Brute

Your patience is thin, you want to put this match away now. You ignore the aches & bruises, stomping towards Tiffany. She's brave, standing her ground, no attempt at manoeuvring or dodging. She holds up her hands to stop you.

"Wait wait wait."

You don't. But you should have. Her pleading hand pokes out a finger, that your eye walks right in to.

"HA! Geez John, is you middle name Larry, Curly or Moe?"

Groaning, wincing, clutching your eye. If it happened to anyone else, you'd be laughing, just like the crowd is, just like the Schoolgirl is. But right now, you're a little blind & a little cranky. You recklessly reach for her with both hands. You find her neck, cutting off a laugh.

"Oh shit." Her face says.

You're dead!

Tiff gasps when you throw her, by the neck, into a corner. She's still flailing when you punch her in the mouth, the cheek, the mouth again. A short clothesline winds her, sets her stumbling out of the corner. Step to the side, scoop up in 1 arm, sidewalk slam. Leg hook pin, 1... 2... kickout.

Whatever. Schoolgirl is still out of it, enough for you to haul her up to her feet. Her punches are weak enough for you to ignore. An Irish whip, swinging backbreaker. The sound of spine smacking knee is most satisfying. Lateral press, with a forearm across the face for good measure. 1... 2... kickout. With each near fall the audience rumbles louder.

"Come on ref!" You slap the mat thrice to show what you want.

Official signs 2 & ignores you.

Fine, fine!

This time you drag Tiffany up by the braid. She hisses & braces her lumbar. A token elbow strike is all she can muster, your clubbing blow drops her again anyway. You lean her against the ropes. The 5 feet of fury can barely stand up. For the third, hopefully last time, you whip her across ring, prepare your attack. But the Schoolgirl doesn't return, because the masked stranger is on the apron, having just caught her.

YOU AGAIN!!! Did you think that or scream it, who cares? Your vision is red, so you bull charge them.