Better Off Kissing Red Rattlesnakes
Apr 26, 2020 15:31:25 GMT -5
BonnieBlue, Spartan, and 2 more like this
Post by RedLetters on Apr 26, 2020 15:31:25 GMT -5
"𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖚𝖘, 𝖇𝖊𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖚𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖓 𝖇𝖔𝖙𝖍 𝖘𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖘 𝖇𝖞 𝖆𝖓 𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖒𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖓𝖚𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖚𝖘. 𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖓'𝖙 𝖌𝖊𝖙 𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖞 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖚𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖜!"
April 26th, 2020
Training Gym in the Most Essential Business of ‘Em all, Alpha Pro Wrestling
The weighted, punching bag in the firing range of Red Riot only represents another obstacle in her life, and in the infamous Riot reckless style, her solution is to look through it - or in this case, to throw and endless string of punches, kicks, elbows, and let every furious growl escape her permanent scowl as she throws everything but the kitchen sink. Each strike lands with a meaty thud, and gets louder as time goes past and her frustration rises. Like many of the issues in her life, there aren’t enough roundhouse kicks, hooks, or haymakers to remove the obstacle this punching bag’s proxy for, which becomes evident by the sound of an APW trainer, Shakeel strength, offering her one round of golf claps. “Impressive. Very impressive you could do that with bruised ribs.” Still, he shakes his head. “Doesn’t change my mind. You’re not cleared to compete.”
“Not cleared to compete,” she mocks, extra loudly, so the dull pain reaching up the right side of her midsection doesn’t give him an iota of thinking he’s right. Her voice echoes throughout an empty APW training gym. She’s been here since this evening trying to hammer in her point, and now she’s arguing under moonlight from a nearby window. “You’re back on that? You are the person refusing to treat me for the only thing ailing me!”
As a large man, the bass in strength’s deep voice rumbles as he strokes his chin. Sensing cracks in her fiery facade, he interrogates, “Which is?” Riot answers in between ragged breathing by leaning on the weighted bag and raising her right leg. “My foot. It hurts-” she offers an honest, humble grin, before practically growling out, “-FROM KICKING AND KICKING AND KICKING THIS GOD DAMNED DEAD HORSE OF A FEDERATION WEEK AFTER WEEK AND BEATING IT INTO SHAPE, INCH BY INCH.”
“I’m not talking to Red Riot right now. I’m talking with Johanna,” he gently responds, and staring down at her as he hopes his intentional ‘with’ her pours ice water on her hot head. “You wouldn’t take time to rest and heal up after going to war with Jason Ryan-” Red Riot’s deadpan stare relays her interest in someone so far beneath her costing her time off, “-Then, ol' Cowgirl diving out of the ring and spearing you in the ribs? Then getting jumped by the Architects after?”
“-and fightin’ them off!” Devine sighs, folds one of his tree-trunk arms behind his head, then shakes it. “You’re biting off more and more every week.”
“I’m not missing this. Sore ribs? My strength got me to the mountaintop - you think I’m gonna run out before I see the other side?” She shakes her head, and fires off a question mark kick that sticks onto the side of that training tool with an exclamation point. “Nuh uh. You really think I can’t get it done?”
“Objectively speaking. Lex is talented. He’s a natural athlete with a knack for getting it done in the ring. Could go either way. Difference is, Architects have all lost enough matches to be humble, so they aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty. They win wars, not battles, and you’re here with me afraid to wear body tape and acknowledge that you’ve picked up a few bruises and scra-” Not Red Riot, the veins throbbing in her forehead, the shades of hue all over her face, nor her locked jaw she has to smuggle words through offer any attention to his ‘suggestion.’ “I’m winning, and dragging APW into the future.”
“Humor me. Say you do win: half the roster’s already gunning at your throat. Hell, Smith Jones already said he’s considering a North American title challenge against Lex, what do you think happens if you win?. Say you drag your massive ego past Lex - you’ve already got the Architect’s attention. You think this archaic idea of strength’s gonna carry you far?”
To his surprise, Red laughs. “Ah. Andre decides to get serious, Red Riot decides to get serious, and this place might have a world where Architects don’t have their grubby mitts over the heart of this federation. Lemme guess, you’re shook? You think this place is going downhill, do you think you’re too good to be like any of the other millions on unemployment when this place goes into the gutt-”
Even while fighting through pain, his verbal haymaker staggers her. "-Red, I think you’re going to be a great champion.” She stops in her tracks, what?
“You understand that I know your background, yeah?”
“Yeah? So? Fuck am I afraid of?”
“Third generation high-flier joins, uses this brutal, stiff fighting style that’s like a car crash people can’t look away from, gets injured and keeps pushing herself so she never heals, she’s never the same, and an inferno of Red ends up being a flash in the pan.” If Red's jaw wasn't on the floor, it'd be around his throat. “Someone fightin’ as long as you shouldn’t have such a record of recklessness. . .especially since you weren’t selling out Madison Square Garden, you’ve been jumping on chairs to hurt whoever’s underneath it for crowds that showed up not realizing bingo doesn’t happen on Tuesdays. You throw caution into the wind. You do something stupid, and you keep it moving. You’re young, but the longer you do it, the more it adds up. Stop calling it strength - it’s suicidality. You’re gonna’ get yourself killed like this. I think you’ll be a great champion. I want you to have a long reign.”
“. . .yeah. I know,” she responds calmly, with a voice filled with honey, rather than vinegar, as he expected, before pushing away that training target, and finding a place to sit on a nearby bench. She seats herself, hisses from the soreness striking her, and nods her head. “I’m a Riot. Warriors can’t swing their sword if they aren’t comfortable knowing they might end up at the end of someone else’s blade.”
“They’ve had long careers. You’re ending yours before it gets started..”
“Those careers are precisely why I’m not hearing what you’re saying. I can’t remember too many generations of Riots that made a living doing anything but fightin’. We ain’t too smart. I’m probably the prettiest of these ugly fuckings, and I look like the back of a PFLAG newsletter. Fightin’s all we have. I only grew up believing in only one God, but what we do with our fists is a close second to religion. All I grew up around was hearing these. . . stories, after takin’ a trip to a hospital to visit whichever barbarian almost died in the ring. . . and for warriors like us, our river Styx is filled with blood. We pay the toll to get across while we live - and when we’re at our end, we get to see IT. We get to relish IT. We get to do what the fans do - we get to watch ourselves going to war. S’posed to have a warrior's death, where our last waking moments are filled with highlight after highlight of the battles that made us who we were, and let us prove ourselves. It’s supposed to be relished..”
“Years back, I cracked my head open accidentally diving over the ropes.. Instead of experiencing all these bloody battles and fights, pitch fucking black. How pathetic is that? My house full of warriors won’t acknowledge me, and while I’m in a meat wagon, rushed to the hospital, I can’t even acknowledge it myself? I want that warrior’s death. I want to see my battles. I want to see Stacy. I want to know that I fought for everything that matters to me. I want to know I fought for everything I treasure as much as I could. This Icarus ain’t afraid of flying too close to the sun, I’ll fly right into the motherfucker.”
“Shake off this tunnel vision. Strong isn’t how you react to your physical limits. Use your strength to go beyond your mental limits. Fight smarter, not harder. It doesn’t take much strength to win a match - summon enough strength to ask for help. Summon enough strength to acknowledge that you’re mortal, that you’ve got limits, and fight smart to avoid hittin’ em.”
After a few seconds of digestion, Red nods yes, and asks, “. . . meaning I can . . .?”
“I’ll let clear you if you act smart. Show 'em the strength of a champion.” With one pat on the back and nods between the two, Devine steps aside so she can groan over her abdomen in peace while reaching for her gym bag, and use her newfound strength to see if she can find a few Cowgirls that aren’t afraid of a Red Rattlesnake.
Sitting on a turnbuckle inside of the Astrodome, a leather-clad Riot breathes it in. “From allllllllllll of the knowledge I’d thought I’d use about traveling from any shithole with something they’d use as a wrestling ring in the holler, I’d tell you most of it was drunken hillbilly nonsense. Still, rattling around that head like a loose bolt, there’s a few things my people learned along the way that serve me well in Alpha Pro Wrestling, like survival. One of the things I always saw as uncanny was the ways in which people living fifty, seventy-five miles from a hospital weren’t afraid of the beasts you can only see out here in the zoo makin’ huntin’ grounds out the places we raise our young. I’m not talkin’ about Tiger Kings - I’m talking mountain lions, bears, and my personal favorite, rattlers. See, I grew up always knowing the power of fear and pressure - I watch a lot of people thinking the smartest way to work with animals is not to feel fear. . .”
She brings a hand up, makes a ‘come here’ motion, and speaks in a low whisper as she shares a lil' country knowledge. “But you know how to go from ‘Tiger King’ to ‘When Animals Attack?’”
“Corner it, instead of trapping it. Don’t put four walls around it - put three. Make your existence the divider between death and freedom. The venomous devil coilin’ up in front of you loses all sense of self-preservation, and opts for guaranteeing your 110 mph trip to the nearest hospital’s incentive enough to fuck off. See, that’s why it’s so god-damned entertainin’ that I’ve been able to drag Lex into a title match by going on social media and talking about what he’s afraid of. . .” With a simple wave of a studded leather glove, Riot clears the air by saying, “Lex Collins isn’t afraid of me.”
“Hell, I can’t blame him, he only shows up once a month, so he misses lots. His boys decided to get involved in our affairs, and the Architects went after me. If he was smart enough, or payin’ attention enough to fear me, I assume he wouldn’t let me escape a brawl with bruises on my knuckles. I’m not wearing a bulletproof vest when I expect you to aim for the head. So far...”
Each bitter word is sweet, from her rough, Bama accent. “Your bite ain’t much.” In true southern fashion, Riot shrugs as she’s not owning throwing insults, when she’s stating what feels like simple truths. “See, I saw you standin’ with the likes of Damon Warrens and Smith Jones way back when, and I etched your name in blood because I believe you. You spoke, and I heard you. Your exact words? ‘The Architects're gonna take away everything, Lucy. Starting with this championship – put it around a waist that knows how to carry it. Knows how to defend it. Knows how to VALUE it.’ You’re right. I’m going to beat the dust off of you and that belt, make your prediction come to life.”
“Studying Lex is drawing a circle. Your path’s etched with gold, many highs, many lows, and most importantly, with short title reigns. Collins hits a big accomplishment, gains all the momentum in the world, annnnnnnnnd stops himself dead in his tracks, rinse, wash, and repeat.” It stings offering roses to people who’ve shown her nothing but thorns, but telling the truth means doing it when you’ve gotta cover your hand with a face to say it out loud. “Smith Jones brings prosperity and prestige, Damon goes to war with the entire social climate, and you’ve got success acting as ‘lackey number three’ in someone else’s movie. Lex ain’t a predator hungry to change the game. Lex Collins isn’t a man who makes history - he’s a man who is in the room while history’s made. “
"This flat-footed fuck never acts, only reacts. He’s no cornered predator; the same walls that make my heartbeat race, that make my fists clench, and makes me burst into action? He’s fucking comfortable in them! He’s not fighting to improve, he’s fighting to stay exactly where-the-fuck he is. The thing that really makes it worse?”
Through clenched teeth, she speaks her truth, but only to bury it in the same ring she’s burying him in. “I think part of me envies you.”
“I think I envy how fucking snug, privileged, and happy you are to be a man holding a title belt, but never being a real ‘champion.’ I wish I could be as content as you. I beat almost everyone in front of me and… my balls are still blue. Undefeated in singles matches, nothing. Red Riot’s face finally makes it to the Pay-Per-View promotional material-” she hisses, with the honey of her accent seemingly replaced with venom, as she grabs a fistful of her hair. “-and only on my second PPV card on the biggest event of the year, and you think I’d be content, yeah? Wrong - because I see men putting forth half the effort, half the talent, and eating twice as much as me!
I want that gold so I can recreate the landscape you’re sittin’ on. The belt fell into his hands as a reaction to his boys beefing with Lucy Sixx, for crying out loud - I debuted around the time he won it, and had three times as much matches as our ‘champ’ since then - and my knee cap has left a bigger imprint on this place than anything he’s done since winning the North American belt! He rebuked my challenge to play lackey for his boys’ gang war with Cowgirls from Hell - do the two world champs really need him dialing it in? You think fans are gonna stop cheering if the guy in the boy band playin bass isn’t there, when they just know him as the guy standing behind Justin Timberlake?
I’ve BEEN prepared for Gods of Wrestling. I debuted with smooth sailing, and didn’t get far before The Enforcers sunk the ship that let me think I was limitless. Nothing I did was enough. I went to a dark place after that. Red Riot’s got three generations of success pumping through her veins, and I wanted to say that genetics were Godlike. Funny two wrestling Gods are the one that shattered that, yeah? I get my world rearranged and I feel the pressure on me. Unlike Lex, I don’t go on defense. I don’t suck it up and cherish the things I’ve got - I go balls to the walls and I paint the canvas with the blood of my opponents to make the message clear-” a little blase pause highlight how casual she can discuss breaking noses and shedding blood, “Crimson Killer’s gonna’ eat. Either feed me or watch me take matters into my own hands.”
“Get in that ring and wait for an opportunity for you to retain your belt - Red Riot ain’t waiting, I MAKE those opportunities. Your conservative approach is the soundtrack to your life - but all you’ll hear is your ears ringing when you eat this knee, Lex, and you’re barely gonna remember your kid’s name, much less how to defend yourself from an animal begging me to find a way out, even if that way out’s through caving your chest in.. Aaron Osmosis was twenty years deep in the game, and I wasn’t showing him anything new, but when you try dodging an’ countering with a woman whose kicks land like cinder blocks and move like lightning, you’re gonna realize what he did. By the time this pissed off rattler’s posed to strike, there ain’t nothing you can do.
I might be over my head and out of my league. You’re nothing to look down at yourself, especially when you decide to get your guys involved. Corner me. Pressure me. I demanded this match because I know even if I ain’t the strongest woman in the world, I’m using every drop of venom I’ve got to put you down. You’re gonna fight to sit at the adult table with your boys, while I’m letting out the rattler fightin’ for its life. Complacency vs. survival, which one’s stronger, you think?”
Riot cranes her head around to sink in the beauty of this historic arena; the next time she sees it, it won’t be so pleasant. “I’m no God of Wrestling - I’m a mortal woman using two hands, two feet, and two kneecaps to protect the one mortal life I’ve got, and that makes me strong. That makes me dangerous. Most importantly, it makes me unpredictable. May God have mercy on you, Alex. I don’t see freedom by going past you - I’ve gotta go through you. I don’t get to be like you. I don’t have opportunities handed to me that I can just squander. Everything that’s ever happened to me, I earned.”
You've had so many things happen to you - the Architects, that title, your family, the list goes on.
Monday, I can think of another thing to add:
RED FUCKING RIOT.”
