Post by dawnhalliwell on Feb 15, 2018 15:55:05 GMT -5
“Oh, momma I’m in fear for my life from the looong arm of the law…”
Dawn pulled herself up to the bar once again, sweat dripping from her brow. Her face was contorted with exertion and frustration as she pushed herself harder than she ever had. She could feel it, now. Feel something that she’d never felt in any other wrestling promotion. Just like the tight, aching pain in her sides whenever she pushed her core, the gnawing tension of her scars, she felt it at the back of her consciousness. Almost ephemeral, but undeniably present.
“Law man has put an end to my runnin’ and I’m so far from my home…”
Another pull. They were watching her. Eyes on her both from the crowd and from the roster. Before people had gazed at her as an oddity, cheered for her because of her persona but not expected much in return. The truth was that most of her career had been met with middling success. When she’d first hit a promotion of significance she’d only really won one match, and that was against a girl who had barely any training and even less drive. She’d never gotten looks like this before.
“Oh momma I can hear you a-cryin’ you’re so scared and all alone…”
Another pull. But now they weren’t staring at her because of her ink or her profanity or to see what crazy shit she’d pull next. They were watching her because she was becoming the one to watch. The one to beat. Combat Wrestling had been her career renaissance, and people were starting to notice. She was the only woman on the roster who’d won every match she’d been booked in, apart from the new kids who hadn’t yet been booked. To the rest of the women’s roster, that only meant one thing – she had one hell of a target on her back.
“Hangman is comin’ down from the gallows and I don’t have very long.”
She finished her final pull before dropping to the ground, shaking the aches out of her arms as she grinned at the floor.
“Bring it on, you pack of cunts.”
“I know it’s a day early, but you’ll be in Boston again tomorrow, so… here.”
Dawn arched an eyebrow as she looked at the pink and red card in her hands, a smirk playing around the corner of her mouth. A picture of a wrestler named Andrew Jacobsen was on it, giving the corniest heroic nice-guy smile he could muster.
“My affection for you is Unbreakable, Valentine…” She let out a snort of laughter. “Viv, this is awful.”
Vivienne smiled bashfully. “It’s punny!” she insisted.
Dawn shook her head with a grin. “I suppose that’s one thing to call it. But seriously Viv, a Valentine? That wasn’t…” a frown crossed her face. “I thought you had a thing for Cross?”
Vivienne’s deer-like eyes widened like dinner plates. “What? Oh no no! I’m usually single on Valentine’s Day so I got in the habit of giving out Valentine’s cards to my friends. Also candy. By the way.” She reached behind the door and grabbed a large bag covered in hearts and sparkles that was full to brimming with sweets. “I know you have the metabolism of a black hole, so you’ll probably eat the entire bag and only gain half a pound.”
Dawn greedily looked through the bag of goodies, noting that her friend had filled it with a number of her favorites. “Ya, this might not even make it to the airport,” she replied with a giggle. “Thanks, though. I like that tradition. Didn’t get you anything, though, didn’t want to send the wrong message.”
Vivienne shrugged. “It’s okay. I’ve always preferred to celebrate Valentine’s Day by giving rather than receiving.”
Dawn stuffed a piece of chocolate into her mouth, speaking around it. “You are such a fucking cinnamon roll.”
Vivienne smiled. “I try! What about you? Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”
“Dude, it’s my favorite holiday.”
Viv blinked. “Wait, really?”
Dawn nodded. “Hell yeah! Nothing like Lonely Drifter Christmas.”
She blinked again. “Lonely… Drifter…”
Dawn smirked. “I’m gonna bar-hop, look for hot guys who’re moping around because they got dumped before the holiday, buy them a drink, and get really, really laid.”
Vivienne clapped a hand to her mouth. “But… with men you don’t even know?”
Dawn nodded and grinned. “Fuck yeah, that’s the best kind. No better way to limber up a few days before a match, either. I got this one in the bag… or the sack.”
Vivienne looked away, not making eye contact, and a pall of sadness briefly fell over the girl. Dawn’s expression sobered, and she stepped over to her friend.
“Hey. Sometimes it doesn’t work out. Hell, I proved that against Natasha, right? Doesn’t make you any less of a badass in my eyes. Don’t worry about it, okay? Chin up, buttercup.”
Vivienne nodded and smiled, and the two of them hugged. After holding it for a few moments, Vivienne muttered into Dawn’s ear.
“She thinks being mean makes her better than other people. She thinks because she’s been here longer than the rest of us that makes her better than us. Knock her off her high horse. Kick her butt."
Dawn smiled. "As you fuckin' wish."
You're a cheap, dollar-store Lizzy Dalmon bootleg - and I broke the real thing last week.
You couldn't beat me when we last met, and you sure as hell won't beat me now. You may be trying to make your resurgence hon, but as comebacks go you're a lot more of a stammering 'your mom' joke than a truly Oscar Wildeian retort - forgettable, inspiring only mocking laughter, and extremely poorly delivered.
Amber Cooke, though... she's someone who thinks and acts a little more on my fucking level. There's no questioning the fact that she's a fighter first and pretty much nothing fucking else. I can get behind that. I've already talked about how this life, this career, is basically all I have to live for - dedicating your life, your blood, your soul to the fight is something that I can understand better than most. But the similarities end fucking there, because make no mistake Amber - you are damn near the fucking top of my shit list. The way you talk, the way you walk, the way you even breathe just screams about how you're a jackbooted drone of the establishment authority. You, miss bouncing betty, are the epitome of a soldier of conformity - an agent of the American Military Industrial Complex here to tell us how to act, how to think, and how to best fit in with your rigid stick-up-your-ass views of society.
When you look at me, do you see someone who's here to fucking conform?
That alone, right there, was enough for me to pretty much hate your guts on its fucking own. But then? Then you had to go and do what you did last week. You had to go talk shit about the first girl I tangoed with, my first friend in Combat Wrestling. You had to go fuck with my girl Caitlyn. Now, if you just took her down and beat her in the ring, I'd be irate but not the little dynamo of rage and violence that I am now. No, you went ahead and disrespected her, tore her apart, and treated her like nothing more than another civvy whose neck you thought might be a good fit for your boot. You didn't just beat that innocent girl, that friend of mine, but you humiliated her. You went for her spirit with savagery - and while I may have done that to others in the past myself, that doesn't mean I'm about to forgive it when someone I already don't like does it to one of my friends.
You're a military jarhead, right Amber? So you should know that just having a shitload of power isn't always what it takes to win. You should know from all sorts of battles and wars you'd have learned about in whatever school soldiers go to that just because you have the power doesn't mean you can land the shot. As we fight in Boston, I'm sure you'll be reminded of what happens when a big, mean figure of authority who thinks they have all the power gets a smaller little renegade nice and pissed off. Because right now? This little daughter of the Classic 13 is itching to beat the crap out of someone who wants me to obey... and you come treading on me and my friends.
Ya done goofed.
So girls, here's how it's gonna go. We're gonna go out there in that ring for a triple threat. Crystal's gonna go out and get all dazzled by the spotlight, so distracted by the attention that she'll probably make some critical mistake like she damn near always does. Amber'll strut out all marchy and bombastic, thinking how she's sure to win because she thinks she has the biggest guns and that clearly rigid established conformist authority always wins. And then I'll come out. I'll do what I do best. And I'll put one of you bitches in the fucking ground.
Because make no mistake. It's not a matter of "if" I can pin you, girls.
It's a matter of "Which One."
And when one of your asses goes onto the mat - you'll both be looking at me, standing over you, victorious - as ever man woman and child in the audience raises their fists with me as we shout three simple fucking words.
ALL.
BLOODY.
HAIL."
Dawn pulled herself up to the bar once again, sweat dripping from her brow. Her face was contorted with exertion and frustration as she pushed herself harder than she ever had. She could feel it, now. Feel something that she’d never felt in any other wrestling promotion. Just like the tight, aching pain in her sides whenever she pushed her core, the gnawing tension of her scars, she felt it at the back of her consciousness. Almost ephemeral, but undeniably present.
“Law man has put an end to my runnin’ and I’m so far from my home…”
Another pull. They were watching her. Eyes on her both from the crowd and from the roster. Before people had gazed at her as an oddity, cheered for her because of her persona but not expected much in return. The truth was that most of her career had been met with middling success. When she’d first hit a promotion of significance she’d only really won one match, and that was against a girl who had barely any training and even less drive. She’d never gotten looks like this before.
“Oh momma I can hear you a-cryin’ you’re so scared and all alone…”
Another pull. But now they weren’t staring at her because of her ink or her profanity or to see what crazy shit she’d pull next. They were watching her because she was becoming the one to watch. The one to beat. Combat Wrestling had been her career renaissance, and people were starting to notice. She was the only woman on the roster who’d won every match she’d been booked in, apart from the new kids who hadn’t yet been booked. To the rest of the women’s roster, that only meant one thing – she had one hell of a target on her back.
“Hangman is comin’ down from the gallows and I don’t have very long.”
She finished her final pull before dropping to the ground, shaking the aches out of her arms as she grinned at the floor.
“Bring it on, you pack of cunts.”
“Morning, Boston. You didn’t think I’d forget about you, did you? Nah, man! I made a promise to you guys, and to Spike Kane, that Combat Wrestling was gonna be my home. That I was going to throw myself into it hardcore and without any fucking hesitation, giving it every last ounce of energy I have.
And as Lizzy Dalmon can tell ya… I keep my fucking promises.
That's the thing about me. I may not be the friendliest little ray of fucking sunshine that's ever floated down from on high to fill a company with cupcakes and kitten-cuddles, but generally speaking I'm not a bad person either. I'm not one of those twisted fucks who gets off on inflicting pain - it's satisfying to make someone submit, sure, but I don't go out of my way to fucking torture people. I'm not the sort of person who's going to just completely dismiss someone because I think I'm better than them - everyone gets a shot to earn respect in my eyes. I might point out every little fucking flaw you have to explain why I don't think we're on the same level, but if you show me that you've earned your place in that ring I'll treat you with a fair share of respect. Just because I don't go outta my way to lift people up doesn't mean I thrive on dragging people down.
I'm no hero, but I'm also no villain. All I am is a force of nature that every other woman in this company is going to have to find out how to weather.
I'm no hero, but I'm also no villain. All I am is a force of nature that every other woman in this company is going to have to find out how to weather.
I have my flaws, but I also have my merits. One of those latter ones happens to be that I don't go against my word. If I make a promise, then I'm keeping that promise. If I make a friend, then I am ride or die for them until the end of my fucking days. It's that second one that's important here, because it just so happens that this week I just happened to have the fortune of being pitted against two of the nastiest bitches that Combat Wrestling has spawned - Amber Cooke and Crystal Hilton. The military hardass and the silver screen queen. Both of them took away big wins last week, and now they're both going to be hanging out in the ring in a triple threat match against yours truly. That’s fine by me. Growing up poor means I’m a huge fucking fan of “two for the price of one” deals.
Now on the surface these ladies couldn't be less alike. One's a pampered little Hollywood superstar who's all glitz, glamour and red carpet premiers. The other's a down to earth, no-nonsense ex-military brick of iron and gunpowder who's found a couple different ways to make sure that fighting IS her life. One's a princess in pink, the other's a hard-boiled killer. One's a spotlight-stealing queen, one's a full-metal bitch. But behind all of that, they have one thing in common. One thing that draws them bother together. One point of incredible connection that makes me look them in the eye and realize that this match is about more than a title tournament. A connection that makes this a little more personal. A connection that brings out the best and the worst in me.
They both fucked with one of my girls last week.
As I said earlier - one of my merits is being ride or die for my friends. But as I said, I have my fair share of flaws, too... and one of them happens to kick into high gear when people fuck with those for whom I am ride or die for.
Hello Crystal. Hello Amber.
I'm Dawn Motherfucking Halliwell.
And I have some serious Anger Management Issues.
Now on the surface these ladies couldn't be less alike. One's a pampered little Hollywood superstar who's all glitz, glamour and red carpet premiers. The other's a down to earth, no-nonsense ex-military brick of iron and gunpowder who's found a couple different ways to make sure that fighting IS her life. One's a princess in pink, the other's a hard-boiled killer. One's a spotlight-stealing queen, one's a full-metal bitch. But behind all of that, they have one thing in common. One thing that draws them bother together. One point of incredible connection that makes me look them in the eye and realize that this match is about more than a title tournament. A connection that makes this a little more personal. A connection that brings out the best and the worst in me.
They both fucked with one of my girls last week.
As I said earlier - one of my merits is being ride or die for my friends. But as I said, I have my fair share of flaws, too... and one of them happens to kick into high gear when people fuck with those for whom I am ride or die for.
Hello Crystal. Hello Amber.
I'm Dawn Motherfucking Halliwell.
And I have some serious Anger Management Issues.
“I know it’s a day early, but you’ll be in Boston again tomorrow, so… here.”
Dawn arched an eyebrow as she looked at the pink and red card in her hands, a smirk playing around the corner of her mouth. A picture of a wrestler named Andrew Jacobsen was on it, giving the corniest heroic nice-guy smile he could muster.
“My affection for you is Unbreakable, Valentine…” She let out a snort of laughter. “Viv, this is awful.”
Vivienne smiled bashfully. “It’s punny!” she insisted.
Dawn shook her head with a grin. “I suppose that’s one thing to call it. But seriously Viv, a Valentine? That wasn’t…” a frown crossed her face. “I thought you had a thing for Cross?”
Vivienne’s deer-like eyes widened like dinner plates. “What? Oh no no! I’m usually single on Valentine’s Day so I got in the habit of giving out Valentine’s cards to my friends. Also candy. By the way.” She reached behind the door and grabbed a large bag covered in hearts and sparkles that was full to brimming with sweets. “I know you have the metabolism of a black hole, so you’ll probably eat the entire bag and only gain half a pound.”
Dawn greedily looked through the bag of goodies, noting that her friend had filled it with a number of her favorites. “Ya, this might not even make it to the airport,” she replied with a giggle. “Thanks, though. I like that tradition. Didn’t get you anything, though, didn’t want to send the wrong message.”
Vivienne shrugged. “It’s okay. I’ve always preferred to celebrate Valentine’s Day by giving rather than receiving.”
Dawn stuffed a piece of chocolate into her mouth, speaking around it. “You are such a fucking cinnamon roll.”
Vivienne smiled. “I try! What about you? Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”
“Dude, it’s my favorite holiday.”
Viv blinked. “Wait, really?”
Dawn nodded. “Hell yeah! Nothing like Lonely Drifter Christmas.”
She blinked again. “Lonely… Drifter…”
Dawn smirked. “I’m gonna bar-hop, look for hot guys who’re moping around because they got dumped before the holiday, buy them a drink, and get really, really laid.”
Vivienne clapped a hand to her mouth. “But… with men you don’t even know?”
Dawn nodded and grinned. “Fuck yeah, that’s the best kind. No better way to limber up a few days before a match, either. I got this one in the bag… or the sack.”
Vivienne looked away, not making eye contact, and a pall of sadness briefly fell over the girl. Dawn’s expression sobered, and she stepped over to her friend.
“Hey. Sometimes it doesn’t work out. Hell, I proved that against Natasha, right? Doesn’t make you any less of a badass in my eyes. Don’t worry about it, okay? Chin up, buttercup.”
Vivienne nodded and smiled, and the two of them hugged. After holding it for a few moments, Vivienne muttered into Dawn’s ear.
“She thinks being mean makes her better than other people. She thinks because she’s been here longer than the rest of us that makes her better than us. Knock her off her high horse. Kick her butt."
Dawn smiled. "As you fuckin' wish."
"Man, this match is bringing back memories. Both of you are in some way connected to that debut match a few weeks ago, my first ever where I walked into the ring with an ally at my side. That was a great match for me. I made a new friend in Caitlyn Wright - and believe me, making friends is kind of a big thing for me as people tend to find me - and this'll shock you - a touch on the abrasive side. I won, and that's always a plus, and I did so by pinning a legend's ass to the mat. I was riding high after that, believe you me, because I thought before that that if I could walk away saying that I'd been able to pin Zelda Fucking Knite that my career would be guaranfuckingteed for the rest of my god-damned life.
And then Crystal Hilton did it and proved that apparently she's fallen so far that pinning Zelda Knite is no longer a big deal.
I admit that it made my nostalgia a little sad to see your little tag-team implode, Crystal, though you made up for it by destroying your friendship in one truly spectacular fashion. I mean, to sabotage your partner by trying to grandstand yourself into success? That's the kind of careless display of poorly-trained nonsense that makes future partners nervous and future opponents positively giddy. You showed me that night that you care more about looking pretty and standing in the spotlight than actually fighting a match. You got the lights, you got the camera... but action? Crystal, the only action you managed was slapstick comedy at best, assuming that what you did was deliberate instead of a profound fuckup.
Of course, maybe it was just an accident. Maybe you could have come back and apologized, mea'd your culpas and salvaged a friendship that's older than my career. But nah. Crystal Hilton doesn't need friends. Crystal Hilton only needs to be the center of fucking attention, and you took your moment to further turn your back on Zelda Knite and burn that bridge as hard as you can.
Viv Rodgers was right about you. You're just a self-absorbed bitch blinded by the paparazzi's cameras, sneering down at everyone who you think you're better than - but you don't even do it with class. Instead you follow that trashier 'I'll do anything for attention' route that just screams that your daddy didn't love you enough. Let me break it down for you, Crystal Hilton -
And then Crystal Hilton did it and proved that apparently she's fallen so far that pinning Zelda Knite is no longer a big deal.
I admit that it made my nostalgia a little sad to see your little tag-team implode, Crystal, though you made up for it by destroying your friendship in one truly spectacular fashion. I mean, to sabotage your partner by trying to grandstand yourself into success? That's the kind of careless display of poorly-trained nonsense that makes future partners nervous and future opponents positively giddy. You showed me that night that you care more about looking pretty and standing in the spotlight than actually fighting a match. You got the lights, you got the camera... but action? Crystal, the only action you managed was slapstick comedy at best, assuming that what you did was deliberate instead of a profound fuckup.
Of course, maybe it was just an accident. Maybe you could have come back and apologized, mea'd your culpas and salvaged a friendship that's older than my career. But nah. Crystal Hilton doesn't need friends. Crystal Hilton only needs to be the center of fucking attention, and you took your moment to further turn your back on Zelda Knite and burn that bridge as hard as you can.
Viv Rodgers was right about you. You're just a self-absorbed bitch blinded by the paparazzi's cameras, sneering down at everyone who you think you're better than - but you don't even do it with class. Instead you follow that trashier 'I'll do anything for attention' route that just screams that your daddy didn't love you enough. Let me break it down for you, Crystal Hilton -
You're a cheap, dollar-store Lizzy Dalmon bootleg - and I broke the real thing last week.
You couldn't beat me when we last met, and you sure as hell won't beat me now. You may be trying to make your resurgence hon, but as comebacks go you're a lot more of a stammering 'your mom' joke than a truly Oscar Wildeian retort - forgettable, inspiring only mocking laughter, and extremely poorly delivered.
Amber Cooke, though... she's someone who thinks and acts a little more on my fucking level. There's no questioning the fact that she's a fighter first and pretty much nothing fucking else. I can get behind that. I've already talked about how this life, this career, is basically all I have to live for - dedicating your life, your blood, your soul to the fight is something that I can understand better than most. But the similarities end fucking there, because make no mistake Amber - you are damn near the fucking top of my shit list. The way you talk, the way you walk, the way you even breathe just screams about how you're a jackbooted drone of the establishment authority. You, miss bouncing betty, are the epitome of a soldier of conformity - an agent of the American Military Industrial Complex here to tell us how to act, how to think, and how to best fit in with your rigid stick-up-your-ass views of society.
When you look at me, do you see someone who's here to fucking conform?
That alone, right there, was enough for me to pretty much hate your guts on its fucking own. But then? Then you had to go and do what you did last week. You had to go talk shit about the first girl I tangoed with, my first friend in Combat Wrestling. You had to go fuck with my girl Caitlyn. Now, if you just took her down and beat her in the ring, I'd be irate but not the little dynamo of rage and violence that I am now. No, you went ahead and disrespected her, tore her apart, and treated her like nothing more than another civvy whose neck you thought might be a good fit for your boot. You didn't just beat that innocent girl, that friend of mine, but you humiliated her. You went for her spirit with savagery - and while I may have done that to others in the past myself, that doesn't mean I'm about to forgive it when someone I already don't like does it to one of my friends.
You're a military jarhead, right Amber? So you should know that just having a shitload of power isn't always what it takes to win. You should know from all sorts of battles and wars you'd have learned about in whatever school soldiers go to that just because you have the power doesn't mean you can land the shot. As we fight in Boston, I'm sure you'll be reminded of what happens when a big, mean figure of authority who thinks they have all the power gets a smaller little renegade nice and pissed off. Because right now? This little daughter of the Classic 13 is itching to beat the crap out of someone who wants me to obey... and you come treading on me and my friends.
Ya done goofed.
So girls, here's how it's gonna go. We're gonna go out there in that ring for a triple threat. Crystal's gonna go out and get all dazzled by the spotlight, so distracted by the attention that she'll probably make some critical mistake like she damn near always does. Amber'll strut out all marchy and bombastic, thinking how she's sure to win because she thinks she has the biggest guns and that clearly rigid established conformist authority always wins. And then I'll come out. I'll do what I do best. And I'll put one of you bitches in the fucking ground.
Because make no mistake. It's not a matter of "if" I can pin you, girls.
It's a matter of "Which One."
And when one of your asses goes onto the mat - you'll both be looking at me, standing over you, victorious - as ever man woman and child in the audience raises their fists with me as we shout three simple fucking words.
ALL.
BLOODY.
HAIL."