Brian Coltrane

I'm proud of ya, Chet. Next thing ya know, you'll have charisma n' all that. KHEE!

Doc: If you n' me are related, then I'm liable to end up as my own nephew. GAAAAAAH!! Brian

Chet : Don't take it too hard. The important thing is, you went out n' got yerself a personality!! Brian

"Heh! Cully, if you wanna see me n' Rosco fight, stick around for dinner. Nothin' riles 'em like competin' for the last chicken leg." Chuckling, Brian enjoyed the moment with his family. He didn't regret coming in second place at all.... ...though in the back of his mind, he regretted some of the acts he'd done to make it that far. He made a mental note to check on Riddick and Garrett later... ...though something told him, he'd better be in full health himself, when he ran into them again. (cue anybody! Congrats, Sheriff ! )

"Roger that." Brian smiled and slung an arm around Rosco's shoulders in return. He leaned some weight on the Sheriff to spare his leg from more strain. The two of them walked to the edge of the ring, stepped through the ropes, and exited down the steps. The crowd's reaction seemed to be one of relief. Everyone had seen enough bloodshed for one day...

Brian took another step forward as well, dropping his own arms and meeting Rosco in the center of the ring. He threw his arms around the Sheriff and thumped him on the back. "Cousin," he echoed. After a second, Brian chuckled and made a suggestion. "Technically, you still won, 'cause I gave up first. What say we pool the prize money for first n' second place, n' split it, eh? Khee...." (cue Rosco!)

There was a heavy silence while Brian debated his answer. His dark eyes bored into Rosco's blue, seeing the reluctance....and sharing it. "No," Brian answered quietly. "No, I ain't willin' to hurt you. Thought I was. An' part of me still wants to know who's better. But dammit all...if I come after you now, for no good reason other than ego n' prize money...then I ain't learned a damn thing after all these years, have I?" Brian took a limping step closer to Rosco. "I've hurt two other people in this thing already. Two people that I could treat as enemies for my own reaosns. But I can't apply those same reasons to you, Sheriff. An' if I try to....then I don't deserve to be called any kin of yours. " Slowly, Brian raised his arms. "Some things are more important than pride. You're one of them....an' so, I forfeit." (cue Rosco!)

"Like hell! " Brian got to his feet, limping back a couple steps. "I guess you weren't gonna fall for that one, were ya. Had to try it, tho'..." Brian paced around, keeping a distance but also calculating another gambit. One thing was bothering him, however, and he decided to voice it. "Sheriff, it's true enuff that this thing ain't over, until one of us forfeits...or knocks out the other. I don't wanna quit, but I don't wanna hurt ya. Seein' as how we've went easy on each other so far....I gotta ask. Do you plan to take this thing to the bitter end? Are ya willin' to knock me out cold to win?" (cue Rosco!)

"Gaaaaah...." Brian felt that one, and he gave a rueful snort as he stared up at the sky for a moment. He then sat half-up, bracing his weight on one bent elbow to the matt. He extended an arm out towards Rosco. "Awright, you put my posterior down again. Now be a sport and help me up, eh? This leg, ya know..." (cue Rosco...)

"@#%&*!" Brian responded. "Maybe you'll get a chance to find out for yerself." Giving a low chuckle, Brian tried lifting his torso up. Nothing doing, of course - Rosco's police hold on his arms, combined with the knee in the lower back, had him pinned good. Still, Brian made a show of futile struggle, trying to roll one shoulder up from the matt, and then trying the other, only to have Rosco compensate and adjust. What the attempts were giving Brian, was a feel for exactly where Rosco was positioned on his lower back with the knee-hold...and how Rosco was leveraging his weight. Rosco was concentrating on keeping Brian's upper body motionless - which was working like a charm - but this left Brian's legs free... And Brian's good leg was fortuitously in striking range. Brian turned his head straight and gave a sigh, as if to relent... ...and then he kicked back hard with his good leg, connecting a boot heel hard into the Sheriff's hip. The impact of the kick threw Rosco's balance off, knocking him to the side and off of Brian's back. Rosco's grip was kept on the captured arms, but Brian's back was free, and another hard, dolphin-tail kick allowed Brian to lift his body enough to roll to the side....right towards Rosco, who had tried to maintain the hold, but had been forced to break it with this. Brian log-rolled into Rosco, plowing the Sheriff over, and then somersaulted up, springing to limping stand. A grin was on Brian's face, and he gave Rosco another salute...although this time, it was with a thumbed-nose and a raspberry. "THBPTH!!" (Cue Rosco!)

Brian caught his breath, turned his head as much as he was able, and said...."Somethin' on yer mind, Sheriff?" (Cue Rosco! )

Brian ended the salute as Rosco did, noting that the Sheriff had taken what appeared to be a defensive posture. "Sure," Brian complained lightly. "Make me the bad guy, throwin' the first punch. But since I *am* the bad guy, ah suppose I'd better oblige..." Pacing around the Sheriff slowly, limping despite his best efforts not to, Brian looked for an opening. The Sheriff was on his guard and could certainly block a punch and throw one back. Knowing this, Brian resorted to a bolder strategy. He continued his slow, circling walk, and let the limp of his bad leg become more pronounced, as if it was getting the best of him. Finally, Brian seemed to stumble and lose his balance... ....but it was a feint, and Brian bull-rushed the Sheriff with a linebacker's tackle, his hunched-over body plowing into Rosco and knocking him down. Brian fell with him, and he gave a mighty shove to Rosco's side, rolling the Sheriff out over the edge of the ring. Rosco spilled out beneath the low rope and fell. Brian peered over the edge, and saw that Rosco had his fall broken by some thoughtful Hazzardites in the first row. "Say howdy to them friendly folks with ringside seats!" Brian chuckled. But then he edged back and used the ropes to climb to his own feet. Rosco would have an answer to this one, and Brian retreated to the far end of the ring... ...and waited. (Cue Rosco!)

Brian considered it. "We're Coltranes," he answered with a sigh. "And since givin' in would be the smartest thing to do, ah got this forgone feelin' that we're gonna fight. Not that I want to, mind ya. It just that we both come from different sides o' the law....n' yet we're kin....an' some part of me, Rosco, has got to know which one of us would win." With this said, Brian fell silent. He stood at attention, and raised his right hand in a solemn salute, holding two fingertips to his temple. (cue Rosco!)

"Oh hell...." Seeing the look in Rosco's eye, Brian did something he had not done in the initial moments of any fight thus far. He backed up a step. "Sheriff, it's not to late for ya to end this thing peaceful-like. I sure wouldn't think any the less of ya for it..." Brian took another step back, getting himself out of arm's reach. He kept talking as he moved. "An' if you quit now, you'll be better off than quittin' later. Less painful, ya know?" (cue Rosco!)

As Rosco turned, Brian caught sight of him in the ring. For a minute, Brian debated slipping away through the crowd and taking an extended vacation in Atlanta. But taking the sneaky way out would be a disservice to Rosco; Brian had to either forfeit in front of God and everybody, or fight. Stepping forward, Brian threaded his way through the crowd towards the ring. Upon sight of him, people melted back, allowing him room to pass. Brian kept his head high and his back straight, but he could not keep the limp entirely out of his walk. The expressions on the faces of spectators seemed to be filled with silent calculations. If the two men fought, the odds would be anybody's guess. Brian paused at the steps to the ring. There was something about the sight of the Sheriff waiting for him on the raised platform that gave him pause. This would be the third and last time either of them entered the ring...and only one would leave as the victor. Placing a boot on the steps, Brian marched up them, and gingerly climbed through the ropes to enter the ring. He kept his jacket on, and the expression he wore on his battered face was neutral. He walked slowly towards the Sheriff, and gazed at his elder cousin with dark, serious eyes. Finally, he limped to a halt just in front of him. "Sheriff," Brian said with a respectful nod, "It looks like it's down to you n ' me. " (cue Rosco....)

"If I'd of been careful, I woulda nevah entered this contest," Brian replied. He gave Cully a nod of appreciation. "Thanks again, tho'. I'll see ya afterwards." If I'm concious, Brian added silently. He stepped out into the daylight and looked past the crowd towards the ring. He didn't relish the idea of facing either of the two possible opponents. From here, he couldn't quite see the the occupant of the ring. No one had called him out yet, though. Maybe if he was lucky, both Min and Rosco had forfeited to each other, leaving him the last one standing. Even if it was with a slight limp.

"AAAAAAAH!!! SONofa....@#%&*!...GAH!!" It was over before Brian knew it, but needles of that size tended to leave a lasting impression. "@$%&*! What the hell was that stuff?! Xylophone?! Have to admit, it took mah mind off the pain in my knee, 'cause now my thigh hurts like hell ! Next time, just leave the acupuncture to the Chinese and I'll...." Brian paused in his triade as cool relief eased the muscles around his knee. The pain was fading, and he stood up slowly, taking an experimental step. The leg didn't feel entirely sound...but the pain was duller, and he managed a few pacing steps without bracing himself. The limp was still there, but less pronounced. Heaving a deep sigh, Brian finished putting his jacket on, and looked back to Cully with a smile. "Thank ya, Cully. Yer awright." Brian took a step toward the door, then turned back to ask a last question. "Who am I fightin', anyway?"

"Gaaah....." Brian took one look at the length of the needle and gave forfeiting some serious consideration. But instead, he swallowed and said, "Nah, of course not." One more thought hit him. And when he uttered it, a barrage of questions broke loose. "Um...where, 'zactly, does that lawn dart need to land? What'd you do, break into a veterinary office? I'm in bad shape, but I ain't no horse! Do you have a license for that needle?"

There was something in Cully's tone that made Brian relent. Or maybe it was the pain in his knee. Either way, Brian sat down on the bench, and eyed Cully warily. "Awright, Cully. What's in that bag o' tricks of yours?"

"In time for what?" Brian answered heavily. "I ain't done fightin' yet, Cully. I gotta git back out there in a couple minutes. So as much as ah appreciate the thought of medical attention...it's gonna halfta wait." Brian moved away from the wall, and hobbled over a step to where his jacket lay. He picked it up, but paused before putting it on. Cully was still watching him with a knowing expression. Brian looked over at him again and made a dismissing gesture. He then started pulling on his jacket, speaking with a note of bravado in his voice. "Besides," he told Cully, "When this thing IS over, somebody else is gonna need your medical attention more than me....aaaah!" The simple movements had caused pain again. With his jacket half-on, Brian braced an arm against a wall, and waited for what he knew was coming. Cully would be telling him to forfeit, more than likely. And somebody with more common sense than pride, probably would. (cue Cully)

While Riddick was being removed from the ring, and during the intermission that preceded Min and Rosco’s meeting, Brian had retired to nearby facilities to clean himself up…and to assess damage. The water that he sloughed over his face and body rinsed away with a red tint. His hands would not altogether come clean from the crimson stains that coated them. A gaze in the mirror showed his face as a map of abrasions. It was the look in his own eyes, however, that startled him. Pain clouded the expression in them, and his pupils were wide with the fixed stare of a wounded animal. And yet, there was something darker than usual about the brown color within…as if his soul had retreated from witnessing the violent acts of his body. Violent acts had been visited upon him as well, and he shifted his weight on his good leg as he washed at the sink. He couldn’t remember when he’d been hurt this bad in a weaponless fight. His ribs were bruised, and it wouldn’t have surprised him if one or two had cracked. His knee was killing him, and any part of his body that wasn’t burning with pain, simply felt numb. The sound of the crowd outside was suddenly one of applause. Rosco’s round was over already; and the lack of noise beforehand was indication of a peaceful forfeit. Whoever had won, Brian would face that person in the final round. He had only a few minutes to be ready; but Lord, he could barely stand, let alone fight… Brian turned the faucet to cold water and dunked his head under it, soaking his hair and shocking himself to try and recover. Turning the faucet off, he shook the water from his hair and hand-combed it. He might be limping into the ring only to fall over on his face, but at least he’d have dignity right up until then. He limped to the small bench where his duffel bag lay, and took out his last black t-shirt. He pulled it on slowly, his ribs protesting the movement. At one point, his balance shifted to the bad leg, and the resulting spike of pain caused him to give a sharp gasp. Cursing softly, Brian leaned against the wall to get the pain under control…and it was then he noticed that he wasn’t alone….

On the plus side, we all have a fightin' spirit, eh? And that's a good thing. Besides, if ya'll ponder the actual show from which we ( as characters) sprang....think about how often the Dukes found fisticuffs with somebody. Granted, these weren't extended battles to the death and the scenes were short. The point bein'....knowing how to fight and defend oneself is an elemental trait to any DOH character. No matter what side of the law yer on. Even Daisy wasn't above kickin' somebody in the posterior or throwin' 'em for a flip. Yeah, we all got rowdy on this one, but the important thing is...whatever happened in the ring is bein' left in there. Or this thread wouldn't be goin' on, would it? Khee. Brian

Brian's fist was raw-knuckled and stained red. Despite this, he hit Riddick until his own arm ached from the repeated motion. The exertion of his brutal punishment upon Riddick was finally wearing on his own battered body. Brian gave thought to changing his hold on Riddick, in order to continue...and in the brief pause where he stayed his hand, fist raised.... ...he saw the evidence of his opponent's condition. It didn't seem possible that this was the same man. Riddick looked like an accident victim... ...but the injuries had been caused deliberately. Brian felt the stirrings of cold reality cutting through the red haze in his mind. Riddick was no longer a threat to him... Brian released the hold his legs had around Riddick's neck, moving off the unconscious man. Now that he had stopped the attack, all the pain and exhaustion of his own body was making itself known as the adrenaline seeped away. He knew full well he had just been beating an unconscious man...nearly to death. Feeling sickened and weak, and trembling from the change in his emotional climate, Brian forced back the nausea that filled him. But when he coughed, it became a dry, painful heave. He hunched over, motionless on his hands and knees, and let the wave pass. Then slowly, with an agony that was beyond physical pain, Brian crawled to the ropes and pulled himself up. Looking back at him were the aghast faces of the town. Victory was his, but nobody felt like celebrating it. The crowd had come to see a fight, but no one had expected murder to nearly unfold in front of their eyes. Brian gestured towards Riddick's motionless body, and in a hoarse voice that struggled through his labored breathing, said: "Help him." With that, Brian turned away, limping to retrieve his leather jacket which had been left upon the floor. He picked it up, slung it over one bare shoulder, and exited the ring. He limped through the crowd, ignoring the muttering and the stares.... And in the ring, medical personnel removed a bloody warrior who had refused to surrender...but had lost just the same. (cue anybody )

Interestin' ideas, Doc. But since this thing has went along this far....ah think it should play out to the end. Throughout this go-round, every character has had to make choices about how they fight, how they defend themselves...and whether or not mercy and fair play is a part of their psyche. An' to everyone's credit, writin' action scenes and choreographin' fight moves ain't the easiest thing in the world. I think the hardest thing, is knowin' when to quit. Nothin' defines a character like the actions at the moment o' truth. I know this fight has been hard to watch. It went beyond everybody's expectation...but hell, that's what happens when nobody brings a script. This ain't no pre-ree-corded program. Still...I apologize for my own part in the violence. Brian

The edges of Brian's vision went black. The velvet drapes of unconsciousness were threatening to shut, drawing the last act to a close with no encore. There was a ringing, roaring sound in his ears, and the floor felt as if it were slowly spinning beneath him. It was impossible to draw a breath without pain; his ribs were battered, his face was beaten, and his breathing, when he recognized it as his own, was a low rasp. Riddick was killing him. Somehow, the big goon wasn't as affected by his injuries as Brian would have expected, and seemed to be throwing him around at will. Coltrane stock was looking bearish and it was time to sell. Brian used his arms to push his upper body off the floor. He drew his good leg up beneath him, then reached out for the ring ropes to help pull himself upright. He stood there, staring at Riddick through swimming vision, breathing through his teeth. His body rocked slightly with the exertion of his own breath. His dark hair was disheveled, matted with sweat and blood, and the adrenaline surged through him with such force as to make his muscles twitch and quiver. Standing a few feet away was Riddick, who was eyeing him with a look of wariness but also expected victory. Having pancaked the Coltrane like a Sunday breakfast, Riddick looked ready to clean the plate. All he needed was to hear was Brian's surrender... ...and Brian knew Riddick was waiting for those words. Brian could read the thought on the big man's face plainly....and he gave an audible answer. "Nevah!" Brian heaved out, as the fire his dark eyes flared anew. "Do you hear me, you @#%&* mis-be-gotten @#$%&* corn-fed @#$%* !!?" Brian braced his weight on his good leg, leaning back against the springy ropes of the ring. He bent the knee of his good leg, coiling up the muscle...and then he rocked himself back against the ropes, letting them throw him forward, as he powered his weight from his good leg, flying forward into a handspring. Both his palms slapped the floor and he pushed his arms against it for all he was worth, swinging his legs up overhead into a forward flip...sending the boot heel of his good leg to connect into Riddick's face with the descent. Riddick fell and so did Brian; but Brian's momentum carried him forward to land advantageously, while Riddick was knocked flat on his back. Riddick's broken right hand and weak right leg were not going to permit him a quick recovery to his feet. Brian didn't need much time anyway... ...he scissored his upper legs around Riddick's neck, clamping his thigh muscles into a vice-like lock. He grabbed Riddick's left wrist and pinned it back against the floor, leaning his weight down, his upper legs squeezing Riddick's neck...and this left Brian a free hand to do the damage with. With calculated brutality, Brian drove a fist hard into Riddick's left eye, sending several quick blows in rapid order, blinding his opponent by abrasing the eye and making it swell shut. Depriving his enemy of vision had been Brian's tactic at the outset; and now, he completed that mission. He kept Riddick in the hold and pummeled the face, the temple, the jaw, slightly slower now, with a heavy, hammering fist meant for knockout. Brian didn't stop to see what this was doing to his enemy. The red haze was thick in his mind, the fury of battle possessing him. He was not going to stop. He couldn't stop...he couldn't take the risk. Was Riddick still breathing? Brian didn't know. His legs were still tightly clamped around Riddick's neck. Blood was on Brian's fist... And he didn't hear anything but the sound of his own heart, beating furiously, echoing in his ears and drowning out the crowd. He was aware of nothing other than the pain in his own body and who had put it there. He was beyond reason, control, and restraint, having been maddened by this enemy more than once. He had been fighting him forever, the reasons no longer mattered.... (Cue...Riddick....)