SATURDAY FEBRUARY 21, 2015
5:18 PM EASTERN STANDARD TIME
DAYTONA INTERNATIONAL SPEEDWAY- GARAGE AREA
DAYTONA BEACH, FLORIDA
The Arcanix racing garage was a bustle of activity, with crew workers bustling throughout the stall. About half of the score of men were hunched around the car, even though they knew the situation was hopeless. The front of the car had been torn up as it rammed into a flipping David Ragan, the damage far too much to hope to repair, the car retiring in 37th position. The rest of the team was dealing with the bleak prognosis of the matter, packing up equipment and preparing for departure- to load the car back up onto the hauler and take it back to its home base in North Carolina for repairs to get it ready for next week’s race in Atlanta.
Not to far away, leaning against the wall of the garage was Wendy Briese, silently watching the crew as they continued to work, all the while looking around, as if expecting someone.
And indeed she was- her husband.
She had gone back to the infield medical center after the wreck, where all drivers involved were required to go after an accident. Terrence was fine, she already knew, thanks to hearing his report on the car’s radio after the crash and watching him walk to the ambulance, but she still wanted to be there as he was summarily checked out. But with ten cars involved in the crash, it was already a busy location, and she had just managed to corner someone to ask where Terrence was when word that a second accident- this one involving eight cars and a driver suffering a compound fracture in his leg, and the staff had ordered all non-patients out of the building just to cut down on the chaos. With nowhere else to go, she had returned to the garage, figuring it’d be the best place for Terrence to find her.
She glanced down, finding the hood of the car leaned against the wall nearby, having been ripped off the car in the accident and returned separately by a wrecker. Wendy’s eyes narrowed as she looked down into Stephanie Sullivan’s grinning visage, annoyed as the memories of the previous days encounter with the team’s marketing director came back to her. In fact, all the frustrations of the past few weeks, from Val backing her way into the FFW Championship, to Cody’s attack, to the stress of a new, busier, longer racing season beginning, boiled to the surface.
A wicked, mischievous smile came over Wendy’s face as she stepped back. Raising her foot, she looked down, and stamped as hard as she could right on Stephanie’s face, hearing a rewarding THUNK as her foot slammed into the fiberglass.
Oh, that felt good.
Figuring it wouldn’t hurt (after all, it was already destroyed, right?) Wendy kicked the face of Stephanie again, and again, giggling as she let her frustrations out on the image on the hood.
An overwhelming sense that she was being watched washed over her. She turned around, her blood freezing in its veins as she realized two women were staring at her.
“Um… hi, Andrea…”
Andrea Hamilton was the wife of Terrence’s old teammate from ARCA. The two had never been friends, and the rivalry had spread to the wives. Wendy, for her part, couldn’t stand her and her haughty verbal abuse, and even now hardly regretted the incident when she had thrown the woman into a mud puddle… or flat out threatened to break her legs if the woman ever disrespected Theresa again.
Andrea evidently remembered those incidents too, for her eyes had gone wide in abject terror. She took a step back, tugging at her friend’s- likely another racer’s wife- sleeve, and together the two women scurried away, although Wendy could hear Andrea’s voice as she leaned in to the other woman.
“Told you that bitch was nuts.”
“That’s not-!” Wendy started to protest, but cut off with a sigh. It was no use, they were gone, and a voice in her mind was warning her that running them down and vehemently protesting the idea that she was crazy would be counterproductive. Frustration returning, she spun around, and kicked the hood- landing a bullseye with her toe on Stephanie’s nose.
“OY! WENDY!”
Wendy turned around again, feeling somewhat better as she saw her manager coming out of the crowd. “Hey,” she said simply as he approached, hoping that her face was less crimson than she suspected.
“What happened between you and Andrea?”
“What makes you think anything happened?” Wendy deflected airily. Nope, she was definitely still ruddy. She could tell simply by the heat on her face.
“Because she was walking away from you, and looked positively terrified,” Pollaski said matter-of-factly. “Oh God, you didn’t like ram her head into a-“
“No, I didn’t ram her head into anything,” Wendy responded, annoyed. “Probably would have killed her if I had… hey, have you seen Terrence yet?”
“Yeah, actually, he sent me here to get you. He’s back at the team hauler. He checked out okay but is a little sore,” He added the last, predicting Wendy’s next question.
“Thanks,” Wendy said. “How’s everyone else?”
“Lotta people you’re asking about,” chuckled Pollaski, darkly. “I haven’t heard anything bad other than Rowdy’s broken legs…” he grabbed Wendy to steer her towards heading back towards the hauler, but paused when he noticed the wrecked hood. With a furtive glance to the side, he leapt forward, lifting his leg and slamming it right into Stephanie Sullivan’s face. “HA! Suck on my New Balance, Sluttivan!”
“HY!!!!!!!!!! WHT TH FCK D Y THNK YR DNG??!!?!” Roared Gumbo from inside the garage, glaring at Pollaski as he shook his fist.
“Sorry!” the obese manager backed away, flapping his hands apologetically. “My bad!!!! What?” That last was demanded of Wendy, who was staring at him, shaking her head.
“Nothing,” Wendy said, in as innocent a voice as she could muster. “We should go before Gumbo tries to feed me to his gator.”
“Oh God,” Pollaski groaned, making a face as he remembered all too well their recent experiences with Cajuns and gators. “You think he one?”
“Not taking any chances,” Wendy replied flatly.
It was a fairly pleasant walk back to the row of Haulers for the Xfinity series, with manager and wrestler having a brief discussion on the coming Chaos Theory PPV just seven days away, and Wendy’s strategy in her match. They had just gotten to the topic of whether or not Wendy should even THINK of going for a submission (with Pollaski more or less against the idea, while Wendy thought there was a possible opening for one in a special circumstance), when Theresa came running towards them, nearly tackling her mom as she leapt into her arms.
“OOF! Hey Terr Bear? You better be careful, you’re getting big!” Wendy admonished as she swung the eight year old around and set her down. “Where’s your dad?”
“Inside,” Theresa said, pointing her thumb over her shoulder. “Changing.”
“I’ll stay out here,” Pollaski quickly volunteered, reaching down and snatching the Nintendo DS Theresa had just pulled out of her pocket, and holding it up. “You go on in.”
“HEY!” Theresa protested, leaping at Pollaski as he held the DS over his head, dangling it just out of the apex of her jump. Shaking her head, Wendy turned away and headed into the hauler, ignoring her daughters protests that “it isn’t fair!”… and her manager’s dismay that Pokemon, not Mario Kart, was in the system.
The Hauler was just like every other NASCAR Hauler- that is to say an utter masterpiece of moveable technology. The ramp doubled as an elevator, which lifted the cars (Terrence’s team, like most teams, carried a backup) to the upper level for transport. The bottom level was the team’s headquarters, consisting of a workshop, and, at the very front of the trailer, a small cabin that was a changing room, break room, meeting room, and team office all in one.
The ceiling was a little low, but luckily no one else was in the long corridor that led back, as Wendy walked towards the front of the trailer, past rows and rows of cabinets where the equipment would be stored by the end of the day. A small staircase awaited ahead, leading up to the room, located above the hitch onto the actual truck.
Terrence was there alright, but he wasn’t alone.
Her husband had changed out his firesuit- mostly, and was now wearing jeans and a sleeveless tanktop, his button up shirt hanging nearby. But he was sitting at a small table, a small pile of merchandise in front of him. Behind him, rubbing his shoulders was none other than… Fifi?
“Hey, Wendy!” Terrence said, seemingly unconcerned on what his wife just walked into. “Pollaski find you alright?”
“Yeah, just… just fine.” Wendy said, entering the room. “What’s up?”
“Oh, was just changing back into my streets, and Fifi here dropped by with some stuff for me to sign that they’re giving away at a charity auction tonight. And I mentioned that I was sore from the crash, and well-“ he shrugged, which only seemed to play into the massage a bit more.
“Settle down, dear. You’re still very tense,” Fifi chided.
“If you’re hurt from the crash, maybe you should go back to the care center.” Wendy said, far more sharply than she had meant to.
“Oh, I’m not hurt,” Terrence dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just sore. Crashing at 180 mph will do that to you… although it’s weird, it wasn’t so bad til I hit the grass. Then it was just so damn bumpy. But… damn. Fifi here’s got the MAGIC fingers. Do Wendy now while I sign these.”
“No, no,” Wendy started to protest, but Fifi simply stepped behind her chair, and dug her fingers into her shoulder. “Seriously, I don’t need- wow, she IS good!”
“I told you!” Terrence said as he quickly finished signing the merchandise. “Seriously, how the hell did you know how to do that?”
“I took some masseuse classes at Dartmouth,” Fifi said simply, before stepping away from Wendy. “All done there, dear? Thank you. The American Cancer Society will be SUPER appreciative!”
“No worres.” Terrence responded. “Just you make sure you get them bid on for a high amount!”
“Oh I will,” Fifi giggled as she gathered up the merchandise. “Maybe I might go and buy a few of these myself!” She surveyed the inside of the office, grinning. “You know, I’m glad you signed up, Terrenc. I think you are going to make this year VERY interesting! Welcome to Arcanix Racing.” She ducked and gave Terrence a peck on the cheek, and then, as if suddenly remembering Wendy, turned and gave her a cheek-kiss as well, then climbed down the stairs out of the office, towards the exit at the back of the hauler.
Terrence watched her go, rubbing his cheek as he did. After she had left, he turned around, looking over at his wife. “So, feel up to a charity auction tonight?”
“No, I’m pretty tired, and you should rest if you’re that SORE.” Wendy said, her voice a mask of false sweetness. “Maybe we should just order pizza and watch a movie with Theresa.”
“Works for me,” Terrence said, climbing up out of his chair with a small groan, and grabbing his shirt to put on. As he did, Wendy’s eyes narrowed, and she looked towards the stairs where the marketing director had just exited, her own hand practically clawing at her cheek.
No, she didn’t like Fifi Calipari.
She didn’t like Fifi Calipari at all.
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
EPISODE 280: Fifi (Part 1)
From the Private Journal of Wendy Briese
2-12-2015
How dare she!
How DARE she do that to Cody Kincaid!
Isabella’s done some terrible, heinous things before but this takes the cake. To LURE Mr. Kincaid into the ring for the sole purpose of attacking him under the pretense of a match. To drive a bellhammer into a DEFENSELESS man’s skull for… for WHAT? Because he told the truth about her? Because he reminded the world what a bloodthirsty psychopath she was? Even if it was all a lie (and it certainly wasn’t), how in the HELL does that merit cracking a man’s skull?
I hope to God Mr. Kincaid is okay. Herbie pulled me away for an interview about it afterwards, and by the time that was over, I couldn’t get back there. It was too crowded, and they kicked me out, telling me I’d just be in the way. They’re probably right… I know Caroline was with him, and more importantly, Scarlett. Maybe they’ll let me see him in the hospital tomorrow, once things have quieted down.
I don’t know how I’m going to get sleep tonight. I’m worried, and I’m angry. And it shames me to admit, but that second emotion is winning out right now. I know Mr. Kincaid’s going to get better. I know because he’s stronger and tougher than anyone gives him credit for. And I also know that Isabella is going to regret this day for the rest of her life. She will mourn the day she ever even THOUGHT of betraying us.
Yes, betrayal. She’s betrayed everyone. Ms. Star, Mr. Kincaid, the fans, the locker room, myself… EVERYONE. I was THERE at Unstoppable IV. I had a front row seat for the end of that show with Isabella standing in the ring, fresh off her final match, with the chants coming down like a rain of absolution. “Thank you Bella. Thank you Bella.”
I had lunch with her the next morning, and we ironed out our differences, and parted on amiable terms. I had hoped, and prayed that she’d be happy in her post-wrestling life. I was overjoyed when the news came she was with child, a practical medical miracle, from all accounts. And I believed, we ALL believed that despite every horrible thing she’d done over the course of her career, that she deserved to live happily ever after.
And now she comes back and pulls all this, culminating in what happened last night.
Thank you Bella. For absolutely NOTHING.
The woman’s a traitor. A traitor to the company. A traitor to the sport. A traitor to all of us. And we all know what traitors deserve.
Eradication.
Not her life, of course not. But the memory of her. Her existence as it pertains to this company. Banned for life. All her merchandise pulled and destroyed. Exclusion from any archival video releases, no matter how big the match. Her position in the Hall of Fame vacated. Maybe even her title reigns vacated, although maybe that’s a little ridiculous. Still, whatever we can do to scrub her from the historical tapestry of this company, we need to. It’s a fitting punishment for someone so disgraceful.
She’s going to pay for this. I swear on my own career that Isabella Pazzini’s going to pay for this.
I don’t even know how I’m going to enjoy this weekend. Terrence wants to take me to Aspen for Valentine’s day, a weekend off before the mad rush with the NASCAR season kicking off in Daytona followed by Chaos Theory. Maybe by tomorrow I’ll be calmed down enough, and willing to enjoy myself.
Heck, maybe now that I’ve vented enough, I can get some sleep.
But whatever happens in the Future, I have a feeling that when we look back on things down the road, we’ll be looking at the events of tonight as a major turning point to whatever end we get to.
May it be for the better.
-Wendy.
====================
FRIDAY FEBRUARY 20, 2015
11:38 AM EASTERN STANDARD TIME
DAYTONA INTERNATIONAL SPEEDWAY- TURN 4 INFIELD CAMPGROUND
DAYTONA BEACH, FLORIDA
“And fires were getting higher and it was getting hot and I could smell the smoke and I was screaming but… then I woke up.” Wendy Briese finished with a sigh. She rubbed her forehead, looking over at her manager, who simply stared back at her with a completely dumbfounded expression on his face. “…What?”
“So let me get this straight,” Pollaski sighed, an aura about him that suggested he was really hoping he was wrong. “The FCC showed up at your door. Dragged you away kicking and screaming. Tied you to a stake in the middle of the town square. And then they burned you. At the stake.”
He glanced back over at Wendy who simply nodded in response. “For cussing on television.” Another nod. “Despite the fact that we’re on CABLE and the FCC has no real jurisdiction.”
Wendy nodded a third time. “Yes,” she added, as if extra confirmation was needed.
In response, Pollaski shook his head in disgust, increasing his pace to speed ahead of his flame-haired client. “You’re a fucking lunatic.”
“I didn’t say it was RATIONAL!” Wendy protested, increasing her own pace to match Pollaski’s (not that that was any challenge). “But dreams normally AREN’T, right?”
“I dunno. Mine are pretty rational.” Pollaski countered with a shrug. “Maybe you ate something before bedtime? Or.. like, drank a bottle of hot sauce?”
“…No.” Came the flat reply, Wendy’s eyes narrowing. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you this… I should have saved it for Dr. Epstein…”
“Oh, come on,” Pollaski goaded, wisely suppressing a chuckle. “Even you gotta admit you’re probably the only person- much less wrestler- in the world who has nightmares because she dropped the f-bomb on live television.”
“I know, I know!” Wendy snapped back, rolling her eyes. She took several breaths. “Look, it bothers me because It meant I lost control, okay? And I don’t like that feeling that I lost control of myself, okay?”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to blame you. I mean… you were PISSED. And, honestly, you had every right to be after that.”
“I know. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother me though,” Wendy said with a sigh. She looked up at the sky, a beautiful azure with only a smattering of puffy clouds in the higher altitudes, a far cry from the frozen wasteland that she called home that was being wracked by yet another winter storm. Here the weather was light and balmy, in the low seventies. The kind of weather she could barely fathom any city having in February.
Beyond all else, it was a perfect day to start a racing season, with it being the first practice of the NASCAR XFinity series in preparation for the next day’s Florida 300. It was her husband’s rookie year in the series, after four years in ARCA he had finally elected to make the leap to what was essentially the second tier in Stock Car racing, just below the Sprint Cup itself. Wendy of course was excited for her husband- and a little nervous.
Not to mention wondering how the family was going to deal with the fact that her husband was now racing 33 dates instead of the customary 19-20 ARCA used to run. They’d find a way, she figured. They always did.
Luckily, Theresa still seemed to view her parent’s careers- and the travel required thereof- as an adventure, whether or not she was brought along. Her teacher was a good sport at least, tolerating the occasional missed school day for her to accompany her parents- so long as her coursework was completed (which Wendy made darn sure of).
Theresa had made the trip this time, and stood perched atop the Arcanix Racing pitbox- a massive workstation that housed all the tools for the car, plus computer telemetry monitors, the teams wireless connection and a 21 inch television tuned into the coverage of the race. The entire contraption was larger than the ones Terrence’s old team used the carry- large enough to even support a covered viewing stand atop the box. Theresa was sitting in one of the chairs, but leapt up as she saw her mom coming, waving enthusiastically.
“Hey, Terr-Bear!” Wendy said, peering up at her daughter. “What are you doing up there?”
“Dad said I could!” Theresa said, immediately defensive. “Just so long as I don’t bother Gumbo.”
“Nt Bthrng M Nn” Piped in a man who sat in a chair next to her. Gumbo McCoy was Terrence’s crew chief, a broad shouldered Louisianan with tanned leathery skin from a lifetime sitting atop pit boxes on scorching July afternoons, and with a Cajun accent so thick it would have made Scarlett Kincaid herself call for an interpreter. Wendy looked at Pollaski to see if he understood, but the portly manager only shrugged. Judging by the tone, he seemed amiable about the situation, so Wendy dismissed it with a shrug.
“Just be careful. Where’s your dad, by the way?”
“Right behind you!” came a cheerful voice, and Wendy turned around to see her husband approaching, dressed in his full racesuit. “Sorry, driver’s meeting ran long,” he put his arms around his wife, and gave her a kiss. Then he looked up at his daughter, throwing his arms wide. “Theresa! Do what Daddy did to Michael Lennox after he hit Mommy with a steel chair!”
“Wait, no-“ Wendy began to protest, but was cut off as Theresa bellowed a challenge, and dove off the pit box, spreading her arms for a full body splash as she landed on her father, who caught her easily, and swung her giggling to alight feet first.
“REALLY!?” Wendy demanded, glaring at her husband. “REALLY?!??!?!”
“It’s okay Mom! We practiced!”
“REALLY!??!?!?!”
“Dnt d tht. W dnt hve th lblty nsrnc fr t.” admonished Gumbo in his grumble.
“Sorry! Ah, probably won’t be able to do that much longer anyways,” Terrence admitted. “Our little girl’s getting big. So you see the car yet?”
For a second, Wendy thought to pursue the matter of her husband encouraging her daughter to leap off nine foot platforms, but forced her indignation to go with a sigh. “No, I haven’t,” she admitted, glancing to the side at the machine her husband was going to ride in. It still sat under its tarp, which was black and pink with the number 38 and FFW logo on it, the tires the only part of the actual car peeking out from under the cover.
“Well, you will soon. They’re going to let us loose here in a few minutes. I better get strapped in. Now, where’d they stick my helmet?”
All up and down pit road, teams were ripping the covers off their machines, the cars bodies glistening in the sunlight in a spectacular myriad of colors. As two crew members hopped the wall to rip off the #38’s cover, Wendy, Pollaski and Theresa moved over to get a better look, Theresa hopping up on the pitwall herself, ignoring her mother’s warning glare.
The tarp was peeled away, and Pollaski whistled as a pitch black machine with pink trip came into view, the sun reflecting off it at a perfect angle, each sponsor decal by the front wheels shining brightly. The manager had to suppress a tear in his eye as more of the car became revealed- the numbers, the spoiler, all glistening in black and pink and looking positively perfect.
“Its…. So beautiful.” Pollaski sniffled.
Wendy wasn’t so sure about that. She was staring at the hood, her expression partly of confusion, and mostly of disgust. On the hood was the FFW and Chaos Theory logos, looking as crisp as could, but above that, dominating the hood in a place she had expected to find herself sharing with Valerie and Scarlett was…
“Wait, Stephanie Sullivan?” Pollaski apparently had just seen the picture himself. “The hell is she doing on the hood?”
Wendy was at a loss for words shaking her head, her mouth open in stunning amazement.
“Well, I’m off!” Terrence had returned, helmet under his arm. “Kiss for good luck?” He leaned leaned over to peck his daughter on the cheek, then moved to Wendy’s lips- but getting only a half-hearted return. “You okay?” he asked, not missing the lack of effort.”
“Why’s Sluttivan on the car?” Theresa demaned before Wendy could even grab an intake of breath. An intake that ultimately went to a different use.
“THERESA!”
“What?!” Theresa demanded defensively. “Its what everyone calls her at school!”
“Still…”
Terrence was looking at the hood himself, scratching his head, then shrugging. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Fifi. She takes care of all that stuff.”
“Wha- Fifi?”
“Yeah, she’s Arcanix Racing’s director of marketing.” Terrence replied, craning his neck around. “There she is… hey, Fif… HEY FIFI!”
“TRRNC GT N TH GDDMN CR!” barked Gumbo before Fifi, whoever she was could respond. The track had gone green, and already some cars were rolling out of their pit stalls.
“Ah, dammit!” Terrence huffed. “Alright, gotta go, bye!” and he bolted to his car, leaping inside as his crew huddled around to work on getting his safety restraints, airflow, and fluids hooked up.
“Down you go, Theresa,” Wendy said, lifting Theresa off the wall and setting her down on the ground. “No way should you be up there during a live track.” Luckily, her daughter was sensible enough to not argue about that one. “Now… who’s Fifi?”
“Probably her,” Pollaski replied, pointing to a brunette woman about Wendy’s age, although much shorter and slimmer, her long dark hair shining in the sunlight. The woman was making confident strides towards her, but burst into a grin when she saw the flame haired woman, and she rushed forward, putting Wendy in an embrace.
“You must be Gwendolyn! Oh, it is SO good to finally meet you, Terrence has told me SO MUCH about you!” The woman exclaimed, squeezing the bewildered wrestler. She released Wendy and looked at her companions. “And you must be Daniel… and oh little Theresa you look JUST like your father!”
“Th…thanks?” the eight year old said, suddenly unsure of herself.
Undaunted, Fifi grabbed both of Wendy’s hands, holding them in her own. “Mmm! I already feel a connection between us! We’re going to be just like sisters!”
“Oh, well..ah… I’ve never had a sister!” Wendy responded with as much enthusiasm as she could force. She glanced to the side at her daughter, who only looked back at her, slowly revolving her finger around her ear. Wendy shot a glare, and turned back to the over-friendly brunette. “You’re… ah… Fifi?”
“Yes!” came the giggle. “Fifi Calipari, Arcanix Racing’s Director of Marketing and Sponsor Relations!” The loud sound of a roar was heard, and both women turned to watch Terrence’s car pull out of the pit box and work its way down pit road. “Oh, there he goes! So, Gwendolyn…”
“Wendy’s fine,” the redhead said quickly, “Just…just Wendy.”
“Wendy, oh what a beautiful name! Just rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it? Wendy… Wendy Briese… OH MY GOD I JUST GOT IT WINDY BREEZE! Oh… that’s so clever!!!!!!”
Fifi laughed. Theresa didn’t. Pollaski didn’t. Wendy definitely didn’t, and for the first time the Brunette sensed an uneasiness in the redhead, and released her hands. “So, um… well… you wanted to see me about something?”
“Yes, well I… um…” Wendy stuttered, silently cursing herself for being unable to concentrate. “You see…”
Pollaski cleared his throat, putting on his best ‘serious talent agent’ voice. “We were under the impression that the hood of the car was going to have a picture of Wendy and two other women on it, not ah…”
“Sluttivan.”
“THERESA!”
“Oh, THAT,” Fifi said dismissively, ignoring Theresa’s quip, and her mother’s outraged rebuke. “Yes, that was in fact the original plan…”
Pollaski frowned. “Then what happened-“
“We scrapped it,” Fifi said, smiling widely.
“Wh…why?” Wendy asked, arching her eyebrows.
“Well, you see,” Fifi began, sounding as if she was giving a five-year old the birthday present she’d always dreamed of. “We’re in the middle of Black History Month, and it seemed to me that putting three of the whitest, pastiest women anyone’s ever seen on the hood just seemed… so against the spirit of the event.”
A very awkward silence followed that, with Wendy and her manager exchanging stunned glances, before Wendy looked down at her arm defensively. “I’m not THAT pale… wait.” Her head snapped up as if something had just popped into her head. “But Stephanie Sullivan isn’t even-“
“Oh, I know, dear,” Fifi said consolingly, reaching out and taking Wendy’s hand again, and giving it a sympathetic squeeze. “But the important thing is that her complexion is darker than you, or your friends, and that’s what matters.”
“I… don’t think that’s how it works… by any stretch of the imagination…” Wendy stammered.
“But it is, dear. This is marketing we’re talking about. I didn’t go to Dartmouth for four years and earn a degree in marketing to not know what I’m talking about,” Fifi’s voice was still friendly, but there was a definite note of condescension about it. “I ran this through a very tightly controlled focus group, and it’s clear that Stephanie Sullivan is ideal for our February message. She calls herself the Black Sheep. She is married and has a child by-”
Wendy couldn’t stand to hear anymore, and interrupted Fifi with a wave of her hands. “But… she and Todd aren’t… married. And even if they were, I’m not sure TODD WILLIAMS… or anyone associated with him… would be the best-“
“Oh!” Fifi, exclaimed, as she again took Wendy’s hands. “Oh, Wendy, I see that green-eyed monster of jealousy in your eyes, and, I promise you, we will find a way to get you on the the hood of your husband’s car. Maybe next month, for the Phoenix race. Right before St. Patrick’s day, we could have you dressed up like an Irish bar wench, and…”
“Why not put Caroline Stark on the hood?” Pollaski asked quickly, noticing that a little color was starting to flush in Wendy’s cheeks. “Or Jennifer Williams?”
“I don’t know who that last name is, dear.” Fifi said. “I’m sorry, I’m not really a fan of this whole ‘wrestling’ thing.” She used finger quotes. “But I did present Caroline Stark to the focus group, and they found her a little too… how can I say this… URBAN for their tastes.”
“Urban?” Wendy asked. “I don’t even know what that…”
“I’ll tell you later,” Pollaski said hurriedly. “Look, with all due respect to your..ah… ‘focus group’ here… are you sure that the… presentation you’re making is the best way to really promote this company? Because Stephanie Sullivan isn’t even ON the Pay-Per-View that’s being promoted.”
“Well, I certainly can’t be responsible for the errors clients make in regards to their product, now can I?” Fifi responded, a tad defensively. “Look, I’m sure that FFW is very, VERY good at setting up these wrestling shows and getting a few people to watch them. But after talking with their offices a couple times, it’s clear to me that they do not know how to reach a wide audience of people, and they certainly do not know anything about auto racing fans. That’s why I’m here, to do what they are not able to. And it’s hardly an ideal situation… normally I’m involved with more… marketable companies and brands. But I do love a challenge!”
“I… really don’t think you’re giving them enough credit,” Wendy responded, her voice defensive as well.
“Well, you work for them, don’t you? So I suppose I can’t blame you for being a little bit… blinded to them.” Fifi said consolingly.
Wendy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m one of their top draws.”
“And I’m sure you do a SUPER awesome job at it!” Fifi exclaimed, reaching up and gently pinching Wendy’s cheek. Suddenly, she withdrew her hand, staring in shock at the iwatch on her wrist. “Oh, my! Look at the time! I’m late for an executive meeting over at the platinum club! I’m so very sorry, but I must run. Goodbye, and it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope to see you again soon… sister!” And with that giggle, Fifi turned away and scurried off, leaving the trio behind her utterly speechless.
“Well then,” Pollaski finally said, tugging at his collar and coughing. “That was… well, enlightening.”
“I don’t like her…” Theresa said, stepping away from her mom as if expecting another rebuke.
But Wendy only sighed, “Neither do I, Theresa,” she muttered as she watched the woman quickly depart the pit box, heading towards the part of the stands that housed the luxury suites.
“Neither do I.”
2-12-2015
How dare she!
How DARE she do that to Cody Kincaid!
Isabella’s done some terrible, heinous things before but this takes the cake. To LURE Mr. Kincaid into the ring for the sole purpose of attacking him under the pretense of a match. To drive a bellhammer into a DEFENSELESS man’s skull for… for WHAT? Because he told the truth about her? Because he reminded the world what a bloodthirsty psychopath she was? Even if it was all a lie (and it certainly wasn’t), how in the HELL does that merit cracking a man’s skull?
I hope to God Mr. Kincaid is okay. Herbie pulled me away for an interview about it afterwards, and by the time that was over, I couldn’t get back there. It was too crowded, and they kicked me out, telling me I’d just be in the way. They’re probably right… I know Caroline was with him, and more importantly, Scarlett. Maybe they’ll let me see him in the hospital tomorrow, once things have quieted down.
I don’t know how I’m going to get sleep tonight. I’m worried, and I’m angry. And it shames me to admit, but that second emotion is winning out right now. I know Mr. Kincaid’s going to get better. I know because he’s stronger and tougher than anyone gives him credit for. And I also know that Isabella is going to regret this day for the rest of her life. She will mourn the day she ever even THOUGHT of betraying us.
Yes, betrayal. She’s betrayed everyone. Ms. Star, Mr. Kincaid, the fans, the locker room, myself… EVERYONE. I was THERE at Unstoppable IV. I had a front row seat for the end of that show with Isabella standing in the ring, fresh off her final match, with the chants coming down like a rain of absolution. “Thank you Bella. Thank you Bella.”
I had lunch with her the next morning, and we ironed out our differences, and parted on amiable terms. I had hoped, and prayed that she’d be happy in her post-wrestling life. I was overjoyed when the news came she was with child, a practical medical miracle, from all accounts. And I believed, we ALL believed that despite every horrible thing she’d done over the course of her career, that she deserved to live happily ever after.
And now she comes back and pulls all this, culminating in what happened last night.
Thank you Bella. For absolutely NOTHING.
The woman’s a traitor. A traitor to the company. A traitor to the sport. A traitor to all of us. And we all know what traitors deserve.
Eradication.
Not her life, of course not. But the memory of her. Her existence as it pertains to this company. Banned for life. All her merchandise pulled and destroyed. Exclusion from any archival video releases, no matter how big the match. Her position in the Hall of Fame vacated. Maybe even her title reigns vacated, although maybe that’s a little ridiculous. Still, whatever we can do to scrub her from the historical tapestry of this company, we need to. It’s a fitting punishment for someone so disgraceful.
She’s going to pay for this. I swear on my own career that Isabella Pazzini’s going to pay for this.
I don’t even know how I’m going to enjoy this weekend. Terrence wants to take me to Aspen for Valentine’s day, a weekend off before the mad rush with the NASCAR season kicking off in Daytona followed by Chaos Theory. Maybe by tomorrow I’ll be calmed down enough, and willing to enjoy myself.
Heck, maybe now that I’ve vented enough, I can get some sleep.
But whatever happens in the Future, I have a feeling that when we look back on things down the road, we’ll be looking at the events of tonight as a major turning point to whatever end we get to.
May it be for the better.
-Wendy.
====================
FRIDAY FEBRUARY 20, 2015
11:38 AM EASTERN STANDARD TIME
DAYTONA INTERNATIONAL SPEEDWAY- TURN 4 INFIELD CAMPGROUND
DAYTONA BEACH, FLORIDA
“And fires were getting higher and it was getting hot and I could smell the smoke and I was screaming but… then I woke up.” Wendy Briese finished with a sigh. She rubbed her forehead, looking over at her manager, who simply stared back at her with a completely dumbfounded expression on his face. “…What?”
“So let me get this straight,” Pollaski sighed, an aura about him that suggested he was really hoping he was wrong. “The FCC showed up at your door. Dragged you away kicking and screaming. Tied you to a stake in the middle of the town square. And then they burned you. At the stake.”
He glanced back over at Wendy who simply nodded in response. “For cussing on television.” Another nod. “Despite the fact that we’re on CABLE and the FCC has no real jurisdiction.”
Wendy nodded a third time. “Yes,” she added, as if extra confirmation was needed.
In response, Pollaski shook his head in disgust, increasing his pace to speed ahead of his flame-haired client. “You’re a fucking lunatic.”
“I didn’t say it was RATIONAL!” Wendy protested, increasing her own pace to match Pollaski’s (not that that was any challenge). “But dreams normally AREN’T, right?”
“I dunno. Mine are pretty rational.” Pollaski countered with a shrug. “Maybe you ate something before bedtime? Or.. like, drank a bottle of hot sauce?”
“…No.” Came the flat reply, Wendy’s eyes narrowing. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you this… I should have saved it for Dr. Epstein…”
“Oh, come on,” Pollaski goaded, wisely suppressing a chuckle. “Even you gotta admit you’re probably the only person- much less wrestler- in the world who has nightmares because she dropped the f-bomb on live television.”
“I know, I know!” Wendy snapped back, rolling her eyes. She took several breaths. “Look, it bothers me because It meant I lost control, okay? And I don’t like that feeling that I lost control of myself, okay?”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to blame you. I mean… you were PISSED. And, honestly, you had every right to be after that.”
“I know. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother me though,” Wendy said with a sigh. She looked up at the sky, a beautiful azure with only a smattering of puffy clouds in the higher altitudes, a far cry from the frozen wasteland that she called home that was being wracked by yet another winter storm. Here the weather was light and balmy, in the low seventies. The kind of weather she could barely fathom any city having in February.
Beyond all else, it was a perfect day to start a racing season, with it being the first practice of the NASCAR XFinity series in preparation for the next day’s Florida 300. It was her husband’s rookie year in the series, after four years in ARCA he had finally elected to make the leap to what was essentially the second tier in Stock Car racing, just below the Sprint Cup itself. Wendy of course was excited for her husband- and a little nervous.
Not to mention wondering how the family was going to deal with the fact that her husband was now racing 33 dates instead of the customary 19-20 ARCA used to run. They’d find a way, she figured. They always did.
Luckily, Theresa still seemed to view her parent’s careers- and the travel required thereof- as an adventure, whether or not she was brought along. Her teacher was a good sport at least, tolerating the occasional missed school day for her to accompany her parents- so long as her coursework was completed (which Wendy made darn sure of).
Theresa had made the trip this time, and stood perched atop the Arcanix Racing pitbox- a massive workstation that housed all the tools for the car, plus computer telemetry monitors, the teams wireless connection and a 21 inch television tuned into the coverage of the race. The entire contraption was larger than the ones Terrence’s old team used the carry- large enough to even support a covered viewing stand atop the box. Theresa was sitting in one of the chairs, but leapt up as she saw her mom coming, waving enthusiastically.
“Hey, Terr-Bear!” Wendy said, peering up at her daughter. “What are you doing up there?”
“Dad said I could!” Theresa said, immediately defensive. “Just so long as I don’t bother Gumbo.”
“Nt Bthrng M Nn” Piped in a man who sat in a chair next to her. Gumbo McCoy was Terrence’s crew chief, a broad shouldered Louisianan with tanned leathery skin from a lifetime sitting atop pit boxes on scorching July afternoons, and with a Cajun accent so thick it would have made Scarlett Kincaid herself call for an interpreter. Wendy looked at Pollaski to see if he understood, but the portly manager only shrugged. Judging by the tone, he seemed amiable about the situation, so Wendy dismissed it with a shrug.
“Just be careful. Where’s your dad, by the way?”
“Right behind you!” came a cheerful voice, and Wendy turned around to see her husband approaching, dressed in his full racesuit. “Sorry, driver’s meeting ran long,” he put his arms around his wife, and gave her a kiss. Then he looked up at his daughter, throwing his arms wide. “Theresa! Do what Daddy did to Michael Lennox after he hit Mommy with a steel chair!”
“Wait, no-“ Wendy began to protest, but was cut off as Theresa bellowed a challenge, and dove off the pit box, spreading her arms for a full body splash as she landed on her father, who caught her easily, and swung her giggling to alight feet first.
“REALLY!?” Wendy demanded, glaring at her husband. “REALLY?!??!?!”
“It’s okay Mom! We practiced!”
“REALLY!??!?!?!”
“Dnt d tht. W dnt hve th lblty nsrnc fr t.” admonished Gumbo in his grumble.
“Sorry! Ah, probably won’t be able to do that much longer anyways,” Terrence admitted. “Our little girl’s getting big. So you see the car yet?”
For a second, Wendy thought to pursue the matter of her husband encouraging her daughter to leap off nine foot platforms, but forced her indignation to go with a sigh. “No, I haven’t,” she admitted, glancing to the side at the machine her husband was going to ride in. It still sat under its tarp, which was black and pink with the number 38 and FFW logo on it, the tires the only part of the actual car peeking out from under the cover.
“Well, you will soon. They’re going to let us loose here in a few minutes. I better get strapped in. Now, where’d they stick my helmet?”
All up and down pit road, teams were ripping the covers off their machines, the cars bodies glistening in the sunlight in a spectacular myriad of colors. As two crew members hopped the wall to rip off the #38’s cover, Wendy, Pollaski and Theresa moved over to get a better look, Theresa hopping up on the pitwall herself, ignoring her mother’s warning glare.
The tarp was peeled away, and Pollaski whistled as a pitch black machine with pink trip came into view, the sun reflecting off it at a perfect angle, each sponsor decal by the front wheels shining brightly. The manager had to suppress a tear in his eye as more of the car became revealed- the numbers, the spoiler, all glistening in black and pink and looking positively perfect.
“Its…. So beautiful.” Pollaski sniffled.
Wendy wasn’t so sure about that. She was staring at the hood, her expression partly of confusion, and mostly of disgust. On the hood was the FFW and Chaos Theory logos, looking as crisp as could, but above that, dominating the hood in a place she had expected to find herself sharing with Valerie and Scarlett was…
“Wait, Stephanie Sullivan?” Pollaski apparently had just seen the picture himself. “The hell is she doing on the hood?”
Wendy was at a loss for words shaking her head, her mouth open in stunning amazement.
“Well, I’m off!” Terrence had returned, helmet under his arm. “Kiss for good luck?” He leaned leaned over to peck his daughter on the cheek, then moved to Wendy’s lips- but getting only a half-hearted return. “You okay?” he asked, not missing the lack of effort.”
“Why’s Sluttivan on the car?” Theresa demaned before Wendy could even grab an intake of breath. An intake that ultimately went to a different use.
“THERESA!”
“What?!” Theresa demanded defensively. “Its what everyone calls her at school!”
“Still…”
Terrence was looking at the hood himself, scratching his head, then shrugging. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Fifi. She takes care of all that stuff.”
“Wha- Fifi?”
“Yeah, she’s Arcanix Racing’s director of marketing.” Terrence replied, craning his neck around. “There she is… hey, Fif… HEY FIFI!”
“TRRNC GT N TH GDDMN CR!” barked Gumbo before Fifi, whoever she was could respond. The track had gone green, and already some cars were rolling out of their pit stalls.
“Ah, dammit!” Terrence huffed. “Alright, gotta go, bye!” and he bolted to his car, leaping inside as his crew huddled around to work on getting his safety restraints, airflow, and fluids hooked up.
“Down you go, Theresa,” Wendy said, lifting Theresa off the wall and setting her down on the ground. “No way should you be up there during a live track.” Luckily, her daughter was sensible enough to not argue about that one. “Now… who’s Fifi?”
“Probably her,” Pollaski replied, pointing to a brunette woman about Wendy’s age, although much shorter and slimmer, her long dark hair shining in the sunlight. The woman was making confident strides towards her, but burst into a grin when she saw the flame haired woman, and she rushed forward, putting Wendy in an embrace.
“You must be Gwendolyn! Oh, it is SO good to finally meet you, Terrence has told me SO MUCH about you!” The woman exclaimed, squeezing the bewildered wrestler. She released Wendy and looked at her companions. “And you must be Daniel… and oh little Theresa you look JUST like your father!”
“Th…thanks?” the eight year old said, suddenly unsure of herself.
Undaunted, Fifi grabbed both of Wendy’s hands, holding them in her own. “Mmm! I already feel a connection between us! We’re going to be just like sisters!”
“Oh, well..ah… I’ve never had a sister!” Wendy responded with as much enthusiasm as she could force. She glanced to the side at her daughter, who only looked back at her, slowly revolving her finger around her ear. Wendy shot a glare, and turned back to the over-friendly brunette. “You’re… ah… Fifi?”
“Yes!” came the giggle. “Fifi Calipari, Arcanix Racing’s Director of Marketing and Sponsor Relations!” The loud sound of a roar was heard, and both women turned to watch Terrence’s car pull out of the pit box and work its way down pit road. “Oh, there he goes! So, Gwendolyn…”
“Wendy’s fine,” the redhead said quickly, “Just…just Wendy.”
“Wendy, oh what a beautiful name! Just rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it? Wendy… Wendy Briese… OH MY GOD I JUST GOT IT WINDY BREEZE! Oh… that’s so clever!!!!!!”
Fifi laughed. Theresa didn’t. Pollaski didn’t. Wendy definitely didn’t, and for the first time the Brunette sensed an uneasiness in the redhead, and released her hands. “So, um… well… you wanted to see me about something?”
“Yes, well I… um…” Wendy stuttered, silently cursing herself for being unable to concentrate. “You see…”
Pollaski cleared his throat, putting on his best ‘serious talent agent’ voice. “We were under the impression that the hood of the car was going to have a picture of Wendy and two other women on it, not ah…”
“Sluttivan.”
“THERESA!”
“Oh, THAT,” Fifi said dismissively, ignoring Theresa’s quip, and her mother’s outraged rebuke. “Yes, that was in fact the original plan…”
Pollaski frowned. “Then what happened-“
“We scrapped it,” Fifi said, smiling widely.
“Wh…why?” Wendy asked, arching her eyebrows.
“Well, you see,” Fifi began, sounding as if she was giving a five-year old the birthday present she’d always dreamed of. “We’re in the middle of Black History Month, and it seemed to me that putting three of the whitest, pastiest women anyone’s ever seen on the hood just seemed… so against the spirit of the event.”
A very awkward silence followed that, with Wendy and her manager exchanging stunned glances, before Wendy looked down at her arm defensively. “I’m not THAT pale… wait.” Her head snapped up as if something had just popped into her head. “But Stephanie Sullivan isn’t even-“
“Oh, I know, dear,” Fifi said consolingly, reaching out and taking Wendy’s hand again, and giving it a sympathetic squeeze. “But the important thing is that her complexion is darker than you, or your friends, and that’s what matters.”
“I… don’t think that’s how it works… by any stretch of the imagination…” Wendy stammered.
“But it is, dear. This is marketing we’re talking about. I didn’t go to Dartmouth for four years and earn a degree in marketing to not know what I’m talking about,” Fifi’s voice was still friendly, but there was a definite note of condescension about it. “I ran this through a very tightly controlled focus group, and it’s clear that Stephanie Sullivan is ideal for our February message. She calls herself the Black Sheep. She is married and has a child by-”
Wendy couldn’t stand to hear anymore, and interrupted Fifi with a wave of her hands. “But… she and Todd aren’t… married. And even if they were, I’m not sure TODD WILLIAMS… or anyone associated with him… would be the best-“
“Oh!” Fifi, exclaimed, as she again took Wendy’s hands. “Oh, Wendy, I see that green-eyed monster of jealousy in your eyes, and, I promise you, we will find a way to get you on the the hood of your husband’s car. Maybe next month, for the Phoenix race. Right before St. Patrick’s day, we could have you dressed up like an Irish bar wench, and…”
“Why not put Caroline Stark on the hood?” Pollaski asked quickly, noticing that a little color was starting to flush in Wendy’s cheeks. “Or Jennifer Williams?”
“I don’t know who that last name is, dear.” Fifi said. “I’m sorry, I’m not really a fan of this whole ‘wrestling’ thing.” She used finger quotes. “But I did present Caroline Stark to the focus group, and they found her a little too… how can I say this… URBAN for their tastes.”
“Urban?” Wendy asked. “I don’t even know what that…”
“I’ll tell you later,” Pollaski said hurriedly. “Look, with all due respect to your..ah… ‘focus group’ here… are you sure that the… presentation you’re making is the best way to really promote this company? Because Stephanie Sullivan isn’t even ON the Pay-Per-View that’s being promoted.”
“Well, I certainly can’t be responsible for the errors clients make in regards to their product, now can I?” Fifi responded, a tad defensively. “Look, I’m sure that FFW is very, VERY good at setting up these wrestling shows and getting a few people to watch them. But after talking with their offices a couple times, it’s clear to me that they do not know how to reach a wide audience of people, and they certainly do not know anything about auto racing fans. That’s why I’m here, to do what they are not able to. And it’s hardly an ideal situation… normally I’m involved with more… marketable companies and brands. But I do love a challenge!”
“I… really don’t think you’re giving them enough credit,” Wendy responded, her voice defensive as well.
“Well, you work for them, don’t you? So I suppose I can’t blame you for being a little bit… blinded to them.” Fifi said consolingly.
Wendy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m one of their top draws.”
“And I’m sure you do a SUPER awesome job at it!” Fifi exclaimed, reaching up and gently pinching Wendy’s cheek. Suddenly, she withdrew her hand, staring in shock at the iwatch on her wrist. “Oh, my! Look at the time! I’m late for an executive meeting over at the platinum club! I’m so very sorry, but I must run. Goodbye, and it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope to see you again soon… sister!” And with that giggle, Fifi turned away and scurried off, leaving the trio behind her utterly speechless.
“Well then,” Pollaski finally said, tugging at his collar and coughing. “That was… well, enlightening.”
“I don’t like her…” Theresa said, stepping away from her mom as if expecting another rebuke.
But Wendy only sighed, “Neither do I, Theresa,” she muttered as she watched the woman quickly depart the pit box, heading towards the part of the stands that housed the luxury suites.
“Neither do I.”
EPISODE 279: The Moments (vs. Crystal Hilton, Mika Demidov & Tara Thunder)
Thurdsay January 29, 2015
1:43 PM Central Standard Time
Mercedes-Benz Superdome- Main Arena
New Orleans, Louisiana
Talk about being in the right place at the right time.
Well, there’s probably no good place and no good time to be forced to wrestle a fourteen foot swamp gator in front of a rioting pack of drunken Cajuns, but if the gator’s going to have a fatal heart attack (as the autopsy would show) in the ring, it’s definitely better if it has the heart attack while YOU’RE in the ring then, say, it’s next opponent. A dead gator don’t make your face grow back anymore, right?
But apparently he does get his own Memorial Show. R.I.P. Bubbles, you poor, unfortunate, one-off gag, you!
Anyways, Wendy spent Wednesday dealing with the aftermath of her first ever match to end in a fatality, mainly by parental locking Animal Planet from the RV’s television, and having a nice three-hour phone call with Dr. Jared Epstein, her therapist. She also burned her clothes, which had enough alcohol in them to fuel an IndyCar for a few good hot laps.
But now its Thursday, and that means show day. Velocity, from the Mercedes-Benz Superdome in New Orleans, Louisiana, which is where we fade in. Show prep is still going on, mainly on the FFW stage, while the ring itself has already been set up, and Wendy stands inside, alone, dressed in a pair of black pants along with a very brightly sequined purple and green shirt.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a match in this building…” she begins, looking around at the empty seats in the arena, an almost dreamlike expression on her face.
“If you ask me, FFW doesn’t come here nearly enough,” Wendy glances at the camera, almost as if she’s unable to believe the numbers herself. “Twice. In nearly five years of this company being open, we’ve been here twice. Can you believe it? Once in 2012, once last year, and neither show was here in the Superdome, instead the New Orleans Arena… or rather the Smoothie King Center as they call it, now.”
Wendy pauses as something hits her. “Holy cow…” she whispers, her eyes going wide. “You realize that means… unless I missed something… the hometown girl herself, Scarlett Kincaid… she’s never been here before? Somehow tonight- only tonight is going to be her first ever time wrestling in the Superdome? My God, and you thought this show couldn’t get any bigger?!”
Wendy chuckles, shaking her head in disbelief as she looks around the arena. “Wow….you know, I hate to sound like Crystal Hilton here, but tonight, in a sense, does feel like a homecoming for me. I used to know this building like the back of my hand. Almost all of the Bayou Wrestling Association’s major shows came from either here or the Cajundome, so… we were here a lot. And… it’s been a decade- exactly. A decade to the day since the last BWA show happened, and then the political struggles ate the company from within. Ten years since I’ve been here… and yet...”
Wendy shakes her head, both sadness and remembrance in her voice. She walks across the ring to a specific spot, and looks around, and shakes her head, laughing softly. “Do any of you remember Stars & Stripes? End of July in 2004… I defended my Louisiana State Championship against Erik Cross…” she pauses, shivering involuntarily. “That man made Todd Williams look like a saint. I… I can’t even talk about some of the things he tried to do in this ring… just… he should have been blackballed from this sport from the getgo.”
“But I remember here… Erik suddenly decided on a whim that he’d rather beat me to a bloody pulp than win the LA-State, and he took… I think it was a baseball bat to me, and the refs couldn’t pry him off and…” she swallowed hard. “That was awful… I just wanted to be anywhere else but here then. But got him off finally, and dragged him away… and then Malik Johnson’s music hit.”
“I knew I was double-booked that night going in, but somehow, they had managed to work it so that the finals of the #1 Contenders tournament came right after my first match. I knew there were people back there who were afraid of me winning, who were terrified of the thought of a GIRL becoming the BWA Heavyweight Champion, and got it set up. Heck, I’m almost certain one of them paid Erik Cross off to attack me in the first place. And Terrence was begging me to forfeit, telling me I was in no condition…”
Wendy looks at the camera, a hard expression on her face. “But as Malik strolled down, all I could think about was how a month earlier he and his buddies had ambushed me and Pollaski from behind with a SHOVEL, and dumped us in the trunk of a car and left us to ROT on the side of the road across the border in TEXAS just so we could be out of the way and force Terrence to face Malik without anyone stopping them from interfering. It didn’t matter what I’d taken before… it didn’t matter if was bleeding or broken or barely able to stand- I was *NOT* going to run away from Malik Johnson!”
“You could say that was the night the White Knight got born. That was the night I resolved that I was going to STOP being a victim, and fight back, and leave anyone who sought to bully and intimidate me SEVERELY wishing they hadn’t. And then I’d do whatever I could to make sure other good and decent people wouldn’t become victims as well!”
Wendy takes a couple deep breaths, and grins over at the camera, almost savagely. “I wasn’t afraid of Malik Johnson after that. But I guarantee you that when it was all over, and the bell rang, and the referee was raising MY hand… Malik Johnson was pretty darn scared of me.”
Wendy turns away from the camera and looks back out at the arena again, laughing sadly, and shaking her head. “Over ten years,” she sighs. “Too long. Way too long.”
Another sigh. “I’ve gotten good at marking the passage of time, though. Maybe it’s something that develops as you get older- the more the years that fly by, the better sense you have of them. But this week marks another anniversary, one far more immediate than the decade old death of an old regional company. One year ago… three hundred and sixty-nine days to be exact, my FFW Championship reign came to an end. I’ve wanted it back ever since then, but well, so far…” She holds her empty hands out helplessly.
“I’ve spent a lot of time waiting over the past year. I’ve gotten good at being patient. Heck, I’ve always been patient. After beating Malik, it took nearly four months for me to get a crack at the BWA Championship, and that company handed out title shots on about a monthly basis. At least in FFW, its easier.” She smiles slightly. “It’s easier because you KNOW that if they ask you to wait, it means they have something big in mind for you. Last year, when they told me in FEBRUARY that I was waiting til Unstoppable, I was excited. Being down for the main event of the biggest show of the year five months in advance? Of COURSE that’s something you wait for! And it was going to be so big… so awesome…” her voice trails off, and she shakes her head sadly.
“It didn’t happen,” she says, her voice almost a whisper. “I didn’t get to face… who I expected. And when the day came, and the moment happened, all that six months of waiting, all that expectations, that entire MOMENT… slipped through my fingers mainly because a ring rope slipped into Mika’s without the referee noticing. FFW gave me the moment, nominally the greatest moment of the year, and yes, it was hook and by crook, but it got away nonetheless.”
She pauses for a moment, her teeth gritted, before taking a deep breath in, then out, letting her frustration go. “So here I am again. Four months after beating Valerie Lamb to earn another title shot. If I make it to Chaos Theory, it’ll be five. If I don’t, it’ll be longer. But all that gets determined by ANOTHER contenders match, because there’s so many of us now that we need to work out a pecking order!” Wendy bursts out laughing, shaking her head in almost amused disbelief.
“Some more… pragmatic types might think that this wouldn’t be what you’d want. If you have a shot in your pocket… why would you EVER want to be the one to go first? It’s like opening up a gauntlet match- all winning does is put you in the crosshairs of everyone else as everyone takes their turn. Come in in at the end, with the herd thinning… it’s better and easier that way, right?”
Wendy shakes her head. “No, no… I don’t want easy. I want THIS. I want to be the first. I want come in, and grab that belt for myself, turn around, and see everyone coming straight at me. I want to run the gauntlet, and I KNOW that sounds odd when everyone KNOWS that my biggest shortcoming is in holding onto belts. My average reign in FFW is just sixty-three days… barely two months, and I’ve TWICE now tied Michelle Taylor’s record for shortest title reign.”
“That stinks too. When you look back on your own reigns, and you see your successors, great women like Serafina, and Tara, and Caroline and Eileen, rack up months upon months upon MONTHS of longevity, while the best you’ve managed is a couple weeks… you notice it. Trust me. But if I’m going to get past that stigma, I want to get past it the HARD way. The way that will make people respect it. By winning tonight. By winning at Chaos Theory. By taking out each individual challenger as they come at me one by one by one… THAT is how I want to get this monkey off my back.”
Wendy pauses, and looks up at the stage. “And we all know the other reason I want to win tonight. We all know the match I want at Chaos Theory. I wanted it at Unstoppable… it didn’t happen. I wanted it at Anarchy after I beat Val… and that had the kibosh put on it almost immediately. It’s there. February 28th. And maybe there’s no guarantee that it will be one on one, but I’m not taking any chances. I want the dream match.”
“Mika, you love to throw out little numbers and statistics, like you and Kyle were shrilly doing on stage to start Breaking Point last week. Well you know what? I can do that too.” She smiles,“You’ve beaten every ACTIVE Hall of Famer? I’ve beaten every Hall of Famer, period. Except one. Of the six other women orbiting around the FFW Championship at the moment- the five competing tonight at Velocity and the sixth yipping at the door begging to be let in… I’ve beaten ALL of them… except one. ”
“I said already that I’m not adverse to waiting for the right moment. Well, you know what? That moment’s at Chaos Theory. And this time… this time, I’m not going to let it pass me by.” Wendy chuckles, and walks over to the ropes, reaching down and picking up a small bag, she reaches in, and pulls out the Scarlett Kincaid Nendoroid, holding it up. “THIS is MY one. This is my dream match, yes. But this is also the final puzzle piece in so, SO many pictures I’m trying to create. This is the moment I’ve waited for patiently, but now the chance is here, the prize is on the line, and all that’s left for me to do is GRAB it!”
Wendy turns to set the Scarlett Nendoroid down in the middle of the ring, pausing just for a second, and looking back at the camera. “I’m still not sure whether these things are cute or creepy…”
“All I have to do tonight is win,” she continues, regaining her focus and setting the Scarlett Kincaid figurine down. “Win, and the moment I’ve dreamed about is here- the biggest match I believe this company will have ever seen. I know for a fact it’ll be the biggest match of my career. Maybe Val will be there too, maybe she won’t, I can’t control that. All I can control is my own match, and that when it’s all said and done… I’m the winner tonight.”
“Winning tonight… easier said than done,” Wendy admits, reaching back into her bag for another Nendoroid. “When it comes to these multi-way, eyes in the back of your head style matches, my record isn’t nearly as good as it is with the one on one’s. But I haven’t been in a ton of them either. There was that triple threat back at One Night Stand of course. The first No Surrender Championship… that Ladder Match Colleen walked out of, I guess that still counts. My first chance at the Evolution Title. Really not a ton in the grand scheme of things. “
“So there’s me,” Wendy continues, pulling out her own Nendoroid, and setting it on a turnbuckle. "Two-time Evolution Champion. Two-time No Surrender Champion. Former FFW Champion. Hall of Famer. 2014’s Most Loved Wrestler. Guaranteed contender for the FFW Championship.” Wendy turns away from the doll, back to the ring, and looks at the scope of what’s in front of her. “Me. Against the world tonight.”
“Heck, tonight is actually a moment in and of itself.” Wendy continues as she paces over to the next turnbuckle. “I’m not sure you can say there’s ever been a match like this in FFW before. Perhaps on Pay-Per-View, but never on a… heh… ‘normal’ show like tonight’s Velocity. The four top contenders for the FFW Championship all in one place, all in one match. How often does THAT happen? Heck, even if there wasn’t the idea of Chaos Theory looming over the horizon from this, this match is worth both winning and watching, just because of the sheer amount of TALENT in here.”
Wendy reaches into her bag, and pulls out another Nendoroid, setting it on the turnbuckle. “Mika Demidov, former FFW Champion and the 2014 Femme Fatale of the Year.” She’s already across the ring, reaching in the bag again for another doll. “Tara Thunder. 2012 Femme Fatale of the Year. Former Evolution Champion… Former No Surrender Champion… envy inducing longevity in both reigns.” And then the march over to the final turnbuckle with the last Nendoroid. “And Crystal Hilton. Two time Evolution Champion. Two time Trios Champion. Winner of the 2014 Femme For All.”
Wendy goes quiet for a second after placing the Crystal doll, and retreats back to her corner- well, the one with her own doll in it. She surveys the ring, looking from one corner to another, glancing down at the center of the ring, and then again to all the corners. “We all deserve to be here. All of us have accomplished much. All of us have navigated our way through a roster of nearly seventy women to stand here, just below the pinnacle of our sport, and now compete for the right to go for that pinnacle…”
“And I’ve faced all three of you multiple times now, whether in tag, singles, whatever. I’ve spent a lot of time in the ring facing all three of you. This is my fifth go around with Mika… I think my, wow, seventh with Tara? Crystal… I don’t even know. And I’ve tasted defeat at every single one of your hands. But I’ve also beaten all of you. In fact, when you add everything up at the end of the day… I hold a winning record over every single one of you.”
“Now, that just eats you up inside, doesn’t it Mika? The thought that a 'pathetic mediocrity' like myself is won more often than not against your superiority?”
Wendy chuckles as she walks back over towards Mika’s corner, looking over at the doll. “We all love to have bragging rights, of course, but Mika, God… you *LOVE* them, don’t you. Every time you open your mouth… ‘I’m the only one who did this!’ ‘I’m the only one who ever did that!’ ‘I’m a special little snowflake!’ Right Mika, you’re special…. Just like everybody else.”
“See, Mika, every single one of us could have stood on the stage and said the EXACT same thing… only with different statistics. I’m the only woman who’s beaten every Femme Fatale of the Year… in the same year the won it, no less. Tara’s the only woman who’s held a singles title for six-plus months on two seperate occasions. Crystal’s the only one of us who’s ever won a Femme For All. We could all play “I’m the only one” ALL the livelong day because we are ALL special little snowflakes!”
“Mika, honestly should join with Jodie and form their own little support group for inferiority complexes. The way you both take an accomplishment and just grind it in over and over and over again until its nothing left but dust. You cling to the things you’ve DONE, because you’re TERRIFIED that the future may have FAILURE in it. There might not be a second championship reign for you, Mika. There may not be another award coming at the end of the year- this or the next. What if you’ve hit your high point already and it’s all downhill from here? And so instead of using the past as an asset to invest in your future to springboard yourself to greater heights… you cling to it, like a trophy.”
“And now the new one is ‘the 1 in 7-1’ started ever since Pollaski dropped his year end rankings, mainly to help fuel a hissy fit you had about falling to number three behind me and Scar. It’s an adorable phrase… did you or Kyle think of it? And I love where the accent is too… ‘THE one’ Just another example of what a special snowflake Mika Demidov is!”
Wendy pauses, and adjusts the Mika Nendoroid on the turnbuckle- it had been slowly tilting over. “You know who else is… ‘THE one in 7-1?’ Neveah Summers- she was the only woman to beat Kelly last year. And Starla McCloud’s one-upped you all… she’s ‘THE one in 8-1’ with a win over Caroline Stark. But all of you pale in comparison to… God help us… Ignis. ‘THE one in 10-1!’ with her beating Lilly Sheffield.
“But the one thing you failed to realize while you were screaming that and- I assume- contacting Miles to print it on a T-shirt? I’m ‘three out of the four… in 5-4’ So’s Scarlett, come to think of it.” Wendy chuckles again, shaking her head in disbelief. “But… but… TWO OF THOSE WERE TAG MATCHES! And to that I say… so? If tag matches don’t matter… why do we even bother to wrestle them? And one of those STILL ended with me sticking you in a Banshee, and hanging on til you were foolish enough to allow yourself to slip into unconsciousness, giving me the win. And Ten Femme Chaos mattered to you at the time, considering the aftermath when you threw a tantrum about your team, including chucking Camilla Pazzini under the bus.”
Wendy pauses, something clearly having just entered her head, and she breaks into a small smile. “What was that you were telling me the other day how the mentally mediocre point, call names, look for excuses and blame it on the rest of the world?”
The White Knight snorts in derisive amusement. “And while we’re on the subject of mental strength here… where does running your mouth nonstop about how great you are and how inferior I am for DAYS leading up to Anarchy… only for you to completely disappear for a WEEK in the aftermath… and completely shut up about the whole thing? Does that fall in the mediocre department… or do we need to go lower on the adjective pole here?”
“But hey, I’m here talking about it, so it’s clear that upset me… so win for you, right?” Wendy laughs again in derision, and sighs. “Same old Mika… runs and runs and runs you mouth and never once pauses to think about what she says. You’re good at ‘trash talk’, I guess… and that’s exactly what it is, garbage. And while it may be fun to sift through it from time to time and hold up something really embarrassing to you, ultimately, everything you’ve said in pretty much the past year has been rendered meaningless time and again, because instead of being well thought out and honest… it’s just ‘whatever I can do to get under someone’s skin’.
Wendy leans forward to the camera, her voice lowering. “I don’t trash talk, Mika. When I cut a promo, I say exactly what I mean to say, I say what I honestly feel, I bare my heart and soul, and I stand by it no matter what. This way I don’t have to hide for a week after a loss until people forget what an idiot I made myself look.”
“And so I stand by this 100%: If I had a choice tonight… if all three of you were lying unconscious in the middle of the ring, and I had my choice of who to pin… it’s you. It’d be awfully poetic. You took my title shot in July… I gave it up, gave everything I had, and you RIPPED it from my hands with illicit actions, and made me start all over again. The fact that you’re PROUD of the way you did it says far more about you than it does about me. Tonight… as you took, I can make you give. I’d LOVE to make YOU the one to send me to Chaos Theory, to GIVE me the dream match that you not only interrupted, but spit upon and MOCKED in doing so.”
“But, of course, pragmatism takes precedence over poetic justice,” she continues with a slight grimace. “And the fact is, with the likes of Tara and Crystal in that ring tonight, I DON’T have a choice. If I want to win, I have to get that fall on whoever I can, whenever I can, and there’s no being choosy about it. I’m not an idiot- I know what Tara and Crystal are, and I know I’d have to be a flaming IDIOT to ignore them to focus on you.”
“And quite honestly, Mika… I’ve given you more than enough of my time as it already is…” she finishes, checking her watch and backing away from the Nendoroid doll across the ring to where the Tara one is sitting.
“Tara Thunder…” Wendy pauses for a second… and then sighs and shakes her head. “I hate losing. To anyone, Tara. I don’t think many people do enjoy it but I really, REALLY don’t like it. But when you beat me back in May at Relentless, there was such a bittersweet quality about it. Because while it stunk to lose- and hurt like HELL given the way you downed me… at the same time… what you said afterwards about how much it meant to you to finally get that win… well it honestly made me feel a little happy for you. And I really hoped that getting the monkey off your back would have made you less… maniacal.”
“Problem for you, Tara… is that I was never the final boss you thought I was. There really isn’t a final boss in wrestling- there’s ALWAYS another opponent, another goal, another mission to fulfill. It’s one of the reasons why it’s such a great sport- there’s no seasons, no ending. Just the next match, then the match after that. But there’s a downside.. you can never be fully fulfilled or satisfied, or else… well, what’s the purpose?”
“Maybe I’m wrong,” she mitigates with a small shrug. “But that almost seems to me what happened to you at Unstoppable against Val. The fire you had thrown at me… it didn’t seem to be there anymore. It did against Jo, but that was right smack dab in your hometown, and if you can’t get motivated in Amsterdam, then there’s a big problem. But again against Scarlett… where was that fire you had for me?”
“And now we’re the OLD Tara... the Tara no one wanted... the lashing out. The hair-trigger confrontations. And no, I can’t blame you for calling out Pollaski for ranking you thirteenth or for giving you a seventeen percent chance to win tonight. I don’t agree with that in the least, and it’s good that you took him to task for that. But Chris Strike can’t even wish me, a longtime friend of his, luck without you jumping down his throat? What’s next? You’re going to start ranting and raving and conspiracies again? Are we going to start hearing about ‘THEY’… whoever ‘THEY’ are holding you back again?”
“And now this whole Future Shock thing.” Wendy pauses and raises both hands, massaging her forehead and temples as if she already had a headache coming on. “I hate to say this, and I now this is probably going to come back to bite me in one way or another, but…” she hesitates for just a second. “You sounded a LOT like Mika Demidov.”
“I’m serious Tara,” she continues quickly, as if already sensing the outrage. “That whole coming up with a point just to antagonize people and running with it as far as you possibly could into the idiot zone… that was Mika-esque. On a MUCH more painful level. So’s taking some sort of victory out of the fact that you antagonized them… and hang on just a second. Since when the HELL did irritating someone become some sort of a victory around here? ‘Haha I got you upset!’ well, yeah, you insulted them in the cheapest, dumbest way imaginable… I can’t blame them for getting upset. Here’s my question… so what?”
“I mean, I can understand it a LITTLE if the whole idea was to enrage someone to throw them off their game, but come on. We ALL have better mental discipline than that, right? I’d like to think I can be mad at someone and still keep my head, and channel any anger into a productive match strategy instead of charging blindly like a barbarian, and I’d like to think that the rest of the girls on this roster are capable of that too. So what is the POINT?!”
Wendy takes several seconds to catch her breath, “Sorry… that just… you hear it from Mika and from Tara and from Mileena it’s getting to be just shut up. It doesn’t work. We’ve all proven it doesn’t work. So could we make the arguments a little more… intelligent?”
“Like… maybe not acting like I just wholesale endorsed an opinion of yours when the exact words I used were ‘a little right and a lot wrong.’ Come on, Tara. I can’t even believe we’ve gone this route.” Wendy shakes her head and just sidelong glances at the Tara doll almost as if saying ‘your bigger verson can’t be this ridiculous, right?’. “The fact of the matter is, Tara, whatever you may think about the competition, and I honestly do understand some of the reservations you might have… Future Shock is real, it’s here to stay, and it’s brought in some darn good wrestlers.”
“And if you’re going to be FFW Champion in 2015 or beyond, Tara Thunder… you better learn to accept that,” Wendy says, her voice growing louder and more stern. “Because they’re coming. And I won’t be surprised if at least one of them, I don’t know if it’ll be Jodie, or Caroline, or Lightning, or Casey, or Jo, or whomever… but I think at least one of them is going to swing themselves an FFW Championship shot this year. And if you’re on that throne deluding yourself into thinking they’re just dumb reality stars…” she takes a deep breath and exhales. “Hoo boy…”
“Either way, Tara, I expect to see that old fire in you back tonight. You’re the one with the most to lose here after all… the rest of us have guaranteed shots, whether we win or lose tonight, or whatever happens to us at Chaos Theory. You don’t have that safety net guarantee. So while we’re all fighting for the pecking order, you’re fighting for your LIFE here. And I know it means a LOT to you to stay up here, because it took you dang near TWO YEARS to convince yourself to take this step, and you cannot, absolutely CANNOT let that leap of faith end with a whimper. So do NOT give me the Tara I saw against Scarlett, or back against Val. I want the Tara that *I* faced. The one that got me with the Down and Dead so hard my scrunchie flew out of the ring!”
Wendy paces over to the final corner, where the Crystal doll is sitting. “And last but certainly not least… there’s Crystal. You know Crystal…” She pauses as she looks at the doll, shaking her head. “You know, Pollaski’s right. This DOES look like something out of Toddlers and Tiaras”
With a small push, Wendy knocks the doll off the turnbuckle, cringing as it tumbles to the floor. “Nobody read anything into that… I… I… I just can’t look at it, okay? Nothing against Crystal… It’s just… too bizarre. Now… oh, God, where was I?”
Wendy gives a deep sigh, and shakes her head, trying to regain her focus. “Right, sorry. Anyways, Crystal… Congrats on winning the Femme For All. You did a fantastic job winning that tournament, and your victory over Valentina in the finals was well fought and even more well-deserved. And like I said back when we faced in October- you’ve undergone a transformation for the better over the past couple years, and it’s shown, both in your ring work and in your relationships with the locker room. And it’s been slow, and it hasn’t been smooth, and it’s hardly been- sorry- perfect, but it’s progress, and you should be proud.”
“But Crystal,” Wendy pauses, as if making sure her opponent is paying attention. “As your sister-in-law might say... the difficulty turns up here. From Hard to Chaos... or whatever's beyond hard. The point is... this level... is far more difficult and unforgiving than anything you've yet encountered”
“I think you already found that out the hard way a couple weeks ago, when Mika beat you. That wasn’t right what happened, and obviously she did that little rope grab stunt to troll me, but it was you who got screwed in the end. And I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry that Mika holds you in so little regard that she used a match against you to try and send a message to me. ”
“But what are you going to do about it, Crystal?” Wendy asks, arching an eyebrow. “You’re responsible for your own revenge here. You avenge your own loss, just like I did back at Anarchy. YOU have to be the one to send the message that you’re not going to put up with her baloney. And maybe tonight isn’t the night to do it- maybe you have to wait for the next one on one… but up here Crystal, its up to YOU to make sure you don’t get bullied around.”
“And you know, the PERFECT time for you to prepare for all this was back in October, when we faced in Belfast. You’d already advanced to the Semifinals of the Femme For All- you knew point blank that this could be a reality. I knew it too… you had a good bracket laid out in front of you. And for the first time in YEARS, Crystal… I showed you respect. And that’s because for the first time in YEARS when we were facing… you DESERVED respect.”
“And I got… I don’t even know what I got in return,” Wendy sighs, disappointment evident in her voice. “Just you and Jenny, being discombobulated on camera. There was no fire there, no realization that was pretty much an AUDITION. You were flat and distracted in the ring, you blew a huge chance because you couldn’t focus, and that was very disappointing.”
“Well, now Crystal… you’re in the big girl division,” Wendy says matter-of-factly. “So it’s time for you to finally suck it in, and GROW THE HECK UP.”
“If that motivated you, Crystal… GOOD. Because you honestly know what? I believe, I TRULY believe that you belong up here, you make this top division a better place. And your shot’s going to come, and you’re going to get your chance to prove it to the world. But not tonight… not at my expense. You’re just not mentally mature enough.”
“So that’s it… the four of us.” Wendy says, turning and walking into the middle of the ring, chuckling at a random thought. “We’d make a good Valentine’s card with the color schemes. The WHITE knight… the RED Star… the PINK Thunder and the ROSE god-“ she pauses, having pointed to each turnbuckle in order, only to remember that Crystal got knocked off. “Just… imagine she’s still there.” She finishes quickly.
“And all of us fighting to get to SCARLETT Kincaid,” she adds in to the improvised theme, pointing to the doll at her feet. “But there’s not going to be any love tonight, no no. Tonight it’s going to be all about intensity, and aggression. And while I respect all of you for what you’ve done in the ring… all of you have more or less driven me nuts to varying degrees outside of it… and I’m sure I’m the same for you all. Just call that a hunch for some reason.” She gives a small smile.
"But tonight... it's not about our petty squabbles with each other," she declares with a small smile. "It's not about who ranked where in the Power-X, or predictions or percentage points. It's not about CGE or The Thunder family or whatever. It's about the MOMENT. And all of you know... I'm all about THE MOMENT."
“I had THE MOMENT here ten years ago, when I wrestled BACK-TO-BACK matches, beat a thug who had left me for DEAD on the side of the road, and won the exact same thing I’m going for tonight- the right to wrestle for the top belt in the company. I had THE MOMENT a year and a half ago, when I beat Val to claim the title for the first time. I had THE MOMENT at One Night Stand last year and Unstoppable later… and both of those went through my fingers, you'll never get them all... but you have to get as many as you can. And tonight… in FFW’s FIRST EVER time in the SUPERDOME… I have THE MOMENT again. WE ARE the top four contenders to the FFW Championship, and to beat the rest of you on the same night… that’s big…”
Wendy grabs her own Nedoroid doll, and sets it down in the middle of the ring, facing Scarlett Kincaid, and backs away.
“But it still won’t be as big as what’s going to come when I claim it.”
And the scene fades on the Scarlett and Wendy dolls continuing to stare at each other.
1:43 PM Central Standard Time
Mercedes-Benz Superdome- Main Arena
New Orleans, Louisiana
Talk about being in the right place at the right time.
Well, there’s probably no good place and no good time to be forced to wrestle a fourteen foot swamp gator in front of a rioting pack of drunken Cajuns, but if the gator’s going to have a fatal heart attack (as the autopsy would show) in the ring, it’s definitely better if it has the heart attack while YOU’RE in the ring then, say, it’s next opponent. A dead gator don’t make your face grow back anymore, right?
But apparently he does get his own Memorial Show. R.I.P. Bubbles, you poor, unfortunate, one-off gag, you!
Anyways, Wendy spent Wednesday dealing with the aftermath of her first ever match to end in a fatality, mainly by parental locking Animal Planet from the RV’s television, and having a nice three-hour phone call with Dr. Jared Epstein, her therapist. She also burned her clothes, which had enough alcohol in them to fuel an IndyCar for a few good hot laps.
But now its Thursday, and that means show day. Velocity, from the Mercedes-Benz Superdome in New Orleans, Louisiana, which is where we fade in. Show prep is still going on, mainly on the FFW stage, while the ring itself has already been set up, and Wendy stands inside, alone, dressed in a pair of black pants along with a very brightly sequined purple and green shirt.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a match in this building…” she begins, looking around at the empty seats in the arena, an almost dreamlike expression on her face.
“If you ask me, FFW doesn’t come here nearly enough,” Wendy glances at the camera, almost as if she’s unable to believe the numbers herself. “Twice. In nearly five years of this company being open, we’ve been here twice. Can you believe it? Once in 2012, once last year, and neither show was here in the Superdome, instead the New Orleans Arena… or rather the Smoothie King Center as they call it, now.”
Wendy pauses as something hits her. “Holy cow…” she whispers, her eyes going wide. “You realize that means… unless I missed something… the hometown girl herself, Scarlett Kincaid… she’s never been here before? Somehow tonight- only tonight is going to be her first ever time wrestling in the Superdome? My God, and you thought this show couldn’t get any bigger?!”
Wendy chuckles, shaking her head in disbelief as she looks around the arena. “Wow….you know, I hate to sound like Crystal Hilton here, but tonight, in a sense, does feel like a homecoming for me. I used to know this building like the back of my hand. Almost all of the Bayou Wrestling Association’s major shows came from either here or the Cajundome, so… we were here a lot. And… it’s been a decade- exactly. A decade to the day since the last BWA show happened, and then the political struggles ate the company from within. Ten years since I’ve been here… and yet...”
Wendy shakes her head, both sadness and remembrance in her voice. She walks across the ring to a specific spot, and looks around, and shakes her head, laughing softly. “Do any of you remember Stars & Stripes? End of July in 2004… I defended my Louisiana State Championship against Erik Cross…” she pauses, shivering involuntarily. “That man made Todd Williams look like a saint. I… I can’t even talk about some of the things he tried to do in this ring… just… he should have been blackballed from this sport from the getgo.”
“But I remember here… Erik suddenly decided on a whim that he’d rather beat me to a bloody pulp than win the LA-State, and he took… I think it was a baseball bat to me, and the refs couldn’t pry him off and…” she swallowed hard. “That was awful… I just wanted to be anywhere else but here then. But got him off finally, and dragged him away… and then Malik Johnson’s music hit.”
“I knew I was double-booked that night going in, but somehow, they had managed to work it so that the finals of the #1 Contenders tournament came right after my first match. I knew there were people back there who were afraid of me winning, who were terrified of the thought of a GIRL becoming the BWA Heavyweight Champion, and got it set up. Heck, I’m almost certain one of them paid Erik Cross off to attack me in the first place. And Terrence was begging me to forfeit, telling me I was in no condition…”
Wendy looks at the camera, a hard expression on her face. “But as Malik strolled down, all I could think about was how a month earlier he and his buddies had ambushed me and Pollaski from behind with a SHOVEL, and dumped us in the trunk of a car and left us to ROT on the side of the road across the border in TEXAS just so we could be out of the way and force Terrence to face Malik without anyone stopping them from interfering. It didn’t matter what I’d taken before… it didn’t matter if was bleeding or broken or barely able to stand- I was *NOT* going to run away from Malik Johnson!”
“You could say that was the night the White Knight got born. That was the night I resolved that I was going to STOP being a victim, and fight back, and leave anyone who sought to bully and intimidate me SEVERELY wishing they hadn’t. And then I’d do whatever I could to make sure other good and decent people wouldn’t become victims as well!”
Wendy takes a couple deep breaths, and grins over at the camera, almost savagely. “I wasn’t afraid of Malik Johnson after that. But I guarantee you that when it was all over, and the bell rang, and the referee was raising MY hand… Malik Johnson was pretty darn scared of me.”
Wendy turns away from the camera and looks back out at the arena again, laughing sadly, and shaking her head. “Over ten years,” she sighs. “Too long. Way too long.”
Another sigh. “I’ve gotten good at marking the passage of time, though. Maybe it’s something that develops as you get older- the more the years that fly by, the better sense you have of them. But this week marks another anniversary, one far more immediate than the decade old death of an old regional company. One year ago… three hundred and sixty-nine days to be exact, my FFW Championship reign came to an end. I’ve wanted it back ever since then, but well, so far…” She holds her empty hands out helplessly.
“I’ve spent a lot of time waiting over the past year. I’ve gotten good at being patient. Heck, I’ve always been patient. After beating Malik, it took nearly four months for me to get a crack at the BWA Championship, and that company handed out title shots on about a monthly basis. At least in FFW, its easier.” She smiles slightly. “It’s easier because you KNOW that if they ask you to wait, it means they have something big in mind for you. Last year, when they told me in FEBRUARY that I was waiting til Unstoppable, I was excited. Being down for the main event of the biggest show of the year five months in advance? Of COURSE that’s something you wait for! And it was going to be so big… so awesome…” her voice trails off, and she shakes her head sadly.
“It didn’t happen,” she says, her voice almost a whisper. “I didn’t get to face… who I expected. And when the day came, and the moment happened, all that six months of waiting, all that expectations, that entire MOMENT… slipped through my fingers mainly because a ring rope slipped into Mika’s without the referee noticing. FFW gave me the moment, nominally the greatest moment of the year, and yes, it was hook and by crook, but it got away nonetheless.”
She pauses for a moment, her teeth gritted, before taking a deep breath in, then out, letting her frustration go. “So here I am again. Four months after beating Valerie Lamb to earn another title shot. If I make it to Chaos Theory, it’ll be five. If I don’t, it’ll be longer. But all that gets determined by ANOTHER contenders match, because there’s so many of us now that we need to work out a pecking order!” Wendy bursts out laughing, shaking her head in almost amused disbelief.
“Some more… pragmatic types might think that this wouldn’t be what you’d want. If you have a shot in your pocket… why would you EVER want to be the one to go first? It’s like opening up a gauntlet match- all winning does is put you in the crosshairs of everyone else as everyone takes their turn. Come in in at the end, with the herd thinning… it’s better and easier that way, right?”
Wendy shakes her head. “No, no… I don’t want easy. I want THIS. I want to be the first. I want come in, and grab that belt for myself, turn around, and see everyone coming straight at me. I want to run the gauntlet, and I KNOW that sounds odd when everyone KNOWS that my biggest shortcoming is in holding onto belts. My average reign in FFW is just sixty-three days… barely two months, and I’ve TWICE now tied Michelle Taylor’s record for shortest title reign.”
“That stinks too. When you look back on your own reigns, and you see your successors, great women like Serafina, and Tara, and Caroline and Eileen, rack up months upon months upon MONTHS of longevity, while the best you’ve managed is a couple weeks… you notice it. Trust me. But if I’m going to get past that stigma, I want to get past it the HARD way. The way that will make people respect it. By winning tonight. By winning at Chaos Theory. By taking out each individual challenger as they come at me one by one by one… THAT is how I want to get this monkey off my back.”
Wendy pauses, and looks up at the stage. “And we all know the other reason I want to win tonight. We all know the match I want at Chaos Theory. I wanted it at Unstoppable… it didn’t happen. I wanted it at Anarchy after I beat Val… and that had the kibosh put on it almost immediately. It’s there. February 28th. And maybe there’s no guarantee that it will be one on one, but I’m not taking any chances. I want the dream match.”
“Mika, you love to throw out little numbers and statistics, like you and Kyle were shrilly doing on stage to start Breaking Point last week. Well you know what? I can do that too.” She smiles,“You’ve beaten every ACTIVE Hall of Famer? I’ve beaten every Hall of Famer, period. Except one. Of the six other women orbiting around the FFW Championship at the moment- the five competing tonight at Velocity and the sixth yipping at the door begging to be let in… I’ve beaten ALL of them… except one. ”
“I said already that I’m not adverse to waiting for the right moment. Well, you know what? That moment’s at Chaos Theory. And this time… this time, I’m not going to let it pass me by.” Wendy chuckles, and walks over to the ropes, reaching down and picking up a small bag, she reaches in, and pulls out the Scarlett Kincaid Nendoroid, holding it up. “THIS is MY one. This is my dream match, yes. But this is also the final puzzle piece in so, SO many pictures I’m trying to create. This is the moment I’ve waited for patiently, but now the chance is here, the prize is on the line, and all that’s left for me to do is GRAB it!”
Wendy turns to set the Scarlett Nendoroid down in the middle of the ring, pausing just for a second, and looking back at the camera. “I’m still not sure whether these things are cute or creepy…”
“All I have to do tonight is win,” she continues, regaining her focus and setting the Scarlett Kincaid figurine down. “Win, and the moment I’ve dreamed about is here- the biggest match I believe this company will have ever seen. I know for a fact it’ll be the biggest match of my career. Maybe Val will be there too, maybe she won’t, I can’t control that. All I can control is my own match, and that when it’s all said and done… I’m the winner tonight.”
“Winning tonight… easier said than done,” Wendy admits, reaching back into her bag for another Nendoroid. “When it comes to these multi-way, eyes in the back of your head style matches, my record isn’t nearly as good as it is with the one on one’s. But I haven’t been in a ton of them either. There was that triple threat back at One Night Stand of course. The first No Surrender Championship… that Ladder Match Colleen walked out of, I guess that still counts. My first chance at the Evolution Title. Really not a ton in the grand scheme of things. “
“So there’s me,” Wendy continues, pulling out her own Nendoroid, and setting it on a turnbuckle. "Two-time Evolution Champion. Two-time No Surrender Champion. Former FFW Champion. Hall of Famer. 2014’s Most Loved Wrestler. Guaranteed contender for the FFW Championship.” Wendy turns away from the doll, back to the ring, and looks at the scope of what’s in front of her. “Me. Against the world tonight.”
“Heck, tonight is actually a moment in and of itself.” Wendy continues as she paces over to the next turnbuckle. “I’m not sure you can say there’s ever been a match like this in FFW before. Perhaps on Pay-Per-View, but never on a… heh… ‘normal’ show like tonight’s Velocity. The four top contenders for the FFW Championship all in one place, all in one match. How often does THAT happen? Heck, even if there wasn’t the idea of Chaos Theory looming over the horizon from this, this match is worth both winning and watching, just because of the sheer amount of TALENT in here.”
Wendy reaches into her bag, and pulls out another Nendoroid, setting it on the turnbuckle. “Mika Demidov, former FFW Champion and the 2014 Femme Fatale of the Year.” She’s already across the ring, reaching in the bag again for another doll. “Tara Thunder. 2012 Femme Fatale of the Year. Former Evolution Champion… Former No Surrender Champion… envy inducing longevity in both reigns.” And then the march over to the final turnbuckle with the last Nendoroid. “And Crystal Hilton. Two time Evolution Champion. Two time Trios Champion. Winner of the 2014 Femme For All.”
Wendy goes quiet for a second after placing the Crystal doll, and retreats back to her corner- well, the one with her own doll in it. She surveys the ring, looking from one corner to another, glancing down at the center of the ring, and then again to all the corners. “We all deserve to be here. All of us have accomplished much. All of us have navigated our way through a roster of nearly seventy women to stand here, just below the pinnacle of our sport, and now compete for the right to go for that pinnacle…”
“And I’ve faced all three of you multiple times now, whether in tag, singles, whatever. I’ve spent a lot of time in the ring facing all three of you. This is my fifth go around with Mika… I think my, wow, seventh with Tara? Crystal… I don’t even know. And I’ve tasted defeat at every single one of your hands. But I’ve also beaten all of you. In fact, when you add everything up at the end of the day… I hold a winning record over every single one of you.”
“Now, that just eats you up inside, doesn’t it Mika? The thought that a 'pathetic mediocrity' like myself is won more often than not against your superiority?”
Wendy chuckles as she walks back over towards Mika’s corner, looking over at the doll. “We all love to have bragging rights, of course, but Mika, God… you *LOVE* them, don’t you. Every time you open your mouth… ‘I’m the only one who did this!’ ‘I’m the only one who ever did that!’ ‘I’m a special little snowflake!’ Right Mika, you’re special…. Just like everybody else.”
“See, Mika, every single one of us could have stood on the stage and said the EXACT same thing… only with different statistics. I’m the only woman who’s beaten every Femme Fatale of the Year… in the same year the won it, no less. Tara’s the only woman who’s held a singles title for six-plus months on two seperate occasions. Crystal’s the only one of us who’s ever won a Femme For All. We could all play “I’m the only one” ALL the livelong day because we are ALL special little snowflakes!”
“Mika, honestly should join with Jodie and form their own little support group for inferiority complexes. The way you both take an accomplishment and just grind it in over and over and over again until its nothing left but dust. You cling to the things you’ve DONE, because you’re TERRIFIED that the future may have FAILURE in it. There might not be a second championship reign for you, Mika. There may not be another award coming at the end of the year- this or the next. What if you’ve hit your high point already and it’s all downhill from here? And so instead of using the past as an asset to invest in your future to springboard yourself to greater heights… you cling to it, like a trophy.”
“And now the new one is ‘the 1 in 7-1’ started ever since Pollaski dropped his year end rankings, mainly to help fuel a hissy fit you had about falling to number three behind me and Scar. It’s an adorable phrase… did you or Kyle think of it? And I love where the accent is too… ‘THE one’ Just another example of what a special snowflake Mika Demidov is!”
Wendy pauses, and adjusts the Mika Nendoroid on the turnbuckle- it had been slowly tilting over. “You know who else is… ‘THE one in 7-1?’ Neveah Summers- she was the only woman to beat Kelly last year. And Starla McCloud’s one-upped you all… she’s ‘THE one in 8-1’ with a win over Caroline Stark. But all of you pale in comparison to… God help us… Ignis. ‘THE one in 10-1!’ with her beating Lilly Sheffield.
“But the one thing you failed to realize while you were screaming that and- I assume- contacting Miles to print it on a T-shirt? I’m ‘three out of the four… in 5-4’ So’s Scarlett, come to think of it.” Wendy chuckles again, shaking her head in disbelief. “But… but… TWO OF THOSE WERE TAG MATCHES! And to that I say… so? If tag matches don’t matter… why do we even bother to wrestle them? And one of those STILL ended with me sticking you in a Banshee, and hanging on til you were foolish enough to allow yourself to slip into unconsciousness, giving me the win. And Ten Femme Chaos mattered to you at the time, considering the aftermath when you threw a tantrum about your team, including chucking Camilla Pazzini under the bus.”
Wendy pauses, something clearly having just entered her head, and she breaks into a small smile. “What was that you were telling me the other day how the mentally mediocre point, call names, look for excuses and blame it on the rest of the world?”
The White Knight snorts in derisive amusement. “And while we’re on the subject of mental strength here… where does running your mouth nonstop about how great you are and how inferior I am for DAYS leading up to Anarchy… only for you to completely disappear for a WEEK in the aftermath… and completely shut up about the whole thing? Does that fall in the mediocre department… or do we need to go lower on the adjective pole here?”
“But hey, I’m here talking about it, so it’s clear that upset me… so win for you, right?” Wendy laughs again in derision, and sighs. “Same old Mika… runs and runs and runs you mouth and never once pauses to think about what she says. You’re good at ‘trash talk’, I guess… and that’s exactly what it is, garbage. And while it may be fun to sift through it from time to time and hold up something really embarrassing to you, ultimately, everything you’ve said in pretty much the past year has been rendered meaningless time and again, because instead of being well thought out and honest… it’s just ‘whatever I can do to get under someone’s skin’.
Wendy leans forward to the camera, her voice lowering. “I don’t trash talk, Mika. When I cut a promo, I say exactly what I mean to say, I say what I honestly feel, I bare my heart and soul, and I stand by it no matter what. This way I don’t have to hide for a week after a loss until people forget what an idiot I made myself look.”
“And so I stand by this 100%: If I had a choice tonight… if all three of you were lying unconscious in the middle of the ring, and I had my choice of who to pin… it’s you. It’d be awfully poetic. You took my title shot in July… I gave it up, gave everything I had, and you RIPPED it from my hands with illicit actions, and made me start all over again. The fact that you’re PROUD of the way you did it says far more about you than it does about me. Tonight… as you took, I can make you give. I’d LOVE to make YOU the one to send me to Chaos Theory, to GIVE me the dream match that you not only interrupted, but spit upon and MOCKED in doing so.”
“But, of course, pragmatism takes precedence over poetic justice,” she continues with a slight grimace. “And the fact is, with the likes of Tara and Crystal in that ring tonight, I DON’T have a choice. If I want to win, I have to get that fall on whoever I can, whenever I can, and there’s no being choosy about it. I’m not an idiot- I know what Tara and Crystal are, and I know I’d have to be a flaming IDIOT to ignore them to focus on you.”
“And quite honestly, Mika… I’ve given you more than enough of my time as it already is…” she finishes, checking her watch and backing away from the Nendoroid doll across the ring to where the Tara one is sitting.
“Tara Thunder…” Wendy pauses for a second… and then sighs and shakes her head. “I hate losing. To anyone, Tara. I don’t think many people do enjoy it but I really, REALLY don’t like it. But when you beat me back in May at Relentless, there was such a bittersweet quality about it. Because while it stunk to lose- and hurt like HELL given the way you downed me… at the same time… what you said afterwards about how much it meant to you to finally get that win… well it honestly made me feel a little happy for you. And I really hoped that getting the monkey off your back would have made you less… maniacal.”
“Problem for you, Tara… is that I was never the final boss you thought I was. There really isn’t a final boss in wrestling- there’s ALWAYS another opponent, another goal, another mission to fulfill. It’s one of the reasons why it’s such a great sport- there’s no seasons, no ending. Just the next match, then the match after that. But there’s a downside.. you can never be fully fulfilled or satisfied, or else… well, what’s the purpose?”
“Maybe I’m wrong,” she mitigates with a small shrug. “But that almost seems to me what happened to you at Unstoppable against Val. The fire you had thrown at me… it didn’t seem to be there anymore. It did against Jo, but that was right smack dab in your hometown, and if you can’t get motivated in Amsterdam, then there’s a big problem. But again against Scarlett… where was that fire you had for me?”
“And now we’re the OLD Tara... the Tara no one wanted... the lashing out. The hair-trigger confrontations. And no, I can’t blame you for calling out Pollaski for ranking you thirteenth or for giving you a seventeen percent chance to win tonight. I don’t agree with that in the least, and it’s good that you took him to task for that. But Chris Strike can’t even wish me, a longtime friend of his, luck without you jumping down his throat? What’s next? You’re going to start ranting and raving and conspiracies again? Are we going to start hearing about ‘THEY’… whoever ‘THEY’ are holding you back again?”
“And now this whole Future Shock thing.” Wendy pauses and raises both hands, massaging her forehead and temples as if she already had a headache coming on. “I hate to say this, and I now this is probably going to come back to bite me in one way or another, but…” she hesitates for just a second. “You sounded a LOT like Mika Demidov.”
“I’m serious Tara,” she continues quickly, as if already sensing the outrage. “That whole coming up with a point just to antagonize people and running with it as far as you possibly could into the idiot zone… that was Mika-esque. On a MUCH more painful level. So’s taking some sort of victory out of the fact that you antagonized them… and hang on just a second. Since when the HELL did irritating someone become some sort of a victory around here? ‘Haha I got you upset!’ well, yeah, you insulted them in the cheapest, dumbest way imaginable… I can’t blame them for getting upset. Here’s my question… so what?”
“I mean, I can understand it a LITTLE if the whole idea was to enrage someone to throw them off their game, but come on. We ALL have better mental discipline than that, right? I’d like to think I can be mad at someone and still keep my head, and channel any anger into a productive match strategy instead of charging blindly like a barbarian, and I’d like to think that the rest of the girls on this roster are capable of that too. So what is the POINT?!”
Wendy takes several seconds to catch her breath, “Sorry… that just… you hear it from Mika and from Tara and from Mileena it’s getting to be just shut up. It doesn’t work. We’ve all proven it doesn’t work. So could we make the arguments a little more… intelligent?”
“Like… maybe not acting like I just wholesale endorsed an opinion of yours when the exact words I used were ‘a little right and a lot wrong.’ Come on, Tara. I can’t even believe we’ve gone this route.” Wendy shakes her head and just sidelong glances at the Tara doll almost as if saying ‘your bigger verson can’t be this ridiculous, right?’. “The fact of the matter is, Tara, whatever you may think about the competition, and I honestly do understand some of the reservations you might have… Future Shock is real, it’s here to stay, and it’s brought in some darn good wrestlers.”
“And if you’re going to be FFW Champion in 2015 or beyond, Tara Thunder… you better learn to accept that,” Wendy says, her voice growing louder and more stern. “Because they’re coming. And I won’t be surprised if at least one of them, I don’t know if it’ll be Jodie, or Caroline, or Lightning, or Casey, or Jo, or whomever… but I think at least one of them is going to swing themselves an FFW Championship shot this year. And if you’re on that throne deluding yourself into thinking they’re just dumb reality stars…” she takes a deep breath and exhales. “Hoo boy…”
“Either way, Tara, I expect to see that old fire in you back tonight. You’re the one with the most to lose here after all… the rest of us have guaranteed shots, whether we win or lose tonight, or whatever happens to us at Chaos Theory. You don’t have that safety net guarantee. So while we’re all fighting for the pecking order, you’re fighting for your LIFE here. And I know it means a LOT to you to stay up here, because it took you dang near TWO YEARS to convince yourself to take this step, and you cannot, absolutely CANNOT let that leap of faith end with a whimper. So do NOT give me the Tara I saw against Scarlett, or back against Val. I want the Tara that *I* faced. The one that got me with the Down and Dead so hard my scrunchie flew out of the ring!”
Wendy paces over to the final corner, where the Crystal doll is sitting. “And last but certainly not least… there’s Crystal. You know Crystal…” She pauses as she looks at the doll, shaking her head. “You know, Pollaski’s right. This DOES look like something out of Toddlers and Tiaras”
With a small push, Wendy knocks the doll off the turnbuckle, cringing as it tumbles to the floor. “Nobody read anything into that… I… I… I just can’t look at it, okay? Nothing against Crystal… It’s just… too bizarre. Now… oh, God, where was I?”
Wendy gives a deep sigh, and shakes her head, trying to regain her focus. “Right, sorry. Anyways, Crystal… Congrats on winning the Femme For All. You did a fantastic job winning that tournament, and your victory over Valentina in the finals was well fought and even more well-deserved. And like I said back when we faced in October- you’ve undergone a transformation for the better over the past couple years, and it’s shown, both in your ring work and in your relationships with the locker room. And it’s been slow, and it hasn’t been smooth, and it’s hardly been- sorry- perfect, but it’s progress, and you should be proud.”
“But Crystal,” Wendy pauses, as if making sure her opponent is paying attention. “As your sister-in-law might say... the difficulty turns up here. From Hard to Chaos... or whatever's beyond hard. The point is... this level... is far more difficult and unforgiving than anything you've yet encountered”
“I think you already found that out the hard way a couple weeks ago, when Mika beat you. That wasn’t right what happened, and obviously she did that little rope grab stunt to troll me, but it was you who got screwed in the end. And I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry that Mika holds you in so little regard that she used a match against you to try and send a message to me. ”
“But what are you going to do about it, Crystal?” Wendy asks, arching an eyebrow. “You’re responsible for your own revenge here. You avenge your own loss, just like I did back at Anarchy. YOU have to be the one to send the message that you’re not going to put up with her baloney. And maybe tonight isn’t the night to do it- maybe you have to wait for the next one on one… but up here Crystal, its up to YOU to make sure you don’t get bullied around.”
“And you know, the PERFECT time for you to prepare for all this was back in October, when we faced in Belfast. You’d already advanced to the Semifinals of the Femme For All- you knew point blank that this could be a reality. I knew it too… you had a good bracket laid out in front of you. And for the first time in YEARS, Crystal… I showed you respect. And that’s because for the first time in YEARS when we were facing… you DESERVED respect.”
“And I got… I don’t even know what I got in return,” Wendy sighs, disappointment evident in her voice. “Just you and Jenny, being discombobulated on camera. There was no fire there, no realization that was pretty much an AUDITION. You were flat and distracted in the ring, you blew a huge chance because you couldn’t focus, and that was very disappointing.”
“Well, now Crystal… you’re in the big girl division,” Wendy says matter-of-factly. “So it’s time for you to finally suck it in, and GROW THE HECK UP.”
“If that motivated you, Crystal… GOOD. Because you honestly know what? I believe, I TRULY believe that you belong up here, you make this top division a better place. And your shot’s going to come, and you’re going to get your chance to prove it to the world. But not tonight… not at my expense. You’re just not mentally mature enough.”
“So that’s it… the four of us.” Wendy says, turning and walking into the middle of the ring, chuckling at a random thought. “We’d make a good Valentine’s card with the color schemes. The WHITE knight… the RED Star… the PINK Thunder and the ROSE god-“ she pauses, having pointed to each turnbuckle in order, only to remember that Crystal got knocked off. “Just… imagine she’s still there.” She finishes quickly.
“And all of us fighting to get to SCARLETT Kincaid,” she adds in to the improvised theme, pointing to the doll at her feet. “But there’s not going to be any love tonight, no no. Tonight it’s going to be all about intensity, and aggression. And while I respect all of you for what you’ve done in the ring… all of you have more or less driven me nuts to varying degrees outside of it… and I’m sure I’m the same for you all. Just call that a hunch for some reason.” She gives a small smile.
"But tonight... it's not about our petty squabbles with each other," she declares with a small smile. "It's not about who ranked where in the Power-X, or predictions or percentage points. It's not about CGE or The Thunder family or whatever. It's about the MOMENT. And all of you know... I'm all about THE MOMENT."
“I had THE MOMENT here ten years ago, when I wrestled BACK-TO-BACK matches, beat a thug who had left me for DEAD on the side of the road, and won the exact same thing I’m going for tonight- the right to wrestle for the top belt in the company. I had THE MOMENT a year and a half ago, when I beat Val to claim the title for the first time. I had THE MOMENT at One Night Stand last year and Unstoppable later… and both of those went through my fingers, you'll never get them all... but you have to get as many as you can. And tonight… in FFW’s FIRST EVER time in the SUPERDOME… I have THE MOMENT again. WE ARE the top four contenders to the FFW Championship, and to beat the rest of you on the same night… that’s big…”
Wendy grabs her own Nedoroid doll, and sets it down in the middle of the ring, facing Scarlett Kincaid, and backs away.
“But it still won’t be as big as what’s going to come when I claim it.”
And the scene fades on the Scarlett and Wendy dolls continuing to stare at each other.
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