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**Dolly Waters** · (10-03-2016)

OOC: This RP is a continuation of “The Best around PT.2”, where we last saw Dolly Waters backstage at Bad Medicine 2015. Having just been abandoned by her father, Dolly now only knows of one option, get to Morbid Angel’s.

Saturday, May, 23rd, 2015
AT&T Stadium
Dallas, TX, USA
…Backstage during bad Medicine…

I think sometimes we examine things, we meaning mostly me and things meaning mostly life, as this ever constant, ever relative plot graph where each coordinate is one new variation in a continually flowing series of interchangeable events; which may or may not make up the very fabric of existence within the space time continuum. But I have been known to overthink things… things meaning life.

Especially now, on the cusp of puberty and dragging myself up from the corner of an emptied locker room while wiping away the tears from my eyes, I have to feel like I’ve been plotted in this exact spot for an exact reason…

“Git the fuck away, Dolly.”

As I stood there in front of the vanity mirror, my hands a bit shaky as I tried cleaning away my sullied eye makeup; I couldn’t quite shake the sound of my father’s voice from my head. Now before you whistle-dicks sit there commiserating over my predicament, do know this; that was the first time my Dad had ever, like seriously, EVER spoken to me like that… I guess that’s why it hurt me so badly. Muddy Waters is a lot of things: a drunk, a pill addict… a cocaine addict, undereducated, unaware, insensitive, and the list goes on, but one thing he wasn’t is a bad father.

Shallow folk like to prick at people like me, like my father, with these indirect, sugar coated euphemisms like: “Oh dear, poor things, they’re just less fortunate.” Or: “Things must be really hard for her growing up in such an environment.” Just come out and say it! We’re rednecks, you think we’re trash, our school systems suck, and you assume my father is abusive because he’s a heavy drinker… Well you know what? I think we deserve a little more sincere characterization than that dense gobbledygook, because I can’t count the number of nights that my father would go hungry, but made sure I was still fed, or how many times my father was late to work while making sure I was on time to school; so you can lace that up with all the pseudo southern bull crap you want, but that’s real character. That’s a real sense of being.

So I drug myself out into the backstage corridor from the locker room, for whatever reason looking both ways to make sure no one was around, this is the XWF ya’ know? You never know what type of freaks may be lurking. But unfortunately for me, I was going to have to rely on one of these freaks to help me, financially get where I needed to go; I didn’t really want to ask anyone for help, the thought of whatever awkward interaction I was sure to have was just gnawing away at my gut, so I decided that I would just knock on the first locker room I passed.

I was practically sliding against the wall when I approached the first door on my left, the sign on the door read: “The Brick Squad”, “aw fuck…” I quietly announced. I could hear their laughter; I could even smell the celebratory ambiance from outside their door… that smell was likely marijuana. Hum, the smell was loud, doesn’t that just sound fucked up?

After a moment or so of composing myself, getting my proverbial game face on, I gave a confident knock to their door. As the door swung open, a powerful cloud of smoke came rolling out, nearly knocking me on my skinny ass. It was Flynn answering the door: “Uhhh???” His hair was wild, nose a little bloody; eye’s rather bloody as he stood there with the one of tag titles he had just retained against my father over his shoulder. “I thought we ordered Asian.”

Well that was strange. I kinda’ quizzically look around each shoulder before responding: “Hey, no, um, I’m Dolly. Ya’ know? Muddy’s daughter.”

“Oh shit!”

I rolled my eyes and sighed a bit as Flynn, like a douche bag, covered his mouth with his fist and began laughing as his eyes widened. He turned back to locker room, and I peaked in as well: “HEY YO! IT’S MUDDY WATERS’ DAUGHTER AT THE DOOR!” Blingsteen, or Carson, I couldn’t tell half of these guys apart responded: “AWW FUCK FA’REAL?!? LET HER IN HERE!”

I know that a contact high from marijuana is technically physically impossible, but there was enough smoke in the room to suffocate a small animal, and I’m almost certain I started to feel a little funny myself.

“What’s up Dolly? What can we do for you?”

Bruce asked,

“Well I was just wonder-“

“AWWW YO! You know me and Flynn kicked your Daddy’s ass tonight, right girl? You know that right.”

Carson interrupted, and then Flynn just couldn’t help himself,

“Damn straight niggga!!! We sent that ol’ bumbkin’ packin’ son!”

“Seriously, guys, Dolly looks a little distressed…”

Ah, maybe a bit of sensibility existed in this room,

“…did your Dad take out his frustrations on you after the match or something?”

And there goes that pseudo southern bullshit I was talking about. The room erupted in laughter as I stood there noticeably impartial, while letting them relish at the idea of making fun of an eleven year old girl…. But then it seemed as if the laughter drug on, and on, and on; there were live chickens fluttering around the locker room and Blingsteen was up thrusting his hips to the rhythm of some awful ass Lil Wayne song. I needed to get the fuck out of there.

“Guys…”

They didn’t hear me,

“GUYS…”

No dice,

“GUYS!!!!!”

Finally, I have their attention.

“Listen, I hate to ask, but I really just need to borrow some money so I can catch a flight back home, I don’t know where my Dad is and I’m stuck here with no food, and no money.”

Goddamn it hurt admitting that to these assholes. The room fell silent… they all were awkwardly staring at me; Carson slowly approached me, looking down at a big wad of money in his hand, then looking up directly in my eyes he said: “No sucky fucky? NO DOLLA DOLLA!!!” ugh. The room exploded into laughter again as Carson began waving the money in front of my face, luckily this time it was short lived as there was another knock at the door.

“OH SHIT SON! THEY HERE!”

Bruce jumps up and swings the door open, I was aghast at the sight…

In walked four male Asian midgets, each only wearing a black bowtie, red thong and a blond wig, and during the obscene eruption of excitement I spotted what appeared to be Bruce’s wallet sitting on a counter next to the couch where he was sitting.

“Yas a’ we’s a’ Taiwanese lady boys you order.”

With the dumbasses distracted I pounced onto the wallet, grabbing a fat stack of cash before hightailing it out of the locker room.I counted the money, and after wiping away some the cocaine residue, found that I now had five hundred dollars, which was exactly what I needed.

Somehow my coordinates on this path were plotted just perfect and led me exactly where needed to go, even though where I went isn’t exactly how I wanted to get here. None the less, I knew now what I needed to do, which was first and foremostly, get back to my old Kentucky home.

To be continued...

We see Paul Heyman shooting a promo from what appears to be a hospital room, he’s wearing a neckbrace with his left eye swollen shut.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Paul Heyman, and I’m going to keep this short and sweet. As you can see that despicable, cowardly attack I suffered at the hands of the hairy palm remnants of the Black Hand has landed me in the hospital. But that’s not going to stop me from doing my job.

That’s not going to stop be from advocating for the greatest professional wrestler on the planet. That’s not going to stop me from telling you about how my client, Dolly fucking Waters, is the new, reigning, defending, undisputed XWF Television Champion of the entire fucking world… just like I told every one of you she would be.

You thought this was all a joke didn’t you? You thought that Paul Heyman must be down on his luck, scrambling around to manage some low level job-ber because he can’t quite cut it anymore; I told you all two weeks ago, and I meant every fucking word when I said that Dolly Waters will go down as the greatest XWF superstar of all time, and there’s nothing any of you can do about it!

Especially not Hunter Payne.

You see Hunter Payne thought this was all a joke too, and when Dolly Waters approached him, he laughed and giggled and tried to pocket pull his way around the ass beating he soon received. But what did Dolly Waters do on her first day back in the company? She ripped that Federweight title away from Hunter, exposing him for the soft little fraud that he has ALWAYS been.

And this time Hunter? It’s going to be much, much worse, because my client is an absolute Savage. How fitting, right? She’s a Savage, and you’re but a little miniscule blimp on her radar that she will plow through like she’s the goddamned A-Bomb dropping on your Hiroshima ass! Confused, Hunter? Maybe it wasn’t racially specific enough for you since you’re obviously Mexican, not Asian, and I know that type of shit burns your sensitive ass up! Silly me!

This week, Hunter, there will be no more rides on “It’s a small world”, there will be no more hugs with Mickey Mouse and waiting in line to get Joy a large corndog to pleasure herself with… there will only be you, four ropes, four turnbuckles and four teeth left in your stupid fucking mouth after my client literally disembowels your sorry ass and sends her knee crashing into dimwitted dome of yours!

Oh and I know, your match with Warpig was soooo brutal, and you were pushed to your limits, and you wanted to cry home to momma’s bosom and tell everyone what a pathetic failure you truly are , but somehow! Someway! You proved the naysayers wrong, you overcame the odds and you won!

Only you’re not a winner, because the prize awaiting you is nothing less than your certain demise. The prize waiting for you is a five foot one, seventy-nine pound, blood thirsty animal, an indestructible slayer of the weak, a young woman who laughingly bathes in the blood of those who dare oppose her… Awaiting you, Hunter is Dolly fucking Waters. The future heroine of yours and Joy’s future snot nosed children.

You know what the number one trend worldwide was Saturday, Hunter? It certainly wasn’t: #shittyassdisneyworldlaughingstockbullshit

The number one trend worldwide was: #dollywaters, just like it will be every Saturday night for as long as my client desires to hold the Television Title. And Vinnie Lane and Frodo Smackins know damn well that what I’m telling you is the unassailable truth, why else do you think Vinnie again stacked the odds against my client? Threatening to strip her title if I get involved? Because they know you don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell bucko.

Congratulations on being the number one contender Hunter, because Saturday your ass and your jaw belong to Dolly Waters. I just hope that Joy can get you out of there while you’re still alive.

The scene fades...

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