Ninth Match

[Allura Desmonds]

Ninth Match
BAMF Championship
Cage Match
Johnny Reb © vs Brian Kennedy ©

RP Limit: 2 Per Person
Deadline: 04/04/20 at 11:59pm eastern time
Grace Period: 04/05/20 at 11:59pm eastern time
Good Luck

[thenewcsa]

*The camera falls on the interior of Johnny Reb's ranch house as Necra walks to the door. The sound of knocking intensifies as Johnny and Ex stand by watching. Slowly Necra opens the door revealing an exhausted and dirty Sothren who sighs exhaustively as he sees his beloved daughter.*

Soth: Oh, sweetheart. Thank God. The last five houses I went to were very rude.

Necra: Oh, Gods no.

Soth: I think one of them shot at me.

*He says as he pushes past her to enter the house. Johnny just folds his arms and chuckles*

J.R.: Too bad they missed.

Soth: They didn't.

*He says landing on the couch with a thud as he reveals the butt of his pants with a hole in them his butt cheeks hanging out as Johnny just shakes his head and Necra scoffs*

Necra: Well, that's nice.

Ex: What the hell happened?

Necra: Yeah, where the hell have you been? Nobody knew where you were.

Soth: Your bloody mother wouldn't let me in the house. Said she was afraid of catching...

Ex: What the covid?

Soth: No, the stupid; she said.

*Johnny chuckles as Ex just shakes his head and Necra places a hand over her face embarrassingly*

Soth: So, I got on a private flight before they shut everything down and tried to go to the house. But brother wasn't there. So I tried to get in but the house... the house wouldn't let me.

J.R.: Wouldn't let you?

Necra: The house is not just a house. It's alive so to speak.

Ex: Yeah, it has ways of defending itself.

J.R.: How the hell does a house defend itself?

Soth: Painfully.

J.R.: Ah, makes sense.

Soth: Anywho, I managed to hitchike my way down here when I found out you were here.

*Sothren begins to sit up as Johnny just lowers his head shaking it incredulously as Necra looks at her father with a small amount of pity in her voice.*

Necra: You hitchhiked from New York all the way to Atlanta?

Soth: Well, truth be told I killed and stole most of the rides I got. But it was still exhausting. Oh by the way I met your sheriff.

*Johnny goes wide eyed for a moment.*

J.R.: Herschel? You didn't hurt him didja? Cause if you did I'm gonna kick yer ass back up to New York.

Soth: Relax. He's alive. I left him down the road. He hit a tree trying to take me in. He lived. I on the other hand was impaled by an oak.

*Necra once more sighs folding her arms in disappointment as Ex gets up walking to the fridge to grab another beer. Johnny sighs walking to his hat rack and grabbing his cowboy hat and a homemade cloth mask.*

J.R.: Wish it would killed ya proper.

Soth: Alas, alack. I've heard it all before. So, am I sleeping on the couch or is there a bedroom in this backwoods bungalow?

Necra: We should let you stay in the barn with the other animals.

J.R.: I don't think so. Barns too good for him. You stay on that damn couch don't move a muscle. I'm gonna go check on Herschel. Depending on how I find him will designate the amount of ass kickin' I will give you when I get back. Till then Spooky you in charge.

*With that Johnny walks out and the camera follows him as he begins walking down the road, his cowboy boots kicking up dirt as his spurs spin with each step. His jeans are dirty from a day in the farm. His shirt simply saying "America First" as he walks in the sultry Atlanta night. He walks with purpose as the cameras roll heading down the road as he casually talks to the camera.*

J.R.: Gall darned idget galoot. If he wasn't Necra's dad I would of punched him right in the puss. I swear when did my life become a goddamn looney tune short? And I even got a match to deal with on top of all this. God damn beverage virus comes through and all hell breaks loose. Worse still I got to defend my title against a man who couldn't hold his own if it came with handles. Thats right "Backpack" Brians back and he's out for blood and you ol' Johnny Reb are runnin' a god damned quarantine bed and breakfast for the Devil's Rejects. I swear. Still it could be worse I suppose. I could have the Rona. Hell don't get me wrong I don't mind a corona once in a while but I prefer it with lime not pneumonia. That being said y'all if you think the NC-dubyas Bad Ass Mother Fucker of the decade is a man that won't leave it all on the mat you ain't seen me in action. Thats right I'm gonna take all this frustration and use it to cave in Kennedy's skull like a magic bullet. That's right topical jokes aside yer ol' pal Johnny Reb is ready to do what he does best and thats kick ass and takes names. Now normally I'd make a joke as how I can't remember how Brian's name goes. Or how he's some sort of rip off of this or that. But truth is Brian much respect you got my full attention right now. So, I ain't gonna disrespect the fact you got yer shot at me fair and fuckin' square. But if you think that means I'm gonna lay over and die for ya like it's finger poke of doom sorry son but y'all in for a rude awakening. Everyone of y'all that have come after me since I earned this belt has ended up gettin' my shit kickers and quite frankly it's gettin' tiresome. How many times do I have to whip yer ass before you finally get it through that thick skull. You don't deserve this belt. You may have earned the shot boy. But gettin' the shot and takin' it are two entirely different things.

*He walks along a fence looking out into a field at a couple of deer standing out in a field and grazing. Johnny just sighs and stops a moment admiring the sight before turning back to the road and continuing on.*

J.R.: It's like huntin'. You get the shot you line it up just right. You got the perfect shot. He looks up startled a beautiful 8 pointer just starin' your ass down. And you breathe and you hold that breath and take the shot and suddenly you realize. You missed. And thats the problem with you, Kennedy. You got no problems gettin to the dance but when it comes time to put up or shut up when it's just you and someone else you always find a way to fuck yerself don'tcha boy? It's like my drill Sergent use to tell us. Son, unfuck yerself. You want the prize I'm gonna make you earn it. I'm gonna shove my boot so far down your gullet you'll be shittin shoe leather till the cows come home. And trust me when they come home they'll be comin' home with me and my belt. So, thank you, Brian I mean that. Thank you for one more win. One more chance for me to kick your sorry ass until you get it through your thickskull that you will never be worthy to call yourself the BAMF. I am and always will be the baddest man in this business. I am the meanest damn redneck you will ever meet and come March Madness I will continue to be the Bad Ass Mofo of the entire NC-dubya. You got that backpack? I'll throw you on my back one more time and carry you through the match until I'm done with you. And after this thats exactly what I am... done... with... you.

*He says the words slowly with emphasis to really drill the idea that this is it as he stops and looks over at the trees to a smoking crashed vehicle. He walks to the door seeing an unconcious man before looking at the camera. and sighing.*

J.R.: Well here we are. Y'all wanna help me. He'll be alright. He usually crashes his car every two weeks. Usually after I gift him some of my good ol' fashion homemade apple pie moonshine. So, y'all put that down and give me a hand?

*The camera goes to the ground as Johnny's boots and another set of sneakers move to the cars driver side as the scene fades to black.*