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Dolly Waters · (08-26-2021)

OOC: This was Co-written with LSM

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Howdy, y’all.

Names Sam. And I sure like a good teamwork story.

Now There’s about a million and a-half quotables, from some studious dudes and dudettes, about the importance of teamwork. Most of those are pretty darn obvious. Universal truths and such. The types of platitudes you’d hear some tyrant of business like Henry Ford, or that Jeff Beezos feller say while they’re kicking dirt in their workers faces. It waters things down. Makes people forget sometimes what type of good can come from someone finding their real compadre.

We’ve seen it before.

The cosmos brings a boar and a jackrabbit together to build a beautiful otter's dam.

In the Fall of ‘51, Francis Crick and some boy named James Watson started working together in a lab in Cambridge. They figured out the whole Double Helix thingy. In the Fall of ‘62, at a little coffee shop in Los Angeles, Sonny Bono inexplicably met Cher Sarkisian. They went on to write the song on partnership itself. Well, at least the contemporary one that is, and that’s important.

After all the story I’m fixin’ to tell ya’ takes place around the Fall of 2021. That’s when professional wrestler, Dolly Waters met the rookie Robyn Gonzalez… the Latina Submission Machina and due to nothing but dumb-luck and circumstance, the two began the journey of forming the greatest tag-team in XWF History.

Now, being the sort-of connoisseur of teamwork that I am, I’ve got to say that this here story of bonding and building is one of the most important ones ever. Right up there with Sonny and Cher, and that Double Helix. It's a lot more inspiring than those “motivational” quotes I was talking about… but there is that one, oh shoot, what was it? It was something Sir Issac Newton said, about standing on the shoulders of giants. You know the one. Yeah. I sort of like that one pretty well. Same way I like this here story…

Robyn Gonzalez… the Latina Submission Machina, or LSM for short, was backstage at the arena in Moine, Illinois, thousands of miles from home, and feeling lower than crowbait. Robyn just lost her debut wrestling match in the XWF, and the worst part of it all was that damn robot. Tears rolling down her round face, and out from behind her ancestral colored Luchador Mask. She had her knees tucked under her chin, puffing the sobs in and out of her chest, sitting like a ball on the floor of a vacant hallway.
Robyn had never felt greater shame and disappointment than she felt that night.

In the middle of the plain-jane hallway, that was lit up no brighter than a dry lantern, she balled her fists and started pounding away at the floor tiles, all the while wishing they were Jessica Tremor’s face. Robyn couldn’t help but curse out the machine that fell victim to the first ‘mass casualty event’ of the XWF.

“¡Esto es tan estúpido, odio a ese maldito robot!”

Her fists came to an abrupt stop as Robyn lost the energy to carry on the fight. She slowly retracted her hands and brought them into the bodily ball she had created in the center of the hallway. Salty droplets dripped down onto the floor as LSM replayed her debut match in her head over and over.

She was crying over a broken promise to her mother. The promise that she would win her first professional wrestling match.

Robyn’s mother was a renown luchadora down in Mexico. One of the all time greats down there they say. But right in the prime of her career she turned up pregnant with Robyn. Her career was put on hold, forever- all to bring a new luchadora into this world. Robyn’s mother raised her with nothing but warmness and love, but still, Robyn couldn’t help but feel crushed by the shadow of her mother’s glory.

“¿quién está ahí?”

“Sorry, chica. No hablo.”

Robyn’s eyes were puffy and soaked like some sort of washed up varment. She looked downright tired. But those namby-pamby ojos popped open at the sight of the man clinking down the hallway. It was the owner of the XWF, Vincent Lane. He’s wearing some cowhide that’s been pressed together real gnarly-like. The leather was laced through with chains, and gave a black backdrop to his long blonde hair.

Now, Vincent Lane, he’s a funny case. Vincent, or Vinnie as he’s sometimes referred to by his employees, hadn’t been seen around the halls of the XWF arenas, or even the company’s headquarters in a good long while. He got good and roostered one night with a young lady who worked in the XWF. Found himself nailed to the counter over a video tape that was released of him doing… well, the types of things a boss shouldn’t be doing with his younger, female employees. Which made the sight of him approaching young Robyn all the more balderdash.

Even though Robyn was a wrestler for his company, she’d never even met the boss-man, but she was absolutely gobstruck by his presence. Stammering and scrambling up to her feet. She drug her taped wrists across her brow, dabbing away the waterworks from her face, working to make herself more presentable. Only her eye makeup smeared everywhere. Painting her deranged as she sniffled through a grin at the boss.

See the way that I’m a connoisseur of these types of stories, Robyn was a connoisseur of pro-wrestling, and Vincent Lane was a legend in that industry. Imagine always wanting to be an exterminator, then getting a job for theOrikn Man himself. Robyn trembled with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Peaking over each shoulder to make sure Vincent wasn’t approaching someone else. She beamed in light of still being alone in this hallway, but our little luchadoras was almost as afraid of letting Vincent down as she was her mother.

“Robyn! You did gre-“

“I’m sorry!”

She fell to her knees, not able to bear the weight of the moment. Vincent’s face moves immediately from red to purple as Robyn grasps at the thighs of his leather jeans, wailing uncontrollably,

“I know!”

She sobs,

“¡Te fallé!”

and chokes,

“¡Le fallé a mi madre!”

and gasps,

“¡Le fallé a todo México!”

and slobbers,

“¡Le fallé a XWF!”

and screams,

“¡Por favor, aún pagueme! Necesito el dinero para las facturas del hospital de mi madre!”

Now all this foreign screaming and slobbering and gasping and choking and sobbing well, that’s the kind of stuff that you’d expect to get a man like Vincent all revved up and ready to go. But not today. Today the rockstar of the wrestling world felt a tingle not in his pants, but in his heart.

“Dude come on, these are twenty-seven hundred dollar Amiris.”

Well… close enough to his heart anyway.

“Get up, chica”

He begs, shifting back and pulling his legs away from Robyn’s frantic grasp. Vincent pops his head down either end of the hallway, keeping a self conscious eye out for anyone who might spot him this young woman. This scene would naturally paint the wrong picture at first glance. When he sees the coast is clear, the good boss man that he is, Vincent jolts Robyn up to her feet from her armpits. Damn near shaking this crying fit out of her.

“Hey!”

He shouts, as Robyn swings her head down into her hands, stumbling back towards the wall, too ashamed to look Vincent in the eyes. He snatches her by the arm as she nearly faints away and balances her again.

“I can’t understand what you’re crying about, kid. I said no hablo.”

“I’m upset!”

“Clearly! But why are you upset? You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m upset because I lost, I broke the trust of my mother, I let all of Mexico down!”

“Look, ughhhhh-”

”La Máquina de Sumisión!”

”Yes, you- we all lose in this business- even in embarrassing, heartbreaking ways. Hell, I lost to Peter Gilmour twice!”

Robyn sniffled, and turned her forearm into a handkerchief,

“I thought you lost to Peter three times?”

“Look, it’s just an example, we don’t need the details! I’m just saying everyone loses, it’s how you bounce back from defeat that determines whether you’re a good, great, or truly an awful wrestler.”

Vincent gave our girl moment to breathe before continuing on,

“I know Fury booked you in a tag match on bWo Anar-”

He lets out a long, audible shudder at the thought of those words coming from his mouth, and decides to skip them,

“But that Hayes, kid? Your partner tomorrow? He's even greener than you are. You’re good in the ring, you’ve got a lot of talent! But it’s raw, you need to refine it. Amateur freestyle wrestling and brazilian jiu jitsu are great, but you’re going to need to add something else to your arsenal to get where you want to go.”

“If my wrestling and jiu jitsu aren’t good enough, I just don’t know what else I can do!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve already got you covered. You see it’s not so much about what you do in the ring, it’s how you do it, and you need to be working with people who have more experience if you’re really going to get acclimated to the speed of the XWF.”

“But then how-”

Vincent holds his hand out, and pauses Robyn. Then he pauses her again.

“One person immediately came to mind when I saw you in the ring. I think she's just the person for the job. So in two weeks, on the next Warfare, I’ve partnered you with Dolly Waters-”

“Dolly Aguas?!”

Robyn’s eyes lit up like the 5th of May. She remembered watching Dolly wrestle on television- she was explosive, awe inspiring, absolutely incredible. She was just a little girl like herself, and remembered watching Dolly wrestle like it was the Alamo- and much like the walls of that gringo fort, her opponent’s defenses would almost always fall.

“Uhhh… Si?”

Robyn leaped from her feet and clapped her hands together. She started shadowboxing in the hallway, as if immediately warming up for the tag match. A jab, a hook, a cross, then a swift roundhouse kick that comes inches away from Vinnie’s head!

“¡Sí!”

“...so yeah, anyway, I booked you and Dolly Aquas to wrestle against Mark Flynn and North Korean War Criminal. Pretty solid matchup, I think.”

Robyn’s gush of jubilation turned into something not so adolescent and jovial as she froze in place. But before she could process what the boss-man said, both of their attentions are drawn down the hallway at some panicked shouting,

“CLEAR THE WAY!”

A crowd of EMTs shout out from the connecting hallway, rolling a stretcher amidst a convoy of people. One of which being none other than Dolly Waters herself.

“Oh, look! There she is now!”

“¡Una señal!

Now I said before that the cosmos makes things happen.

They sort nature out from time to time, and put things exactly where they need to be… well, this wasn’t exactly one of those times. Not yet anyhow.

Robyn, oblivious to the situation, had run down the hallway, only to catch a grim glimpse of Corey Smith’s swollen head as he was getting loaded into the back of the ambulance. Robyn nearly vomited at the sight.

Corey was Dolly’s best friend, and had been brutally attacked in the wrestling ring just moments before this one. Dolly shot Robyn a puzzling glare as the ambulance doors shut close. Not realizing that like with Robyn’s ailing mother, Dolly too had a beloved partnership in great jeopardy. It’s with that unrealized connection between Robyn and Dolly where things only begin to get weird.

Robyn was compelled, like she was under some Santeria spell. Ignoring any instinct for social-grace, she got in her rental car outside of the arena and headed to the hospital near Monies. The voyage was complicated for Robyn, who was still getting acclimated to driving States-side. It took her close to an hour to get five minutes up the road… but what happened when she arrived at the hospital was down right inexplicable.

The cosmos was bringing the boar to the jackrabbit. Or the other way around. Either way, Robyn Gonzalez, in full luchadora gear, wearing bruises and smeared makeup under her mask walked right into the Monies hospital and right up to Corey Smith’s room. For whatever reason, we’ll never know how or why, but in that one instance, there were no security checks. No questions asked from any of the hospital staff. No one even noticed Robyn until she opened the door to Corey Smith’s hospital room.

Who the fuck are you?!

Dolly shrieked, and darn near climb up on the back of her seat as Robyn barged in the room. Corey Smith was lying in his bed unconscious, tubes shoved in his appendages and nostrils.

”La Máquina de Sumisión!”

She hollered with a genuine, delusional excitement,

What?!

“I’m Robyn Gonzalez! I’m your tag team partner for Warfare!”

Since when?

“Since now! Vinnie Lane booked us in a match against Mark Flynn and the War Criminal.”

Dolly stood from her seat, her head rattling back and forth unconsciously as she stepped near Robyn,

No.

“¿No?”

You go find Vinnie and tell him I said no - matter of fact, don’t worry about it. I’ll email him myself.

“¿Correo electrónico?”

Look Robyn, I’m sorry. I have no idea how you got in here, but you need to get the hell out of here. My partner is lying over here in a hospital bed in a coma… and I’m just not interested in teaming with you.

Dolly’s words were like a boar's bite. They were harsh and crushed Robyn’s jovial, frantic spirit like the meager bones of a jackrabbit.

It didn’t take long after Robyn left the room for Dolly to start feeling bad for the way she talked to the poor girl. She looked at her friend Corey, and remembered a time not so long ago. When she was just returning to the XWF. When Corey teamed up with her when she had no one else. She remembered how important that match was for her, and how grateful she felt to have such a willing, and earnest partner at her side. She remembered all of that as she too floated inexplicably through the hospital and found her way outside, catching up with Robyn who for whatever reason, hadn’t left entirely yet. She was just sitting on a bench outside sobbing again, her face buried in her hands like they were in the hallway of the arena.

Hey, hey!

Dolly rushed over to her, dropping a knee and giving her a consoling rub on the back,

Robyn, I’m sorry… I’m just really stressed out right now. I’ll be your tag partner for Warfare, but I’m going to need you to-

“¡FANTÁSTICA!”

Before Dolly can finish what were going to be rendezvous instructions for her new tag partner, Robyn burst up from her state of defeat and wraps her arms around Dolly’s neck for a hug. The moment was tender, and at the same time bewildering for Dolly. But before she can even wipe the astounded look from her face, a light flashes from a nearby bush.

Then another.

And another.

“What the……”

Robyn looked around in confusion as the sound of frames shuttering and cameras clicking seemed to come from every inside of every bush and behind every tree. Dolly Waters merely rests her face in her palm as she knows exactly what’s about to happen.

“Dolly Waters!”

“Dolly, time for a quick question?!”

“Dolly, Dolly- over here!”

All of a sudden a swarm of men with cameras and notepads hop out from bushes, run out from behind trees, and even start crawling out of the sewer drainage systems.

“Dolly, Dolly!”

“Ms. Waters- pose for the camera!”

“Hey bitch, let me get a good photo this time!”

“What’s going on, Dolly?”

Dolly turns briefly to Robyn as the two are quickly surrounded by the who’s who of the wrestling paparazzi: mostly neckbeards, short men with complexes, and cringey insiders in dingy polos and loose fitting khakis.

Fuck… it’s the press.

The paparazzi, always desperate for a story, begin to bombard Dolly Waters with a series of invasive questions.

“Ms. Waters- is Corey Smith going to die?!”

“Dolly- when Corey Smith dies, how much money do you get from his will?!”

“Dolly- why’d you help Thad beat-up Corey by spiking Corey’s breakfast coffee with methamphetamines?! This is a rumor from an alleged source! Can you confirm this?!”

“Ms. Waters- did Corey and Thad ever have sexual intercourse in your presence?! A follow up- whose penis is larger? Can you confirm that Thad attacked Corey because of small peepee jealousy?!”

Look, I’m not at liberty to speak on Corey’s condition right now. He’s alive, and that’s what matters most.

A paparazzi let out a collective sigh at the non-answer and started whistling as each reporter tried to get their own little scoop.

“Dolly, Dolly- how do you feel about your chances in OCW?! How does the competition over there fare to the XWF?! What’s it feel like to be a part of the great catalina wine mixer?”

Oh? The Margarita Mix? It’s going great, I have a capable tag team partner who’s been just a breeze to work with, but seeing how Them No Good Bastards are the tag team champions in OCW as well as the XWF, I can’t say there’s much difference right, at least as far as the tag team division goes. But Hector Malvado and I are going to change that, we’re going to win the Margarita Mix and beat Them No Good Bastards at OCW Under The Lights, live on pay-per-view.

“Ms Waters, Ms Waters- is it true that without Corey’s vast financial wealth Coreytopia will be foreclosed upon?!”

That’s not true. That land is well and paid-for. Next?

“Dolly, Dolly- are you going to go after Thad to get revenge or are you going to start focusing on what should be a prime time match at Relentless?! What’s your number one focus and priority in the XWF right now?!”

My number one focus as of this moment is making sure my friend is okay, and that we can get him home to Coreytopia to start rehabbing.

As far as in-ring focuses?

Well...

I’ve just been made aware that I’ll be facing off against Mark Flynn and comrade War Criminal in two weeks on Warfare. That’ll beeeeeee... My sixth? Yes, sixth-tag-team contest in a row since Wargames.

That’s of course given that I make it to the Margarita Mix finals, which I already said… I have the utmost confidence in.

So by the time my match with Flynn and War Criminal rolls around I’ll have a ton of fresh tag-team victories under my belt.

I caught a glimpse of those two in the ring tonight against Kai Morgan and Celia. They showed some impressive teamwork, but it was against a couple of people who have already been bounced from a tag tournament where I’m thriving.

But other than his match tonight, I haven’t seen a lot of Mark Flynn. I saw him get bounced unceremoniously by Doc at WarGames. I mean we’d been hearing Thad sucking the guy off for weeks on television. Now we know why, he must’ve known he’d be another easy victory to stack up on his Hart Title reign. Seriously, I think the only thing that gets Thad off harder than his cringe imitations of Flynn is blindsiding defenseless people like he did tonight.

But other than that, if there’s no more questions I’ll-

Dolly was about to finish up with the paparazzi, and send them packing when she noticed Robyn had taken a small step back from the flashing lights and endless questions brought forth by the press. The young latina shirked away from the spotlight and watched Dolly Waters smoothly sail through the hard-hitting and super-personal questions. A bit unsure if she could do something similar. But Dolly wasn’t, she smiled at Robyn and turned back to the cameras,

-I’ll go ahead and pass it over to my tag team partner for this match against Flynn and Comrade. I’m sure she has some thoughts on this matchup as well.

The paparrize seems a bit disinterested as Dolly smiles and folds her arms, stepping out of the way for the unsure rookie.

“Alright alright, so uhh…Latino whatever- what are your thoughts on teaming up with Dolly Waters?”

“¡Va a ser un carnaval de carnicería dentro de ese anillo!”

One of the neckbeard paparazzis rolls their eyes as they bring their notepad down.

“Oh great, Dolly’s tagging with yet another Mexican that doesn’t even know how to speak english. I thought she’d keep all that nonsense over in OCW where it belongs.”

“I can SPEAK english just fine, gringo! I just PREFER the way hermosa española rolls off the tongue! It’s so romantic, so endearing to the ears. Honestly I wish that Korean war criminal would speak in their native tongue more often. If I couldn’t understand the words he was trying to say it would make it that much less grating to sit through those stand-up specials he calls promos!”

“The local latino population hates asians- Tommy, get that headline ready!”

“Do you want to go to war with North Korea?!”

“Is that hate speech? I think that’s legally hate speech! Why do you hate the Korean people, did you lose family in the Mexican-Korean war? When was that war, anyways, and who won?!”

LSM recoils a shock and brings a defensive hand up to her chest as she defiantly states her case to the bad faith paparazzi.

“Wait, what? I don’t hate asian people! I have an asian friend! And the only warfare I want against the Korean people is on the Wednesday after next!”

“Why do you want to start a race war against the Koreans in two week?! What’s your motivation? Is it because you hate their accents?!”

”What are you talking about? Why is everything about race in America?! I don’t hate Asian people! I just hate the way XWF’s only korean wrestler talks! That’s not the same thing, ok? I mean, he doesn’t even talk like a real North Korean war criminal! Every caricatured line he spews sounds like it’s straight from the cutting room floor of a Seth Rogen cinema! The only interview that supposed super-spy ever deserves to have is already on blu-ray and DVD, he doesn’t need to keep releasing promos! If Seth Rogen wanted a gimmicked up sequel, he would have just made one- the XWF doesn’t need anyone to do it for him.”

“Do you insult the intelligence of Supreme Leader Kim Jong Un for hand-selecting this war criminal to serve in the XWF?”

”You know what? I’m starting to think that this whole thing is nothing but a bunch of basura. Are we sure he’s from North Korea? Wouldn’t the CIA or FBI or SOMEBODY have a whole lot of questions for him about what he’s been up to? Maybe a few questions about all those missiles, and cualquier cosa? Has anyone seen his passport, what about his visa? I know I get asked for my papers all the time! But has anyone ever asked HIM for his papers? Ay Dios Mio! I guess the border patrol is too busy focusing on our latino heat to notice the North Korean nuclear missiles coming onto their shores! Because realistically, that’s the only answer here, right?

Either the exótico known as NKWC is just a desperate midcarder putting on a minstrel-style clown show for clout, or you Americans have some of the most inept, incompetent, and ineffective intelligence agencies of all time.

Mierda…….on second thought, I’ve come around. He is probably a real Korean war criminal in all honesty.”

“How do you feel about going hand-to-hand with someone trained in North Korean martial arts?!”

“Are you intimidated by the fact that you’re fighting a literal war criminal?!”

“He’s a super spy! Are you a spy? If not, how do you plan to win?!”

”A North Korean super spy? What’s their training regiment? Do they even have one? What martial arts do they teach in their military academies? I know what they teach in Israel’s military academies.

Krav Maga.

It’s an innovative combination of boxing, judo, and wrestling that prioritizes situational awareness and quick finishes to fights. Why fight longer when you can fight both smarter and harder, right?

I’ve trained Krav Maga. I’ve trained Krav Maga with ex-Israeli Special Forces in San Miguel de Allende at the Escuela táctica Israelí Krav Maga! I’ve trained under Mateusz Orczykowski and Jorge Pradilla Calderon! What did Kim Jong Un teach NKWC? How to get a laugh out of a gringo audience? How to smuggle bombs in uncomfortable parts of your body? How to ask Dennis Rodman for an autograph?

Ay Dios Mio.

North Korean special forces….oh I bet they’re special, all right. No, I’m not intimidated at all by whatever level of training NKWC has. I know I’ve trained longer, I know I’ve trained harder.”

“But what about Mark Flynn? He has a background in orthodox wrestling and could prove to be a real challenge, especially given his size advantage over you two dainty ladies!”

“Mark Flynn? ¡Es un chi-chi cabrón! El no vale un diablo. I’m going to string him up like the wires on a guitara, I’ll make him sing like one of my favorite mariachi tunes! Flynn may be bigger, but that doesn’t make him stronger! In orthodox wrestling it’s all about knowing to position your body and use your leverage to create maximum results on the mat. Pure strength doesn’t cut it, it’s a game of technique and positioning. If Mark Flynn wants to throw down in a folkstyle wrestling match against me he’s going to be sorely disappointed in the result!”

Dolly Waters nods on with a smile as Robyn starts to assert herself more confidently in front of the press pool. While Robyn was handling the questions well, Dolly knew that sooner or later everyone slips up and says something they don’t want to be recorded. Dolly knew that it was time to bring this impromptu press conference to a close.

“Hey guys, but why are you talking to us? We’re just little Miss Dolly Waters and Latina Submission Machina- Corey Smith himself is up there in room 420! Unit 69! He’s bed sick, so he’s going to have no choice but to take all your questions!”

Like a pack of wolves chasing down their next big game, the assorted paparazzi immediately begin to charge towards the entrance to the hospital. The scoopers and dirtsheeters leave Robyn and Dolly Waters in the dust as they sprint to their victim, elbowing each other for positioning the entire way.

“Wow- that’s loca! They scurry like rats just from THAT? But….why did you tell them Corey’s room number? Won’t they bother him?”

Dolly smirks and winks at Robyn.

“Oh, but how could they bother him? Corey left from the helipad before I even got down here.”

...and just like that, the story of the greatest tag team in XWF history was beginning to unfold. But before Dolly and Robyn could become that, things were going to get a lot weirder. That's the only way the cosmos would have it happen.

-to be continued-

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