Southern Hospitality: Dakota vs Taurus Mask (D)

Match Type: Standard
Victory Conditions: Pinfall, Submission, or Knockout

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It had taken several days of bed rest and a healthy supply of ice paKs but Dakota had survived her first tussle in the ring. If she was sure of one thing now more than ever, it was she had made the right choice coming all the way out here to make a name for herself. Of course, there were always going to be setbacks, but she wouldn't have ever faced stiff competition like this back in those dusty old venues she had become accustomed to with a small-time federation. Just like mama said, you had to learn to crawl before you could walk. This was her growing pains until she caught her rhythm. Eventually, she'd hit her stride… So why not tonight? With a confident smirk, the southern gal adjusted the bill of her cap and made her way to the curtains.

Theme:

Dakota Dwight:

With a bounce in her step, Dakota took to the stage, throwing her arms up with a cheer. Either people were inter her youthful energy or they still felt a marginal amount of sympathy for her because of her last encounter in the ring. It was a healthy pop from the crowd, though not as impressive as those big-name folks high on the card, but enough to make her radiant smile grow even larger. Invigorated by the crowd she quickened her pace to a jog, then a run, barreling towards the ring. With a flying leap, she threw herself under the bottom rope, gliding also the canvas until coming to a stop. Popping up to her feet, she reached up and zipped down her jacket about halfway, letting the heat vent from her chest as she tugged at the zipper to create some airflow.

"Hey you're tanglin me!!! YOU'RE TANGLIN ME GODDAMMIT!!!" Barking at backstage personnel accidentally intertwining his ankles with the cable wires they were shuffling around, one exceedingly ornery bull man skip stepped out of his lasso'd predicament with a stink eye directed at the apologizing workers going about their workday. He'd just gotten properly suited up but couldn't even make it to the gorilla position without practically picking a fight with the first people he'd come across. That irate temperament of his stemming from the heinous level of disrespect shown to him ever since stepping off of his family’s private jet and getting a load at all of the business-suit wearing goobers populating this country who'd take for-freaking-ever getting him a match. One he had every right to turn down given that it wasn't headlining a PPV or even on one, but the man was dying of boredom. And was far too hyped at the opportunity to finally get his ass off the couch and into that wrestling ring, where everyone could feast their eyes on the next BIG thing...

THEME:

The Raging Bull:

Several seconds later and after what sounded like a cassette tape being loaded, a veritable explosion of a theme rocketed out of the speakers to mainly perplexed reactions with not many knowing what to make of it. Spotlights bearing a bull-themed insignia spiraling all about the arena with an emerald green hue before TAURUS MASK burst out from behind the curtains with a testerone fueled "WOOOOOOOOO!!!" bellowed out from deep within the fire in his belly. Afterwards shadow-boxing with some jukeing side-steps before shooting one fist towards the ring to the explosion of flicking pyro on both sides of the stage. Reggie confidently marching down the ramp as a small smattering of audience members started bobbing their heads to the side and at the very least enjoying the spectacle of his presentation and rockin theme. Taurus stomping up the steps and into the ring, cape billowing behind him as he stood on the middle ropes at a corner turnbuckle. Surveying his domain before hopping back down and centering his eyes across the ring. "Pulled the short straw today, grease monkey. Yer fine ass is grass...and I'm bout to light up~..."

Dakota hadn't even gotten a chance to step away from where she had stood up when her music faded out, replaced with what sounded like someone messing up in production. She cocked a slender brow, turning on her heel to look up the ramp then back to the referee to see if something was wrong. Only a small shrug from the official. When the music blared it made her jump with wide-eyed surprise. Putting a hand delicately to her chest and resting the other on the rope, she had a good laugh at herself over that as she caught sight of the green spotlights… with a cow on them?

Stranger yet was the mean green fiend who came stomping out onto the stage looking like some sort of leprechaun minotaur. It got a big smile out of Dakota, marveling at just how outlandish Taurus Masked looked. While it certainly wasn't her glass of sweet tea, she loved the daring choice and just how loud his whole getup was. One of the biggest joys in this business was the character people presented in the ring and this guy had it in spades, that was for sure. He wasn't a small fry either, which was something to keep in mind. She'd have to keep her grappling smart tonight to work around that.

The blond woman took a few measured steps back having lingered by the corner her opponent scaled, giving him plenty of room for when he hopped down into the ring. She could feel the vibration of his landing, a pretty big weight difference between them almost assuredly. While he had the regal cape going for him, Dakota wasn't one to bow down to anybody in the ring so she kept it simple and polite with a tip of her hat and one of her trademark southern smiles that could strip the rust off of a trailer hitch on charm alone.

"Careful there. Try to take a bite outta this…" She gave a hard sway of her hips in his direction, bringing her hand around to clap a cheek of her firm rump.  "And I might just put you out to pasture." She strode up to Taurus mask with a confident sashay, planting her boots to put herself firmly in his way. She puffed out her chest a bit, just shy of pressing her body up against his. While she stood nearly as tall as him, the width of their figures was a stark contrast as the man across from her clearly hit the gym and did so hard. She didn't seem intimidated by him though, probably due in large part to how he was dressed, softening the idea he was a threat.

"Hope you came ready to tussle cow boy, cause I'm going to work the field with you." She would look him square in the eye, letting him know that despite the humor to be found in her words, she was serious about taking him to task. Once that moment passed though she would step back and give him the run of the ring again, not looking to stall any further. She was itching to grapple and show her stuff. After her last poor performance, she had something to prove and Taurus Mask was going to be her means to do it.

Goddamn it. Those pencil necked geeks over in the Fire And Safety Commission royally screwed Reggie out of what he intended to be an entrance extravaganza 10 times more overblown and excessive than what was presented. Timed firework spectacles emblazoning his smirking face in the sky, big tittied cheerleaders shooting t-shirt cannons brandishing his bull logo into the audience, and a rocket fueled flame thrower that he saw in a movie once. The Regginator came to the producer's table with all of these bombass ideas for his premiere match, but all those fidgeting dweebs did was tug on their collars and mutter something about how 4 out of 5 of his ideas defied several safety regulations, could set fire to the arena or some bullshit like that. In the end he had to settle for tonight's sorry display, but you better believe that Reggie was going to get his hands on that flame thrower for one of his entrances as soon as he gets to perform in an open-air stadium.

But for now, The Bull Man has his emerald eyes centered on something way hotter than any mere pyrotechnic. Reggie currently feasting his eyes on his Southern Belle of an adversary swinging dem hips his way, the gentleman that he is breathing into his hand to make sure he did not offend as she stood before him. His ears overheard everything she was saying but his roaming eyes betrayed where his mind actually was. Numbers ticking off in his machismo-laden mindset about where he'd rank Dakota amongst all of the smokin hot babes he'd come across as the swarthy casanova he knew he was. *Oh yeah. She wants the Regginator~...* Would be the summation of Reggie's thoughts as he let Dakota speak her peace with that Southern twang of hers, propping his chin beneath his hand in a judgmental gleam alongside a shit eating grin on his face as the mechanic started backing up and giving them some space.

"Whoa, easy there Dixie. Best check yourself, cause this ain't no skeezy bar, and I ain't that broke down mechanical bull you probably rode into the ground from whatever podunk town you hail from. I'M the one whose gonna be bustin this bronco, and tamin this philly. But yo, play yer cards right, and you may jus find yerself riding this burly bull all night long. And I promise that's gonna be the ride of your life~...BULL-eive that!!!" Reggie proclaimed while unfurling his cape and flinging it carelesly at the referee, briefly engulfing her beneath it before rolling it up and shooting Reggie an annoyed look while handing it off at ringside. Reggie limbering up and circling the ring alongside Dakota, patting his shoulders and jogging around before attempting to approach her head on. Massive mitts spread to his side as he lurched forward for the typical lock-up, swiftly adjusted into a tightened side headlock if she dared to lock horns with the Brahma Bull...

Eyes were made for wandering, that was her stance on the matter. The southern gal wasn't especially modest about her appearance though, especially in the ring. Mama always said that if you got it, flaunt it and boy did she ever. She was no stranger to how opportunities would present themselves when she flashed a bit of her sweet country T or fine country cushion. Inside and outside of the ring it worked, so she wasn't about to turn her nose up at Reggie undressing her with his eyes.

She watched as he launched into a diatribe with an arched brow and that lopsided smile of hers. The green bull guy was certainly a character, that was for sure. She could practically feel the masculine energy he was projecting hitting her like a wall of force… she wasn't one to really judge but it made her curious if he was compensating for something or always this braggadocious. Once he was done though, she had made up her mind entirely that Reggie wasn't really her type. That wouldn't stop her from humoring him a bit, especially if it bought her some leeway in their match.

There has been a moment when she would have responded, this sort of banter was fun, to her at least. But the pun to close it out and what she could swear was a bit of spittle speckling her cheek from his explosive delivery left something to be desired. There didn't seem a need to hurl an insult back, nothing she could say would have been worse than that. Instead, she did the polite thing and simply acknowledged he had done a whole lot of talking with a small nod and a tip of her cap.

When it came time to clash, her smile broadened to a grin as the southern gal steadied up and raised her hands. It looked as though she was about to humor the raging bull and stand her ground. At the last minor as his arms moved to close in around her slender frame she dips low, under an arm, and slipped to the side, shooting right past him. She lacked the fancy dudes and red cape, but she had the heart of the bullfighter for sure. As she passed she brought her hands around in a wide arch, swinging it down to brand Reggie with a sharp slap on the ass for his efforts while she passed by. Pivoting on her heel she turned to face his direction, slowing a back peddle to a stop and taking up her grappler stance again to give him a second chance at her.

Stunned speechless was typically how The Reggie-nator left the hunnies whenever they were fortunate enough to have been targeted by him within his emerald eyed crosshairs. Whether he was macking on them at a nightclub with a whiskey on the rocks in hand, or the less subtle technique of spankin summa dem bikini bottomed cheeks while strolling the boardwalk with his bros, Reggie never failed to leave the ladies at a loss for words. Seemingly having the same effect on the Southern Belle here who'd part ways with the bellowing Bull-Man with nothing more than a tip of her trucker hat. Reggie had a gift of gab that made him a primo trash-talker, and that combined with his swarthy charisma when addressing the chickadees had easily left her spellbound.

But don't think Reggie didn't catch her scopin him out as well. Checkin the pecs. Perusin the prize. Analyzin the ass. He was a man of his word, and meant what he said by treating her to a night of club-hoppin and subsequent breakfast at his crib the morning after. IF, she played her cards right though. The match was still young and so was he, so their were still plenty of ways she could ruin her chances of scoring with the Brahma Bull~...such as by revealing she somehow earned more money than him or by actually managing to squeak in a win somehow. Neither of those distinct possibilities being particularly realistic anyway as he started limbering up before proceeding to encroach upon Ol' Dixie with a widened stance to his massive meathooks.

Smirking confidently from thinking about how much of a dolt Dakota must be for accepting his lock-up in the first place, before whiffing completely and getting his backside tanned for his trouble!!! "HeyTheFucklady!!!" Reggie bellowed out together in one breath with some brief skipping steps on his tip toes. Settling down from the initial shock and shooting some irate eyes at the pranking Dixiecrat, hands propped on his hips as he nudged his tongue against the inside of his cheek with the audience getting their shitty chuckles and scant "Ole!!!" chants out of their system. "Bet you think yer pretty damn funny, eh? Hope you know I'm bout to tag you back and then some, Dix..." Reggie asked while irately retaking his grappling stance, but for nowhere near as long as he'd abruptly shoot out one of his legs for an attempted stomp into her breadbasket.

Dakota had anticipated a reaction but Reggie seemed to like to go the extra mile in more than just the bombastic way he presented himself and dialed it up a notch. She didn't mind though if anything it made their brief interaction that much more amusing for her and the crowd who had taken it upon themselves to further the image of a bullfight she had in her mind with their chants. When he looked her way, the southern girl made it a point to wave her hand out as if to cool it down, giving it a soft blow through pursed lips like it was the barrel of a smoking gun. It had strung a bit on her palm, making her wonder if bull dropped trow if her handprint would be emblazoned on his backside. She wasn't about to ask though, as tempting as it was to mess about with him.

"Gonna have to wash that big ol' mouth of yours out with some soap if you keep it up Jolly Green." Dakota tipped the brim of her cap up to flash Reggie a cheeky grin. She seemed ready to go this time though, rocking on the balls of her feet, prepared for first contact. Locking up with Reggie was a huge mistake, she knew that, which was why the moment he would lay hands on her she intended to slip free and go for a counter attack. As they inched closer though it wasn't his arms that came for her, it was a sudden kick.

"Kuh!" Dakota buckled forward with the big boot to her abdomen, wheezing with wide eyes. She kept one of her arms up, palm towards Reggie as she stumbled back, trying to keep him at bay as if that would be enough. Her other arm clutched at her stomach as she struggled to not launch into a coughing fit was the unexpected strike taking her down a peg or two.

Typically Reginald was the one caught red-handed playin' a game of Grab Ass. Specifically whenever restaurant waitresses sauntered on by his table, or with airplane stewardesses whom he decided needed a little extra spankin' incentive to hurry up when fetching his cocktail. So what just happened to transpire was a cathartic bit of retribution for all of those frazzled and incensed ladies who valued their jobs more than the satisfaction felt from slapping the taste of Reggie's mouth. Karma coming to collect in the form of Dakota thwacking him in the bull backside hard enough to elicit a frantically over the top response from him until eventually collecting himself with a spiteful stare. But don't let anyone else tell you differently. The real reason why this Southern Dumb-bell's hand was stinging was due solely to the fact that the Reggie-nator has impeccably honed glutes of sheer steel. Check out his Instagram if you dare doubt him~...

Reggie approached with a newly concocted plan this time. Feigning the lock-up this time around and aiming to head Dakota off at the pass before she could chicken out again with a shooting blast right to her breadbasket. "BOOM!!! That's what I'm talkin bout!!! Hey where you goin, toots? Whatever happen to that good ol Southern hospitality, Daisy Duke?" Reggie mocked with an exceptionally awful Southern drawl and snide smile as he stalked Dakota throughout her staggered retreat, predictability unsympathetic towards his opponent's plight as he snatched that extended hand by the wrist. Ushering Dakota backward at a faster pace as he bullied her back against his burly bode until her back and booty shorts felt the corner turnbuckle behind her. What followed next being an attempted Irish Whip clear across the ring by the same hand he clasped earlier and with every ounce of Reggie's bullish strength behind it. Enough to have Reggie slump down to one knee post fling.

Dakota couldn't do much more than grit her teeth and wince as Reggie flexed his own small victory over her, paying back her taunting with an arguably far more effective effort than her own. It had put her on the back foot, something the bull was more than happy to take advantage of as he strolled up to her, clamping down his grip on her arm as easily as if she had been offering it to him. He was kind enough to shove her upright, in his own way, pressing up against her body to forcibly walk her back into the turnbuckles while she fumbled to keep up the pace he was setting. She let out a grunt, briefly compacted in the corner as Reggie loaded her up for his big shot, whipping her from this corner to the far one.

A jolt of pain tore through her arm as he threw her from the corner, damn near ripping her arm off with his Irish whip. There was no resisting it, forced to speedily peddle her legs to keep from face planting into the canvas in an embarrassing display. All she could do was go along with it, managing to twist herself at the last moment to take the far impact against the turnbuckles against her back instead of running face-first into it. The ropes shook and metal latches creaked as she slammed up against them, taken off her feet for a moment before slumping back down, arms draped over the top rope and head dipped low as the country girl let out a pathetic moan.

Reggie hoped everyone in the arena had purchased their ticket beforehand and had their bags packed, because the Hype Train was about to officially leave the station. The Raging Bull was most definitely feeling himself after getting the upper hand, or rather upper foot, on Dakota. Whom he figured was starting to recognize the skills as she started backpedaling before the Awesomeness that was him as he eventually snatched her wrist and straightened her up against the turnbuckle. The gentleman that he was, opting to escort the Southerner back across the ring by sling-shotting her at a sprinter's pace. Enough sheer velocity in the dash to make several attendees wince and the adjacent ring corner quiver on collision.

Afterward he climbed up off of his knee with a cocksure sneer, appreciating his own handiwork and extending his own arms to the side to goad some cheers from the audience but settled for indifferent booing instead. "Alright Daisy, time you learned what happens when you mess with The Bull~..." Reggie gloated before suddenly hunching himself down into a typical linebacker position with the fingertips of his right hand balancing himself against the canvas, those emerald green-eyes centered on the country gal currently hung out to dry and on the cusp of getting the mother of all spears jammed into her midriff. "Blue 42!!!...Blue 42!!!...HutHutHike!!!" Tucked low and making good on the aforementioned train analogy, Reggie would come billowing down the track and with reckless abandon.