[Virginia Dare]

You fall to the mat face first, making a huge sound that's only eclipsed by the pop of the crowd.

And a little part of my heart--

NO. Stay focused. Stay on him.

I cheer right back at the crowd and they pop even louder.

I remember one of the lessons Terry Funk taught me. "Kids these days," he said in his high pitched Texas drawl, "they're always pickin' up their opponents. Never do that. Make them get themselves up."

So I pump up the crowd just a little more. A precious second that gets my heart going. Always keeping you in front of me so I know exactly where you are.

I'm waiting, Red. Waiting for you to stick that head of yours up. Just behind you. Get that head of yours up just enough so I can jump over your head, do a pretty flip I learned in high school gymnastics, grab your skull and throw it right back into the mat.

Just like Curt Hennig used to do.

[RedEnforcer]

I cough as blood from my nose starts making its way to my mouth. Shit that tangy taste is still awful. Jenny

Where is Jenny?

So fucking...

Hurts

Unfffff

I get my right palm on the mat..

Shit

Moving too slow

Come on old man

Move

Left palm on the mat...

And I slowly

Slowly push up...

My knees pull in and

I am on all fours..

Blood drips down from my nose to the mat joint the puddle I made there.

I pick my head up and look left...
And right...


Where is Jenny?

[Virginia Dare]

I'm right here, Red.

I see you looking for me. I can't help but smile.

That's when I make the leap, grab hold of your neck and chin--it's called a cravat, people--and complete the flip, carrying your head with me.

People think it's the head that takes the most damage from this kind of maneuver--technically called a "running somersault neck breaker," but I prefer to call it, "Carpetbagger Go Home"--but they're wrong. It's not the head. It's the neck.

Sure, your head gets pulled forward, then snapped back, but that's just so I can get as much impact on your neck. I want it sore. I want you to be struggling to turn your head. I want you to feel your neck muscles ache every time you try to lift or throw me.

And most importantly, when you get hit with my Go Home Lariat, I want you to not know where the heck we are.

When I land, I land on my ass, not my feet. That's good because I don't want any more damage to my ankle. We're close. We're really close. "She can feel it!" Jim Ross would call out.

It's almost time to go home, Red. All you have to do is sit back up--and we're halfway there.

[RedEnforcer]

I feel your hands just briefly before you yannnk on my neck and slam my head to the mat...


Fuuuuuck

Slow you down

Gotta slow you down..

Arms at my sides...

My hands at my waist and as the slowly move up..

Passing my chest...
I check my nose with my right hand..still bleeding

My left palm on the mat again..

I am trying to speak...

My jaw is sore still..

All I can manage is weak sounds..

I push back up to all fours...head hanging low

?J..Jenny?. I whisper through clenched teeth...

I look up...gawd that hurts my neck..

On my knees again...sitting back on my heels...

Dazed...hurt...head swimming...

?J....j....enny ?

And my mouth shuts...jaw working.

Unable to say another word.

[Virginia Dare]

On your knees, in front of the corner. Your eyes look dazed. You might be ready. Just might be ready.

But I've got to make sure. You're 200 pounds of Southern bred tough, Red. Just like me. And I know how much it takes to put me down. We're halfway home, but not quite there, yet.

And so, standing in front of you, with you on your knees--I gauge the distance. Yes, that's about right.

Take advantage of the adrenaline while I've got it.

I can't do a full height drop kick--not with this ankle--but I can do one low enough to hit you in the face when you're kneeling. And if it hits, it'll throw your head back right into the turnbuckle. So, I leap up with about one third of the strength I usually have for a drop kick and aim it at your chest. Not your head, but your chest. Because I want your head snapping back into that turnbuckle.

Of course, kicking off my bad ankle is a mistake. I feel that immediately. And even if the dropkick hits, I'm landing hard, trying to protect it. Even that doesn't stop the rush of pain through my lower leg.

Well--adrenaline only carries you so far.

[RedEnforcer]

It is very hard for me to see. Breathing is an issue.  I keep my mouth shut to stop my own blood from leaking in. 

I cannot lose.

If I do, Rowan gets her hooks in you....

I move my right hand up, wanting to clean off some blood from my face. 

There?s a blur.

I feel two hard boots slam into my forearm and then my chest.

I get driven back...hard into the corner..

Almost hard enough to make me scream..

But I bite it off. 

My arm is throbbing.

I ache all over.

But I have to keep going.

Have


To

[ThePurpleVixen]

I'm draped on Tiffy's strong shoulder, hop-a-longing on my left leg with my leg held wavering just above the concrete to avoid putting pressure on the wrapped and taped knee that some mad cxnt did her level best to pull off. I'm enjoying the Platinum Queen's perfume, and the press of her strong curvy form with my arm slung around her shoulders, and my hand dragging over the glossy oiled leather of her sweet-ass jacket with the bad-ass skull on the back.

Unfortunately, my beery whispered flirts and teases in her ear get interrupted by Emily Layne in a sexy dress, so I take my cane from Tiffy to help me get to the railing again, watching the brawl. As much as I love eyeballing Emi's legs when she's doing her Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct thing, and as tempting as it is to drag Tiff off to the backstage area to tie her up and take that cool jacket ... I can't stop watching this fucking BRAWL.

Because that's what these two are doing. Red's in his best fucking Kabuki drag with his facepaint running like Sting's during Bash at the Beach, Jenny's all dressed to impress - but these two are just going AT each other, over and over and over again. Neither of them seems to be able to stop, just crashing in again and again. I mean, yeah, I've got no grounds to talk about that given that Paris wasn't that long ago, but I had a good REASON to fight until I couldn't stand, to fight as close to the fucking death as possible. Because I hated my opponent more than death. More than fire, cancer, cobras or telemarketers. Red and Jenny DON'T hate each other.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?!" I shout drunkenly, smashing my cane against the railing as Jenny doesn't just hit Red, she fucking POURS IT ON. Maybe I'm angry because I'm drunk. Maybe I'm angry because I had to find out how little love meant to some people back in Paris. Maybe I'm angry because I like both these people and I want them to fight and to brawl and bleed but not to fucking KILL each other - I want them to get pounded but not HURT. Maybe I'm angry because I can feel Sadie Davis glaring at me and I PSYCHICALLY just know she's gonna try to weasel another "royalty check" out of me from FTW so she can put in a down payment on a Snickers bar.

They keep
fucking
GOING.

And now Jenny is just POUNDING Red in the corner and I heard the voice of that softheaded little cxnt screeching about Dare kicking out earlier, and I don't wanna be on her side more than I don't want anything in the fucking world. And I like Jenny Dare. Even with all we went through in Texas, I like her. She's fearless and sweet and actually a pretty good kisser.

But Red's my dude. My main dude.

"REDDY! STOP FUCKING AROUND AND JUST FUCKING HIT HER SO SHE CAN FUCKING FEEL IT!" I roar, beer on my breath like a fucking drunk Godzilla as I hang on the railing, my Dare headband snatched off in fury as I smash my cane on the metal, again and again and again to try to rouse that big stupid lug. "GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE FUCKING CLOUDS, GET OFF GOD-DAMN ROCINANTE AND HIT THAT BIG TALL DRINK OF BITCH!"

I love Jenny, don't get me wrong.

But Red's like my main dude.

[Virginia Dare]

I hear Punky screaming, and for a moment--yeah, just a moment, I look up at her.

You. Punky.

And you hear exactly what I have to say through my eyes.

We. Have unfinished business.

Then, I turn my focus back to Red.

You're in the corner. Your eyes look dazed. Your limbs look limp.

It's almost time. You're almost ready.

I grab the top rope on either side of the turnbuckle--

Kick my body up--

--and bring both knees down toward your bleeding face.

[RedEnforcer]

It is a struggle just to stay against this corner and I end up slumped down on my ass. Even like this I am having a hard time sitting up.

Have you ever been in a car accident?
Ever been hit by the airbag?
Tossed about and jerked hard by the seatbelt?

Now imagine that impact, and imagine you hit a tank.

That is what it is like to be hit by Jenny Dare. Make no mistake here. I hit damn hard myself. I nearly had her sleepered out. And now? After a trademark Daredevil flurry, I am on my ass, beat down like a government mule, whipped like a red headed stepchild. She stomped a mud hole in me and walked it dry.

That is what you sign up for when you step in the ring with Jenny. You go strong, go smart or go to the hospital.

So I made a mistake or two. Right now, yes I am reevaluating my life choices.

There she is, the blonde Amazon. A fearsome Valkyrie. And I hope I have her right where I want her.

She grips the top rope and kicks up and back. Her knees raised, ready to strike my head. Swinging like a pendulum. Like the Poe story, ready to slice my last defense.

There is no fancy counter to this. In fact I just do what my body has been screaming for me to do for some time now.

I relax and slide down to the mat.

One way to survive a huge impact is to go limp. The harder you fight, the more damage you do.
 
I relax.

And my hands go up to that left boot. Desperately trying to grab it and hang on.

Hang on so I can wrench it, stop this adrenaline fueled come back. And survive.

Sorry Jenny. If you thought I would just take another couple of moves and lay down for you. You were wrong.

Tooth and nail. And with my last breath.

You and me. Lets give these folks the final battle they have been waiting for.

[Virginia Dare]

I go up, tuck my knees and prepare to feel the impact of your face on them. But when i come down, that isn't what happens.

My knees hit the turnbuckles, sending shivers of pain through both legs. The left in particular. It's like getting hit by a boxing glove: spreads the impact all around. It isn't a pillow--there's metal under there. And when you hit it fast enough, it feels just like a punch to the jaw. Or, in this case, two hard strikes to the knees.

But that isn't enough.

You grab up at my left ankle and squeeze making me cry out and fall awkwardly to the mat, my left shoulder hitting first, then my back. And my knee. My left knee.

As if I needed it hurt more.

My body flops to the canvas and bangs hard. Then, it falls still. For a moment.

My eyes are closed. But they open. Glaring.

There you are. On the canvas. All I have to do is kick forward. All I have to do is send a knee into your jaw.

That's all I have to do.

That's all I have to

That's all I have

That's all I

That's all

That's





My eyes flutter.

Then shut.

[RedEnforcer]

I really am gettin too old for this shit.

How do you know when that battle with time is being lost? When you start waking up in the morning and instead of listening to the weather report on the radio or television, your joints give you a pretty accurate gauge of the humidity and barometric pressure for the day as well as a rough guess on the temperature.

My surgery a few years back and the complications and such probably accelerated the process but here I am. Lying in the corner of the ring, hurting like a sunuvabitch and squeezing the ankle of a tough competitor.

She deserves better than what I have done to her in this match. Unfortunately that fucking snake got her fangs in me and here we are.  I have been completely off my game from the start, trying mind games, trying flippy moves, trying to be everything not me. Maybe subconsciously trying to warn Jenny?

Maybe or just too much of a coward to do what I need to do to get this done.

So, old school me. I am so sorry Jenny.

And that is the last time I let that thought enter my head.

We all wear masks. My favorite poem (yes redneck wrasslers can in fact have favorite poems) is by Paul Laurence Dunbar. We Wear The Mask. His frame of reference was being a black man at the turn of the 19th to the 20th Century, but the sentiment applies in other contexts as well. We all have our masks. We wear them in our daily lives to get through work. With the advent of the internet we are able to either drop our masks and show how we really are or adopt different ones to allow us to play in fantasy realms where we can be who we want to be.

Astute viewers will see that I am not wearing my mask for this fight. That was due to Rowan as well. I dont know what went on in her head during Paris, but she is much colder. I was unprepared. And now she has my mask. And I know she would use that against Jenny. 

But now, it is time for me to get off my ass and put that metaphorical mask back on. Become the Enforcer again. Finish this fight and move on to the next one.

So despite the creaky joints and rebelling muscles, I move.

I slide out of the ring, pulling Jenny and her ankle with me. I dont pull her far. Just enough for me to lift her leg under the bottom rope and jam her ankle down against that hard edge of the apron.

The mask is back on. The Enforcer is back. Time to dismantle the Daredevil.

[Virginia Dare]

I'm suddenly not moving. Still as death. And you think you've got me.

Cocky, predictable Red.

You lean down to grab my leg, pull me to the edge of the ring, throwing my ankle over the apron. My arms slide above my head as you pull me across the canvas. My hair trailing out behind me. I look so helpless. So in peril.

But once you lift my foot to throw my ankle across the apron, the other one twists with my hips and sends my heel straight at your jaw.

And if it connects, I'm pulling myself up the ropes--grabbing on to the top one--and I'm throwing myself over the top rope to hit you with a cross body block that's gonna ram you right into that metal railing behind you.

Otherwise--I'm probably going to need a cast on that ankle before the night is through.

[RedEnforcer]

I thought she was playing possum. But dammit I couldnt  stop her.

She did this to me before. Came back from the precipice of defeat. Ended up beating me. Those tough pro fights eventually led to respect and maybe on some level friendship. But the more I stayed around her, the more I realized I wasnt worthy of being near her. Not every booker liked the idea of a face Enforcer, much less one tagging with Jenny. (This was before Candice and Joey made a splash with an intergender tag team) So I drifted away, went back to my gym and found some new challenges. And an angel. FTW came about and she popped back into my life. Part of the reality style booking was to be Jenny confronting me about ditching her. We never played that out. And here we are.

She is still in fine form and so when I pull her leg up, her other foot comes crashing into my jaw.

Fuck that hurts. And I drop down to the mat.

Good idea Jenny, but I have your ankle.

No way I am letting go of you this time.

As I fall, I yank your leg and mostly that ankle with me.

Gawd these mats arent near soft enough.

[Virginia Dare]

I feel my heel hit your jaw. That's the good news.

But then, I feel you twist my ankle and slam it against the apron. That's the bad news.

I manage to grab hold of the ropes and stay in the ring, but that doesn't matter much anymore. The pain shooting through my ankle and up my leg is no longer a "walk it off" problem. Now, many wrestlers will want to take their boot off when they get an injured ankle. That's the stupid thing to do. The boot gives your ankle support. Not a lot, but more than without it. Keep the boot on. It also keeps the swelling down.

What little that helps me now.

You're outside. I'm in the ring. And I'm clawing at the ropes, trying to get to my feet without using my left foot.

First rope--

Second rope--

Third rope--

Okay. Yeah. That took a long time. But--no. I can't even put weight on it. I'm hoping on one leg.

Tears in my eyes from the pain. Some of the smarks in the audience call me a crybaby. The ones in XXXXL shirts that are still too small for their bellies.

I bite my lip and wipe my wrist tape across my eyes. Look at you down on the outside of the ring.

I need to let you get in on your own time. Buy me some time as well.

I've got to avoid you getting hold of me. Getting hold of my leg.

But I'm not fast like Megan or Rowan.

And right now, with that fire in my ankle, I'm a whole lot slower than I usually am.

[RedEnforcer]

I push myself up from the mats. I'm a little dazed and discombobulated. I can hearly clear the ref say FIVE. I mean clearly hear. Wow, that was a kick. But why isn't Jenny coming after me?

I pull myself up to the apron and see her there, not wanting to put weight on her ankle. I either banged it up on the way down hard, or this is another possum game. Safest thing to assume is she's playing possum. 

At around seven I make up up onto the apron and motion at the ref to keep you back when you're nowhere near me. But like a drone, he goes to talk to you and I slide back into the ring.

Ok Jenny, lets see just how bad you are banged up. I circle you and get my arms up.

Collar and Elbow. Old School.

How strong is that ankle?