Post by RedLetters on Mar 22, 2020 22:24:08 GMT -5
𝕴𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖒𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋, 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖓𝖊𝖊𝖉 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖚𝖑𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖆 𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖘.
March 22nd, 2020,
Hershey, Pennsylvania
Intensity. Intensity is the word that comes to mind at the sight of one-half of Red Wedding, Red Riot, one week after her tag team’s ability to shatter expectations in the tournament for the tag belts came to a close, as their creativity, speed, resilience, and endless carnage came to an end because both of her opponents were. . . big. Gyms, like any non-essential facility across the Smoky Mountains, are already beginning to close and shut down, but that doesn’t really impact Red Riot’s ability to work herself into a sweat-dressed mess in the middle of her perfectionist manic state after her hike into the mountains. Red, currently dressed in a black tank-top and compression shorts clinging to her chest and legs due to perspiration, makes another rush. Starting from a neutral position, she leaps from the ground, up to a training dummy head positioned what she eyeballs as seven feet tall on top of whatever large rocks she could find. Her kick just barely whiffs, and leaves rocks, dirt, and dust scattering everywhere. Similarly, with both fists clenched, and her hands tugging on her hair, her scream fills the forest, on the way to landing on her ass. She mouths something about ‘I’m not missing next time’, before taking a quick breather and looking at the camera, initially set up for her to study her form, recognize how even hiking into the wilderness without a break, she can manage to bash skulls seven feet high. After drawing a line through the four tallies already collected of kicks on the ground totaling seventy, she grabs her phone off of the ground and hits pause.
“Everybody,” Red pauses to breathe, slams both fists slam down onto the ground, then kicks up to her feet, “Everybody, here says that they’re born to do this, but I went from bashing bullies to kicking bitches’ teeth in on the rugby field to walking into a classroom and absolutely destroying someone’s entire research career. I’m a Riot - when chaos and war are everywhere, we’re thriving.” Covered in dirt and minor bruises from training sunup to sundown, the ‘be kind’ filter is down, and all that’s left are the staccato of her ragged breathing, the pounding of her bloodied knuckles on the nearest tree, and the damn-near feral stare in Red’s eyes.
“People confuse my message - I didn’t pair up with Kane on purpose, but being on an all woman tag team wasn’t gonna stop either of us from busting heads open. I wasn’t trying to shove Emma Stone’s feminism down your throat every week - I’m saying being a woman won’t stop me from busting your teeth down your throat. People thinking I’m waving the girl code flag left and right for women's harmony, I apologize,” taunts Red, with a coy, cheshire smile, and her shoulders held high. “I’m going to murder Latoya Hixx.” Ending that sentence isn’t satisfying enough - simple declarations aren’t indicative of the fire rising in her lungs the second every time she envisions her championship legacy and last name stepping into the ring with this ‘competitor’, so after a few steps forward and time to catch her breath, she roars the words she’s etching into every fan’s memory on Monday with Red Letters:
“I’m going to MURDER Latoya Hixx.”
“Surprise, the girl that took her date to prom on a tractor in a tiny ass, rinkydink school isn’t trying to virtue signal! She’s not all daisies, social justice, and #Imwithher! Hixx’s the same sex as me and got steamrolled by the tag team that escaped me - that won’t stop me from climbing onto her shoulders and dropping her neck. Those comparisons are where we draw the line. I’m not about singing kumbaya with people I think aren’t cut out for this line of work, and I’ve never been keen to put kid gloves on just because of opponent’s as capable as a child. No matter the arena, I’ve always acted like everyone across the ring from me as competent enough to treat as a threat - even those ‘big fish’ that only seem to dominant in small lakes filled with wrestling feds with the same ten core people that we both got knocked out of the tag tourney by,” the sweat beading down her forehead and into the wet, damp soil beneath her isn’t working fast enough to dump out the salt, “-I’m pissed that I lost, but it ain’t gonna’ stop me from learning to get better. Putting my foot in their chests wasn’t enough - so next time, I’ll see if the kneecap does the trick. If all they’ve got to their advantage is that they’re tall, I'll learn to take my skullbashing HIGHER.” Red muses out loud, as she begins climbing up those piled rocks, so she can try piling them as high as she can again, before settling that dummy’s head at the very top. “Sorry, if you can’t tell, I’m a BIT irate about two guys cutting the same promo for ten years getting past me - which is why I’m FURIOUS that they got past me. I’m a RIOT for christ’s sake, every time I step into the ring it’s a religious event. I tear apart my matches and try to improve myself when I win for crying out loud - I’m sharpening every elbow, punch, kick, and knee strike I’ve got in my skillset after a loss.”
“So watching someone putting on disappointing performances even when the stars line up, every angel is in their outfield, and they escape the ring with a win somehow is mind boggling. I know exactly who I am, which is why I invest so much time making sure every fan in an arena knows who just exploded their mind. It sounds a lil something like-”, after a few seconds of scrolling through the recorded clips on her phone, she steps on Red Wedding vs. 5A, and specifically, the chants after she brained Andre. ‘REEEEEEEEEEEEED RIOT, ‘REEEEEEEEEEEEED RIOT, ‘REEEEEEEEEEEEED RIOT’' loudly plays, from the crowd recording on her phone, as they are watching her carnage.
“I’ll always be my biggest critic, but when I notice others lose themselves in my celebration of bloodbaths and massacres, it only reaffirms what I always knew: I’m meant for this. I’m not a wrestler by circumstance. It’s in my genetics. It’s in everything I do. Red Riot is Red Riot - everyone knows it, including Latoya Hixx. Despite what anyone may think, I’m bred for this shit. I am who I’ll always be - lessons and experiences aside, Red Riot knows who she is and LOVES IT. Catch me ten years down the line - I’ll be the same woman, just draped in gold that clashes with studded leather coats.” that same woman hears her name played again, this time with a bittersweet snarl while watching her match against the Enforcers right after her flying double stomp. ‘REEEEEEEEEEEEED RIOT, ‘REEEEEEEEEEEEED RIOT, ‘REEEEEEEEEEEEED RIOT’
“Hixx, however? Those ten years won’t be as kind to her - from having to learn a new accent so she can try jacking the style of whatever woman’s popular at the time, to tryin’ to force herself to fight like whatever’s popular in the moment, balding from years of dying her hair to look as close as possible to the successful wrestler she’ll never be? Nah, the sands of time won’t be kind to women like her. Hell - even right now, she’s falling down the APW ranks like the banana splits, trying to figure out why copying someone that’s successful isn’t leading to her success. Those hours she spent learning to fight like Sasha seem like they aren’t paying off - mainly because she learned to be like someone else, instead of learning how to be good. Spilled over a tanning bed and gallons of hair dye, she asks herself late at night: ‘Banks is a somewhat successful wrestler! I’ve taken her way of talking, her hairstyles, and her fighting style, then I’ve clumsily slapped them together - if the original is winning, why isn’t the Great Value tm?!11’”
“Hixx, you’re either cut out for this business or you aren’t. If you don’t see red as soon as you step into a ring, you aren’t cut out for it. If you don’t feel yourself bleeding and feel this fucked up envy screaming at you, demanding that you return the favor, you aren’t cut out for this. Hixx, your matches are designated bathroom breaks for god’s sake - in a match against two ‘legends’ your match opened because you dragged them to the bottom of the card. Even if you pulled off a fluke, APW higher ups know that you aren’t a boss, you’re barely a worker; you can’t sell merchandise when you win, and clips of the woman you’re ripping off come up! When Red Riot murdered Aquarius, you know what everyone was saying?”
'REEEEEEEEEEEEED RIOT, ‘REEEEEEEEEEEEED RIOT, ‘REEEEEEEEEEEEED RIOT’ plays again.
"When Red Riot dropped six hundred pounds of mediocrity last week before things went astray, do you know what every fanatic was screaming at the top of their lungs?"
Again. She rewinds then hits play. ‘REEEEEEEEEEEEED RIOT, ‘REEEEEEEEEEEEED RIOT, ‘REEEEEEEEEEEEED RIOT’
"And when I shatter your little wrestler cosplay and leave you without iota of self-respect when you step into the ring for another loss, you know whose name is going to be etched inside of your thick skull?"
“Red. Riot. Red fucking Riot. Red ‘I just murked you’ Riot.”
Ending her dumping of every emotion bottled inside of her mind and weighing her down, Red finishes setting up those rocks until they're feet above her head, gets into a neutral stance, and gets right back to where she left off.
