Brian Coltrane
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Posts posted by Brian Coltrane
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The punishing kicks seemed endless. After falling from the first kick, and then receiving the kick to the face, Brian found himself flat on his back. Garrett was trying to crush him as if he were a big cockroach. The boot heel smacked into Brian's chest with so much force, that the embattled Coltrane felt as if his heart was about to jar loose from the impact.
He suffered through the kicking blows and concentrated on protecting his head, keeping his forearms over his ears. This left Garrett free to kick at his side, and Brian's breath came out in coughs of racking pain. If anything, this encouraged Garrett, who delivered a quick succession of kicks to the chest and ribs in an effort to finish off the enemy Coltrane.
Garrett, of course, had to balance himself on one leg to do all that kicking.
Brian suddenly sat up and flung his arms around the leg Garrett was kicking him with. Grabbing the leg firmly in a grim embrace below the knee, Brian twisted it and rolled away like a log, causing Garrett to come crashing down to earth face first. Without hesitation, Brian used the twisted leg for leverage, folding it up over Garrett's back, while he planted his own left knee deep into the lower section of Garrett's spine.
Due to the broken arm, Garrett would not have enough leverage to push himself up off his stomach and break the hold, let alone push Brian's weight off....
...but Brian wasn't done with him. The opportunities for Garrett's surrender were now expired, null and void. With a snarling fury, Brian kept Garrett's twisted leg hooked within his bent right arm. Brian brought the leg further out of place as he leaned forward with excruciating pressure, knowing Garrett would begin to feel ligaments tearing...all while Brian's knee sank deeper into the lower spine...
...but Brian wasn't done with him. Without word or warning, Brian's left hand grabbed the back of Garrett's head, gathering up a fistful of hair.
With this left-handed hold secured, while the captured leg remained trapped within Brian's right arm....and with Brian's left knee still digging in Garrett's back, keeping the Duke pinned stomach-down....
Brian yanked Garrett's head back by the hair and then shoved it forward, smacking the Duke's forehead hard to the floor. Garrett's face was already a mask of blood from the broken nose, but this didn't stop Brian. He yanked Garrett's head back and did it again. And again. And again. And again, heavily and without cease...no longer able to tell if Garrett was conscious or not...
....and a cold, terrible part of Brian didn't care either way. Garrett had refused to surrender to the "likes of him." Garrett would rather be carried out of the ring...
So be it.
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Brian absorbed the prize money announcement without changing expression. Having been given some room by Garrett, Brian paced around in a slow circle, pondering what to do.
"Twenty-five grand. That buys a whole lot of grits, don't it? But that don't mean all this is right."
Brian gave a short sigh and continued to pace. He was aware of Garrett's watchful gaze, but other than glancing over his shoulder at the wary Duke, Brian made no move towards him. "Doesn't seem right to hurt somebody for money, does it. Oh, I used to be involved in all kinds of grim stuff, but things have changed. I've changed, too. Know what ah mean?"
Brian paused with his back towards Garrett. He spoke without looking at the young Duke. "Wasn't right of us to get into a fight like this for no good reason. An' it sure ain't right to hurt a man for money...."
A soft, rueful chuckle came from Brian, and he shook his head regretfully. "But seein' as how ah was prepared to kick yer ass for free, I sure as hell can't back down now -"
Without warning, Brian spun around and snapped a fast, hard, right-handed punch into Garrett's nose. The stunning blow broke cartilidge and caused blood to spill free. At the same time, Brian snaked his left hand out beneath, and grapsed Garrett's right arm, jerking the stunned Duke forward and pulling him past his own body....
...and with Garrett's right arm extended straight and captured in his left-handed grasp, Brian issued another lightning-quick strike, landing another heavy punch directly on the outside of Garrett's left elbow. The extended arm could not flex to avoid the damage, and a loud, clear *SNAP* announed the cracking of bone as the elbow was forced the wrong way.
Brian released Garrett in the follow-through motion and tossed the opponent Duke hard to the ground. Impassively, Brian noted Garrett's the heavily-bleeding nose and the odd angle of the broken right arm.
"It's finished, Garrett," Brian said softly. "You're not gonna breathe very well through a busted nose, and your right arm is broken. If you force me to, I'll keep hurting you. But I'd rather you walked out of here under your own power."
Brian stared at Garrett intently, but there was no hostility in the Coltrane's dark eyes. Instead, there was an understanding. "You faced me without fear, n' for that, you've got my respect. That don't pay no twenty-five grand, of course...but my respect is somethin' money can't buy."
Taking a few slow steps around the fallen Duke, Brian watched Garrett and waited for his opponent's decision.
(Cue Garrett)
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Meanwhile, back in the first ring, Brian overheard the complete savagery of Chet and Min's battle - but he couldn't spare attention to it, given that Garrett was trying to mash him like a potato.
"YO! Hang on, man! Wait a second!" From his flat-on-back position, Brian put out one palm, panting for breath. "Let's figure somethin' out, eh?"
Knowing the Duke would pause long enough to hear him out , Brian asked a question. "Awright, before you continue with the pinata practice, answer me somethin'. What the hell is the prize, here? Is it worth gettin' all busted up for the sake of empty pride? I ain't heard nothin' about no cash money, no trophy, no kiss by a bikini babe, or no trip to the Bahamas."
Brian took a deep breath and looked Garrett in the eye. "Fact is, we're makin' fools outta ourselves. Granted, yer a Duke, an' I'm a Coltrane, and fightin' each other comes natural. But we're also men of honor. Do you got any real malice towards me, Garrett? Have ah ever done anythin' so wrong to you, that you'd see fit to beat me senseless? An' for that matter, what cause do ah have, to cause you bodily harm?"
Falling silent, Brian made no aggressive move, and made no special effort to defend himself. He simply waited to see what Garrett would say.
(Cue Garrett!)
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Pendragon, that's terrific news!!
Your hard work is payin' off. I know you've got more hard work ahead of you, but all of us here will be rootin' for ya. Meantime, you know that whenever you need to come up for air and goof around...Hazzard will always be here.
Con-graaad-u-lations!
Brian
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Walks into the fighting ring, clad in usual black t-shirt, black jeans, and boots. The trademark jacket is worn as well, hanging open.
Casually strolls up to Garrett, unimpressed by the Duke's bravado. Gives him a mocking, sinister grin.
"Garrett, you just made your first mistake...in assumin' I'm like anyone you've evah fought before."
Without warning, clasps hands together and swings a heavy, two-fisted chop across Garrett's jaw, throwing body weight into the blow. Spins around in the follow-through, and lightning-quick, lashes out a vicious, sweeping kick into the Duke's side, connecting with the lower ribs and sending the off-balance Duke to the ground.
"RRRRAAAUGH!!" With a savage cry of fury, lunges on the fresh-landed Duke and jabs a hard elbow deep into Garrett's gut, then immediately swings a right cross to snap hard against the jaw again. With no pause, leans forward to lay left forearm over the Duke's throat, bent at the elbow, bracing own body weight into it. Own right hand is clenched around own left wrist, the leverage of both black-clad shoulders weighing down upon the captured neck. Looms face over the prone Duke, and through bared teeth, snarls in a low voice....
"Yield while you can still move any part of your @#%&* body."
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The followin' is a special announcement for Garrett Duke.
Garrett, I'm waitin'. And the longer you keep me waitin', the meaner I'm gonna get.
Be advised, Duke, that this is yer last chance to forfeit. You won't have the opportunity to surrender in the ring. They're gonna carry your unconcious body OUT.
For the record, I'm not interested in showin' mercy or good sportsmanship. I'm gonna make short work of you, boy...'cause there's a long line of Dukes right behind you. You'll have the honor of bein' the first to fall.
Since no one else is rushin' up to the ring....I'm callin' you out, Garrett. Know why? Not only because I'm a sadistic son of a &%$*#...but because I don't want you to have a chance to study somebody else and figure out how to fight. KHEEHAHA.
You and me, Garrett, on the first round. The whole of Hazzard County is gonna be watchin'. And I've put down far tougher characters than you.
Your number has been pulled.
Come and get it.
Brian Coltrane
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Brian grinned and gave a warm chuckle. "You don't need lessons, Doc. You're a natural." He pulled her a bit closer, the fluid movements of their dance synchronizing to an easy rythym.
Brian sighed in contentment and shut his eyes for a moment, willing a timelessness to close over them and capture this feeling forever.
He was jostled slightly by another dancing couple as a large man in a white shirt accidently bumped against his back. There was no telling who bumped who, really, so Brian glanced over his shoulder and muttered a brief apology. "Whups, sorry."
It was then he recognized Riddick. Brian blinked in surprise, noticing Riddick and Val's presence for the first time. A quick glance around the club revealed a few more familiar faces, and this caused Brian to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.
(Cue anybody!)
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Yo, Riddick!
I'm normally the last person to ask this kind of question, but....are there any rules? ( I need to know what I'm breakin'. Khee!)
How's this work, 'zactly? Do the rest of the participants vote on the combatants efforts in the ring, and choose the winner of that round?
How may posts back n' forth does each pair of fighters get before any such vote? Should be some kinda reasonable limit.
I'm assumin' this ain't no duel-to-the-death type thing. Maybe we should clarify that, eh?
Riddick, thank ya for organizin' the First Annual Stomp-A-Duke contest. KHEEHAAAA!
Oh, Gaaaarrett....I got yer number, boy!
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Brian stammered an answer. "Of course ah'd rather dance with you! What man in Atlanta wouldn't?" As he said this, Brian flicked his gaze over Chance's face and figure...and found himself stunned. Now that he was looking upon her fully, he noted the brown suede top that daringly bared one shoulder and clung to her torso...and the black leather pants that fit her like a second skin, so tight that they could be used as a wetsuit for scuba diving. The black motorcycle boots that arched at the heel and clung to her calves added an element of sensual assertion. He tried not to think about what a well-aimed kick with those boots could do to him.
Brian's dark eyes slowly rose back up to look Chance in the face. Her hair was full and a little wild from dancing, and she was wearing just enough makeup to compliment her attire. He had never seen her look as magnificent and dangerous....
"Doc," he breathed out finally, "There is no way I can look at you in that outfit...and have any earthly hope of talkin' my way out of this one. 'Cause you are the Greek goddess of Sex and Motorcycles, and I am just a mere mortal, ensnared by your beautiful spell."
With this, Brian clasped one of her hands in his own, and brought it up to his lips, kissing the palm. It was a slow, warm kiss, and his dark eyes shut a moment as he placed it, in silent apology for any earlier offense.
And then, with her hand in his grasp, he pulled her closer to him, and wrapped one arm around her slender waist. His body began to move to the music...and the bass line was no match for the tempo of his madly thudding heart.
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Full Name: Brian A. Coltrane
Age: 29
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 180
Attributes/Skills:
Experienced action character with achievements in gun fights, knife fights, street brawls. Well-versed in all dirty tricks. Innovative tactics are combined with sound criminal instincts to foster survival in adverse circumstances. Incurable smart ass. Devious and resourceful. When all else fails, can run like hell.
Liabilities:
Partially reformed. Occassionally suffers from bouts of latent heroism, but this can be controlled with the proper medication.
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Meanwhile, Brian was aware of nothing other than the music and the buxom blonde waitress who was doing a snake charmer's dance in front of him. At the tap on his shoulder and the "Mind if I cut in" question, Brian didn't immediately associate the voice with that of Chance Walker. The music was loud, and this was the last place he'd expect to find someone he knew from Hazzard. So it was with a cavalier smile that he half-turned in mid-boogie and said carelessly, "Join right in, baby! If you can out-grind my dance partner here, I'll buy you a drink!"
Then he recognized the face, and stared into the crystal blue eyes that held both ice and fire....
"GAH!! Oh #&*%! AHH! I mean...Howdy Doc...."
Brian stopped dancing for a moment, turned back around, and reached a hand down to help up the waitress, who was doing sultry moves around his leg. The waitress stood up and looked at him curiously, wondering what was wrong. She then noticed Chance standing there. She looked back to Brian, and gave a knowing smirk.
"Will you excuse me, honey?" Brian said to the waitress. "I'm about to be dead." He handed her a crisp twenty for a tip, and she smiled and scampered off...though not before dragging her palm across his chest and down his sleeve in farewell.
This done, Brian turned back to Chance, and faced the music.
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Far away from the dance floor, two men stood near the bar and conversed in low voices. The noisy disco was an unlikely place for their meeting, which was exactly why they had chosen it. This neutral ground was relatively safe from the eyes of the criminal underworld and the law, and it was here that Brian had met up with an old friend.
At the moment, Brian was questioning his friend with a sanity check. "Let me get this straight, Rusty. You broke into a video store and cleaned it out of every movie in stock?"
"Yeah!" Rusty beamed. "Got everything they had, rated from G to XXX."
Brian snorted. "Teriffic. Used movies are worth about five bucks on the black market, ya know. I can't believe the Syndicate sanctioned you for a job that cheap -"
"They didn't," Rusty said with a quick swallow. "That's why I needed to talk to ya. I can't keep this stuff at the Jigsaw, because if I get caught freelancing again..."
"Dammit, Rust! You're riskin' your hide over a cheap score like this? I outta let you sweat it out. Better yet, just dump the stuff. Ain't worth it."
"Bri, use your head. I'm not THAT dumb. Used movies aren't worth much, but copies of them, sold in new packaging and priced like new movies, are worth a whole lot more." Rusty gave a devilish grin. "I got the copying place and distributor all lined up. I just need the movies stashed for about a week."
"You're smarter than you look," Brian conceded. "Awright. I'll hold the stuff for a week. But no more than that! I can't afford to get caught with it either. Dig?"
At Rusty's eager nod, Brian handed over his car keys. "Diablo's parked in the alley. Put the goods into the trunk, an' I'll wait here."
Rusty snatched the keys and hurried off. Brian lounged against the bar and sipped at a bottle of beer, acting like another lone wolf at the disco who was just there to pick up babes. He had to keep up a cover. He made eye contact with a cocktail waitress, flashed her a smile, and nodded to the dance floor. The buxom blonde was only too happy to oblige, and as a new song started up, Brian tossed off his black jacket and left it over the barstool. He took the cocktail waitress by the hand and led her to the multicolored haze of the dance floor.
The song "Super Freak" wasn't one of Brian's favorites, but it was fun to dance to, and the lyrics seemed to inspire his dance partner to show off her sluttiest moves. She ground to the floor as she dragged her palms down the front of Brian's black shirt and down the thighs of his black jeans.
"Kheehaa!" he grinned, rocking his body to the music's bass line.
(cue anybody!)
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A smile broke open on Brian's face. He looked at Cully, beaming. "She remembers!"
"It would have been a lot to forget," Cully muttered, having heard Brian's references to a seedy family history. The ex-stuntman was then startled by an unexpected hug from Brian, who was laughing and pounding him on the back.
"Kheehaha! She remembers!" Brian repeated.
"She remembers," Cully echoed, chuckling at the young man's relief and sharing it. He gave Brian a thump on the back in return. At this, the dogs had enough and began to bark loudly, demanding their share of attention.
(cue MaryAnne! )
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Brian got into the Camaro without a word. He had watched Fargo's decision process with deepening horror, and for an awful moment, had thought that it was all over for the Sheriff. The bluff had nearly been played too well. Fargo was as cold, ruthless and brutal as they came, and had it not been for Anderson picking up on the scattered seeds of doubt, Rosco's body would already be cooling in the street.
With difficulty, Brian kept himself from looking out the car window to watch Rosco's departure. He said nothing as Fargo and Anderson sat down in the car and started it up. He kept all emotion from his expression, his dark eyes fixed forward in a silent stare out the windshield.
Rosco's words echoed in Brian's mind as the Camaro pulled from the curb. **"I got kin! I don't want 'em to find me that way..." **
Brian felt the same. But in his own case, he had the feeling his body would never be found.
(Cue MaryAnne!)
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Brian attempted to come to Rosco's rescue. "Aw hell, MaryAnne! Rosco ain't done nothin' that bad. What's a few fake fire hydrants? Who cares about changable no-parkin' zones an' fake speed limit signs? And so what if Rosco kicks out a brake light before writin' a ticket for a busted one? The county's gotta raise money somehow! That's all small potatoes anyway, he ain't done nothin' like railroad the Duke boys into jail for like..."
Brian paused and looked at Rosco. "What's it been, three weeks? You been slackin'. " Brian turned back to MaryAnne, giving a weak smile at her piercing blue gaze. "So ya see, cousin? Rosco ain't done nobody no harm. And hell, if you put up with me after I originally came to Hazzard to make a hit on the Dukes, well...there ain't nothin' Rosco's done that...."
With a swallow, Brian realized that he'd let more slip than intended...and in doing so, he had just slipped a rope around his own neck and Rosco's.
(Cue MaryAnne!)
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Brian hoped Rosco would live to forgive him, for what he was about to say next.
"G'wan n' shoot 'em!" Brian suggested to Fargo. "So what if he's the county Sheriff! He's as yellah as the day is long!"
Brian's voice was a mocking drawl, and his expression was one of scornful distain as he glanced from Fargo to Rosco. "Folks might get curious when the Sheriff don't return from his patrol, and mind ya, his brother-in-law is the County Commissioner. But that ain't gonna save yer yellah hide, is it Sheriff! Makes mah own pree-diciment downright tolerable, knowin' you're gonna hit the ground first."
Brian laughed malovently, appearing to be eager for Rosco's demise...
...but the laughter was feigned, and in Brian's dark eyes, there was both pain and apology as he locked his gaze to Rosco's. The last bluff had been played. Either his dangerous ploy had helped Rosco's chances...
...or he had sealed his cousin's fate.
(Cue Fargo! )
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....and the sound of the rifle shot froze Brian in place, fist raised and poised to strike. A numbing dread filled him at the thought that Rosco had been shot. A quick glance towards Anderson showed the sniper standing with the gun raised upward, a cruel smirk on his face. A short distance away, Rosco was half-crumpled over the Camaro's nose. It was a sight that would have driven Brian to rash action, except that the Sheriff lifted his head and slowly straightened up.
The game was almost over, and the score was two to zero against the Coltranes. Brian released Fargo and stood up, raising his arms halfway to show he had no more resistance to offer. Frantically, his criminal-trained mind tried to conjure a way to get Rosco off the hook...without revealing that he and the Sheriff were relatives. So far, the bounty hunters didn't know Brian's name, and assumed him for a local hick. The bounty hunters also didn't know that Rosco knew anything about Riddick. Maybe, Brian thought, he could plant a seed of doubt in Fargo's mind that would make killing a cop seem unnecessary. He sure as hell hoped so....and he also had to hope that Rosco would understand, and go along with it.
"Ah reckon you were on the wrong patrol at the wrong time, Sheriff," Brian drawled, letting his arms drop. "Here you figured on handin' out a couple of easy parkin' tickets, n' found yerself in hot water. Didn't figure you for the type on gettin' involved, seein' as how you're so close to ree-tirement n' all. I'll be damned if you've caught so much as a butterfly in the past five years! Ah suppose it's the thought that counts, but help like yours, ah don't need!"
Brian gave a mocking grin with the words, but his dark eyes were sending an entirely different message to Rosco. Silently, Brian pleaded with Rosco to play along, and get the hell out of this, if he could. Because if Fargo killed Rosco right now, it wouldn't change Brian's own fate. If any Coltrane posteriors were going to be saved, it would have to be one at a time. ...
(Cue Fargo, Anderson or Rosco!)
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....was beginning to wonder if Cully would take on renters if MaryAnne pitched him and Rosco out of the Coltrane homestead. Unwittingly, Brian knew he'd just triggered the worst. If MaryAnne snooped around, she'd find enough to dislike about her local cousins to last a lifetime.
"Gah!" Brian followed Rosco and Cully up the courthouse steps. MaryAnne was marching resolutely ahead of them, Bandit trotting along at her side.
Maybe, Brian thought to himself, MaryAnne wouldn't pull any files. Especially right in front of them. Maybe she was just going to ask them a few questions, which they could dodge easy enough, until her memory started to come back. She knew they were all kin. Surely she had to believe that, even without her memory.
As MaryAnne's determined walk took them all back inside the booking room, Brian tried making an appeal. "Cousin," he said to her with his most charming, criminal-of-the-year smile. "Ol' Rosco n' Boss might enjoy a good shuck n' jive once in awhile, but there's nothin' to worry about. Forget I said anything, eh? Listen, why don't we all go back home, n' I'll make us a big batch of my mafia chili. Biscuits and everythin'-"
The sudden, piercing gaze from MaryAnne made Brian's words stop and retreat back down his throat. He swallowed them down, and said nothing more, as MaryAnne turned her burning, acetylene-blue eyes from his face to Rosco's....
(Cue MaryAnne!)
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Brian looked up from the ground to see Fargo and Anderson turn their heads towards the voice. It was all he needed. He rolled and swept one leg out in a sweeping kick, knocking one of Fargo's legs out from under him and bringing the bounty hunter to the earth. Fargo landed hard on his back, and Brian leapt on him instantly, knowing that he could not allow Fargo to draw that gun. With a knee planted firmly in Fargo's chest, Brian delivered a heavy punch to the jaw, hard enough to spin the bounty hunter's face towards the ground.
At the same time, the noise between Rosco and Anderson indicated that there was no peaceful surrender going on....
(Cue Rosco, Anderson, or Fargo!)
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HOWDY MILLISA!!!!
You're another one of them shy, quiet types, eh?
Anyhoo, welcome! G'wan and look around, help yerself to the fridge. Happy Hazzarding!
Brian
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"Ah can't show ya where he is," Brian heaved out. "'Cause he ain't here."
With a pained breath, Brian folded the cards but kept his bluff. "Ya see...ah hauled 'em out of those woods, 'cause ah knew ya'll were gunnin' for 'em. Figured he was worth some money...thought ah'd cash in easy-like. So ah called a buddy of mine, n' we thought we'd sneak yer prize away from ya. It worked, too...my buddy took that dude of yours and hightailed it outta heah. If ah hadn't been fussin' with wipin' the blood off my clothes...I woulda been long gone mahself. "
Brian gave a self-depreciating laugh that turned into a cough. His arm felt like it was being slowly dislocated, and his ribs ached from where the rifle stock had connected. These guys were playing for keeps...and the story he just gave them, would either buy him time...or a single bullet.
(Cue Fargo & Anderson and/or Rosco & MaryAnne!)
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A hiss of pain escaped through Brian's teeth as Fargo leveraged the bent arm higher. Gritting his teeth, Brian thought desperately of putting up a fight...but Fargo's grip was no joke, and the sniper rifle that Anderson held wasn't doing anything to brighten the outlook.
All Brian had, ironically, was his hick act. He'd play the card for all it was worth.
"Awright!" Brian gasped out when it felt as if his arm was about to dislocate. "AWRIGHT! Ah won't lie to ya. Ah do know who yer talkin' about...ah found 'em."
Then, with a calm, quiet voice, Brian added, "And you'll nevah find 'em."
(Cue Fargin' and Dammit!)
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Tension filled Brian's voice, though he kept the drawl thick. "Ah have no damn idea what you're talkin' about. And I ain't hangin' around out heah alone, you @%&*$#, so now's your last chance to leave before it's too late."
Brian said nothing else, but turned his head slightly to glare over his shoulder. His dark eyes held a dire threat as he gazed at Fargo, the hate for the bounty hunter unable to be disguised.
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"That's a helluva idea," Brian drawled. "In fact, ah think ah'll just be headin' out there now, n' leave you boys to your...."
Brian paused, noting the rifle in Anderson's hands. "...deerhuntin'," he said with a smile. "Good luck, y'all."
With that, Brian turned his back to Diablo's driver's side, hiding the pistol he had tucked in the back waist of his jeans. He reached back as if to open Diablo's door handle....
(Cue Fargin'... I mean, Fargo n' Dammit Anderson!)
2004 HAZZARD TOUGH MAN CONTEST
in Round Robin Stories
Posted
From the corner of his eye, Brian saw the gathering of the Dukes. He tried not to look at them, but Kristy's wail caused his dark eyes to glance briefly her direction. Her tragic expression broke through the red haze of fury in Brian's mind. A man's life was in his hands, and the Duke family was watching.
"@#%&*!!" Brian gritted through his teeth, slamming Garrett's head down for a final time. He sprang up from the wounded Duke, and delivered the coup de grace', driving a boot down hard on Garrett's injured leg, smashing the boot heel into the back of the unprotected knee.
Brian ground the boot into the back of Garrett's kneecap as if he were crushing out a cigarette. Between the twisting the leg had received, and the blow inflicted to the back of the knee, it was unlikely that Garrett would be able to stand up for awhile. At least, not without the aid of a decent crutch.
Whether Garrett was conscious enough to utter a surrender, Brian didn't know. By the looks of the bleeding and broken Duke, it didn't much matter.
Brian looked over one shoulder at the Duke family. He pointed back to Garrett. "Get him outta here," he growled. "Get him out while he's still breathin'."
(cue a Duke )