dental work for Jeremy. He had a tooth coming in in a bad way, and Dane came knocking at just the right time.”
The big black man gave a shrug. “I had already told him, Cito, and nearly every other major promoter, PTC, NWA and all the rest that I was willing to do a show or three for ‘em if they helped with the mangled contracts from the disastrous move from the SSB to WWA: West. Never work with a fellow as messy as Bloodgood.” Boston shook his head, eyes rolling in remembrance of the hassle they put him through.
Terrence, noticing the tension between Bancroft and his wife had busied himself with the menu, although keeping a wary eye out in the unlikely event things suddenly got out of hand. Wendy was silent, but reached out, and picked up the picture frame.
“You have a beautiful family.” She said, then paused for just a second. “We’re sorry to hear about Justin.”
Boston sighed softly, shaking his head. “There’s a difference between an attack like what I did to Jiles and what Long did to Justin. I didn’t attack anywhere he can’t get fixed, I pulled a good half of those shots, and if he’s smart, he’ll take the lesson about not stepping on someone’s toes when they’re trying to up their stock, and he won’t butt into stuff that doesn’t concern him.”
Boston crossed his arms and gritted his teeth, fists closing and popping his knuckles. “But Long... What he did was barbaric. Poor kid is still comatose. I don’t know if he’ll ever come out of it.”
“Too many people got hurt last show,” Terrence finally said, closing his menu, and passing it to Wendy. “Hurley, Brooks, Dane. I even heard Langston had to go to the hospital.”
Boston nodded sadly, a grim look on his face. “Too many people who make this personal. At the end of the day, which of us didn’t get into the ring for a little physical competition and a paycheck? Greer and his crew just took away a man’s livelihood. And Mandrake? The man’s a damn clinical case.”
Wendy snorted at the mere thought of anyone telling her just how out of control Victor Mandrake was, considering all the man had done to her. Terrence looked over at Boston, a grim smile upon his face. “If I have my way, Greer and the Hydra won’t be a problem after the sixteenth.”
“Not all of Hydra. I still have to defend my title belt against Andrews no matter what you do. Then again, I’ve wanted to have a tussle with the man. He’s a good competitor, even if he’s haunted by his demons.” Boston waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s not talk about our matches. Just like a couple of wrestlers to meet and brag who will lose to who at what supercard, right?”
Boston spread a hand towards the two. “Anything look good on there? Our sliders have gotten rave reviews, our Jell-O shots sell like hotcakes, and the wine cellar is top-notch. Just to list a few things.” The moustachio’d man smiled.amicably. “I’m not trying to bribe you or anything. It would be nice, though, to be able to introduce Karen to someone else who understands our life.”
“You said she’s Irish,” Wendy said, smiling wryly. “That’s points in my book. And a water will do just fine, thank you.”
“I’ll have a Budweiser,” Terrence declared, drawing an astonished glare from his wife. He shot her a small grin. “Hey, when in Rome, right?”
Boston tapped a button on his intercom. “Alice? Can you bring up a carafe of ice water, two bottles of Budweiser...” Boston glanced up to the two. “You sure I can’t interest you in any wine? I was going to try some of a new vintage out of California. Very light, sweet, and fruity.”
Wendy paused, her initial instinct to repeat that water was fine, but for some reason, she felt awfully tempted by the generous offer. Finally, Terrence leaned over, and whispered in her ear, although loud enough so Boston could just barely hear the words.
“Wendy, a glass of wine is not going to turn you into your parents.”
Wendy shot her husband a dark glare, and finally sighed, nodding. “I suppose a glass wouldn’t hurt.”
Terrence nodded as well. “Cancel the Bud, I’ll give it a shot.”
“Make that the ‘01 wine we got in earlier tonight, Alice.” Boston let go of the intercom, and straightened, grinning once more. “I’m glad that you two don’t take this wrestling business as crazy seriously as folks like Drago and Box. I mean... It’s just a job, right?”
Terrence nodded, but Wendy shook her head. “I take it very seriously,” she said quietly. “If I didn’t, every single match could result in me getting seriously hurt... or worse.” She smiled slightly. “I just know when to let bygones be bygones.”
Terrence nodded, and at that moment, a young woman walked in, holding a bottle of wine in her hand, and three glasses, she set everything on Bancrofts desk, and Boston nodded, dismissing her. Pulling a corkscrew out of his desk, Boston quickly opened the bottle, and poured the liquor into the three glasses. Taking one for himself, Boston slid the other two to the edge of his desk, and both Terrence and Wendy took one.
Terrence immediately took a drink, nodding his approval at the taste, but Wendy merely stared at the glass in her hand, finally, she raised it to her lips, taking a small sip of the wine.
“Its good!” she finally said, taking another sip.
Boston smiled. “To Defiance,” he finally said, raising his glass.
“To Defiance,” Terrence said, raising his glass at Boston. Wendy remained silent, but she amiably raised her glass as well.
Boston merely smiled.
CPW #1- Hell Freezes Over
Tuesday July 20, 2010
ARC Arena- WhirlyBirdz' Locker Room
Valparaiso, Indiana
12:31 AM Local Time
PWX Adrenaline 39 had been off the air for over an hour, and still the WhirlyBirdz remained in their locker room.
Wendy Briese-Thompson quietly folded up her ring gear, carefully laying each piece inside her duffel bag, while her husband patiently waited. Having wrestled far earlier in the evening, Terrence had already been back in his street clothes for a couple hours, but after the vicious attack Wendy had recieved from Wild at the conclusion of her match, and the subsequent checking out in the medical room, only now was she able to finally change out of her attire.
"Where's Pollaski?" Terrence Thompson asked, taking a swig from his water bottle and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his Black #17 Matt Kenseth NASCAR t-shirt. Terrence was a well built man, standing just over six feet and weighing a little over two-forty. A former auto racer and still avid fan of the sport, nearly everything Terrence wore was car related, right down to the modified racing suit he had used as his ring attire. Still, Terrence was hardly just a gimmick wrestler, as the PWX Tag Team title hanging over his shoulder could attest to.
The co-holder of those titles was the young woman zipping her duffel bag up. At five-eight and a hundred thirty pounds, Wendy was one of the smallest wrestlers on the PWX roster, although she had managed to overcome that handicap years ago. With her flaming red-hair, Wendy was attractive in a girl-next-door sort of manner, right down to her conservative dress. In the ring, however, she was as technically proficient as anyone, and her never-say die attitude and firm belief in fair play had won her over many a fan.
Right now, though, Wendy was merely shrugging at her husband's question, looking around the room.
"He had gotten busted open when Stern hit him with that chair," Wendy said. "They were going to stitch him up, but that was a while ago. He should have been back by now."
"Hope he's all right," Terrence said. "He took a nasty hit."
Wendy began to nod in agreement, but she stopped as the door to the locker room open, and in walked the topic of their conversation.
Daniel Pollaski was a big guy, obviously powerful, but also obviously obese. His dark brown hair hung lanky over his forehead, slightly covering the bandage that had been wrapped around his forehead. Pollaski stumbled into the room, and shut the door behind him.
"Seven goddamned stitches," he mumbled. "I'm going to kill Chris Stern."
Wendy smiled sympathetically. "Where were you?"
At this, Pollaski paused just a second, and both Terrence and Wendy got the sense that he was debating whether or not to tell them something. Finally, he shrugged. "I was talking to Valerie Belmont."
"Oh?" Wendy looked intrigued. Even though she had won their only encounter against each other (in a tag match), Wendy considered Valerie her most dangerous female rival in PWX. Even so, Wendy had nothing but tremendous respect for the other redhead, and wasn't afraid to let the world know that. "What about?"
"CPW," Pollaski said, hoisting his own backpack off the floor.
Wendy frowned. "You weren't signing us up, were you, because between-"
But Pollaski merely shook his head, grimacing as his vision began to swim. "Not you guys. I was signing myself up."
This was probably the most shocking thing Pollaski had ever said to either WhirlyBird, and the dumbfounded expressions on both their faces showed it. Wendy recovered first.
"As a wrestler?"
Pollaski nodded, and Terrence burst into laughter. "What did Val say? No offense dude, but even she wouldn't be that desperate enough to-"
"She said yes. I debut on August fifteenth," Pollaski snapped back, earning another stunned stare. In truth, he was kinda growing tired of those looks of disbelief.
"Wow, she IS desperate," Terrence marveled, grimacing just a bit when Wendy backhanded him in the shoulder.
"Be nice, Terry!" Wendy hissed, then turned kindly to Pollaski. "But Dan, what are you going to do? You've only been in a handful of matches."
"Well..." Pollaski paused, then shrugged. "I was kinda hoping you two would help."
Terrence and Wendy looked at each other, a mixture of intrigue and dread on their faces. Finally, Wendy shrugged, and nodded. "If you're willing to work hard..."
Pollaski smiled a crooked smile. "Thanks. And I promise I'll try not to be too difficult a student."
Terrence snorted, the only thing he really could do in the shock he had at this turn of events. "Tell you what, we'll let you get in the ring and spar with Wendy and I, and we'll show you some tricks."
Pollaski nodded. "Works for me, and thanks."
Terrence merely nodded, and then smiled. "It's really the only thing we could do. You've been such a help to us over the years, its only fitting we help you out as well."
Wendy nodded her agreement, and Pollaski smiled sheepishly, clearly taken aback by Terrence's compliment.
Luckily, Terrence was hardly one for sentimentality.
"Yeah, well, either way, we're accomplishing nothing standing here. Let's go back to the RV, and get some sleep."
Terrence, carrying his duffel, led the way out of the room, Wendy quietly following behind. Pollaski remained behind for a second, and pumped his fist in a victory celebration. Then, grinning ear to ear, he followed his wrestlers out of the locker room.
=========================================================
The following column was posted on the official website of the WhirlyBirdz
Hey kids.
So ever since I dropped the news at the end of my last Power X column, the internet has been abuzz. Is it true? Is Daniel Pollaski, the greatest manager in the history of professional wrestling, really entering the ring as an honest to God competitor?
Yup, it's true. It's DAMN true.
Sorry.
Honestly, this has been something I've been considering doing for a while. I'm hardly the most in-shape guy on the planet, so maybe giving myself something to work towards would be a great way to convince me to excersize. Not to mention, I'm getting paid to hurt people.
I shoulda figured that part out years ago!
Even better, the wrestlers I manage, Terrence Thompson and Wendy Briese, have been helping me train for my big in-ring debut this Sunday. I honestly couldn't ask for better teachers to help me get prepared. After all, both Terrence and Wendy have won accolades the world over, and both have skyrocketed back to the top since coming out of retirement last March.
Oh, and don't worry, Birdz fans, I'm still managing the team in PWX and Defiance. Danny's just doing a little something for himself for a change.
Like I said, my big debut is Sunday Night, at Catholic Panda Wrestling's Zoo, based outta Los Angeles, California. This actually works out pretty well, considering that Defiance is holding a show in Hollywood that same weekend, so I'll get to have Terrence and Wendy on hand to cheer me on as I take on David Anderson.
Yeah, I know. Who?
I shouldn't be too hard on the guy. After all, while I've been running around, yelling at people in a wrestling ring, this guy's been giving up his life and safety in service to his country. You got to respect a guy like that.
Bah, screw that, this asshole made fun of me!
So let's say it, whatever noble things David Anderson did in the past, right now he's nothing more than a snivelling alcoholic who apparently can't accept he's a grown man and move on from his Daddy's death. He's also more retarded than the entire Special Olympics COMBINED.
Considering what an icon he is, I suppose I could take the Andre the Giant comparison as a compliment. Except for the fact that I'm SIXTEEN INCHES SHORTER. Oh, and I speak way better English. Oh, and unlike Andre (and David's daddy), I'm very much alive.
Let's be honest, folks. I'm not that imposing of a guy. I'm basically your average late twenty-something dude who's downed a few too many slices of pizza. I'm well aware of my stregnths and weaknesses. And the fact that I'm fat and slow falls firmly into that latter category.
But this ain't a track meet. David can run circles around me all he wants, but the fact is, if he's gonna win this match, he's gonna have to get close to me sooner or later. And when he does... SQUISH.
That brings up a nice mental image, don't it?
And David calls me a child, because I've resorted to using tear gas? Does he fucking realize that as a manager, it is my JOB to keep interference from getting in that ring and disrupting my wrestler's matches? And, in case the retardaholic hasn't been paying attention, I'm still new to the actual wrestling aspect of this business, so I had to go with other methods to be effective. Since he's new to the business as a whole, let me inform him of a couple fundamental truths.
1. Promoters really don't like it when you use an AK-47 on other wrestlers.
2. Creativity is a plus in this business, something that David seems to be lacking, judging by his interview.
If David Anderson can't figure out what the point of fighting for entertainment is, he either better grasp the concept by Sunday, or stay the fuck up in Alaska where he belongs. Because it's going to be DAMNED entertaining when I break this drunken washout's face, and splatter his blood all over the Catholic Panda ring.
With luck, I'll manage to get some to splash in a cup so I can give it to Valerie Belmont as a present.
Sorry, Val. Couldn't resist!
Anyways, I'm sure you'll hear from me again. Until next time...
POLLA OUT!
Dan Pollaski is the manager of the WhirlyBirdz Vehicular Hit Squad, and a wrestler for Catholic Panda Wrestling. He also would like to ask one of the lovely ladies of CPW out on a date. How bout it?
Please?
ARC Arena- WhirlyBirdz' Locker Room
Valparaiso, Indiana
12:31 AM Local Time
PWX Adrenaline 39 had been off the air for over an hour, and still the WhirlyBirdz remained in their locker room.
Wendy Briese-Thompson quietly folded up her ring gear, carefully laying each piece inside her duffel bag, while her husband patiently waited. Having wrestled far earlier in the evening, Terrence had already been back in his street clothes for a couple hours, but after the vicious attack Wendy had recieved from Wild at the conclusion of her match, and the subsequent checking out in the medical room, only now was she able to finally change out of her attire.
"Where's Pollaski?" Terrence Thompson asked, taking a swig from his water bottle and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his Black #17 Matt Kenseth NASCAR t-shirt. Terrence was a well built man, standing just over six feet and weighing a little over two-forty. A former auto racer and still avid fan of the sport, nearly everything Terrence wore was car related, right down to the modified racing suit he had used as his ring attire. Still, Terrence was hardly just a gimmick wrestler, as the PWX Tag Team title hanging over his shoulder could attest to.
The co-holder of those titles was the young woman zipping her duffel bag up. At five-eight and a hundred thirty pounds, Wendy was one of the smallest wrestlers on the PWX roster, although she had managed to overcome that handicap years ago. With her flaming red-hair, Wendy was attractive in a girl-next-door sort of manner, right down to her conservative dress. In the ring, however, she was as technically proficient as anyone, and her never-say die attitude and firm belief in fair play had won her over many a fan.
Right now, though, Wendy was merely shrugging at her husband's question, looking around the room.
"He had gotten busted open when Stern hit him with that chair," Wendy said. "They were going to stitch him up, but that was a while ago. He should have been back by now."
"Hope he's all right," Terrence said. "He took a nasty hit."
Wendy began to nod in agreement, but she stopped as the door to the locker room open, and in walked the topic of their conversation.
Daniel Pollaski was a big guy, obviously powerful, but also obviously obese. His dark brown hair hung lanky over his forehead, slightly covering the bandage that had been wrapped around his forehead. Pollaski stumbled into the room, and shut the door behind him.
"Seven goddamned stitches," he mumbled. "I'm going to kill Chris Stern."
Wendy smiled sympathetically. "Where were you?"
At this, Pollaski paused just a second, and both Terrence and Wendy got the sense that he was debating whether or not to tell them something. Finally, he shrugged. "I was talking to Valerie Belmont."
"Oh?" Wendy looked intrigued. Even though she had won their only encounter against each other (in a tag match), Wendy considered Valerie her most dangerous female rival in PWX. Even so, Wendy had nothing but tremendous respect for the other redhead, and wasn't afraid to let the world know that. "What about?"
"CPW," Pollaski said, hoisting his own backpack off the floor.
Wendy frowned. "You weren't signing us up, were you, because between-"
But Pollaski merely shook his head, grimacing as his vision began to swim. "Not you guys. I was signing myself up."
This was probably the most shocking thing Pollaski had ever said to either WhirlyBird, and the dumbfounded expressions on both their faces showed it. Wendy recovered first.
"As a wrestler?"
Pollaski nodded, and Terrence burst into laughter. "What did Val say? No offense dude, but even she wouldn't be that desperate enough to-"
"She said yes. I debut on August fifteenth," Pollaski snapped back, earning another stunned stare. In truth, he was kinda growing tired of those looks of disbelief.
"Wow, she IS desperate," Terrence marveled, grimacing just a bit when Wendy backhanded him in the shoulder.
"Be nice, Terry!" Wendy hissed, then turned kindly to Pollaski. "But Dan, what are you going to do? You've only been in a handful of matches."
"Well..." Pollaski paused, then shrugged. "I was kinda hoping you two would help."
Terrence and Wendy looked at each other, a mixture of intrigue and dread on their faces. Finally, Wendy shrugged, and nodded. "If you're willing to work hard..."
Pollaski smiled a crooked smile. "Thanks. And I promise I'll try not to be too difficult a student."
Terrence snorted, the only thing he really could do in the shock he had at this turn of events. "Tell you what, we'll let you get in the ring and spar with Wendy and I, and we'll show you some tricks."
Pollaski nodded. "Works for me, and thanks."
Terrence merely nodded, and then smiled. "It's really the only thing we could do. You've been such a help to us over the years, its only fitting we help you out as well."
Wendy nodded her agreement, and Pollaski smiled sheepishly, clearly taken aback by Terrence's compliment.
Luckily, Terrence was hardly one for sentimentality.
"Yeah, well, either way, we're accomplishing nothing standing here. Let's go back to the RV, and get some sleep."
Terrence, carrying his duffel, led the way out of the room, Wendy quietly following behind. Pollaski remained behind for a second, and pumped his fist in a victory celebration. Then, grinning ear to ear, he followed his wrestlers out of the locker room.
=========================================================
The following column was posted on the official website of the WhirlyBirdz
Hey kids.
So ever since I dropped the news at the end of my last Power X column, the internet has been abuzz. Is it true? Is Daniel Pollaski, the greatest manager in the history of professional wrestling, really entering the ring as an honest to God competitor?
Yup, it's true. It's DAMN true.
Sorry.
Honestly, this has been something I've been considering doing for a while. I'm hardly the most in-shape guy on the planet, so maybe giving myself something to work towards would be a great way to convince me to excersize. Not to mention, I'm getting paid to hurt people.
I shoulda figured that part out years ago!
Even better, the wrestlers I manage, Terrence Thompson and Wendy Briese, have been helping me train for my big in-ring debut this Sunday. I honestly couldn't ask for better teachers to help me get prepared. After all, both Terrence and Wendy have won accolades the world over, and both have skyrocketed back to the top since coming out of retirement last March.
Oh, and don't worry, Birdz fans, I'm still managing the team in PWX and Defiance. Danny's just doing a little something for himself for a change.
Like I said, my big debut is Sunday Night, at Catholic Panda Wrestling's Zoo, based outta Los Angeles, California. This actually works out pretty well, considering that Defiance is holding a show in Hollywood that same weekend, so I'll get to have Terrence and Wendy on hand to cheer me on as I take on David Anderson.
Yeah, I know. Who?
I shouldn't be too hard on the guy. After all, while I've been running around, yelling at people in a wrestling ring, this guy's been giving up his life and safety in service to his country. You got to respect a guy like that.
Bah, screw that, this asshole made fun of me!
So let's say it, whatever noble things David Anderson did in the past, right now he's nothing more than a snivelling alcoholic who apparently can't accept he's a grown man and move on from his Daddy's death. He's also more retarded than the entire Special Olympics COMBINED.
Considering what an icon he is, I suppose I could take the Andre the Giant comparison as a compliment. Except for the fact that I'm SIXTEEN INCHES SHORTER. Oh, and I speak way better English. Oh, and unlike Andre (and David's daddy), I'm very much alive.
Let's be honest, folks. I'm not that imposing of a guy. I'm basically your average late twenty-something dude who's downed a few too many slices of pizza. I'm well aware of my stregnths and weaknesses. And the fact that I'm fat and slow falls firmly into that latter category.
But this ain't a track meet. David can run circles around me all he wants, but the fact is, if he's gonna win this match, he's gonna have to get close to me sooner or later. And when he does... SQUISH.
That brings up a nice mental image, don't it?
And David calls me a child, because I've resorted to using tear gas? Does he fucking realize that as a manager, it is my JOB to keep interference from getting in that ring and disrupting my wrestler's matches? And, in case the retardaholic hasn't been paying attention, I'm still new to the actual wrestling aspect of this business, so I had to go with other methods to be effective. Since he's new to the business as a whole, let me inform him of a couple fundamental truths.
1. Promoters really don't like it when you use an AK-47 on other wrestlers.
2. Creativity is a plus in this business, something that David seems to be lacking, judging by his interview.
If David Anderson can't figure out what the point of fighting for entertainment is, he either better grasp the concept by Sunday, or stay the fuck up in Alaska where he belongs. Because it's going to be DAMNED entertaining when I break this drunken washout's face, and splatter his blood all over the Catholic Panda ring.
With luck, I'll manage to get some to splash in a cup so I can give it to Valerie Belmont as a present.
Sorry, Val. Couldn't resist!
Anyways, I'm sure you'll hear from me again. Until next time...
POLLA OUT!
Dan Pollaski is the manager of the WhirlyBirdz Vehicular Hit Squad, and a wrestler for Catholic Panda Wrestling. He also would like to ask one of the lovely ladies of CPW out on a date. How bout it?
Please?
EPISODE 34: Twitterpated
Saturday August 7, 2010
The RV- Cockpit
Interstate 65- Indianapolis, Indiana
9:11 AM Local Time
Wendy Briese adjusted her seatbelt and smiled as the RV accelerated up the incline, the forty-five foot Newman King Aire smoothly gaining speed in preparation to merge onto Interstate 65.
Saturday morning had arrived at last, and the WhirlyBirdz, with daughter, manager, and babysitter in tow, had finally managed to set out when they had intended to, rolling out the driveway at nine o’ clock sharp. The trip to Louisville would only take about three hours, so the WhirlyBirdz were looking forward to spending the afternoon, camping on the banks of the Ohio River, resting up for the final push towards the Respect is Earned pay-per-view and their match against the Cartel.
Looking in the passenger side window at the receding Indianapolis skyline, Wendy waited until the buildings of downtown disappeared behind an overpass, then turned her attention to the three people riding back in the main cabin. “Everything okay back there?”
She was greeted with affirmative mumbles from Pollaski and Cassie, and a small cheer from the four-year old Theresa, who, to Wendy’s immense relief, still seemed to view every single excursion by the family to a show as a new adventure. How many nights had she lain awake, fretting over how Theresa would react to this new life? She was relieved that those worries turned out to be for naught. Now if only she and Terrence could continue to avoid serious injury.
It wouldn’t be an easy task this week.
Even though Wendy hadn’t had any fretting spells since the night of the last Adrenaline, the implications of her match continued to weigh heavily on her mind. The entire cartel was eligible to participate in the match, while only Terrence would accompany her into the ring. Of course, Pollaski would be on the outside, but Pollaski’s main objective was to prevent outside interference. When every single member of the opposing stable was allowed to participate, there technically WAS no outside interference.
But there remained a glimmer of hope- Wendy’s win over Wild the previous week. Like this weeks match, the contest had been tailor-made by the Cartel to ensure her defeat. But last week, she had won the match. And despite what anyone in the Cartel had claimed, Terrence hadn’t technically interfered in the match, only ran Pariah off after he had decided to abuse his officiating powers and become directly involved. If they could win last week, they could win this week.
She turned slightly as she heard the heavy sound of footsteps approaching, and smiled as Daniel Pollaski, swaying with the motion of the RV, sat down on the floor between her and Terrence, looking out the windshield at the passing scenery.
”How's she handling?" Pollaski asked, more to make conversation than anything.
"Pretty good," Terrence responded, as he switched lanes to maneuver around a slower moving semi-truck. "We'll be to Louisville in no time."
"Ah, Louisville," Pollaski said, breaking out into a smile. "Home of the Cardinals. Isn't it fitting for us to be defending our titles there?"
"Why?" Wendy asked, arching an eyebrow at her manager. "Because Cardinals are birds, and we're the WhirlyBirdz?"
"Yeah," the rotund manager said, then broke into a grin. "Almost makes as much sense as an ex-auto racing wrestler winning the Grand Prix Title at an event called Full Throttle."
"Shut. Up." Terrence growled, not amused in the least by the comment, and even Wendy winced at the barb. Pollaski snickered quietly, but merely yawned, and watched the road.
Wendy looked back over her shoulder again, smiling as Theresa was watching the Little Mermaid, while Cassie DeSlair, the Birdz travel-along nanny, had laid down for a nap. Theresa looked over at her mother, and broke into a wave, and Wendy waved back. Reaching down, she began to unbuckle her belt, to climb into the back to watch the movie with her, but...
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!
Pollaski nearly jumped out of his skin at the noise, and Terrence nearly ran the RV off the road at the sudden beeping coming from somewhere on Wendy's body. Both men turned towards the redhead, their mouth's open.
"What in the blue firey hell of Detroit was THAT?" the Mechanical Mayhem demanded.
"My Twitter," Wendy answered, as she rooted through her purse for the phone.
Pollaski regarded Wendy with a mixture of shock and horror, and even Terrence had once again taken his eyes off the road, albeit briefly, to regard his wife. "You're Twittering?"
"Tweeting," Wendy corrected.
Terrence rolled his eyes, and turned his attention back to the road, while Pollaski shook his head in disgust, mumbling something about 'holy water to get the stupid demons out'.
"And, no, I'm not 'tweeting'," Wendy continued, ignoring her husband and manager's reaction, and taking her droid out of her purse. "But some of the wrestlers like Valerie Belmont give updates on it, so I figured it would be a good way to keep up to date with our colleagues."
"Valerie Belmont twitters?" Terrence asked, adamantly refusing to use the proper term. "What's that say? 'Just drank a pint of type O negative? Tastes like kool-aid?'"
Pollaski snorted in laughter, but Wendy rolled her eyes. "No, nothing like that. She pressed the touch screen on her phone a couple times. "This one is from John Pariah!" she exclaimed. Wendy quickly read the tweet. "Looks like he beat us to Louisville."
"Oh, well THAT'S vital info," Pollaski quipped sarcastically. "Although its nice to see that a member of the Cartel is able to beat you at SOMETHING."
Wendy smiled, and Terrence laughed, which was promptly cut short in a gnashing of teeth as Wendy's phone beeped again. Wendy quickly read the tweet.
"Stopping by the gym at OVW to do some training though. Can never be in awesome enough condition."
"Yeah, this is gripping," Terrence said. "A bunch of annoying beeping noises followed by a special message from John Pariah. I can totally see the appeal in this."
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!
"I'm going to break your goddamn phone," Terrence promised his wife with a feral growl.
Wendy ignored him, and read the next message.
"Not like i'll need it. My opponents are shmucks."
Terrence burst into laughter so hard that he had to jerk the steering wheel to keep the RV on course. "Shmucks?"
"There's the appeal, right there," Pollaski informed the male half of the Birdz. "Now we can be insulted in one-hundred forty character bursts."
"Heh, suppose it's better than the blogs he writes," Terrence countered. "A thousand words of self-promoting bullshit."
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!
"Wendy... I swear to God if I hear that noise one more time..."
Wendy quickly checked the tweet. "oh, and Edward says hi" she said, rolling her eyes. "I've had enough," the young woman said, as she deactivated the Twitter application, and stuffed the phone back into her purse.
For several long seconds, no one spoke, and Wendy debated with herself over telling Terrence what was on her mind. Finally, she decided that it wouldn't hurt to breach the subject.
"I've been thinking about our match," Wendy said quietly although it definitely grabbed the attention of both men.
"And?" Terrence prompted.
"You and I both know that this is a tough situation for us," Wendy began, "there's no telling how many members of the Cartel could be involved. I think even if we wrestle the best match of our lives, things might get pretty desperate in there."
Terrence nodded. "That's pretty much what I'm figuring too. But you and I do well when it's gut-check time."
"Yeah, well." Wendy paused. "You remember that idea for a move I came up with? The one where-"
"Hell no." Terrence interrupted, glancing at his wife incredulously. "I'm not doing that."
"Terrence, please" Wendy pressed, "Just consider it. If this match gets as messy as I think, it might be our best chance."
"To what, get my wife killed?" Terrence demanded, shaking his head angrily. "Wendy, you were just telling me that you were afraid of getting injured in this match-"
"You honestly think that it would hurt more than what those thugs could do to me?" Wendy countered. "I know the risks, Terry. But if we hit it at the right time, I think victory will be pretty much guaranteed. I'm not saying we do it, no matter what. I'm just asking you to keep an open mind about it."
Terrence didn't say a word, but stared straight ahead, biting his lower lip. Wendy sighed, and looked out the window. She knew her idea was a testy subject for the both of them, but she felt it needed to be brought up.
Finally, she undid her seatbelt. "I'm going to the back to watch TV with Theresa. Just promise me you'll think about it."
Terrence managed to jerk his head up and down, his jaw still clenched. Wendy leaned forward, and gave her husband a kiss on the cheek, then walked back to be with her daughter. Pollaski, grateful to no longer be sitting on the floor, perched himself into the passenger seat looking out the window.
They drove in silence for a long time, both men apprehensive about Wendy's request. Terrence knew his wife was right. If connected, they would probably be able to win the match easily. But if they missed...
He didn't want to think of the consequences.
===================================================
Sunday August 7, 2010
Riverside Park RV & Camping
Prospect, Kentucky
11:31 AM Local Time
[It's been a couple years since the WhirlyBirdz last visited the lovely city of Louisville, located in northern Kentucky on the banks of the Ohio River. The last time, was just a couple years ago, when they came for the Kentucky Derby. They left with Wendy in tears, although she was hardly the only one who had been deeply affected by the death of poor Eight Belles, who broke her leg just yards after the finish line, and was put down on the spot.]
[Hopefully Wendy's one filly that can cross the finish line in one piece on Monday night. Although calling Wendy a 'filly' would likely get one slapped. Or at least a REALLY nasty glare from the woman.]
[Anyways, we're not in the RV today, but rather a lovely grass field situated on the banks of the Ohio River. Wendy sits in a lawn chair, about six feet or so from the bank, the camera mounted on its usual tripod about seven feet away. Wendy's wearing a pale yellow knee-legnth sundress, and a pair of sandals. She sits with a small glass of water in a cupholder on the chair, staring directly into the camera with those piercing emerald eyes. Wendy, as usual, sits fairly rigidly, and while there is a soft smile across her face, the intesnsity and apprehension she is feeling is clear.]
Wendy: “Respect.”
[Pause]
Wendy: “Respect is is a commodity that is universally desired. We want the respect of our superiors, our peers, and our subordinates. It makes our lives easier when we are well-regarded by other people. A boss who respects you will listen to your opinion, because he feels it matters. A subordinate who respects you will follow your instructions, because he believes following you will lead to a better end. It’s a basic fundamental of human nature to crave this.”
[Wendy is speaking with the air of a college professor beginning a lecture on ethics.]
Wendy: “I don’t believe there is any occupation in the world where the word gets misused more than in professional wrestling. On a constant basis, we hear wrestlers speak of beating respect into their opponents. This is, and always will be, a physically impossible task. Respect is not earned through repeated blows to the head. by breaking bones, or dislocating limbs. This instills fear, not respect, and while the two are so often confused, they are very different.”
[Wendy pauses, and blinks for just a second, before continuing.]
Wendy: “The difference between fear and respect is that respecting something is strictly voluntary, while fearing is strictly involuntary. When opponents respect each other in a wrestling match, we get hard fought, clean contests. Take last week, when my husband faced Dorling. Both men left everything they had out in that ring, trying to beat each other. Yet, there was no animosity. each man held the other in high regard, so they knew that achieving the victory in and of itself would mean something. ”
[Wendy sighs, and for a second, looks away into the distance, remembering the few times in her career she was in such matches. But she recomposes herself, and turns her glare back to the camera.]
Wendy: “Fear is more prevalent in this industry than anyone would ever be willing to admit. Every wrestler, from Jeremiah Belmont to Sami Jacobs, fears something. We can fear losing, or injury, or humiliation, and in extention, we fear those that we know are capable of inflicting those things upon us. It’s obviously possible to fear and respect someone at the same time, but when there is fear, but no respect...”
[Wendy swallows hard, and takes a deep breath.]
Wendy: “That’s when very bad things tend to happen.”
[Like it was said earlier, Wendy was at the last Defiance show in Spokane, Washington, where Eric Dane shattered his leg, Justin Brooks had his head rammed into a grate until he was comatose, and Evan Hurley permanently paralyzed after being powerbombed headfirst into an exposed turnbuckle. Needless to say, the effect of watching such things has had a profound effect on her, especially considering her upoming match.]
Wendy: “Between the WhirlyBirdz and the Cartel, there is much fear, but very little respect. I fear the Cartel because they are a threat to my well-being. While they haven’t shown themselves capable of defeating me, they certainly are capable of injuring me, or my husband, and I hardly desire that. On the contrast, The Cartel fears us because we are a threat to their reputation. They haven’t been able to beat us in a clean, fair competition. Heck, they haven’t even been able to beat us when the deck is stacked in their favor! Its hard to declare yourself ‘dominance defined’ when you keep losing to people.”
[Even the normally even-tempered Wendy can't help but roll her eyes at the comments various members of the cartel have made.]
Wendy: “Perhaps nobody in the world is more incapable of grasping this concept than John Pariah. John claims he and his cronies crave respect, but he goes about attaining it in the most ineffective, even counterproductive, ways imaginable. Respect is earned by facing your opponents on a level playing field, or even when you are at a disadvantage, which is something John refuses to do. What does John stand to prove with this match? That six people are better in a fight than two? That he and Edward Burden are incapable of winning anything on their own merit?”
[Wendy shrugs]
Wendy: “Respect is also earned by taking personal accountability for your shortcomings, another thing John refuses to do. John now claims that he intentionally lost at Do Or Die, because somehow me pinning Michael Norcia proves what a great wrestler he is.”
[The confused expression on Wendy’s face is almost comical. She can’t quite figure out how that works.]
Wendy: “It’s no secret that John Pariah is an arrogant man. You can tell in the way how he talks about how the Cartel has ‘forty world titles’, and how they are ‘wrestling gods’. But Pariah and the Cartel’s track record speaks for itself. Including Do Or Die, members of the Cartel have had 10 wins, 9 losses, one draw, and one no-contest over the past month. That’s hardly a win-loss record I would expect a group of ‘wrestling gods’ to carry.”
[At least its a winning record!]
Wendy: “But where Pariah falls the shortest in his quest for respect, is his own values. The one honorable thing John Pariah has done this year was at Vendetta, when he fought John Ojeda to defend his brother’s honor. And Ojeda hurt him so badly, it was thought his career would be over. John has gone from that noble act of self-sacrifice to allying himself with the very man who nearly ruined his career, and running his brother out of the company.”
[Wendy's eyes narrow in anger, at the thought of a man treating his own flesh and blood that way.]
Wendy: “Like every other cowardly bully in the world, John Pariah gravitates to stronger forces for protection and shared glory. Protection he may find, but there is no glory to be had in the Cartel. Even should the Cartel manage to swarm us and win this match, there will be none. All they will inherit are two leather straps that will lose their value the moment we are pinned.”
[Wendy pauses for just a second, then decides its time to change tack.]
Wendy: “Edward Burden is another man who has deluded himself with illusions of his own grandeur. I watched his interview this morning, and never have I heard a man say nothing in so many words. I understand he is upset with the attack my husband and Mandrake inflicted on him, but I had nothing to do with it, nor do I approve of it.”
[It’s true. You shoulda heard the lecture she gave her husband when she found out.]
Wendy: “The contradictions in Edward’s interview are astounding. I am incapable of accomplishing anything without my husband’s help, but Edward sat at ringside when I pinned Brian Hollywood. Edward claims he will destroy me without Terry there to help, but Terrence is involved in this match. He claims we have taken it easy since winning our titles, and yet I faced HIM last week! And Edward’s never made a mistake in the ring, and yet he’s already lost TWICE since his return.”
[Yes, twice. Although to be fair, its easy to not make a mistake when you have zero offense the entire match...]
Wendy: “Honestly, the amount of inaccuracies and inconsistencies in Edward’s rambling incoherent diatribe are so numerous, it would take me until bell time just to go through them all. But the gist of it- at least from what I could understand- was that Terrence and I are undeserving champions. On Monday night, the world will see just how wrong he is.”
[Once again, Wendy is refusing to refer to Wild by his ring name. It would be interesting if she ever explained why.]
Wendy: “Last week, I walked into a match with Edward, fully expecting to lose. I’m not particularily proud of how it happened, but I ended up walking out the winner. Regardless of whatever decisions were made after that match, what happened in that ring showed me one thing- whatever odds the Cartel throws at us, Terrence and I CAN overcome them.”
[Wendy shifts ever so slightly in her seat, and the intensity in her eyes increases noticably as she now directly addresses her opponents]
Wendy: “John, Edward, and whoever else decides to get involved- do whatever you think you need to do to win, because Terrence and I can handle it. We won’t need weapons, or Pollaski, or anything else. Between the three hundred and seventy-two pounds in our bodies, there is more than enough heart and skill to take on all seven, or eight, or however many there are of you!”
[As Wendy talks, the intensity of her voice rises in a kind of crescendo, so that while she's not exactly yelling at the end, its probably the most fierce we've ever seen Wendy in a promo]
Wendy: “I’ve already said that I fear the cartel, and what they can do to my husband and I. This is nothing new to me... when you’re a one hundred thirty pound girl taking on men twice your weight, fear tends to go with the territory. But I do not let that fear rule me. Instead, I take that fear, that knowledge that I could be crippled or worse at every turn, has always given me a strength of will that allows me to overcome the toughest of obstacles. And so it will be on Monday. As for the Cartel, YOUR fears, the fears that you will soon be rendered irrelevant, your reputations destroyed...”
[Wendy pauses, and breaks into a small smile. The sinister expression on her face is almost unsettling, considering her normally pleasant demeanor.]
Wendy: “Those are about to become reality.”
[Fade]
The RV- Cockpit
Interstate 65- Indianapolis, Indiana
9:11 AM Local Time
Wendy Briese adjusted her seatbelt and smiled as the RV accelerated up the incline, the forty-five foot Newman King Aire smoothly gaining speed in preparation to merge onto Interstate 65.
Saturday morning had arrived at last, and the WhirlyBirdz, with daughter, manager, and babysitter in tow, had finally managed to set out when they had intended to, rolling out the driveway at nine o’ clock sharp. The trip to Louisville would only take about three hours, so the WhirlyBirdz were looking forward to spending the afternoon, camping on the banks of the Ohio River, resting up for the final push towards the Respect is Earned pay-per-view and their match against the Cartel.
Looking in the passenger side window at the receding Indianapolis skyline, Wendy waited until the buildings of downtown disappeared behind an overpass, then turned her attention to the three people riding back in the main cabin. “Everything okay back there?”
She was greeted with affirmative mumbles from Pollaski and Cassie, and a small cheer from the four-year old Theresa, who, to Wendy’s immense relief, still seemed to view every single excursion by the family to a show as a new adventure. How many nights had she lain awake, fretting over how Theresa would react to this new life? She was relieved that those worries turned out to be for naught. Now if only she and Terrence could continue to avoid serious injury.
It wouldn’t be an easy task this week.
Even though Wendy hadn’t had any fretting spells since the night of the last Adrenaline, the implications of her match continued to weigh heavily on her mind. The entire cartel was eligible to participate in the match, while only Terrence would accompany her into the ring. Of course, Pollaski would be on the outside, but Pollaski’s main objective was to prevent outside interference. When every single member of the opposing stable was allowed to participate, there technically WAS no outside interference.
But there remained a glimmer of hope- Wendy’s win over Wild the previous week. Like this weeks match, the contest had been tailor-made by the Cartel to ensure her defeat. But last week, she had won the match. And despite what anyone in the Cartel had claimed, Terrence hadn’t technically interfered in the match, only ran Pariah off after he had decided to abuse his officiating powers and become directly involved. If they could win last week, they could win this week.
She turned slightly as she heard the heavy sound of footsteps approaching, and smiled as Daniel Pollaski, swaying with the motion of the RV, sat down on the floor between her and Terrence, looking out the windshield at the passing scenery.
”How's she handling?" Pollaski asked, more to make conversation than anything.
"Pretty good," Terrence responded, as he switched lanes to maneuver around a slower moving semi-truck. "We'll be to Louisville in no time."
"Ah, Louisville," Pollaski said, breaking out into a smile. "Home of the Cardinals. Isn't it fitting for us to be defending our titles there?"
"Why?" Wendy asked, arching an eyebrow at her manager. "Because Cardinals are birds, and we're the WhirlyBirdz?"
"Yeah," the rotund manager said, then broke into a grin. "Almost makes as much sense as an ex-auto racing wrestler winning the Grand Prix Title at an event called Full Throttle."
"Shut. Up." Terrence growled, not amused in the least by the comment, and even Wendy winced at the barb. Pollaski snickered quietly, but merely yawned, and watched the road.
Wendy looked back over her shoulder again, smiling as Theresa was watching the Little Mermaid, while Cassie DeSlair, the Birdz travel-along nanny, had laid down for a nap. Theresa looked over at her mother, and broke into a wave, and Wendy waved back. Reaching down, she began to unbuckle her belt, to climb into the back to watch the movie with her, but...
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!
Pollaski nearly jumped out of his skin at the noise, and Terrence nearly ran the RV off the road at the sudden beeping coming from somewhere on Wendy's body. Both men turned towards the redhead, their mouth's open.
"What in the blue firey hell of Detroit was THAT?" the Mechanical Mayhem demanded.
"My Twitter," Wendy answered, as she rooted through her purse for the phone.
Pollaski regarded Wendy with a mixture of shock and horror, and even Terrence had once again taken his eyes off the road, albeit briefly, to regard his wife. "You're Twittering?"
"Tweeting," Wendy corrected.
Terrence rolled his eyes, and turned his attention back to the road, while Pollaski shook his head in disgust, mumbling something about 'holy water to get the stupid demons out'.
"And, no, I'm not 'tweeting'," Wendy continued, ignoring her husband and manager's reaction, and taking her droid out of her purse. "But some of the wrestlers like Valerie Belmont give updates on it, so I figured it would be a good way to keep up to date with our colleagues."
"Valerie Belmont twitters?" Terrence asked, adamantly refusing to use the proper term. "What's that say? 'Just drank a pint of type O negative? Tastes like kool-aid?'"
Pollaski snorted in laughter, but Wendy rolled her eyes. "No, nothing like that. She pressed the touch screen on her phone a couple times. "This one is from John Pariah!" she exclaimed. Wendy quickly read the tweet. "Looks like he beat us to Louisville."
"Oh, well THAT'S vital info," Pollaski quipped sarcastically. "Although its nice to see that a member of the Cartel is able to beat you at SOMETHING."
Wendy smiled, and Terrence laughed, which was promptly cut short in a gnashing of teeth as Wendy's phone beeped again. Wendy quickly read the tweet.
"Stopping by the gym at OVW to do some training though. Can never be in awesome enough condition."
"Yeah, this is gripping," Terrence said. "A bunch of annoying beeping noises followed by a special message from John Pariah. I can totally see the appeal in this."
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!
"I'm going to break your goddamn phone," Terrence promised his wife with a feral growl.
Wendy ignored him, and read the next message.
"Not like i'll need it. My opponents are shmucks."
Terrence burst into laughter so hard that he had to jerk the steering wheel to keep the RV on course. "Shmucks?"
"There's the appeal, right there," Pollaski informed the male half of the Birdz. "Now we can be insulted in one-hundred forty character bursts."
"Heh, suppose it's better than the blogs he writes," Terrence countered. "A thousand words of self-promoting bullshit."
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!
"Wendy... I swear to God if I hear that noise one more time..."
Wendy quickly checked the tweet. "oh, and Edward says hi" she said, rolling her eyes. "I've had enough," the young woman said, as she deactivated the Twitter application, and stuffed the phone back into her purse.
For several long seconds, no one spoke, and Wendy debated with herself over telling Terrence what was on her mind. Finally, she decided that it wouldn't hurt to breach the subject.
"I've been thinking about our match," Wendy said quietly although it definitely grabbed the attention of both men.
"And?" Terrence prompted.
"You and I both know that this is a tough situation for us," Wendy began, "there's no telling how many members of the Cartel could be involved. I think even if we wrestle the best match of our lives, things might get pretty desperate in there."
Terrence nodded. "That's pretty much what I'm figuring too. But you and I do well when it's gut-check time."
"Yeah, well." Wendy paused. "You remember that idea for a move I came up with? The one where-"
"Hell no." Terrence interrupted, glancing at his wife incredulously. "I'm not doing that."
"Terrence, please" Wendy pressed, "Just consider it. If this match gets as messy as I think, it might be our best chance."
"To what, get my wife killed?" Terrence demanded, shaking his head angrily. "Wendy, you were just telling me that you were afraid of getting injured in this match-"
"You honestly think that it would hurt more than what those thugs could do to me?" Wendy countered. "I know the risks, Terry. But if we hit it at the right time, I think victory will be pretty much guaranteed. I'm not saying we do it, no matter what. I'm just asking you to keep an open mind about it."
Terrence didn't say a word, but stared straight ahead, biting his lower lip. Wendy sighed, and looked out the window. She knew her idea was a testy subject for the both of them, but she felt it needed to be brought up.
Finally, she undid her seatbelt. "I'm going to the back to watch TV with Theresa. Just promise me you'll think about it."
Terrence managed to jerk his head up and down, his jaw still clenched. Wendy leaned forward, and gave her husband a kiss on the cheek, then walked back to be with her daughter. Pollaski, grateful to no longer be sitting on the floor, perched himself into the passenger seat looking out the window.
They drove in silence for a long time, both men apprehensive about Wendy's request. Terrence knew his wife was right. If connected, they would probably be able to win the match easily. But if they missed...
He didn't want to think of the consequences.
===================================================
Sunday August 7, 2010
Riverside Park RV & Camping
Prospect, Kentucky
11:31 AM Local Time
[It's been a couple years since the WhirlyBirdz last visited the lovely city of Louisville, located in northern Kentucky on the banks of the Ohio River. The last time, was just a couple years ago, when they came for the Kentucky Derby. They left with Wendy in tears, although she was hardly the only one who had been deeply affected by the death of poor Eight Belles, who broke her leg just yards after the finish line, and was put down on the spot.]
[Hopefully Wendy's one filly that can cross the finish line in one piece on Monday night. Although calling Wendy a 'filly' would likely get one slapped. Or at least a REALLY nasty glare from the woman.]
[Anyways, we're not in the RV today, but rather a lovely grass field situated on the banks of the Ohio River. Wendy sits in a lawn chair, about six feet or so from the bank, the camera mounted on its usual tripod about seven feet away. Wendy's wearing a pale yellow knee-legnth sundress, and a pair of sandals. She sits with a small glass of water in a cupholder on the chair, staring directly into the camera with those piercing emerald eyes. Wendy, as usual, sits fairly rigidly, and while there is a soft smile across her face, the intesnsity and apprehension she is feeling is clear.]
Wendy: “Respect.”
[Pause]
Wendy: “Respect is is a commodity that is universally desired. We want the respect of our superiors, our peers, and our subordinates. It makes our lives easier when we are well-regarded by other people. A boss who respects you will listen to your opinion, because he feels it matters. A subordinate who respects you will follow your instructions, because he believes following you will lead to a better end. It’s a basic fundamental of human nature to crave this.”
[Wendy is speaking with the air of a college professor beginning a lecture on ethics.]
Wendy: “I don’t believe there is any occupation in the world where the word gets misused more than in professional wrestling. On a constant basis, we hear wrestlers speak of beating respect into their opponents. This is, and always will be, a physically impossible task. Respect is not earned through repeated blows to the head. by breaking bones, or dislocating limbs. This instills fear, not respect, and while the two are so often confused, they are very different.”
[Wendy pauses, and blinks for just a second, before continuing.]
Wendy: “The difference between fear and respect is that respecting something is strictly voluntary, while fearing is strictly involuntary. When opponents respect each other in a wrestling match, we get hard fought, clean contests. Take last week, when my husband faced Dorling. Both men left everything they had out in that ring, trying to beat each other. Yet, there was no animosity. each man held the other in high regard, so they knew that achieving the victory in and of itself would mean something. ”
[Wendy sighs, and for a second, looks away into the distance, remembering the few times in her career she was in such matches. But she recomposes herself, and turns her glare back to the camera.]
Wendy: “Fear is more prevalent in this industry than anyone would ever be willing to admit. Every wrestler, from Jeremiah Belmont to Sami Jacobs, fears something. We can fear losing, or injury, or humiliation, and in extention, we fear those that we know are capable of inflicting those things upon us. It’s obviously possible to fear and respect someone at the same time, but when there is fear, but no respect...”
[Wendy swallows hard, and takes a deep breath.]
Wendy: “That’s when very bad things tend to happen.”
[Like it was said earlier, Wendy was at the last Defiance show in Spokane, Washington, where Eric Dane shattered his leg, Justin Brooks had his head rammed into a grate until he was comatose, and Evan Hurley permanently paralyzed after being powerbombed headfirst into an exposed turnbuckle. Needless to say, the effect of watching such things has had a profound effect on her, especially considering her upoming match.]
Wendy: “Between the WhirlyBirdz and the Cartel, there is much fear, but very little respect. I fear the Cartel because they are a threat to my well-being. While they haven’t shown themselves capable of defeating me, they certainly are capable of injuring me, or my husband, and I hardly desire that. On the contrast, The Cartel fears us because we are a threat to their reputation. They haven’t been able to beat us in a clean, fair competition. Heck, they haven’t even been able to beat us when the deck is stacked in their favor! Its hard to declare yourself ‘dominance defined’ when you keep losing to people.”
[Even the normally even-tempered Wendy can't help but roll her eyes at the comments various members of the cartel have made.]
Wendy: “Perhaps nobody in the world is more incapable of grasping this concept than John Pariah. John claims he and his cronies crave respect, but he goes about attaining it in the most ineffective, even counterproductive, ways imaginable. Respect is earned by facing your opponents on a level playing field, or even when you are at a disadvantage, which is something John refuses to do. What does John stand to prove with this match? That six people are better in a fight than two? That he and Edward Burden are incapable of winning anything on their own merit?”
[Wendy shrugs]
Wendy: “Respect is also earned by taking personal accountability for your shortcomings, another thing John refuses to do. John now claims that he intentionally lost at Do Or Die, because somehow me pinning Michael Norcia proves what a great wrestler he is.”
[The confused expression on Wendy’s face is almost comical. She can’t quite figure out how that works.]
Wendy: “It’s no secret that John Pariah is an arrogant man. You can tell in the way how he talks about how the Cartel has ‘forty world titles’, and how they are ‘wrestling gods’. But Pariah and the Cartel’s track record speaks for itself. Including Do Or Die, members of the Cartel have had 10 wins, 9 losses, one draw, and one no-contest over the past month. That’s hardly a win-loss record I would expect a group of ‘wrestling gods’ to carry.”
[At least its a winning record!]
Wendy: “But where Pariah falls the shortest in his quest for respect, is his own values. The one honorable thing John Pariah has done this year was at Vendetta, when he fought John Ojeda to defend his brother’s honor. And Ojeda hurt him so badly, it was thought his career would be over. John has gone from that noble act of self-sacrifice to allying himself with the very man who nearly ruined his career, and running his brother out of the company.”
[Wendy's eyes narrow in anger, at the thought of a man treating his own flesh and blood that way.]
Wendy: “Like every other cowardly bully in the world, John Pariah gravitates to stronger forces for protection and shared glory. Protection he may find, but there is no glory to be had in the Cartel. Even should the Cartel manage to swarm us and win this match, there will be none. All they will inherit are two leather straps that will lose their value the moment we are pinned.”
[Wendy pauses for just a second, then decides its time to change tack.]
Wendy: “Edward Burden is another man who has deluded himself with illusions of his own grandeur. I watched his interview this morning, and never have I heard a man say nothing in so many words. I understand he is upset with the attack my husband and Mandrake inflicted on him, but I had nothing to do with it, nor do I approve of it.”
[It’s true. You shoulda heard the lecture she gave her husband when she found out.]
Wendy: “The contradictions in Edward’s interview are astounding. I am incapable of accomplishing anything without my husband’s help, but Edward sat at ringside when I pinned Brian Hollywood. Edward claims he will destroy me without Terry there to help, but Terrence is involved in this match. He claims we have taken it easy since winning our titles, and yet I faced HIM last week! And Edward’s never made a mistake in the ring, and yet he’s already lost TWICE since his return.”
[Yes, twice. Although to be fair, its easy to not make a mistake when you have zero offense the entire match...]
Wendy: “Honestly, the amount of inaccuracies and inconsistencies in Edward’s rambling incoherent diatribe are so numerous, it would take me until bell time just to go through them all. But the gist of it- at least from what I could understand- was that Terrence and I are undeserving champions. On Monday night, the world will see just how wrong he is.”
[Once again, Wendy is refusing to refer to Wild by his ring name. It would be interesting if she ever explained why.]
Wendy: “Last week, I walked into a match with Edward, fully expecting to lose. I’m not particularily proud of how it happened, but I ended up walking out the winner. Regardless of whatever decisions were made after that match, what happened in that ring showed me one thing- whatever odds the Cartel throws at us, Terrence and I CAN overcome them.”
[Wendy shifts ever so slightly in her seat, and the intensity in her eyes increases noticably as she now directly addresses her opponents]
Wendy: “John, Edward, and whoever else decides to get involved- do whatever you think you need to do to win, because Terrence and I can handle it. We won’t need weapons, or Pollaski, or anything else. Between the three hundred and seventy-two pounds in our bodies, there is more than enough heart and skill to take on all seven, or eight, or however many there are of you!”
[As Wendy talks, the intensity of her voice rises in a kind of crescendo, so that while she's not exactly yelling at the end, its probably the most fierce we've ever seen Wendy in a promo]
Wendy: “I’ve already said that I fear the cartel, and what they can do to my husband and I. This is nothing new to me... when you’re a one hundred thirty pound girl taking on men twice your weight, fear tends to go with the territory. But I do not let that fear rule me. Instead, I take that fear, that knowledge that I could be crippled or worse at every turn, has always given me a strength of will that allows me to overcome the toughest of obstacles. And so it will be on Monday. As for the Cartel, YOUR fears, the fears that you will soon be rendered irrelevant, your reputations destroyed...”
[Wendy pauses, and breaks into a small smile. The sinister expression on her face is almost unsettling, considering her normally pleasant demeanor.]
Wendy: “Those are about to become reality.”
[Fade]
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