The Donnybrook

Chapter 1

Rival Angels Universe Alan Evans & the Mighty Haggis and
the Donnybrook Martin Coelacanth1938 Evans

Kayfabe [ky-fab]
[noun, verb, adjective]
The shared illusion that everything in professional wrestling is real and is
not staged and should not be questioned because otherwise it would ruin
things for everybody.
(The Donnybrook originally started out as a Rival Angels fanfic following
the aftermath of this match between the Dark Warrior and Aphrodite
http://www.rivalangels.com/comic/chapter-11-page-13-tacky-weirdo/ but
over the next few weeks, it rapidly became something else)
Fate is a whole lot like the Spanish Inquisition as portrayed by the Monty
Pythons Flying Circus performers. Nobody ever expects the Spanish
Inquisition, and if and when it does appear, the best you can hope for is to
be forced to sit in the comfy chair.
It was cold, wet, and dark outside the wrestling arena. Although the buses
had stopped running for the night, one lone person, insufficiently bundled
against the cold and the wet and the dark sat inside the bus stop shelter and
wondered what the hell was next in store for her.
Mistress Dark, otherwise known as the Dark Warrior, otherwise known as
Misty Ashley was now most certainly doomed to be forever remembered as
that Goth jobber who had lost to that hugely busted bimbo Aphrodite had
just run out of tears.
Misty loved wrestling. It made her come alive. While some other Goth girls
she knew needed to cut regularly themselves with razors and pins to feel
alive, all Misty had to do was insert a DVD into its player and watch Lufisto
and Mickie Knuckles bloodily beat the living Bejesus out of one another.

But for right now, all Misty could do was stare at the raindrops falling at her
feet.
BUMP.
Misty looked over in apprehension at the figure who had just planted itself
next to her on the bus stop shelters bench. It appeared to be another
woman, about her own size, wearing a white duster and a slouch hat.
Misty turned back to watching the raindrops dance at her feet.
So hows the Dark Warrior gimmick working out for you? asked
the newcomer.
Were you there in the arena watching me? replied Misty.
Up in the nosebleed seats. If it makes a difference, I just came to see you
and that lamebrain goddess wrestle. You both wrestle old school meat and
potatoes style which is something you dont see too much of anymore. And
anybody who calls herself a goddess needs to have her clock cleaned. I was
hoping that youd be the one to do it, said the newcomer.
Thank you, I think, started Misty
But if you keep calling yourself a Dark Mistress, youre going to get a
cease and desist letter from the horror movie hostess Elvira, and shes got
some mad ring skills of her own, said the newcomer.
Oh? said Misty.
She taught me how to mud wrestle, said the newcomer.
Do I know you? asked Misty.
Want a hint? asked the newcomer.
Okay? said Misty almost reluctantly.
Baaah, bleated the newcomer.

Misty was silent.

Baaah is just something I say to make my fans jump up and down, or after
Im hit in the face with a folding steel chair, or when Im really, really
mad, said the newcomer.
Haggis? Misty asked meekly.
Reporting for duty, said the sheep-faced woman

*******

After introductions were made, it only took Haggis a few moments to get
Mistys ass off of the bus shelter bench and moving to what the sheep-faced
woman had promised was a warmer and friendlier place to consider ones
options in life.
Misty took that time to scrutinize her newfound friends face. Misty had
heard about Haggis before, but she didnt quite believe that anybody could
have a face like a sheeps. But here was the actual article, and if there was
anything on Earth that Haggis resembled, it was a sheep.
Do you have a fleece? asked Misty.
Yeah, on my car seats, replied Haggis.
Do you have hooves? asked Misty.
No, I have feet just like yours, probably a little bigger though, grumbled
Haggis.
Do you have more than two you know? asked Misty.
Just these two big ones and theyre a lot more real than yours, said
Haggis. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions now?

Okay, said Misty

Why did you turn Goth? asked Haggis.
Misty stopped and unbuttoned the top of her coat, just enough to show bare
shoulders and a little cleavage. Haggis took a peak at the Dark Warriors
sizable assets and noted that Mistys pale skin coloring wasnt just makeup.
Misty then started explaining:
Im allergic to sunlight. Im practically an albino. When I was doing the
cheerleader gimmick, I used a spray tan so that Id look normal, but the
other wrestlers started to complain that the spray tan stuff ruined their
costumes when it wiped off on them and that it gave me an unfair advantage
because it made me extra slippery. Then the spray tan stuff started making
me sick, so I started using a Goth gimmick and my bosses approved.
Misty nearly sobbed, Now Im just the fans favorite jobber.
Haggis and Misty started walking again.
Remember what Lufisto said about jobbers? asked Haggis, Never forget
the one that makes you look good, the one who sets up the match so you
look terrific and better than you actually are. There are people who make
you step up to another level Never forget about them because they are
often the ones who will get no glory when you will achieve your success.
But I didnt get into wrestling to be a jobber, said Misty.
I understand completely. When I was in Japan, I was working for a
doglegged federation jobbing to a bitchy two-headed schoolgirl and a
drugged out Mexican wolf woman, said Haggis.
Haggis then stopped in mid-step and pointed across the street.

The Donnybrook
Est. 1950

The best damn wrestling themed bar in all fifty states and two or three
disputed territories, declared Haggis.
The outside of the bar was rather ordinary as bars went. The only thing that
was noteworthy was that the signs around the door that warned against
smoking, minors, and lack of attire. They were all made of brass and lettered
in a font that Misty did not recognize.
Haggis then merrily took Misty by the hand and walked her across the street
to the entrance of The Donnybrook. Before opening and going through the
door, Misty stopped and so did Haggis.
Whats the matter, hon? asked Haggis.
Whos that picture above the door? asked Misty, indicating a small framed
picture above the entrance.
Thats King John, replied Haggis.
Robin Hoods King John? Misty said suspiciously.
Yep, Robin Hoods King John, said Haggis.
Wasnt King John kind ofevil? asked Misty.
No. King John wasnt evil. He was a very competent bureaucrat took his
job seriously and kept himself busy watching out for everybodys best
interests while his brother Richard the Lionhearted and his entourage
partied like playboys from France to Syria, said Haggis. Robin Hood was
Richards personal spin doctor who had convinced everybody that King
John was a bad guy because he wasnt using taxes to pay ransoms for
Crusaders who were dumb enough to get themselves captured by the
Saracens. After Richard returned to England and became king, he pulled a
George Bush on England and left them with a deficit that took generations
to pay off.
Okay, but why there is a picture of King John on the front door?
asked Misty.

I think Ill let Mary tell you that story, said Haggis.
Haggis then opened the heavy wooden door and led Misty into the
Donnybrook. The Donnybrook was empty due to the late hour, but
it was full of wonders nonetheless.
The Donnybrook was as well-lit and as clean as a good mothers kitchen.
There was no wallpaper, just good quality hardwood paneling. All the light
fixtures were polished brass. The booths along the wall all sported brand
new upholstery and every table had little caddies filled with common and
uncommon condiments.
Championship wrestling belts and framed autographed pictures of wrestlers
adorned the walls. Several large screen television sets that were placed at
strategic locations throughout the Donnybrook were all showing the same
live wrestling match that was apparently being televised from either Japan
or Korea.
The bar ran the full length of the Donnybrook. It was old and it looked a
little banged up, but it had a friendly aura to it, like an old father oak planted
firmly in the ground. Haggis told Misty that the Donnybrook regulars
referred to the bar as the Font of Good Will because hardly anybody ever
got fighting mad drinking alongside it.
Hanging over the bar was what looked like a stuffed alligator placed just out
of reach of bar patrons. Above the shelves of spirits were a framed Guinness
towel, several Grumpy Cat pictures, and pro wrestling memorabilia inside of
transparent display cases.
Ashley Cartiers gold brass knuckles? exclaimed Misty, Dusty Rhodes
Texas death match chain and cowbell? One of Santos masks? A sack full of
Addy Starrs Legos?
Haggis walked up to the bar, sat down on a stool and invited Misty to sit
beside her which she did. Haggis then banged on the top of the bar and
called out loud, Service please!
An elderly woman stepped out of a door in the back, wiping off her

hands with an oily rag. She was slightly built and wore a simple black dress.
Her once fiery red hair which was streaked with grey and pulled up into a
bun. Her cheekbones were high and her laugh lines were obvious. As soon
as she saw Haggis and her companion, the woman immediately went behind
the Font of Good Will and asked, Black sheep, what can I do for you
tonight?
The usual for me and whatever my new friend Misty here wants,
Mother Mary, said Haggis.
Mother Mary turned to Misty and asked, What will you be
having, lass?
I dunno, stammered Misty.
A pint of Guinness it is, said Mother Mary who was already
pouring Haggis one.
Misty paused thoughtfully foe a moment and asked the old woman, Do I
know you?
Perhaps, said Mother Mary who then pointed at a nearby framed
black and white photograph on the wall. The picture showed a younger
looking Mary jabbing what looked like a pin into the backside of a
professional wrestler wearing a bearskin and a pained expression.
Youre Hatpin Mary? happily exclaimed Misty.
Hatpin Mary was a pro wrestling phenomenon. After the advent of
modern pro wrestling as we know it today, frumpy hat-wearing
women starting popping up at wrestling rings all over North America ready
and willing to stick a hatpin into the rear-end of any wrestler who did not
conduct himself with proper decorum during his match. Almost all of these
women were matronly and some of them even elderly, but somehow as
seemingly as spry as the black hat wrestlers they tormented. Most amazingly
of all, all of them were always able to wheedle a front row seat no matter
how overbooked the wrestling arena was. And each and every one of them
claimed her name was Mary.

Not THE Hatpin Mary, lass, but the eldest of the Ancient Sisterhood of the
Silver Pin, said Mother Mary.
Theres a sisterhood of Hatpin Marys? said Misty.
Yes, lass. Not as many as there once were, but theres enough of
us left to raise the roof off of whatever hapless hostelry thats foolish
enough to book us when we have our annual convention, said
Mother Mary.
Why are there so many Marys? Why are there Marys at all?
asked Misty who was taking tiny sips from her pint of Guinness.
Dear mutton, did you tell Misty about King John and that scoundrel Robin
Hood yet? said Mother Mary.
Yes Mother Mary, but not the good part, said Haggis who had already
wetted her whistle with her pint of Guinness.
Thank you, sheepy, said Mother Mary who pulled out a stool from out of
nowhere and sat down before starting her story.
In 1204, King John gave permission to hold an annual faire outside of
Dublin, Ireland that was to be called Donnybrook. For two weeks out of
every year, Donnybrook was the place you wanted to go if you wanted to
eat, drink, and fight said Mother Mary.
Emphasis on the fighting, stressed Haggis.
If you didnt have a fat lip or a bloody nose by days end at Donnybrook,
you werent having fun, said Mother Mary. But there was a problem
When King John gave license to the Donnybrook Faire, all of the
inhabitants of Ireland rejoiced. And by that I mean, ALL of the
inhabitants, even the invisible ones, the original settlers of Ireland
and the rest of the British Isles. And therein lay the problem which
I will now go into detail about, continued Mother Mary.
Are you talking aboutfairies? asked Misty.

Depends on what you think a fairy is. Have youve ever seen the
Westminster Dog Show on TV? asked Mother Mary.
Yes maam, said Misty.
If you can believe that all of those puppies are really dogs, then you may
have an idea what a fairy is, said Mother Mary. Fairies were the original
inhabitants of the land. They adapted to live almost anywhere. Then humans
showed up and they had to learn how to adapt to humans, often with
unintended and hilarious consequences. Nowadays you wouldnt know a
fairy to look at one, and more often than not, a fairy doesnt know himself,
said Mother Mary.
Not every bloke is honest. Back then not everything was as it appeared to
be. Cheating in one form or another was unbridled. And some of the
chicanery was perpetrated by means that people today would call
unbelievable and by some people you would call extraordinary, continued
Mother Mary.
Honest men had already been deputized to keep watch over the crowds of
fairgoers, protecting them from pickpockets and card sharks, but they were
still only ordinary men who were unable to deal with some rampaging big
ox from parts unknown who had been bewitched beyond all sanity. So it
became necessary to bring in some professionals who had experience with
the unbelievable and the extraordinary. So King John himself appointed a
coven of witches as regulators to watch over the fights, said Mother Mary
who then smiled as she pulled out from out of her bun a long shiny pin and
showed it to Misty.
It looks like its made out of silver, said Misty.
This pin I hold is older than this country. It was handed down to me by my
mother and to her by her mother and so on and so on. I was told that this had
been a hair plucked from the head of Queen Titania who herself regularly
visited Donnybrook. This pin was used by a regulator at Donnybrook to
break any enchantment cast over any boxer, wrestler, or back alley scuffler,
said Mother Mary. One prick from this pin will end any berserker rage or
banish a cunning folks glamour.

Whats a glamour? asked Misty.

A trick. Ill explain to you how they work a little later on, said Mother
Mary.
At Donnybrook, men used these heavy knotty wooden clubs called
shillelaghs to break up fights, but the women used those silver pins instead,
added Haggis who was close to needing a refill.
Yes indeed dear mutton, said Mother Mary. Donnybrook was closed in
1855, because the English landlords thought it was more of a nuisance than
a potato famine. After Donnybrook was boarded up, my great-great-greatgrandmother came over here on a ship to start over afresh. But much to her
surprise did she meet many of the same blokes she knew from Donnybrook,
and there was many a promoter who still needed her skills as a regulator.
My greatest-grandmother then began a new coven and weve been
fairly busy until recently.
Whys that? asked an enthralled Misty.
Back then my sisters and I had to contend with unnatural trickery.
Nowadays, charlatans use steroids and other concoctions that no
self-respecting hedge-rider would ever peddle, said Mother Mary.
Most of us threw in the towel when Vince McMahon started turning
wrestlers into action figures. Thank goodness we sisters had the good sense
to save our acorns when we did, otherwise Id be poking squirrels in the butt
with me pin in the park. But the spirit of Donnybrook lives on here, which is
the reason I bolted all of the chairs and tables to the floor, and everybody is
afraid of the bartender, added Mother Mary.
So now you break up bar fights with your silver pin? asked Misty.
Oh, Heavens no. Im the owner, not the bartender. Ive got Hugh for that.
Oh Hugh! hollered Mother Mary.
Haggis smiled at Misty and gave her a big thumbs up.

Something grumbled deep and low in the back, Im busy.

Theres someone out here I want you to meet, hollered Mother Mary.
But Mother, these books will not balance themselves, complained the
grumbler.
Get out here if you know whats good for you, you great pot roast!
ordered Mother Mary.
Moments later, a giant wearing a Donnybrook t-shirt and black trousers
stepped through the same door that Mother Mary had walked through a
story or so ago, ducking down low so as not to bang his head on the
doorframe.
Hugh was at least 68-610 tall and maybe in the area of three hundred
pounds. Hugh wasnt overweight, merely pleasantly stout instead. He
strongly reminded Misty of Popeye the Sailors arch nemesis Brutus,
Blutos more robust cousin. What his face looked like was left a big
question mark because Hugh was wearing a solid dark red wrestling mask
that completely hid his facial features. But Misty did see that Hugh had big
gray mischievous eyes.
Are you the bartender that everybody is afraid of? asked Misty.
No miss. Im the bartender that everybody is counting on to balance the
books, said Hugh. The bartender that everybody is afraid of is on vacation
trout fishing.
Hughs just joking. Everybodys afraid of how the books are going to turn
out, quipped Haggis.
Hugh, meet our new friend, Misty, said Mother Mary.
Hello Misty, Hugh said before pausing. Do I know you?
You should, you great pot roast, we were watching her and that nitwit
Aphrodite wrestle on TV earlier tonight, said Mother Mary.

Misty took that as her cue to hop off of her bar stool, fling open her
overcoat, and strike a Can you handle this? pose worthy of a Rival Angels
wrestler. Hugh, despite being masked, seemed to be reasonably impressed.
Misty smiled, but then Hugh spoke aloud.
What was up with that blaspheme and false idol patter? You sounded like a
constipated nun, said Hugh.
I didnt care too much for the scary voice. It made you sound like a two
pack a day smoker, said Mother Mary.
You were spot on about Aphrodite. Million dollar body and two
cents worth of talent, said Haggis who signaled Mother Mary for a refill.
Oh hush, mutton, you just dont like blondes, said Mother Mary
as she poured the sheep-faced woman another pint.