Post by Wylde Hunt on Jun 17, 2017 22:49:55 GMT -6
Inside a cantina,
Cananea mines, Sonora, Mexico
------------------------------------------------------------------
The two-hundred-fifty pounds called Pinocho hit the canvas with a loud satisfying THUD shoulder blades first.
Finally Honey has caught the Mexican luchador in her Honey Trap as good a she could catch a man almost twice her size.
She was going to win. If the ref ever started counting.
Pinocho began to twist and wiggle in her hold. She clamped in the Honey Trap even tighter but she would not be able to hold him that much longer.
"Count!" Honey hissed from between clenched teeth.
Was that a setup to make an aging wrestler look good? If yes, she would have gone with it if she had been told in advance. But not that way Jose!
Honey bridged up higher for additional leverage.
UNO...!
Finally the ref was counting even if he moved slower than bullets in a Warner Bros. movie.
You want to cheat me amigo? Try!
She still held the kicking, struggling Pinocho tight even if it was sheer stubbornness rather than skill.
DOS...!
Make the final count slowpoke... That was like ten seconds.
TRES...!
Honey snapped out of the suplex bridge, ready to get into the ref´s face.
Then it hit her why the ref had been counting so slow. It hit her literally like in a beer can that bounced off her shoulder spilling some of its content into her hair. Not much harm done, she was sweating like a pig anyway. What was much worse was that the whole smoke-filled cantina full of graphite miners and truckers was going ballistic.
They could deal with a Gringo chick challenging the local wrestling hero. They could not deal with the Gringo chick winning. Okay in all fairness every Gringo winning might have pissed them off but that wasn´t going to help.
The beer cans kept coming, other things too like food leftovers while the most drunken and fired-up miners entered the makeshift wrestling ring. First to go was the ref when he tried to hold back the tide.
A vise-like hand grabbed Honey´s wrist and pulled her down just in time before a flying chair could connect with the back of her head. Honey caught a glimpse of the grin splitting Pinocho´s long-nosed wrestling mask before the brawl started for real. Honey elbowed a few faces and kneed a few guts.
Pinocho´s large arm a swept away two guys who wanted to jump at her. So he wasn´t a sore loser after all. He had put up one hell of a fight for a guy in his fifties because he had seen this coming. Even if Pinocho was the local hero he had no control over his fans, not anymore. It wasn´t all about Honey anymore either. It was more like a Royal Rumble everyone vs. everyone with no rules and fifty participants who shouldn´t try that at home. Another ten seconds or so and they would have forgotten why this all started.
Honey headbutted into an unshaven face when she heard Pinocho yell something into her ear in Spanish. She wasn´t really fluent in that language but after some years in the Lucha Underground you pick up some phrases "backdoor" and "Exit" being two of them.
Honey dove for the backdoor with Pinocho´s large frame shielding her from some out-of-control fans and burst out through the backdoor barely slowing down. Right behind her Pinocho pushed one last brawler back into the cantina and slammed the door before both wrestlers made a run for it.
Somehow Honey had to get back to her beat-up rust bucket of a Japanese campervan that she called home.
Later. When the place had cooled down.
Pinocho and Honey stopped in the shadow of a garbage can about three-hundred yards from the cantina where the party still went on judging by the furniture going through the windows now.
Honey:
"Thanks. You could have told me that they don´t like foreigners."
There was this mask-splitting grin again. Pinocho took a moment to check a jagged cut in his left upper arm before he answered.
Pinocho:
"Si, I could have. But it was more fun that way. Wasn´t it?"
Honey looked at him, eyebrow raised, almost bursting into laughter.
Honey:
"Yes. It was more fun that way. And thanks for the match. You are one tough cookie and a crafty old sack."
Pinocho:
"I do what I can. You are much better than I thought too. I didn´t get pinned in a long time."
Honey:
"Was one piece of work I tell you. Honestly, aren´t you too old for this shit?"
Pinocho:
"You are never too old for what you love. You love it too. I can tell. Lucha is in your blood."
Honey:
"Speaking of it, you are bleeding."
Pinocho:
"Only a little. But I´m right yes? You love Lucha Libre with all your heart. Isn´t that so?"
Honey:
"Alright. Guilty as charged. I´m a freakin´ addict too. Sorry, don't´ have an excuse for it."
Pinocho:
"That´s good. Its your life. It´s important that you do what you love. You remind me of someone I met a long time ago."
Honey:
"An escapee from an asylum?"
Pinocho:
"Her name was Sinora Negro Y Blanco. Not her real name of course. She was a Luchadora with a black-and-white mask around the time I had my first matches in the early eighties. She looked a bit like you and she too was so passionate about wrestling."
Honey had a feeling there was more to this story:
Honey:
"What happened?"
Pinocho:
"One day after a Dia De Los Muertos match she announced her retirement. Nobody knew why. She was the best. That day she left her belt by the ringside and disappeared."
Honey:
"That´s a sad story."
Pinocho:
"Couls be she had good reasons. That was thirty years ago. Rumor has it that sometimes she still trains young wrestlers but no one has ever seen her since that Day of the Dead."
Honey:
"I would only leave the ring dead, crippled or too old to move. Never when I have a choice."
Pinocho:
"I show you something."
Then he did something outrageous. Pinocho removed his mask.
Honey looked into the face of a middle-aged man, a face that had more scars and lumpy tissue than wrinkles. The face seemed old, tired perhaps and a bit sad.
But not the eyes. Those were the eyes of a teenager, sprakling, full of curiosity and a bit of mischief.
Honey:
"You don´t give shit about what happens to you in the ring, do you?"
Pinocho:
"I´m still a young man despite the pain. I will always be young even another thirty years from now. Stay crazy Honey Hunt. It´s worth it."
Pinocho put the mask back on, shook Honey´s hand and left.
She remained where she was for a while - in the dark behind the garbage can, dripping with sweat, smelling like the garbage and thinking.
A lot of people counted her among the losers of the world. Some even told her to the face. They were wrong. She would not change. She would stay crazy. And assuming she got back to her car alive she knew where to take that madness.
Cananea mines, Sonora, Mexico
------------------------------------------------------------------
The two-hundred-fifty pounds called Pinocho hit the canvas with a loud satisfying THUD shoulder blades first.
Finally Honey has caught the Mexican luchador in her Honey Trap as good a she could catch a man almost twice her size.
She was going to win. If the ref ever started counting.
Pinocho began to twist and wiggle in her hold. She clamped in the Honey Trap even tighter but she would not be able to hold him that much longer.
"Count!" Honey hissed from between clenched teeth.
Was that a setup to make an aging wrestler look good? If yes, she would have gone with it if she had been told in advance. But not that way Jose!
Honey bridged up higher for additional leverage.
UNO...!
Finally the ref was counting even if he moved slower than bullets in a Warner Bros. movie.
You want to cheat me amigo? Try!
She still held the kicking, struggling Pinocho tight even if it was sheer stubbornness rather than skill.
DOS...!
Make the final count slowpoke... That was like ten seconds.
TRES...!
Honey snapped out of the suplex bridge, ready to get into the ref´s face.
Then it hit her why the ref had been counting so slow. It hit her literally like in a beer can that bounced off her shoulder spilling some of its content into her hair. Not much harm done, she was sweating like a pig anyway. What was much worse was that the whole smoke-filled cantina full of graphite miners and truckers was going ballistic.
They could deal with a Gringo chick challenging the local wrestling hero. They could not deal with the Gringo chick winning. Okay in all fairness every Gringo winning might have pissed them off but that wasn´t going to help.
The beer cans kept coming, other things too like food leftovers while the most drunken and fired-up miners entered the makeshift wrestling ring. First to go was the ref when he tried to hold back the tide.
A vise-like hand grabbed Honey´s wrist and pulled her down just in time before a flying chair could connect with the back of her head. Honey caught a glimpse of the grin splitting Pinocho´s long-nosed wrestling mask before the brawl started for real. Honey elbowed a few faces and kneed a few guts.
Pinocho´s large arm a swept away two guys who wanted to jump at her. So he wasn´t a sore loser after all. He had put up one hell of a fight for a guy in his fifties because he had seen this coming. Even if Pinocho was the local hero he had no control over his fans, not anymore. It wasn´t all about Honey anymore either. It was more like a Royal Rumble everyone vs. everyone with no rules and fifty participants who shouldn´t try that at home. Another ten seconds or so and they would have forgotten why this all started.
Honey headbutted into an unshaven face when she heard Pinocho yell something into her ear in Spanish. She wasn´t really fluent in that language but after some years in the Lucha Underground you pick up some phrases "backdoor" and "Exit" being two of them.
Honey dove for the backdoor with Pinocho´s large frame shielding her from some out-of-control fans and burst out through the backdoor barely slowing down. Right behind her Pinocho pushed one last brawler back into the cantina and slammed the door before both wrestlers made a run for it.
Somehow Honey had to get back to her beat-up rust bucket of a Japanese campervan that she called home.
Later. When the place had cooled down.
Pinocho and Honey stopped in the shadow of a garbage can about three-hundred yards from the cantina where the party still went on judging by the furniture going through the windows now.
Honey:
"Thanks. You could have told me that they don´t like foreigners."
There was this mask-splitting grin again. Pinocho took a moment to check a jagged cut in his left upper arm before he answered.
Pinocho:
"Si, I could have. But it was more fun that way. Wasn´t it?"
Honey looked at him, eyebrow raised, almost bursting into laughter.
Honey:
"Yes. It was more fun that way. And thanks for the match. You are one tough cookie and a crafty old sack."
Pinocho:
"I do what I can. You are much better than I thought too. I didn´t get pinned in a long time."
Honey:
"Was one piece of work I tell you. Honestly, aren´t you too old for this shit?"
Pinocho:
"You are never too old for what you love. You love it too. I can tell. Lucha is in your blood."
Honey:
"Speaking of it, you are bleeding."
Pinocho:
"Only a little. But I´m right yes? You love Lucha Libre with all your heart. Isn´t that so?"
Honey:
"Alright. Guilty as charged. I´m a freakin´ addict too. Sorry, don't´ have an excuse for it."
Pinocho:
"That´s good. Its your life. It´s important that you do what you love. You remind me of someone I met a long time ago."
Honey:
"An escapee from an asylum?"
Pinocho:
"Her name was Sinora Negro Y Blanco. Not her real name of course. She was a Luchadora with a black-and-white mask around the time I had my first matches in the early eighties. She looked a bit like you and she too was so passionate about wrestling."
Honey had a feeling there was more to this story:
Honey:
"What happened?"
Pinocho:
"One day after a Dia De Los Muertos match she announced her retirement. Nobody knew why. She was the best. That day she left her belt by the ringside and disappeared."
Honey:
"That´s a sad story."
Pinocho:
"Couls be she had good reasons. That was thirty years ago. Rumor has it that sometimes she still trains young wrestlers but no one has ever seen her since that Day of the Dead."
Honey:
"I would only leave the ring dead, crippled or too old to move. Never when I have a choice."
Pinocho:
"I show you something."
Then he did something outrageous. Pinocho removed his mask.
Honey looked into the face of a middle-aged man, a face that had more scars and lumpy tissue than wrinkles. The face seemed old, tired perhaps and a bit sad.
But not the eyes. Those were the eyes of a teenager, sprakling, full of curiosity and a bit of mischief.
Honey:
"You don´t give shit about what happens to you in the ring, do you?"
Pinocho:
"I´m still a young man despite the pain. I will always be young even another thirty years from now. Stay crazy Honey Hunt. It´s worth it."
Pinocho put the mask back on, shook Honey´s hand and left.
She remained where she was for a while - in the dark behind the garbage can, dripping with sweat, smelling like the garbage and thinking.
A lot of people counted her among the losers of the world. Some even told her to the face. They were wrong. She would not change. She would stay crazy. And assuming she got back to her car alive she knew where to take that madness.
