Post by lauradavoe on Jan 23, 2018 10:30:47 GMT -5
Laura DaVoe
Not Exactly Shy
Not Exactly Shy
<23rd January, 2018>
<Sunrise over somewhere in the American Southwest>
<5:08 a.m. PST>
<<< A soft wind whistles over what, to some, might be described as a desolate landscape. In the infant, and what won’t be for long, pale sunshine spreading across the desert, one can see little else but sand, the occasional boulder, slightly more often we see cactai in various stages of their life cycle, and rare clumps of scrub grass. For a brief moment, a vision of a jackrabbit—it bounds away in a grey streak before knowing whether it was real or imagined. We hear a distinct sound, as slowly, ever so slowly, our perspective turns. The baying of wolves, or more likely coyotes here in the desert, can be heard before we finally catch something stark that breaks up the sameness: grey, chain-link fencing. With the vision of the fence, we swing around quicker now to catch a long stretch of enclosed area. The front of the ‘cage’ is a mere five/six feet away, though the back looks to be as much as a quarter mile back. A large cluster of mid to large size boulders is near the closest border to the fence, though before we swing more to the right to see more of the enclosure, a sudden burst of movement sees a group of five, short, tan/brown haired coyotes bursting into view, snapping and howling at the cage. A voice from off camera… >>>
? – Beautiful, aren’t they?
<<< After swinging around back to the left, the voice reveals itself. Herself, more accurately. She’s tall, though not lanky; lean, but quite defined musculature spreads from her bare forearms up to her shoulders. Wearing a white, thin tank-top, she stands with her arms folded and her striking, hazel eyes seem to be looking beyond the camera; perhaps at the ‘beautiful’ coyotes? She’s got on cut-off jean shorts that stop just above the knees, and low-calf combat boots of an inky black; showing off legs that are quite defined as well. After a long moment, bending down to grab at a large water bottle at her feet and chugging deeply from it, she breaks the silence. >>>
? – Quite deadly in their beauty though, obviously. Even a lone coywolf is a very dangerous thing; were you to face one out here…well being the pack animals that they are, facing one means you are only seeing the alpha male, quite frankly.
<<< She moves away, and as we follow, snapping and growling moves to affectionate whining as the woman gets right up to the fence, ducks down to one knee, and slowly brings her hand to bear on the fence. Three of the five start vying for attention, licking her hand as best either of them can. The other two, slightly larger beasts hang back, and switch from friendly whimpers, to slight snarling and growling. >>>
? – Laura DaVoe, by the way. Let’s get that out of the way. Nothing is guaranteed in this life, that’s for sure. Death, taxes—supposedly the only two in this world. I’m not so sure about that…
<<< Laura backs away from the cage and stares off into the distance in front of her for long moments, and only when the keening pleas for attention seem to bring her back to the here and now, she moves around, to the adjacent side of the fence. After rustling around in her pockets, she comes up with a key. When it clicks home, the coyotes circle her as she walks to a small shed near the entrance. She disappears into the shed for long moments, with the animals staying outside, and finally emerges back into the desert air with five large, metallic water bowls. Setting them down into the meager shade the shed casts, the whimpers intensify as she disappears back into the shed. When she comes back out, she has a water hose that’s already starting to run, and proceeds to fill each of the bowls. When she’s done, even the two quieter, more intense beasts set about quenching their thirst. >>>
DaVoe – As far as they know, that’s the only thing I provide them—though I do bring them rabbits as well, they just don’t know: not as far as I can tell anyway. They can find food and water themselves for the most part, my alpha male and his mate—all five of them have got nearly two miles to run around in after all, and yet my three, little stooges here aren’t very…good at finding what they need, not really.
<<< She still has the hose in hand, and is coiling it as she walks towards the side as she says this last bit, disappearing into the shed at the word good, so that these last words are barely audible. When she comes back out, she silently strides towards the gate, lets herself out, and a moment later, the tell-tale sound of a lock clicking home rings through the air. Even before she’s rounding the bend, she starts to speak again. >>>
DaVoe – The CoyWolf; an interesting hybrid. Idiots all over our great deserts breed them, thinking they can make pets of them. Shit, but I wish I could lock them in here rather than these poor souls. I bring them in from all over, at select times, as I can. Packs growing up together, well even in captivity they can stand each other, even work together. They can’t mix with their purer blooded cousins though, and that’s why they’re here; they’d get torn to shreds if coyote or wolf packs found them. Don’t think I’ m making them my pets, and don’t presume to tell me that I should let them die off. Neither is the case; neither COULD be the case. They understand that I provide them water, and so over time, they form a sort of an attachment to me—never pet to master though, never that. You could say, throughout my interesting life, that I’ve become something of a hybrid myself. So yes, part flashy name—because this is the sport of professional wrestling after all—and part realization as to who…no…what I am. I AM the CoyWolf Laura DaVoe; the Ultimate Hybrid! Coy, that doesn’t mean shy or submissive; look to the big titted, bimbos that have signed up to Action Wrestling for that. CoyWolf: It’s just what it sounds like though, part coyote, part wolf, all animal, all wild, and always ready to tear my opponents apart with these two bare hands! Make no mistake men and women of this fledgling company—I will emblazon my name across the skies of Action Wrestling!
<<< A brief respite to quench her thirst, as Laura takes another swig from her water bottle, keeping it in hand. >>>
DaVoe – Listen, I can be pretty nice when I want to be. Most of the time, I’m at least approachable. Let me say this though. I don’t care what your life outlook is, I don’t care if you’re a man or a women; and don’t even think I give a shit as to whether your some towering mountain of muscle, or a thin, lightweight/cruiserweight flipping and spinnin all over the damned place. Gay, straight, bi-sexual—I’m bi if you’re wondering, but I lean towards men; that’s just me, just a little glimpse into one facet of the cold, dark sapphire that I am. You could be a social justice warrior making yourself a pour-over coffee in the morning and drinking a Moscow mule at night, or the biggest piece of redneck, racist, sexist trash that currently walks this Earth. The way I see it, some things in life are guaranteed, after all…but more on that later though. For now, I’ve got some other items to attend to before I start my work out for the day, so come on.
<<< Laura walks past us, and as we swing around to see where she’s going, it’s apparent when she strides over to a blue RAV 4-J, opens the driver’s side and yells something out. >>>
DaVoe – The hell you waiting for, sunset so you can bask in the light of another beautiful desert scene? Time is burning away from me, even now; get your ASS in gear!
<<< We do as she prompts, and once inside the confines of the mini jeep, blackness envelops what we see, until we ‘step’ back into the light of a kitchen scene. DaVoe has her back turned to us, as she looks out a large bay window into the desert. >>>
[/div]DaVoe – Maybe, this is too far out from the inaugural Monday Night Clash, maybe it’s a bit early to say what I’m going to say: I’m still going to say it though. I need to make my intentions clear, to everyone, that is. Go ahead and make it official; my name is the first to be placed in the World title tournament!
<<< A cold smile plays about Laura’s face as she turns around, and after grabbing up and nibbling on some beef jerky, she chases it with another slug from that water bottle. >>>
DaVoe – I’m not tip-toeing around, mark it on the goddamned calendar, because it’s official. I’m not making little half-ass pretenses at making myself known. I’m not on Twitter, so don’t even look for me there, no matter how popular I get! Facebook does the same damn thing, but better. Not much of a presence there either; that’s mostly for my family and friends. So unlike some of these other, ineffectual nothings that think they are going to make a name for themselves that way, I’m not making little comments on social media and hoping people take notice. Take notice of me now, and trust me, you’ll be hearing from me more in the future. I’m here, and I guarantee I’m not going anywhere!
<<< Laura pulls out the head chair of mahogany out of the semi-circle of four other chairs and sits down, shinning her hazel eyes our way. >>>
DaVoe – I mean, let’s face it, it’s a…well…guarantied thing when it comes to me making big money for Action Wrestling, and of course, as I climb the rungs of that tournament ladder and claim the prize that awaits me at the top, I in turn will claim top dollar as it’s best performer. Guarantees, we keep coming back around to that word—that concept. We talked earlier about those two that everyone knows; cliché I know—I feel bad even mentioning them briefly. Still, something to keep in the back of your mind. However, something I like to think about is another of life’s guarantees. The law of gravity; what comes up, must come down. We’ve all heard it before, but it’s worth keeping in your mind; in the forefront of each and every person who is going to call themselves an A-Dub athlete. Those big guys who think muscle alone will cut it? Wrong; I’ll get you down to the mat, and I’ll pick you apart, and I’ll keep you on the mat until I’M ready to pin you. Those flashy, whirling tops that work the high-flying style? Well, you’ve got to come down to the mat to try and pin me some time, don’t you? And then, as you get within reach of me, I take you apart, piece by piece, until I AM through with you. What comes up, must come down, and they all go down to my skills in that ring!
<<< Laura holds her right hand up, and though it was clenched as a fist at first, she opens her hand up, palm towards us, and after a moment puts her pinky finger down against that palm. >>>
DaVoe – “Surgical in her methods”; the Phoenix Tribune once said of me, in my first federation, amongst other praise they heaped on my, then, rookie days.
<<< Her ring finger goes down next, pausing for long moments to emphasize the silence. >>>
DaVoe – “In this age of cruiserweights diving, spinning, flipping, and giving it all for minimal crowd reaction, Laura DaVoe stands out as a methodical, refreshing throw-back to the mat based technicians of old…” the Albuquerque All Stars of Wrestling Podcast said of me a year later, in the largest New Mexican federation at the time. With ties to larger, world known federations South of the border…
<<< She spins her hand around rapidly, temporarily lowering her forefinger and thumb to flip us the bird, before putting those two digits back up, turning her hand around again, and lowering her middle finger. >>>
DaVoe – I’m translating this from Spanish, and that’s who I was giving the bird too, quite frankly, as the Lucha Libra Lunaticos magazine said of me “Laura DaVoe does not belong in AALL Wrestling; she cannot compete with the power of Lucha!” Yeah, well…in a way, true enough. Of course, when 90 percent of all wrestlers there can’t stray from the lucha style, and I refuse to bow to their will in telling me to learn goddamned moonsaults and planchas, they’re right. By not allowing me to wrestle as I wish, I really couldn’t get over in Mexico. Well, just two years ago, perhaps the land of the Rising Sun was a better fit for me anyway…
<<< Her forefinger goes down, as she bores holes into us. >>>
DaVoe – Again, I translate from an a Asahi TV telecast of their highest rated wrestling show, SLAM NOW! Follow the World of Wrestling, as they shone their spotlight on my last federation: Women’s Strong Style Wrestling. “To see how DaVoe-san matches with any women in Japan is no match; were it not for Visa issues, she would be the WSSW Supreme Champion, and would stay there as long as she wanted, we feel.” That close, that goddamned close to my first World title, and I get yanked back to the States.
<<< Her thumb now folds down into her palm, and she turns her first around, looking at us for long moments before breaking the silence again. >>>
DaVoe – Not that I even dislike America, but I would love to be in Japan even now, proving my skills to the rabid fans there. I had much more to prove there, and yet, as Action Wrestling opened up, I began to realize that destiny had brought be back with a purpose. Being a women’s champion is a fine accolade, and yet even in this year, with as refined as a lot of society thinks it is, let’s be honest. Does it mean as much as being THE World Champion of a federation? Ladies of AW, you know as well as I do that the answer is no. Should it be otherwise: yes. Will it be for some time to come: no. No amount of social justice marches and trying to refine Hollywood is going to change that, not anytime soon. So then, as the days fall away to bring us closer to the first Monday Night Clash, let me end things—for now—by saying this. Las Vegas, Nevada is going to shine even brighter than normal when the stars of Action Wrestling make their debut on February 12th. That arena though, as I step through the curtain and make my way to the ring for the first time, will be as a supernova for those first, few, initial moments. You’ll get used to the glare though; you’ll have to, or else you’ll go blind from looking at my brilliance. Bravado—yes of course, and yet through the flash and pomp of that bravado, you’ll see a stronger element: truth. Whoever is unlucky enough to be paired with me in that first round, you’ll find out—little different than the rest of the rounds really. Talk is cheap, that certainly can be true of some. What my fellow competitors need to know is that when I talk, you listen; you listen to the chilling bay of a coyote, wolf…or in my case, THE CoyWolf. Why? Like those howling beasts off in the distance, they are closer than you think, and that’s when you put the fire out of your camp, you pack your gear, and you get the hell into your car and drive. My words, my CoyWolf’s howl, they are only a warning to what my arms and hands will do to you when you step in the ring with me. As you get your limbs rent from your bones though, know that you had been warned and you did nothing to save yourself!
<<< With that, we leave Laura DaVoe…for now. >>>