FreeCatFights

It%u2019s been a crazy few years. What with FTW shutting down suddenly and hitting the road again. Carrying around the FCF Unlimited Championship like some ronin walking the earth to regain some lost sense of honor. One last shred of respect after what went down, went down.

And while it was a boom time for the independent scene, it was also a bit of an evolution. Suddenly the business became more entertainment than sport. Spots became more important than psychology. Sizzle was getting the attention. Sure there were a few holdouts, but this was a new era. Evolve or fade away. I did appreciate the irony that one of the hottest acts going was a dinosaur who was anything but.
I kept at it. Doing shows here and there. Keeping my eyes as well as my mind open for new things. And trying my best to show some of these young kids that you didn%u2019t always have to go 100 miles per hour from the jump to have a compelling match.
I wasn%u2019t the top of the card or even a special attraction anymore. I got my tool belt out and did some carpentry. But despite being just the old solid hand, I%u2019d gotten the call to headline a special Indy shot as close to my hometown as you could get. Charlotte Coliseum. I have no idea who%u2019s got naming rights on it now, nor do I care. I got my start here as a teen working summers in high school building rings, selling programs, and other low level tasks for Jim Crockett Promotions. And for the first and probably final time of my career, I%u2019m actually headlining a show here. Sure it%u2019s nothing %u201Cmajor%u201D but for me and the fans that pay their money to show up, this is what this business is all about.
I have no idea why I%u2019m in the top spot on this show, which is this new version of Mid-Atlantic Championship Wrestling%u2019s first shot at PPV. And my opponent is even more of a mystery.
As I sit in the locker room, trying not to grin like a madman, I gear up. Stripping off my shirt and pants and looking at the full length mirror. A bit older, more of what they call a %u201Cdad bod%u201D, grey salted amongst the red of my hair, but that twinkle in my eye is still there. Because I love this business.
I can just see an echo of me in my prime standing beside me. And we%u2019re both smiling because neither of us has any regrets for being in this business. I still keep in shape. Still got cardio for days. My muscles are just a bit softer now. But my mind is as sharp as ever.
I slip on my classic crimson trunks and chuckle as they fit me like a glove. The material hugging against my flesh like an old friend, warm and familiar. I sit down and slide on my lucky socks over my bare feet. Then slip my trusty boots on. And as I add more of my outfit on, my demeanor changes. I feel the anticipation and intensity building. As I get my mask, I look at it knowing time for me to hang it up is getting sooner and sooner. But not tonight. Tonight I%u2019m in Charlotte Fucking North Carolina. Horseman Country. Home of some of the most bad ass matches in wrestling history.
Yeah, you feel it too don%u2019t you? That dull beat in the background starting to slowly pound more loudly in your ears. The rhythm taking over your body as you feel the atmosphere crackle. It%u2019s your heart beat reminding you you%u2019re alive. And ready to get down to business.
The mask slips over my head and feels like a second skin. But one that lets me change into the Enforcer once more. Gone are the aches and pains. Gone is the doubt. Gone is years of hard living and hard traveling.
I look back in the mirror and see the Red Enforcer, gearing up to take on the unknown. And I%u2019m ready.
It%u2019s Showtime.

As I pulled the rented Hyundai into the parking lot and turned the motor off, I put on the large black wraparound sunglasses and pulled the grey hood of the Georgetown hoodie up over my head before stepping out of the car. Before you ask, no, I never went to Georgetown. But it's my experience that proclaiming collegiate loyalty around these parts precluded a lot of questions I didn't care to answer just now. Especially if you weren't a conference rival.

I took a look around, taking in the white dome of the coliseum, the tree lined parking area, even the highway passing by. I also took the opportunity to stretch my legs and arms. In many ways, this was a pilgrimage for me, but pilgrimage or not, it was still a six hour drive I'd completed. A six hour drive for a payday that between the cost of the rental car, the gas, and food, wouldn't have enough left for a motel room, so I could look forward to another six hour drive after the show.

But I was in the main event.

That last thought brought a small smile to my face, and I went and got my bag out of the back. Main eventer or no, there'd be no fancy rolling suitcases for me. It was a big black canvas duffel I hoisted up onto my shoulder before locking the car and walking towards the coliseum's back entrance. Some places are pilgrimages in wrestling, and Charlotte is one of them. Even if Mid-Atlantic/JCP wasn't the territory you grew up with, you still recognized it as an important cornerstone of the business.

I approached the security guard manning the door and said, "Lady X," in a flat voice that marked me as "Northern" to folks around here, (which was true enough.)

The guard, wearing a headset, touched his ear and said, "Boss, we got a 'Lady X' at the door? Don't recognize her." I heard something resembling a tinny voice sounding from the man's earpiece, but not at a volume where I could pick out even a word of it. The man seemed to be looking me up and down in response to whatever was said. Would I need to strike a pose for him? Not that he'd likely recognize me, but it often made men more pliable. "Yeah, almost," he said, in response to what I would admit to some curiosity about. "Ok. Go on in, ma'am," he said, stepping aside.

I nodded my thanks and walked inside. Thankfully this was not my first time in this building, albeit the last time had been years ago. Still, I was able to mostly make a beeline to the locker room area, stopping briefly to introduce myself to a few men and women who were clearly wrestlers, none of whom I recognized, (proper etiquette must be observed, after all). They seemed a bit curious when I gave my name as "Lady X", though whether that was because I was using the gimmick name or because they'd seen the card and wondered who this strange out-of-towner was that was on top of it, but none was inclined to press me on either. This made a certain political sense. When someone comes in out of nowhere and immediately gets a main event spot, someone pulled a string somewhere, and that meant it was best to figure out the lay of the land before giving that person a hard time.

Eventually, I made it into the women's locker room, and was able to find a spot in the corner to set my bag down. I sat on the edge of the bench, opened the bag up, and retrieved a single item from inside. Before anything else, before changing clothes, before even getting out any of my other gear, off came the glasses and hood and on went the mask. I smoothed it down, taking a look at the light purple fabric with the white trim around the eyes, and the white vertical stripe from between them up to the top of the forehead, before letting the smooth synthetic fabric envelope me. I pulled my hair, worn long these days, down past my shoulder blades, through, twisting a large bit of it into a high ponytail, before tying it back behind my head, and taking a deep, cleansing breath.

Lady X had arrived.

I watched from the back as the card progressed. Sometimes even with my eyes. There's a trick to hanging out in the back about how to tell how matches are going. Listen to the crowd. They'll tell you how the guys in the ring are doing better than your eyes. If the performers in the ring know their stuff, the crowd will let you know. Hell, the best ones will play the crowd like an orchestra, using their moves and bodies and reactions to conduct the crowd like a master. I remember this one Punky vs Rowan match early on when they were snot nose kids relatively speaking that had the crowd sounding like a Danny Elfman score. Lots of energy, whipsaw changes of pitch. But at the end highly entertained.
Me, I guess you could say I'm more a John Williams type. I like to get a feel for the city, the angles, and switch up the tune so it flows. Light and Airy like ET. Deep and militant like The Emperor's March. Or sometimes as breathtaking as Duel of the Fates.
The prelims were winding down and I still hadn't seen my opponent yet. Sure this was a special attraction deal where the authority figure was bringing in an outside gun to take me out. It's a really tweeter type story we're running. As a name with history around here and other places I was being used to build the brand and put some heat on the woman in charge. Eventually, I'd get someone from their current roster to come join me and as we took down the big bad, a new star would be made. Kind of that Dusty/Magnum vibe or Dusty/Sting. With me as big Dust.
I guess that's why when they got me to Gorilla before my match, I had them cue up a different song than my usual Godzilla inspired theme.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=O6Q40nZRRco

The strains of some classic Allman Brothers filled the arena. Midnight Rider. A tribute to Dusty and a song that's had more meaning to me as I've gotten into the latter stages of my career.

"And First....from..Par...from Charlotte North Carolina!"
Ah that asshole. I kept my game face on but it felt nice to be acknowledged as being from this area for once.

"At 5'11 and 200 lbs...War Personified!!!! Here comes...THE RED ENFORCER!!!!"

Holy shit that big time asshole! I haven't been introduced as War in ages. 
Originally I was part of a four man masked group based on the Four Horsemen. No, not Arn, Tully, Ric and Barry. The biblical ones. I wore a red mask as War.  What can I say, Gary Hart had interesting ideas for characters.
Later on when that gimmick died, I kept the mask and borrowed the Enforcer name from Arn, my role model.
And here I was striding to the ring, a mix of cheers and boos from the old school fans. In my element again.
I got on the apron and wiped my boots as always and slid between the top and second ropes. I just put a hand up to acknowledge the crowd and they are it up because I normally just do the stone killer deal.
I'm not used the face role. But I do what I can. And I think they appreciate the awkwardness as it fits this angle with me being a reluctant hero, called off the mists of history to fight one last good fight.
I could feel the wood under the mat...the hard tape over the ropes and that mix of sweat and butter and beer you can only get at a wrestling match. It had been too long. Now, let's see what this Lady X has for me.
I figure she's running late or something or else we'd have run into each other in the back. I assume it's gonna be one of a couple of the wrestlers the promoter has on his roster, so that when she reveals herself she'll be the big time villain of the story.
Still, the not knowing and going into this cold. It's got me grinning under my mask. Damn I feel like I'm 20 again.
Let's do this....

And I look towards the entrance with much anticipation.

When the Red Enforcer pushed through the curtains, that was my cue to step out of that hiding spot behind the stack of boxes of merch and other sundries. I headed over to Gorilla as he made his entrance, butterflies in my stomach like I hadn't felt in years. Would this all come back to me? Would I remember everything I'd planned? Intricate entrances weren't really my forte, but I was coming into the main event with zero heat or name recognition. The crowd wouldn't know what to expect, so my first impression had to be something spectacular. The Allman Brothers' song faded out. Too late to back out now.

The arena lights went dark. They stayed that way for a good ten or fifteen seconds before a few clashes of a cymbal preceded the sudden onrush of epic symphonic metal:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYjIlHWBAVo

Lights flashed roughly in time with the pounding drums backing synthesized keyboards and a Gothic background choir, alternating white and purple. This went on for the better part of a minute, before finally the heavy guitar riffs cut in, and the fog machines kicked on, spraying their mist into the entrance area. This went on for another thirty seconds before I stepped through the curtains when the mist was at it's heaviest. Still by and large hidden from the crowd, I took a couple careful steps forward, and turned, raising my arms up above my head and slightly to the sides, before taking a wide stance, feet planted outside my shoulders. The mist slowly dissipated and the lights stayed on, showing the white X along the arms and back of the purple robe I was wearing.

The music softened, and I turned and walked away from the stage, down the aisle and towards the ring as the angelic voice of an operatic soprano serenaded my passage. I jumped up onto the apron, grabbing hold of the rope to steady myself before raising my arms once more as the gritty, heavy guitar sounds came back in place. I took note of Red Enforcer, wholly focused on me, eyes seeming just a touch wide behind that mask of his. Whether that was about the entrance or not I couldn't tell, but he wasn't my focus yet. At this point, the ring announcer did his job, trying his best to out-loud the music,

"And his opponent, from PARTS UNKNOWN..." Did Red just flinch a bit there? I dropped my arms and then threw the back, discarding the robe and turning around. Underneath the robe, I was wearing a purple tube top, trimmed in white like my mask, and matching booty shorts, with "Lady X" written in stylized white trim across the backside over a tall, slim, athletic body. Taking hold of the top rope, I leaned forward, swaying from the left to the right, not-so-subtly pushing my butt in Red's direction between the middle and top ropes. "Standing at 5'11 and weighing in at 135 lbs....she is the deadly, LADY X!!!!!"

While doing all this, I kept my attention on, of all things, the soles of my feet. Inside the purple boots with white laces, I kept alert for that shaking that indicated some heavy-footed running. I didn't THINK Red would try to jump me before the match started, but you could never be too careful. In any case, an ambush was not forthcoming, so I turned and lifted one boot upwards, sliding it between the top and middle ropes and setting it down in the ring before leaning forward and swiftly stepping into the ring.

Lady X was home.

Now, finally, I get to see my opponent. And my senses heighten. If this is someone I've never faced, I need to get as much info on their character and their style as quickly as possible. I can't remember the last time I've gone into a match cold much less the main event. But the promoter promised me that this random person who challenged me out of nowhere had the chops to handle the main event.
The music was..different. It didn't set off any bells. The colors reminded me of Megan, but she didn't move like that. There's a poise about this woman. That eliminates all the women in this promotion. Most are green, but learning. The few vets they have aren't this tall or confident. This was a major production of an entrance, which made me think of Rowan, but no, she had more sensuality to her movements which she couldn't hide. This Lady X was a bit more...regal? 
She made it to the apron, and lifted her arms again. Staring me down as I was trying to figure her out. No, this woman is tall. And fluid as she shrugged off her robe and revealed a very sexy looking tube top/boy short outfit. In some this would exude sensuality, another weapon to use in the mind games of a match. But on her it looked more like confidence. That she could stand in front of thousands of people looking however she wanted and command their attention.
That and her height reminded me of Jenny Dare. And just then the announcer did his spiel and emphasized Parts Unknown. I flinched. To keep from corpsing and as my thoughts drifted over to Jenny. It would be like her to do something like this. And then the Lady did a very graceful turn, reminiscent of a dancer and cheekily, figuratively and literally, presented her booty to me. As distractions go, it is one of the best ones to try. But it did eliminate Jenny as I would recog...well you know.
And yes, I know it sounds sexist and all to admit, but I was staring at that X for quite some time and trying to remember if I'd ever seen it before. I appreciate the feminine form. I admit it. Lady X definitely spent time keeping in shape and has a lovely bottom. I just...there was a tickle at the base of my brain, but I couldn't quite get there.
I have been known to jump start matches and something in how she was standing (yes I did stop staring at her hind end...eventually) told me she was bracing for it. There are subtleties in how someone stands when they're relaxed and when they're on guard so to speak. She was ready. But since I was ostensibly the good guy in this drama, hometown hero and all, I decided to let the moment pass.
She realized it too and moving like water, she slipped into the ring. Oh she's good. She's very good.
The beat of my heart resumed thumping in my ears. This was going to be fun. It's been too long since I'd been this amped for a wrestling match.
I couldn't help but lock eyes with Lady X and give her a slight nod as my lips pulled back in what my dad would call my best shit-eatin' grin. This was gonna be a classic.
So I decided to walk to the center of the ring right up to the ref and extend a hand out to my fellow masked wrestler.
Let's see what she's made of.

However much time I'd spent in the business, I never ran out of opportunities to learn from those who'd been in it that much longer than me.

As I step into the ring and look across at my opponent, he steps forward and extends a hand towards me.

When I was very young, I would have seen this as grandstanding, and as an opportunity. You're going to hand me a limb? Why thank you kind sir, yes I will take that opening.

When I was...less young, I would have seen it as a potential trap. You're going to hand me a limb? Interesting. You're not a fool, so what could you have planned?

Now, being...even less young, I see it for what it is: an invitation. An invitation to walk up and tell him what I'm about, whether that means looking him in the eye and shaking his hand, or looking him in the eye, shaking his hand, and giving him a kick between the legs. He's got no book on me yet, so he wants to start putting one together in a hurry.

In most recent years I'd have sought to convey as much disinformation as possible. It was too late to pretend to be young and nervous...and in any way, THOSE kinds of efforts weren't why I was here. Professional wrestling may be swimming with sharks but if you really want a life of cutthroat ruthlessness, go work in an office, or a university. You don't even get the release of punching your coworkers in the face there.

Without hesitation, I answered his invitation, stepping forward, expression on my face neutral, the eyes behind my mask locked on the eyes behind his, and extended my hand, grasping his larger fingers firmly in mine, before continuing my forward motion, grabbing his wrist with my left hand and bending my knees to drop my center of gravity. turning my right hip into him and pressing my ass into his groin and leaning forward, pulling the center of his mass over mine and flipping my bigger opponent over me, dropping him onto his ass.

I pulled his arm under mine, kneeling down and twisting the limb so the palm was facing up and his tricep was pressed against my left knee. Behind me, I heard the referee yelling something, followed by the clarion call of the bell ringing. Had I never before realized what a sweet sound that was?

Lady X was on the job.

The minute my hand went out, I got what I wanted. The pause was almost instantaneous, but it was there. She's a quick thinker. And she played out her options in the blink of an eye. This is going to be a good chess game. Because ultimately that's what shoot matches are. Well this wasn't a pure shoot, but it was a legit contest between the two of us. And she has all the advantages except the crowd. But I could tell she could not care less about that.
This was a pro. A veteran. And she knew whatever she did gave me information. Basically this is a race now. I have to see if I can figure out enough about her to get a feel for her style and plan accordingly.
She knows me and what I can do so she wants to put me down before I can get the info I need. So during this development phase she's going to want to be as enigmatic as she can while taking me apart.
I gave her the opening and she's taken it. The throw she used is smart and very technical. I was impressed as I flew through the air. I also knew when I felt that bottom of hers snap into my groin that she definitely wasn't Jenny, or pretty much anyone else I'd ever faced.
Umm for reasons.
Anyways...
I snapped over pretty quickly and felt the thrum of the boards under the mat as I slammed down hard on my ass. The shock of impact jolting my spine and driving electric pulses out to my limbs terminating at my fingers and toes.
Before I could process this, she had my arm barred and I could hear the ding of the bell in the distance.
Instinctively my hand goes to slap my trapped shoulder.
"Nice. Welcome to Charlotte"
I mutter as I start to rock back and forth on my bottom.
Testing her purchase and seeing if I can get loose enough to get a leg under me it roll to a knee. Something that will let me use my size to bull my way up and relieve some of this pressure. This was the arm Aika trashed a few years back. And I'd rather not deal with more injuries.
And so the dance begins.

Finding my way to the front row, sitting down in my little black dress and wide-brimmed hat. Black glasses over my eyes.

No popcorn. No hot dog. Just a tall ice-cold Coke. And I sip it through lipstick red lips.

Continue on, Red. And don't worry about that arm. From here, it looks fine.

As the boos rained down upon me for starting the match a slight bit early, I was running over a different calculus than my opponent, while not verbally responding to his welcome. The crowd was a null set. We'd both spend most of our careers as heels. The boos and cheers were background noise. I had the quick start, but one bump wasn't gonna mean much in the long run. I might have a little less mass to move, but I'd always been a quicker thinker than mover. Technical savvy was one thing but neither of us was any slouch in that department. And there were two advantages firmly in your column: Strength and mass.

There's a reason they call them "weight classes" and not "speed classes". When you started to rock your weight back and forth, I tried to get low, tried to limit your ability to move, but it was like trying to ground a Vauxhall. You rocked forward, got a knee under you, and from there pushed into a standing position, pushing me back up onto my feet as well. I let my hands slip down to your wrist, trying to turn it and maybe get in a hammer position, but you set your feet, held your no longer barred arm out, and grabbed my wrist in turn, pulling me forward and LAUNCHING me towards the corner behind you.

It was all I could do to keep my feet under me and turn to take the hit on my back, wincing as I felt my spine compress the thin corner pad into the hard steel of the turnbuckle, leaving a dull pain in the middle of my back. I barely had time to reassess before you followed after, the point of your shoulder digging into my midsection, knocking the breath out of me in a guttural groan. I opened my mouth wide, trying to suck in oxygen to get that wind back, but your well-muscled arms were going around my waist, lifting me up over your shoulders.

Well this wouldn't do at all. I reached down and grabbed at the waistband of your tights with both hands, grabbing hold and kicking my legs upward, tucking and rolling forward enough to land in a crouch on my feet behind you, with you behind me, I jumped upwards, reaching behind me with my arms to grab at your head with both hands, kicking my feet out in front of me and dropping down onto my back, pulling your head backwards with me as I crashed down.

The past few minutes were pretty much a blur as my instincts took over and I fought my way back. Blood is definitely pumping and I'm starting to work up a sweat. I can barely hear the crowd as they aren't quite used to this type of grapple battle.
She's good whoever she is. It irks me that I can't figure out who this is. Like my subconscious is Gibbs slapping the back of my head. But she isn't anyone I've fought. That's for sure.
Her moves are quick mostly because she has a plan and a backup. But I don't think she's faster than I am. And just when I go to lean my strength into her and wear her down, she tugs on my tights and slips free. Then before I can think of a next move, her sure hands go around my head and drag me down to the canvas with a BOOM.
Neck breakers are no fun and I'm in a bit of a daze after this one. My eyes are blinking under my mask and the shock down my spine has me not quite feeling my legs. In fact all I can feel are my tights which are digging up into me a bit uncomfortably after her escape.
But I don't adjust. I deal with it. Mostly because as I try and sit up, I feel one of her arms slip around my head and cinch in. And it's a strong arm. Not the most power I've felt, but she knows how to use it.
Suddenly my head is twisted a bit oddly and she's laying in a hard neck crank.
My breathing is a bit ragged now, chest heaving and she's really going for pain early on.
She's obviously taken on bigger people before and she's using the sound strategy of keeping me off my feet and targeting one of my five points of balance. In this case my head and neck. Controlling that limits my movement and keeping me on the mat neutralizes my strength.
It sounds bleak but I can't help but smile. This is the most fun I've had in some time.
Again, I have to try and get to my feet. But she's tanking me the other way if I try to move.
Fuck.
This is really painful.
The ref steps in and she asks me if I want to give. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Hell no I don't want to give. We're still early. Although I do admit that she is wearing some very sweet smelling cherry blossom lotion or body spray or something. And even with her hair bound back in a ponytail, a look of focus and concern on her face, she does look rather pretty. Deep blue eyes, a hint of freckles under the makeup she's wearing and...whoa..yeah..I need to get out of this. My mind is wandering.
She's stifling me at every turn as I try to move up. So here is where I have to move out.
Both hands on her arm, gripping. Pushing. Flexing my biceps and moving to try and push this hold off me. But mostly to keep her focused on my hands. So my right leg can shift and scoot and working the heel of my boot get that much closer to the rope.....

Quick hits and holds that can punish fast seem like what's going to be the order of the day, here. Even after your disorientation following the neckbreaker, I could only hold you in place so long before you were able to reorient yourself and get your mass and strength all moving in the same direction. I see, or more accurately feel, what your feet are doing, but I'm in no position to counter that. Trying to get my legs over there to disrupt yours would weaken the hold to the point your hands would be able to break it, so instead I let you expend your energy pushing us both.

The referee asks you again if you want to give up, but of course your only answer is to keep pushing your lower body to the side. I lean back to make it as strenuous as possible, but eventually you get there, draping the toe of your boot on the bottom rope behind you. "He's in the ropes!" the exceedingly cute ref says. "Break the hold!"

I make a bit of a sniffing motion with my face, exaggerating the gesture somewhat so it's clear under the mask. "Is that Sakura Rain you're wearin'?" I ask, letting a Texas-style southern drawl creep into my tone, slowing the question down just a bit. The ref blinks in surprise. "Really sugar, you shouldn't be allowed to wear that durin' a match," I say, batting eyelashes coquettishly at her and smiling seductively, "Listen, I don't know if you have any plans after the show..."

The ref shook her head and appeared to realize what I was doing, as she immediately shouted "ONE! TWO! THREE! Break the hold!"

"I'm waitin' for you to get to four," I said. Reasonably, I thought. The now frantically booing crowd seemed to disagree.

"FOUR!" she shouted, at which point I let go of the neck crank and immediately rolled away from you into a crouch. I knew you would need a second, and you ensured you'd have that by keeping your right foot on the rope, while your hands went to your neck to try to work some circulation back quickly. The referee watched me carefully. I raised my hands, indicating that I would stay back, and she moved over to near your head to check on you and confirm you could continue.

Since I already knew the answer, I changed the question, taking a quick two steps towards you, jumping up off of the mat and dropping one boot down onto the back of your right calf. More boos and more negative attention from the referee followed. I didn't really listen, keeping my eyes focused on you, or I might have heard her promise to give me her number after the match.

This is not going well for me. I get to the ropes and the cute ref takes an inordinate amount of time to get the count going. Can't say I blame her. Lady X's mask is sexier than mine. As I'm performing amateur chiropractic adjustments on my neck, I keep my foot on the ropes to get more of a breather.
And Lady X promptly stomps a Charlie Horse into my calf.
Gawddammit, I am being steamrolled like a damn rookie.
So since wrestling doesn't have time outs, I do the next best thing and roll under the ropes. I don't know if Lady X is a high flyer, but I want to see so I pull myself up at the railing. Off to my right I catch a glimpse of Rowan with a mix of amusement and frustration on her face seeing me in this pickle. And behind me I hear more than see Sadie berating me because I "haven't snapped that lanky bitch in half already."
Fine then. I thought I heard Lady X pull out a rather piddling attempt at a Southern accent. It sounded like someone with a flat accent trying to sound like stereotypical Texan. More Foghorn Leghorn than Matthew McConaughey. I guess I can show her a taste of real Texas in return.
She's watching me, but not making a move to do a Tope Suicida or Con Hilo or Con Carne. Good. I'm not built for the flips either. Instead I take a jaunt around the ring. As much to work out the knot in my calf as to see how closely she watches me. And sure enough in her crouch, she slowly turns, letting me see her watching me.
And letting every side of the audience get a nice look at that X labeled derrière of hers.
You're welcome Wrestle with the Plot.
I do a complete circuit and hit the ring steps as cute ref gets to 7. I ask her to keep X back, even though she hasn't gotten close and the ref turns to focus on X and hopefully distract her so I can get in the ring safely. Once in, I get my hands up and move close like I'm asking for a lock up.
Cautiously X mirrors my movements and just as we both go to lock up, I dip to her right, slipping my right arm around her waist as I spin around her and get behind her.
I'm not fast. But I can be quick and I was hoping this would catch her off guard as I've been slow playing this match so far.
Once behind her, I don't waste a moment before putting both my hands on her back and SHOVING her forward to the ropes.
As she goes to them, I dash a bit behind her. Off a half beat.
She spins, catches the ropes with her back.
And the next thing she sees is all of me barreling towards her, right arm cocked back, bicep bulging, suppressing the urge to yell out at her as I have a Stan Hansen sized lariat headed her way.

When the ref admonishes me this time, Red rolls out of the ring before I can get back at my opponent (or explain to the ref that actually I'm seeing someone right now,) and he's got the distance between us he wanted. I could go after him, but it'd be in an environment where my advantages would be diminished and his heightened. He's keeping an eye on me, but he's out of range of a football slide, and while I'm not incapable of attempting dives or the like, it's not my preferred strategy. Why risk needlessly when I've had the advantage so far? Anyway the best possible outcomes would be a count-out victory, or having to roll his heavy ass back into the ring, so I'll keep my distance as well, standing in a light crouch to keep myself limber, pivoting as he takes a stroll around the ring.

When he's back in, he comes in for a lock up. A lock up doesn't favor me, of course, so I think I'll complete the lock up, let him push me back some (not that I'd have a choice) and then try for a trip or spin, or maybe even a monkey flip if he goes hard enough. Instead we never link up at all. Instead he ducks underneath, getting a hand on my waist and swiftly pivoting into the go behind. I'm trying to grab for that hand when instead I'm shoved forward hard. We're only a long stride from the ropes, so I have to turn quickly take the bounce. Seeing him coming I try to keep turning, but all that means is his bicep clatters the side of my head instead of the front of it.

My head is thrown back, my body is still moving forward, and I'm rotating in mid-air. I try to tuck my chin out of instinct and land flat on my back, looking up at the lights, which don't seem to be staying in one place for some reason. Ugh. Getting my bell rung is the worst. When so much of my game is mental, it makes me worry I won't be up to par for the rest of the match. I take a breath, trying to clear my head, but the swaying sensation returns when I feel my legs lifted up off of the mat.

What does clear my head a bit is the sharp pain in my right calf as I get a little payback for that thing on the ropes. I close my eyes and cry out, wishing the clarity didn't come with such clear sensations of pain in both my leg and my head. And my stomach, for that matter, cuz Red then stomps on that with a heavy foot. I groan gutturally, clutching at my abdomen. His boot then slams down on me again, helpfully avoiding my hands. "AHHH!!" I shout, eyes wincing shut as my hands move a short ways down. "Low...." I try to force out, still having trouble getting breath in me. "Low blow!" I complain in the direction of the ref, who admonishes Red now as I roll over onto my knees, still not able to stand.

It would have been a good trick to try and get the cute ref onside and get a breather but that shot really WAS a touch low. "Ugghhh, bastard" I hiss under my breath, not even bothering to paint those words with an accent other than my own.

I put my hands to the mat, preparing to try to push myself up off of it but above me I hear a cheerful "Nope!" and immediately Red's big bum drops down onto my back, which already isn't a fun night out, but then his hands go around my chin and he leans backwards, bending me backwards.

I cry out in pain, and I'm smelling cherry blossom again which means the ref is in my face, asking if I want to give up. "NO!" I shout, though it's somewhat muffled by Red's thick fingers under my chin. I claw at the ring with my hands, kicking with my feet and trying to find a toehold in the mat to push us forward.

Finally.
I didn't nail the lariat like I wanted, but it did the job. X was on the mat and stopped and I wanted to keep the pressure on. Take out her breathing. Check.
Now granted, I tried to shift my second stomp to not hit her hands reflexively. And with a size 12 boot, I didn't have much room to move. So her cry of low blow may have a kernel of truth to it. I'll apologize later.
But finally I have her pinned under my mass. My arms out and gripping her lower jaw. Fingers slightly covering her lips, but not so much to choke her out illegally or anything. Biceps and triceps flexing and straining to just YANK back on that head of hers. While my boots press down on the mat to add more backwards torque and also help jam my bottom into her lower back to press on her spine and help me pull her into that really sweet C shape.
I noticed a lot of camera phone flashes going (I miss hearing the pop of actual camera flashbulbs) and hope that she's smart enough to secure her tube top if she's going to fight in one. They don't really use enough submission holds anymore. Watching an opponent struggle and react to the pain and bravely fight on really adds drama to matches.
But right here all I wanted to do is bring the pain.
Sure I probably could have taken a few more seconds to toss her arms on my thighs and do a proper camel clutch, but I had good reason not to.
First, it's too early in the match to try for a submission. All I would do is blow myself up and burn precious energy I would need later. Second, I couldn't give X those moments to think. I need her doing what she's doing now.
Forcing her arms forward to claw towards an escape. Moving her legs as best she can with my 200 lbs on her, pinning her lower back so she can push with her feet. Bearing my weight as she slides along the canvas in a slow, agonizing crawl. And I'm just sitting down, getting my head right and yanking back on her.
The cute ref, man what was her..
"Hey, ref. What's your name again?"
She was mid-query with X when she stopped and just looked up at me with the most adorable look of confusion I've seen in a while. And no, I do not have that effect on women, that's a damn dirty lie.
She shrugged me off and went back to work when X's groaning got her attention again. It was hot under these lights and I really started to get a good sweat on. But even while doing this, I was planning out my next series of moves for when X finally finished her death march on the canvas.
But even then...
I leaned forward and whispered in her ear.
"So do I know you or owe you money or something? If so, we can hit this Waffle House nearby and settle up after the match and all."

A shudder went through my body. Whether it was a paroxysm of pain or just my natural reaction to being invited to Waffle House I couldn't say.

What I could say though is that with Red whispering right in my ear like that, I knew exactly where his head was, so I held myself steady with my left palm pressed into the mat and reached back with my right, curling my fingers and getting them in good around the eyeholes of Red's mask. "GAHHH!" he shouted, rolling off of me and letting my upper body flop down to the mat.

I groaned in a mix of pain and relief while somewhere behind me and off to the side Red wasn't nearly so calm about it. "Motherfu-" and so forth. My, Red COULD curse a blue streak when he was properly motivated. The referee shouted at me off to the side but I ignored her. She wasn't DQing me so it didn't matter. I took a page from Red's book, rolling out of the ring and putting my hand to my back, trying to put all the vertebrae back in place. After checking on Red, the ref looked in my direction and started a count.

I made no move to get back in. My back needed to rest after that. I'm fairly flexible but he put that one in tight. And then invited me to Waffle House. I shook my head, trying not to laugh.

And then there was nothing to laugh about because Red was marching hard in my direction, and he looked somewhat more than mildly irritated. "COME HERE YOU LITTLE-" he shouted as he slipped quickly out between the middle and top ropes right next to me. That was my cue to dive back under the bottom rope into the ring. I pushed quickly to my feet, and saw him diving back in after me.  He tried to push up as well, but I stepped forward, grabbing for the sides of his mask with both hands, driving my right knee upwards once, twice, three times.

He stood and I took a step back, arms raised, slipping into a karate stance. I wasn't entirely sure if he'd pushed himself up there or been driven up by the knee strikes, and by the slightly disconnected look in his eye. I took a step forward and turned, pivoting around my left foot and sending a right-handed backfist aimed at his face. Two heavy hands closed around my wrist. Shit.

I swung my left arm around, landing a knife edge chop to his right wrist, which got that hand to let go but his left hand held firm. He gave a tug on my arm, spinning me to my left and trying to get me in a hammerlock. He only had me this way for an instant before I leaned to the left and then threw my body to the right, getting my left hand down below me and allowing me to cartwheel out of the hold. With my feet set, I shot my right foot out behind me, landing the sole of the boot in Red's midsection and eliciting a satisfying grunt from the man. My bloody wrist still wasn't free though.

I moved quickly to my right, bringing his left arm back across his body and getting me close to the corner. The movement rotated him and I ran up onto the middle ropes, turning and leaping to get my right hand up and over his head, trying to rotate around and pull him into a tornado DDT. Only the rotation stopped and the tornado turned into a light breeze. Shit.

"No you don't, bi...hrm, no you don't."

I could almost laugh at Red declining to call me a bitch but instead I muttered "Kinell" as he turned us around, jumped into the air and dropped all his weight onto me as I landed back first on the mat.

Rey Mysterio not withstanding, eye injuries are pretty scary. Thing is, it's not the eye itself that hurts. You can't feel pain in your eyeball because of the lack of nerves. That's why things like cataract surgeries are outpatient affairs. It's the gouging of the area around your eyes that hurts. You have lots of blood vessels close to the ski too that can screw up your vision.
So instead of politely refusing my invitation to some of the best waffles in the world, I get fingers in and around my eyes. Thankfully X didn't have sharp nails or I would have been bleeding.
The rest of the next few minutes was a figurative and literal blur while my eyesight returned. I fought her off as best I could, but as long as she played hit and run, she had an edge.
It was when she went for broke that I could get my hands on her. She wanted to hit the mat so hard, I just clamped down on her with my best Claudio impersonation and in honor of where we were, reset and spun around, DRIVING her back hard into the mat with a AA spinebuster.
As she lay there and my head cleared, I registered the bit of slang I heard her say.
"Fuck me" I muttered. Cute ref must've heard me because she looked at me in a bit of shock for a moment.
"No, sorry. Interjection not invitation."
I used the tip of my boot to "nudge" X over onto her belly.
"Time's up on your rally, Lady X."
And I dropped down quickly, driving my knee into her lower back. She was going to feel this. I was thinking why would she come after me as I reached down for her mask and helped her to her feet, keeping her bent over and lifting her up and over my head for one of those fancy new suplexes into the turnbuckles.
She looked kinda silly in all her purpleness squished in the corner. Shame to leave her like that. Grabbing the mask again, I pulled her up. I'm in the zone now. The Enforcer taking over. Looking to punish this woman for trying to take my eye out. I'm pretty slow to anger, but when it hits, I run hot.
This time I pull her all the way up on her feet as she shuffles woozily. My right arm slips between her legs as my left goes to her shoulder and I haul this silly git up into the air and turn. Through hazy sight I see Rowan and grin. I pop Lady X up into the air, going to a Gorilla press position and then I bring her down, bending my right leg at the knee and flexing my thigh as I slam the masked woman back first over my leg with a bit of an evil grin.
I shove her off of my leg and onto the mat, right there in the middle of the ring. I go and whisper in her ear again.
"Here's something my buddy Darren showed me."
I move to her feet and take her near foot and put it between my thighs, forcing it to bend as I lean forward. Then I lay on her back and extend my arms out snaring her face right near her nose and grip tightly and start ratcheting my arms back. The STF. A nasty hold taught to me by an evil man designed to put on some serious pain.
"Tick tock, Lady X" I say as I secure the hold and grind back.

Things did not get better after the spinebuster. I got rolled over onto my front, then had a knee dropped in the middle of my back, got dragged back up and buckle bombed, had my back dropped onto a knee, possibly for symmetry's sake. Next I assume a buckle would be dropped on me? Wait, that makes no sense. Fuck. Where am I?

I'm on a wrestling mat.

And I hurt.

Sensibility came rushing back to me, which really didn't improve matters as far as pain went. It had been a while since I'd been in trouble like this. Well, it had been a while period. But also since that.

I breathe in deeply, trying to focus myself, when Red whispers in my ear again. I reach for his head once more but I'm too slow this time. Didn't think I'd catch him with the same trick twice. I felt my leg pulled forward, then wrapped painfully around his leg behind me. I scowled witheringly at someone in the front row (was that Sadie Davis? No it couldn't be. Front row tickets were way out of her price range. Maybe she robbed a bloke,) Darren would've padlocked one of my legs around the other.

Because of this, my left leg was still free, so when he set himself, putting his crossface grip right on the bridge of my nose (fuck that hurt), I dug the toe of my left boot into the mat, trying to push us forward.

And trying.

And trying.

Dammit, the big bastard was too heavy to move. Was he really that pissed over the eye poke?

"Tick tock, Lady X," he said behind me. Oh. Not about the eyepoke.

Well that wasn't really a surprise, was it?

Not relevant right now. How else to get free? I reached behind me, trying to get some leverage (or possibly tempt him to release the crossface and go for the limb) but he didn't move and there wasn't anything I had any leverage over this way.

I put both hands on his, pushing up on them, trying to slip free of the crossface. Ironically if they were on sweaty skin I might be able to slip free but this bloody mask gave him too much friction, and I couldn't move it.

The mask.......

Did I dare? She'd kill me.....Fuck it. I'm not built to quit.

My hands went behind my head, reaching for the ties of the mask and giving them a solid tug...

I have to admit, when I get angry I'm a petty bastard. I switch on full aggression and super snark. If X is who I think it is, then even this hold I'm enjoying will piss her off. I intentionally invoked the name of one of the UK's most famous wrestlers, then put on the shitty John Cena version of the hold by leaving her a free leg.
Thing is, with enough strength and determination, even shitty holds can hurt.
And it's ironic to me that the item supposed to protect X from my wrath is actually helping me inflict more of it. Her mask is helping anchor my arms across her face.
This lets me grind...and pull...and crank...get to feel those vertebrae in her back click clack as I slowly bend her upper body back towards me and make her arch.
I'm sure she makes a lovely sight for those in front of her, being stretched out like this.
She really doesn't have a chance to...wait..what..
You gotta be kidding me.. she's..she's unlacing her mask?
Is she trying to ease the pain or...
I chuckle...she's really so hellbent on not submitting that she's willing to unmask?
Now it is a real race. If I just pull and strain more. More than intended, burning through some stamina but fuck it. Yank..pull..tug
I hear myself growling as my biceps and triceps pop while I pull back harder.
If I can just make it hurt so much she can't move her arms...
Come on..come on...tap dammit, tap!
And as I'm putting all into snapping X like a Slim Jim, I suddenly fly back off of her..her mask still between my clasped wrists.
I roll to my feet.
This I just have to see.
The ref is yelling about the mask. In Mexico I could be DQ'd. Except I didn't take it off of her. She did it herself.
And we both watch as X gets to all fours and moves to the ropes away from me. Still hurting but still in the mask. Her hair has fallen over, still shrouding her face.
I give her a moment. I would just charge in, but this is a big moment for the fans. The people watching. The drama builds. And above all, I'm a showman. I love giving the people what they want.
So I let X get to her feet. But I stay close. So I can grab her and continue when the big reveal is done.
The ref sees her face first, does a gasp, with a bit of a blush. Dammit, why do the cute ones have to...
And then I see her face and find myself moving closer on instinct.
"Fuck me, you actually took the mask off"
I happen to say out loud..
And just as I'm about to talk to the wrestler formerly known as Lady X, she laces out a swift punch to my solar plexus that drops me to my knees and has me looking down at the mask in my hands and wheezing like a four pack a day smoker.
Fuck. I hate being right.

As Red goes flying off of me, I kick my feet free (should've put the hold on right!) and crawl away to the ropes.

In the before-times, I'd have taken a more mercenary attitude to a match. Obviously I never LIKED to lose, especially by quitting, but when a hold got locked in and my limit started getting pressed, I had to calculate costs vs benefits and decide whether it was better to live to fight another day.

But that was just it, now. I might not HAVE another day. I wasn't even supposed to have this day. I stole it, like a thief in the night. Literally wore a mask to do it. And there might well be blow-back from this. Maybe not immediately, but she googles me now and again. It'd likely come up sooner or later. "Callista Quinn unmasked in shock return". Well, it might happen, but there was no way I was going to allow that to precede "and lost".

Gritting my teeth, I get to my feet, realizing my hair is still covering my face. I almost never wore it this long when I was wrestling. I recognize Red is milking this for all it's worth. I am too, if for a slightly different reason. When the moment is right, (and I know exactly when that is, I might not be as concerned about putting on a show but I know how to do it,) I brush my hair aside, letting the ref see me, then my opponent, then the portion of the crowd in front of me. I look first to the left, then to the right to make sure as many of them as possible see.

Red closes in on me, still holding "Lady X"'s mask, then says, "Fuck me, you actually took the mask off." My lips thinned. You had this tendency of stating the obvious at times that led me to underestimate you in FTW. It was still annoying, and I express my annoyance by directing a quick straight punch into your solar plexus, which drops you down onto your knees. I reach for your head with both hands, getting my right arm under your chin and meeting both hands behind your head, pulling you into a cravat and forcing you back up onto your feet.

I crank on that neck for as hard as I can, knowing you'll be forcing me to release this shortly. You don't disappoint, getting both hands on my back and launching me forward. I go with it, pumping my legs and pounding my boots onto the boards, turning and taking the ropes on my back before launching back to you. You're telegraphing another big lariat, which I run faster towards, getting low and getting my hands up to catch that arm, not to try to block it but to kick my legs out, pivoting around that arm and flipping backwards, letting go of it as I begin to come back round right-side up and getting my right arm around your head, letting my boots hit the mat as I pulled your head forward to try to cinch in that guillotine.

Well I've removed Lady X's advantage but that leaves me facing Callisto Freaking Quinn. My boss in Countdown from FTW. We never had the warmest relationship, but never thought she'd go for taking me out. And especially not wearing a provocative tube top. Wow.
Uhh..focus.
Like a red rose, this English Rose has thorns below her beauty. And she's got me baffled.
Cravat to whip to reversal.
I'm moving like a rookie.
Until she slaps that guillotine on me and I yell "ENOUGH!"
She tries...something...and I give her a hard no and grab those bottoms she's wearing by the waistline and haul her up in the air just enough so I can power her into the corner.
I hear the satisfying WHAM of her body into the buckles as I follow her in.
I take a moment and reach out for the middle rope on either side of her.
"If you wanted a match"
Pulling myself forward, driving my shoulder into those strong abs of hers, feeling her bend a bit back.
"All you had to do"
And I pull again, bashing the same spot on her belly, hearing that whoosh of air past her lips as I strike.
"Is ask."
And one last thrust, hard muscled shoulder hitting that stomach of hers and feeling her melt into the corner. I reach for her hand and press into her, readying a whip to the opposite side.
"Explaining myself to you would require...hufff...you to have the attention span...huff...longer than the trashy blondes you like so much."
I almost laughed at that and hoped Sadie didn't hear.
"Oh, so, you never answered. Waffle House later?" I say with a grin before stepping back and sending her flying to the other corner.
Soon as she hits, I just can't stop myself. I'm in Charlotte in the main event.
I do the Sting Howl.
And then I rush her, launching up in the air for a Stinger Splash.

Look, I've been accused (not wholly unfairly) of snobbery a time or two, but I get it. I do. The appeal of the greasy, comforting food of your childhood makes perfect sense. Waffle House to Red was like the chip shops of Manchester I grew up with were to me. The food wasn't fantastic but it filled something inside you that wasn't your stomach, for a little while at least. But to me it was just a diner offering low-priced coronaries.

Unfortunately for Red while I was not an avid consumer of foreign diner culture, foreign WRESTLING was something I had always been mad for. So when I get whipped into the corner and hear that howl, I know exactly what's coming. And when Red commits, leaping into the air, I push off in a quick half-step before dropping into a football slide, grabbing Red's legs passing by and dropping him face-first into the turnbuckle's corner pad. "Only thing getting smothered and covered tonight is you, mate."

Behind me, Red hits hard, but with his arms out he's able to steady himself and keep his feet. I push up to my feet, get a two step run-up, and jump up into the air, grabbing Red's head as I sail over the ropes and dropping his neck across the thinly-padded cable as I drop down to the floor below, landing a tad unsteadily on the floor but managing to keep MY feet, taking a couple steps towards the guard rail separating the punters from the ring area.

Confirming that yes, that IS Sadie in the front row, I get a bit of a cheeky grin on my face and reach over the rail, giving her hair a quick tousle before quickly darting back away from any potential response, rolling back into the ring under the bottom rope. Red is still getting back to his feet, so I quickly throw my arm around his head, slapping a headlock on and trying to wrench the neck back and forth before he has a chance to get comfortable. Comfortable or not, however, he's not worn down nearly enough, as his hands go around my waist and lift me up and over his shoulder, my back crashing down painfully in the middle of the ring.

I knew the yell was a bit much but I couldn't help it. And so I ate the turnbuckles. Then she jams my neck into the top rope..which is really a stiff cable.
And I'm staggered. If Calli followed up right away I'd be toast. But she takes a moment to mess with..a fan..who is yelling like Sadie...
That gives me precious time to gather myself. So when she gets the headlock, I'm able to grab her around the waist and lift her into a back suplex.  We both hit hard. And I'm coughing as I roll up onto my ass. Time for some answers..
I get behind Calli and lift her up, my legs around her waist, over her hips, thighs snapping against her ribs, quads flexing, and lock my ankles in front of her. Arm around her head in a chin lock to pull her close. So we can talk.

"Calli, why would you take this match against me and not warn me?"

"Oh Red....I don't mean to be cruel," now, anyway, "but this was never about you."

"Then what the fuck is it about Calli? Help me understand.  I was told this was pretty much a bounty match. This Lady X was gonna take me out"
"Yeah that's what your promoter thought I was about. Didn't affect me so I didn't correct him"

"Fine then. Let's finish this dance? You and me. For the first time. Let's see who wins."

And with one more quick squeeze of my thighs, I release the scissors and scramble to my feet.
Reaching down to get a handful of her hair as I slowly drag her up to her feet. Ready to start the endgame of this chess match. Now that the distracting pieces have been cleared from the board.
Let's see where it goes from here.

"Fine then. Let's finish this dance? You and me. For the first time. Let's see who wins," I'm told as I'm pulled upward off the mat.

"Yeah," I say, knocking his hand away from me with a rising block from my left hand as soon as I've got my feet steady under me, "that's the bloody POINT!" as I turn my entire body into an uppercut, slamming my right bicep into his chin, knocking his head backwards.

Red takes a half-step backwards, then half-glares, half-grimaces at me from behind his mask. Glaring right back, I tap my chin twice with my index finger before brushing my fingers along my chin in his direction. Red knows what I'm on about. He takes that half-step forwards again, swinging his right arm forward and clobbering the side of my face with his forearm, knocking ME a half step back (possibly a touch more than half). Oof. I felt that. Still, not giving up after one round of this. I step forward again, again connecting the inside of my forearm with his jaw and rocking his head backwards. Again, the half-step back, and again, the grimace. Also again, the return forearm shiver.

The calculus of this exchange was a touch unusual. I couldn't hit as hard as Red, but my strikes were targeting his neck, whereas my back was getting largely left alone. We exchanged another uppercut and forearm and I felt I could only keep this going for so long. His grimace didn't fade this time, so it might be the same for him. Either way, it looked it was time to take this up a notch. The crowd was getting manic for this exchange. I let out a bit of a growl (I debated a wild yell but it was too far outside my experience. It might alert Red I had something planned with this. He probably already knew, but best not to call intention,) grabbed the back of his head and threw three forearm uppercuts (European uppercuts, as they were appropriately called in these parts) in a row, sending him staggering back a bit, visibly wincing even behind the mask and touching his neck with his hand.

He came forward and fired off his return salvo. Two forearm shots, and one that "missed" a bit, basically catching me in the chin with a right hook. He added extra fervour to that last one, and I was left fighting off dizziness and stepping backwards. Rolling with it, I backed into the ropes, then shot off of them, letting out a shout as I ran as hard into him with the forearm uppercut as I could. He covered a pained groan with a growl and likewise fell backwards, moving to bounce back off the ropes and then come back at me, swinging his forearm as hard as he could.

Only I declined to see whether I could take that shot or not, instead dropping down onto my back and letting his momentum carry him completely past me, grabbing for his legs and tripping him up before rolling backwards, standing with my right boot in between his legs, just above the knee. I took his right leg, wrapped it around mine, tucked the toe of that boot behind his left ankle, then pulled his left foot back, wrapping the toe around my right leg, locking his in place before leaning backwards, reaching for his chin and trying to hold a bridge as I did.

I don't often get challenged to wail on someone in a match. Definitely not on this side of the Pacific. I'm not the biggest guy around, but I've been in my share of stiff fights. And so has Calli. And I guess I got her ire up enough for her to want to really test out how tough she is.  Makes sense that someone who's a contemporary for the Death Ray would want to do some strong strikes. Fine then.
The only problem is she has done a number on my neck so far and all these blows just add to it.
Adrenaline is a hell of a drug, but it only goes so far and lasts so long.
And I got so wrapped up in the point/counterpoint of it all that I missed a big move and she made me pay.

The Muta Lock is a lovely thing. You can snap it on quickly and it relies more on your flexibility than strength.  Basically you're trapping a leg of your opponent and arching back and grasping their head or chin. It turns you into a rubber band of sorts. And when your opponent tries to stretch his leg or move his head, the tension in your body makes the hold much more painful.  And Calli is very flexible.
I was just dazed enough that I couldn't figure out what was going on before she snapped the lock on.
With the damage she did to my neck previously, this was a nasty hold. I could feel burning in my neck.
Muscles cramping.
Vertebrae feeling like they're being pulled free.
I started seeing those purplish flashes you see when pain hits you like a hammer. 
I could tap....
But no..I didn't want to lose like this. She was going to have to keep me down for three. And I was determined not to..
FUUUUCCCKKKK..
She cranked...
It made my calf spasm..
Jerked...pulled back harder on my neck...
"Red, you can't take much more. Tap"
Did..she...did she say that...or the ref? I'm...not sure...
So I did the only thing that could get me out of this..I leaned up on one elbow and reached out with the hand nearest her face.
And I returned the favor from earlier before, raking at her eyes to get her off me. 
I could hear her howl as she let go. My head dropped down and I willed myself to push forwards to the ropes because I didn't know how long that would keep her down.
My body aching, sweat pouring off my hot flesh as I strained my arms to haul myself up to my feet.
I made it and Calli was yelling at the ref who was trying to see if there was permanent damage.  I hobbled my way over to her and started laying in some boots to her back. To keep her down and add more pain to where I previously targeted. Soften her up.
I know I couldn't last long with my neck as jacked up as she made it. So once I felt like I could use my leg right I reached down and pulled her up to her feet. Slamming her head between my thighs as I leaned over, wrapping my strong arms around her waist. And lifting...getting her high up on my shoulders..  Getting ready for the spin...and my Hugo Bomb spinning powerbomb finisher...
Just as I was getting ready to drop her...

The Muta Lock has several important elements and a couple of weaknesses. It ties up both of your opponent's legs, and bends their whole body which diminishes the impact of one of its weaknesses: that your opponents arms are both free. Even for a bigger, stronger opponent like Red, it's hard to drag the both of us to the ropes with ones arms without getting the rest of his upper body working for him.

But the other key weakness is that it requires a solid bridge from me to be effective. Being tall and flexible, this is usually not a problem, but with all the impacts my back has taken in this match, I only feel moderately less pain giving the hold than Red is feeling taking it. I can feel it's a test of endurance between us. I grit my teeth and steel myself that I'll outlast this bast-"DAMMIT!" I shout as curled fingers rake across my face, one of them getting a poke in my right eye and forcing me to let go of his chin. I grabbed at my face and rolled to the side, freeing my leg from Red's and trying to get a quick rest of my back in.

The ref came over to check on me and I gave her an earful. Some might say I had this receipt coming for earlier but I was not inclined to take a larger view just at the moment. While this happened, a heavy boot stomped down on my back, and a bit of red mist descended. This was actually welcome, as the adrenaline dimmed the pain. If any of my wrestling skillset qualifies as a hidden talent, it's the ability to control my temper under these circumstances (never did have that when I was young. It was fighting for a living that taught me how to do so,) and after a couple more stomps, Red pulled me up into power bomb position.

There's two basic ways to counter a power bomb: Get heavy and resist the initial lift, or go with the rotation, adding to the momentum of it. At under ten stone, the former wasn't an option, so when Red lifted me upwards I threw my weight forward, putting my hands on his shoulders and vaulting over his head, clamping my legs around his head from behind and whipping myself downward, looking to pull him completely back off of his feet.

I had to watch back what happened next. They say you can't teach and old dog new tricks, but apparently when a person is desperate enough, they'll try anything.
I don't know if she was going tor a sunset flip or a Code Red or something.  The minute her surprisingly strong legs locked around my head I knew I was in trouble. She flipped about and I felt myself being pulled off my feet. But I didn't rotate enough to make it onto my back. Instead, intentionally or not, Callista Fucking Quinn nailed me with a Canadian Destroyer.  Something happened in my neck and the pain and impact just shut me down.
I could feel Calli making the cover, hooking my leg properly of course...
And the dull thuds into the mat of the count...
"1...."
"2...."
In the back of my brain, the wrestler in me screams to get a shoulder up. But that message never makes it past my neck.  I don't know if I even twitched.
"3!!!"
Was that a sigh of relief I heard from the ref? From Calli? I didn't know. All I knew is I had lost...and I was hurting badly...

I've never done a Canadian Destroyer in my life. I'd probably never do another. In my career in the squared circle I've innovated a move or two, but the large majority of them were things I'd seen others do. The point of spending all that time watching wrestling is to have all those cards in your deck when you need them. Red is down and it looks like he's staying there but there's no gain in waiting to see if that's the case. I crawl onto him, hooking his far leg, and score the pinfall.

I let out a deep breath that really rather is a sigh of relief now that you mention it. I stagger to my feet and let the ref raise one of my hands. I raise the other as well, as much falling back into the corner pad as I hear the symphonic metal piece that was the entrance theme of "Lady X" and what was certain to be her sole appearance. The ref and the trainer are both checking on Red, and I push myself to somewhat unsteadily walk up the aisle and back through the curtain.

I'm quickly beset by colleagues, younger wrestlers who were taught to stick around a show to the end, asking about the match, about the mask, about FTW. Eventually I cut the crowd size down some by going into the locker room, which still commits me to holding court with a cadre of younger women while naked, (this life tends to do quite a bit to beat the shyness out of you.) After answering every question they asked, and delaying a few others with some long stories, some of which were at least interesting, (and having to quietly admit to the cute ref that I'm in a committed relationship and flirting was a delaying tactic, not that under other circumstances it might not have been sincere!) and offers to chip in and pay for a dinner, (probably at Waffle House, though tbh a greasy fry-up didn't sound the worst thing in the world at the moment) I declined by saying I had to drive six hours back to DC tonight. They were wrestlers, so they all understood that.

It was less understandable to ME, if I'm perfectly honest. The whole point in keeping all this quiet, indeed this whole "Lady X" shtick in the first place, was to keep my name out of it. That was gone. "Callista Quinn surprise return" would be out there. Even if I COULD play it off as being an internet fiction, (and someone in the crowd would almost certainly have had a cellphone and a steady enough hand to get a decent picture,) I didn't want to be that person with her. There was no reason, even if I didn't want to eat with wrestlers tonight, I could've have checked into a Marriott in the area and gotten delivery from somewhere that has salads and grilled chicken.

I didn't NEED to live the life of an itinerant wrestler anymore. I'd spent years putting money away. Was it out of some desire for this to be a pilgrimage to my past? Why? I knew where I'd come from. It was that thought, as I was starting the rental car's engine, that brought the answer to me. I knew where I'd come from. And I needed to remind myself just where that was. I was past this. I needed to leave other parts of it in the past as well. Like the Machiavellian streak. It didn't serve my purposes anymore. Constructing an entire visit-slash-vacation under false pretenses to wrestle again? I needed to not be that person anymore. That was why I'd drive another six hours, stopping at convenience stores every hour or so to get a new frozen bag of peas or whatever to act as an ice pack to put on my aching back. To bring that lesson home.

A sense of great calm overcame me as I pulled onto the motorway. This all made sense again. And I knew why I had to confess my mistake, deal with the ramifications, and stick to my word in the future. Which settled all of that.

...

"Hope Red's okay..."

And that's a wrap on this tale. I do hope you enjoyed the story Callista and I told here. It has some backstory foundation in the old FTW federation we did stories for around here a few years back.

First I'd like to thank you, the person reading this for taking your time to check out this fight. I do hope it entertained you.

Secondly, I'd like to thank Callista for approaching me with this idea and being an amazing writing partner. She's super talented and a blast to work with.

I like playing in this crazy made up world of pro wrestling and maybe if others like it, I'll step between the ropes again.

Have a great day out there wherever "there" is. Be Safe and Be kind to each other.

-RE

This was a lot of fun to read. Thank you both! <3