Post by Dave D-Flipz on Oct 8, 2020 19:48:27 GMT -5
“So you get into this small room with a man you can’t see, and say ‘Sorry, Daddy. I’ve been very naughty’ and then wait for him to decide how to punish you.” Chaos walks arm and arm down a sidewalk with Mistress Discipline and Death Trap towards a dive bar. She suddenly runs forward and picks up her feet channeling all two year olds walking with their parents everywhere. She lets out a mask muffled “WeEEe” while the two wrestlers mutter less enjoyable sounds through their masks.
Mistress Discipline, who is almost a foot taller, compensates for her friends' weight before replying. “It is my understanding that it is less a room and more a box and the priest is separated from you completely. Also, are not the words ‘Forgive me Father, for I have sinned’?”
Chaos shakes her head. “I don’t know, I’m not Catholic.”
Chaos looks over at Death Trap. Mistress Discipline looks over Chaos to look at Death Trap.
Death Trap, who is Catholic, doesn’t offer insight but continues looking towards their destination. “Tell me again why we needed to come to this bar. We’ve passed several other, nicer, places. I don’t even know if this place will serve Dr. Pepper.”
Mistress Discipline nods. “I agree. We leave for Tokyo in less than 48 hours. Why not go somewhere nice to celebrate. This neighborhood looks like the kind of place to try to start something… untoward.”
Chaos, who is Mistress Discipline’s manager, and an adult, giggles like a twelve year old girl. “That’s the point. You two need more practice brawling like a team. These yahoos should do nicely. And honestly, today was a bad day at the office and I need several strong shots of the alcohol. Death days are always hardest when you help bring them into this world and then need to be the one take them out of it. Watching you two get violent up close will really help me.”
Death Trap takes a moment before responding. “But Chaos I don’t know if you’ve noticed… neither of us is a brawler. Finely tuned submissions won’t work in a bar fight.”
Mistress Discipline nods. “I agree with Death Trap. We go up against those who have actually trained and our skill set is more refined than anything from drunken idiots.”
Chaos hurumphs. “That’s why you need practice with drunks. Death Trap kicks really well and Mistress Discipline slaps like a champ. Now we just need to combine those to counter… whatever is in there.” She gestures to the outdoor dive bar.
Death Trap looks at some of the outdoor bar patrons from the sidewalk. “Probably drunken hooligans. I mean sure, based on past results… it’s about the same skill level as Travis Monroe. But I doubt anyone here is going to kick like Sniper.”
Chaos makes puppy dogs eyes at Death Trap, then Mistress Discipline. “Oh, come on! Can we please just go in for a few shots?”
Death Traps looks down at Chaos. “I don’t even drink… much.”
Chaos continues walking and says in a nonchalant manner, “So, Death Trap, have you considered my previous proposal some more?”
“I never considered her MY sidepiece, I don’t see how labels will change their perception any more than just winning the Tag Team Annihilator and both of us tapping out some jabronies.” Death Trap then picks up the pace dragging Chaos with him obviously not caring for the subject of discussion.
Mistress Discipline keeps pace with Chaos. “Chaos, your plan to convince others to take me seriously as a wrestler and not Death Trap’s girlfriend is to ask Death Trap to label himself as my boyfriend. How does this help?”
Chaos opens the gate to the outdoor bar and Mistress Discipline walks into the seating area.
Death Trap comes up next to Chaos. “I, too, was wondering about that ...”
Chaos ushered him into the outdoor bar before closing the gate behind her.
Mistress Discipline makes her way to the bartender. “Sweet tea, please.”
The bartender nods.
Death Trap soon joins her and taps a finger to his chin. “Are we far enough south for sweet tea? … Uh, do you have any Dr. Pepper?”
The bartender nods. “We have over three dozen different flavors of soda on tap. In fact we offer mini flights of the stuff. A mainstream soda like Dr. Pepper is easy. And for you?” He looks at Chaos.
Chaos joins on Mistress Discipline’s other side and mimics Death Trap’s chin tap, while he stands there like a kid in a toy store, goofy grin on his face. “I would like a three cup flight of your tequila, please.”
Mistress Discipline looks over sharply. “The flights are for beer or soda. That amount of tequila is not a good idea.”
Chaos smiles as the bartender moves to start making their order.
Mistress Discipline glares at her manager. “You did not answer my question.”
Chaos looks over at Mistress Discipline. “The issue is not a romantic attachment. The issue is being seen as a failed Bechdel–Wallace test. I know you wrestle as a way to inspire the next generation. Death Trap knows you want to be a role model for young girls everywhere but a fair number of boomers fans couldn’t write a thing to pass the ‘sexy lamp test’ if you gave them named characters and a bulleted list of events. Flipping this on its head and having him, an XHF Legend and multiple time X*Crown winner, belong to you forces them to use your name when referring to someone they respect, even if only begrudgingly.”
Death Trap misses the exchange; he is too busy watching the Washington Nationals play on one of several TVs. “You call that a strike? If our ref is THIS bad we may ACTUALLY stand a chance of losing… still a slim chance...”
The bartender returns with their orders, setting the flight of tequila in front of Mistress Discipline thinking the drinks are for them to share.
Chaos grabs the flight and drags it to her. Selecting one of the 4oz glasses and shooting it back, like a shot. “Alrighty then!” She turns around and eyes the other patrons.
The patio holds a selection of round tables, each 6 feet apart, and most are full.
Chaos eyes a large man staring at his beer bottle between two other not small men. “Hey you.” She points to the man and he looks up. “Yes, you. You look like the kind of man who can’t get a hand unless you make a money fan. You look like the kind of man who’d be dumped if he lost his job. You look like the kind of man who would lose to The Saga.”
The man stands. “That! That is mean!” He throws his hands over his face and falls back into his chair crying. They are loud wails of pain and sadness.
Chaos’s arm slowly lowers as she stares at the now crying man.
One of the man’s friends stands up. “What the hell is wrong with you? I have half a mind to whoop your hide but you’re … you know ...” He gestures to all of her.
Chaos fills with an indignant rage. “I beg your pardon. What does this,” she gestures to herself, “have to do with my ability to protect myself? I’ll have you know I have training in the art of karate and kickboxing. I have killed absolute raging animals more than twice my size. And in your back assward mind you think you would be able to take me just because I was blessed differently? You think the way I was made was faulty? I could undergo multiple painful surgeries to gain what you were naturally given but I am not willing to change my FUNdamental structure just because you can’t handle all this.” She gestures to all of herself again.
The man nods. “Look I will not fight someone like you. Him on the other hand.” He points to Death Trap who finally looks away from the TV.
Death Trap takes in the scene around him. “Who said what now?”
The man points at Chaos. “Your shorty here-”
“I will END you!” Chaos shouts. “I am over five feet tall. That’s over a meter and a half of awesome power! I don’t need your height to kick your tiny glutes to Japan. Sure, you’re bigger than me but that’s only because you are an infected dork.”
The man snickers. “Dork?”
Mistress Discipline nods. “The animal with the largest penis absolute size is the blue whale. Their penis is called a dork.”
The man’s smile grows. “I do have a dork.”
Chaos shakes her head. “I didn’t say you have a dork; I said you are a dork. One that’s infected and leaking pus.”
The man turns to Death Trap. “You gonna let her talk to me like that? You give up control so easily. Nothing but a pussy. I won’t hit her but I beat the-”
Death Trap gently removes his treasured hat and places it on the bar. He stands and rolls his eyes as he surveys the man who stopped mid sentence. “Aight… I didn’t come here to be an asshole. But what the hell, I’ll make an exception. You sexist piece of trash.”
Mistress Discipline sighs. “It would seem he meant your gender.”
Chaos looks at the idiot like he might be contagious. “Why would someone so flammable say something so inflammatory?”
Mistress Discipline turns towards her manager. “Chaos, we have discussed this previously. We do not just kill people because they are beneath us.”
Chaos nods and shakes her head. “Ok, but can I give him the little slit, pop, and pull?”
Mistress Discipline shakes her head. “No. Late in life castration can have serious psychological consequences. And eugenics is still considered morally wrong. Possibly a war crime, depending.”
Chaos squints. “Well, I can’t use banding because he might pull the little rubber band off. What if the testicles remain in place but I use the emasculator? I won’t even need anesthetic. You and Death Trap can hold him down and a moment later, it will be over. No blood.”
Mistress Discipline maintains her firm voice. “No. I know you know many variations of castration. I quizzed you on them so much, I could probably wrend a man's ability to reproduce from their not so spherical containers myself.”
Death Trap’s eyes widen and he moves slightly away from the two women.
Mistress Discipline turns to him. “Do not worry about the safety of your wonderfully sized testicles. They are not in any danger from us.”
Death Trap looks slightly relieved only to think a moment more, his head snaps around to look at the women with a look of confusion. “Wait. How-”
The sexist, not realizing the real danger his manly bit could be in, starts shouting. “You don’t stand a chance against a real man like me. You’re just talk and we both know it. You have no skill. Next thing you know women will be demanding to be dominant in sex ”
Mistress Discipline looks at the man in disgust. “If you were a real man, you would have sexual relations with a glochid covered succulent. Have you ever-”
“Raw dogged a spiny cactus?” Chaos finishes with a smile.
Death Trap cringes. “Have you been reading Travis Monroe’s shitty stories.”
Mistress Discipline snorts before catching herself and bringing a hand to her nose. “I have standards, thank you. When I take him down it will be for the good of libraries everywhere.”
The sexist takes another step closer. “No. This is about two men facing each other like men. Using actual skill, honed through manly pursuits. Our manly bodies were designed by God specifically for no other reason than manly things like fighting. And slapping a woman's butt. And slapping something else too.”
Death trap raises one eyebrow and cracks his knuckles. The sexist see this as a manly challenge and charges.
Death Trap smirks and drops his hands and instead roundhouse kicks the man in the side of the head. “Maybe Johnny Sniper should take notes from me. One shot, one KO.” The Sexist remains on the floor, having somehow curled into the fetal position before passing out.
Chaos makes a pained sound. “No, come on. It’s got to last. That wasn’t a brawl!”
Bartender interrupts her. “You’re done. No fightin’. Get out. No questions.”
Mistress Discipline, who is almost a foot taller, compensates for her friends' weight before replying. “It is my understanding that it is less a room and more a box and the priest is separated from you completely. Also, are not the words ‘Forgive me Father, for I have sinned’?”
Chaos shakes her head. “I don’t know, I’m not Catholic.”
Chaos looks over at Death Trap. Mistress Discipline looks over Chaos to look at Death Trap.
Death Trap, who is Catholic, doesn’t offer insight but continues looking towards their destination. “Tell me again why we needed to come to this bar. We’ve passed several other, nicer, places. I don’t even know if this place will serve Dr. Pepper.”
Mistress Discipline nods. “I agree. We leave for Tokyo in less than 48 hours. Why not go somewhere nice to celebrate. This neighborhood looks like the kind of place to try to start something… untoward.”
Chaos, who is Mistress Discipline’s manager, and an adult, giggles like a twelve year old girl. “That’s the point. You two need more practice brawling like a team. These yahoos should do nicely. And honestly, today was a bad day at the office and I need several strong shots of the alcohol. Death days are always hardest when you help bring them into this world and then need to be the one take them out of it. Watching you two get violent up close will really help me.”
Death Trap takes a moment before responding. “But Chaos I don’t know if you’ve noticed… neither of us is a brawler. Finely tuned submissions won’t work in a bar fight.”
Mistress Discipline nods. “I agree with Death Trap. We go up against those who have actually trained and our skill set is more refined than anything from drunken idiots.”
Chaos hurumphs. “That’s why you need practice with drunks. Death Trap kicks really well and Mistress Discipline slaps like a champ. Now we just need to combine those to counter… whatever is in there.” She gestures to the outdoor dive bar.
Death Trap looks at some of the outdoor bar patrons from the sidewalk. “Probably drunken hooligans. I mean sure, based on past results… it’s about the same skill level as Travis Monroe. But I doubt anyone here is going to kick like Sniper.”
Chaos makes puppy dogs eyes at Death Trap, then Mistress Discipline. “Oh, come on! Can we please just go in for a few shots?”
Death Traps looks down at Chaos. “I don’t even drink… much.”
Chaos continues walking and says in a nonchalant manner, “So, Death Trap, have you considered my previous proposal some more?”
“I never considered her MY sidepiece, I don’t see how labels will change their perception any more than just winning the Tag Team Annihilator and both of us tapping out some jabronies.” Death Trap then picks up the pace dragging Chaos with him obviously not caring for the subject of discussion.
Mistress Discipline keeps pace with Chaos. “Chaos, your plan to convince others to take me seriously as a wrestler and not Death Trap’s girlfriend is to ask Death Trap to label himself as my boyfriend. How does this help?”
Chaos opens the gate to the outdoor bar and Mistress Discipline walks into the seating area.
Death Trap comes up next to Chaos. “I, too, was wondering about that ...”
Chaos ushered him into the outdoor bar before closing the gate behind her.
Mistress Discipline makes her way to the bartender. “Sweet tea, please.”
The bartender nods.
Death Trap soon joins her and taps a finger to his chin. “Are we far enough south for sweet tea? … Uh, do you have any Dr. Pepper?”
The bartender nods. “We have over three dozen different flavors of soda on tap. In fact we offer mini flights of the stuff. A mainstream soda like Dr. Pepper is easy. And for you?” He looks at Chaos.
Chaos joins on Mistress Discipline’s other side and mimics Death Trap’s chin tap, while he stands there like a kid in a toy store, goofy grin on his face. “I would like a three cup flight of your tequila, please.”
Mistress Discipline looks over sharply. “The flights are for beer or soda. That amount of tequila is not a good idea.”
Chaos smiles as the bartender moves to start making their order.
Mistress Discipline glares at her manager. “You did not answer my question.”
Chaos looks over at Mistress Discipline. “The issue is not a romantic attachment. The issue is being seen as a failed Bechdel–Wallace test. I know you wrestle as a way to inspire the next generation. Death Trap knows you want to be a role model for young girls everywhere but a fair number of boomers fans couldn’t write a thing to pass the ‘sexy lamp test’ if you gave them named characters and a bulleted list of events. Flipping this on its head and having him, an XHF Legend and multiple time X*Crown winner, belong to you forces them to use your name when referring to someone they respect, even if only begrudgingly.”
Death Trap misses the exchange; he is too busy watching the Washington Nationals play on one of several TVs. “You call that a strike? If our ref is THIS bad we may ACTUALLY stand a chance of losing… still a slim chance...”
The bartender returns with their orders, setting the flight of tequila in front of Mistress Discipline thinking the drinks are for them to share.
Chaos grabs the flight and drags it to her. Selecting one of the 4oz glasses and shooting it back, like a shot. “Alrighty then!” She turns around and eyes the other patrons.
The patio holds a selection of round tables, each 6 feet apart, and most are full.
Chaos eyes a large man staring at his beer bottle between two other not small men. “Hey you.” She points to the man and he looks up. “Yes, you. You look like the kind of man who can’t get a hand unless you make a money fan. You look like the kind of man who’d be dumped if he lost his job. You look like the kind of man who would lose to The Saga.”
The man stands. “That! That is mean!” He throws his hands over his face and falls back into his chair crying. They are loud wails of pain and sadness.
Chaos’s arm slowly lowers as she stares at the now crying man.
One of the man’s friends stands up. “What the hell is wrong with you? I have half a mind to whoop your hide but you’re … you know ...” He gestures to all of her.
Chaos fills with an indignant rage. “I beg your pardon. What does this,” she gestures to herself, “have to do with my ability to protect myself? I’ll have you know I have training in the art of karate and kickboxing. I have killed absolute raging animals more than twice my size. And in your back assward mind you think you would be able to take me just because I was blessed differently? You think the way I was made was faulty? I could undergo multiple painful surgeries to gain what you were naturally given but I am not willing to change my FUNdamental structure just because you can’t handle all this.” She gestures to all of herself again.
The man nods. “Look I will not fight someone like you. Him on the other hand.” He points to Death Trap who finally looks away from the TV.
Death Trap takes in the scene around him. “Who said what now?”
The man points at Chaos. “Your shorty here-”
“I will END you!” Chaos shouts. “I am over five feet tall. That’s over a meter and a half of awesome power! I don’t need your height to kick your tiny glutes to Japan. Sure, you’re bigger than me but that’s only because you are an infected dork.”
The man snickers. “Dork?”
Mistress Discipline nods. “The animal with the largest penis absolute size is the blue whale. Their penis is called a dork.”
The man’s smile grows. “I do have a dork.”
Chaos shakes her head. “I didn’t say you have a dork; I said you are a dork. One that’s infected and leaking pus.”
The man turns to Death Trap. “You gonna let her talk to me like that? You give up control so easily. Nothing but a pussy. I won’t hit her but I beat the-”
Death Trap gently removes his treasured hat and places it on the bar. He stands and rolls his eyes as he surveys the man who stopped mid sentence. “Aight… I didn’t come here to be an asshole. But what the hell, I’ll make an exception. You sexist piece of trash.”
“Wait. His sleight wasn’t about my height?” Chaos asks.
Mistress Discipline sighs. “It would seem he meant your gender.”
Chaos looks at the idiot like he might be contagious. “Why would someone so flammable say something so inflammatory?”
Mistress Discipline turns towards her manager. “Chaos, we have discussed this previously. We do not just kill people because they are beneath us.”
Chaos nods and shakes her head. “Ok, but can I give him the little slit, pop, and pull?”
Mistress Discipline shakes her head. “No. Late in life castration can have serious psychological consequences. And eugenics is still considered morally wrong. Possibly a war crime, depending.”
Chaos squints. “Well, I can’t use banding because he might pull the little rubber band off. What if the testicles remain in place but I use the emasculator? I won’t even need anesthetic. You and Death Trap can hold him down and a moment later, it will be over. No blood.”
Mistress Discipline maintains her firm voice. “No. I know you know many variations of castration. I quizzed you on them so much, I could probably wrend a man's ability to reproduce from their not so spherical containers myself.”
Death Trap’s eyes widen and he moves slightly away from the two women.
Mistress Discipline turns to him. “Do not worry about the safety of your wonderfully sized testicles. They are not in any danger from us.”
Death Trap looks slightly relieved only to think a moment more, his head snaps around to look at the women with a look of confusion. “Wait. How-”
The sexist, not realizing the real danger his manly bit could be in, starts shouting. “You don’t stand a chance against a real man like me. You’re just talk and we both know it. You have no skill. Next thing you know women will be demanding to be dominant in sex ”
Mistress Discipline looks at the man in disgust. “If you were a real man, you would have sexual relations with a glochid covered succulent. Have you ever-”
“Raw dogged a spiny cactus?” Chaos finishes with a smile.
Death Trap cringes. “Have you been reading Travis Monroe’s shitty stories.”
Mistress Discipline snorts before catching herself and bringing a hand to her nose. “I have standards, thank you. When I take him down it will be for the good of libraries everywhere.”
The sexist takes another step closer. “No. This is about two men facing each other like men. Using actual skill, honed through manly pursuits. Our manly bodies were designed by God specifically for no other reason than manly things like fighting. And slapping a woman's butt. And slapping something else too.”
Death trap raises one eyebrow and cracks his knuckles. The sexist see this as a manly challenge and charges.
Death Trap smirks and drops his hands and instead roundhouse kicks the man in the side of the head. “Maybe Johnny Sniper should take notes from me. One shot, one KO.” The Sexist remains on the floor, having somehow curled into the fetal position before passing out.
Chaos makes a pained sound. “No, come on. It’s got to last. That wasn’t a brawl!”
Bartender interrupts her. “You’re done. No fightin’. Get out. No questions.”
