L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

Match Type: Standard
Rules: The winner will be decided by pinfall, submission or KO.

”Cunts and cuntesses beneath the northern celestial sphere…”

Shimmerlace sits cross-legged on a ring-post, surveying the crowd. Hardly a drop of pink in the bleachers today, thank God. Will it be the apple or the pipe this time? Magician fingers decide on an apple, conjured seemingly from thin air. Crunch. Her attire is new. Gone are the black cape and lilac hairpiece. In their place is a white bodice and a long ribbon in her hair. The luxurious fabric glitters pink in the light and leaves much more of her exposed than her previous attire: her legs are bare, and two windows let her sides breathe the cool arena air.

The Seelie Maître

”...Welcome, ye fucks, to Apex!” She extends her apple like a keg of ale—A drunken toast to ye all!—swings her legs over the turnbuckle, and pulls out her most girlish grin. Look at me, ma, I'm in a real match.

In fact, though, the ring of chairs around the squared circle is intimate enough for Shimmer to know, without a flash of doubt, that ma's no where near this arena. Nor is Eleanor, Tracy, Greg Karagi, nor the Tooth Fairy. As for old Violet Eyes, she wouldn't expect a glance from thence. Not yet, not with the scant gold in this cave of strangers. All the more reason to start beating her wings.

Crunch, chew, and swallow. Then she wipes her lips. ”A question. For the benefactors of this feast.” Hands on her knees, she leans out. Squints, like Rodin's stony nerd himself. ”What have I in common with a sickly and feather-plucked crow?”

Pause for effect. Roll the pink-glinting eyes over the audience. No response?

”When you put either of us in the company of one Winter Songbird...” As her smile widens, she tosses the apple core over her head. It arcs over her shoulder, bounces off the head of some kid rudely on his phone. ”...You get one pitiful fuckin' murder.”

“You’re throwing me in there?” A chirpy voice piped, from the soft wakening provided by her sun’s chest, sat across her lap with her head tucked and battle-suit ready. Vorona was stiff in her seat, keeping tall as she stroked Winter’s scalp and still reading a book in her free hand.

“One glance is all anyone needs to judge you, Winter. Therefore, you should make the biggest splash possible.” Vorona said, passively. “How does the attire I picked for you fit?”

“Like a dove.”
“It’s ‘like a glove’.”
“Dove now.”

She stuck her tongue out, then went for a kiss to her sun’s cheek, stopped by the grip of God that turned her nape hairs into weeds. Both cheeks mushed and her lips puckered like a fish, she opened her eyes through the mask and met Vorona’s own beautiful black. “After.” She said, then released Winter, who stood, spun around once so her skirt and feathery puff could swing and throw little bits of glitter that sparkled underneath the room’s light. “Wish me luck!”

Spoiler

Winter

Then she left in a hurry. The arena had a slight dim and snowflakes fell across the titantron. She walked out, a large candle in hand, burning a warm orange-yellow that illuminated her face. Her ear was fitted with an earpiece, a small microphone that carried her voice through the speakers. An almost hypnotic rhythm, slow and sweet, dancing between gentle and powerful. It kept the crowd silent.

When she came to the ramp, she stopped -- swaying with her shoulders and shifting weight by raising her heel off the ground, alternating. She continued for a little while longer, just when you thought her crescendo was about to hit before she blew the candle out and the arena became darker. Her path became lit with white spotlights, and white feathers that rained as she went on to the ring, eyes closed and with a skip. She hopped up to the ring, hitting the apron on her knees before rolling underneath, popping up just as quickly to twirl with her arms out, stopping to face Shimmerlace.

“A bird with no feathers still has its talons, and I got five for you right here!” She punched the air in front of her, making a step for extra OOMPH. Though it hurt her elbow and shoulder, she still cracked a smile, “Hello.”

You sway, because the music lilts, a cloud, a mist, a silky glove on your cheek. And here comes Winter herself, swaying to her own melody like the plume of her candle. Like a ghost-flame, she dims, flickers, reemerges in her rain of feathers. The crowd’s not the only one watching in captivated silence.

”Eh. Hey there.” Shimmerlace squinted and scratched her chin with one finger. When she’d decided the best way to stand out and catch the eyes she needed was to dive at Apex, she’d come baked with a lot of expectations. On the one hand—Lights! Drama! The wrestler becomes the Songbird embodied, winter mystery itself sculpted into flesh and smoothed out into something you wanted to squeeze and nuzzle with your nose. Pretty much exactly the polished beauty you’d expect for LAW’s premiere stage.

On the other wing, though—did she just wince? At punching air?

…Best not to read too much into it. The halls of LAW were lined with illusions and sorceries. Masking razor fangs with a delicate face would not be the most advanced bit of camouflage Shimmer would see. She stood straight and laced her hands behind her back. ”And…Welcome to our court!”

DING DING!

Shimmerlace bent at the hips, bit her tongue through a smile, and looked at Winter. Why not probe our Songbird out a wee bit? She leaned forward and extended a hand.

Court! Law court?!
Pink-head court?!
Small-claims court?!
Federal Income Tax Court?!
Hm..Hm… Running these thoughts, Winter only landed on more questions. Too many. Ones she can ask the Sun about. Later that is. The elbow kinda stung still. So she breathed some hot air into it, then rubbed her sore spot super fast. “Court it is!” She said, all glittered up to roll, tumble and bumble. The bell sung. And Winter didn’t move from her spot.

“Hmmmm…”

A leg swung about, and she took one step forward, lurching her neck, squinting then pursing her lips. “Is this courtesy I am not knowing of?” COURT! She was a guest here, it seems. Best to show respect. And… The best respect was to wrestle them in the shiny foyer, right? Heh. Maybe. “I.. Winter Songbird, accept!” And she skipped, once, landed in front of that hand, seized it with two hands and squeezed it for a firm shake. “Thank you for the welcoming.” Her head tilted, “Um....I'm unfamiliar with this prompt. Don’t we tie up with uh… two hands? Like… this…?”

It came fast. Winter’s palm shot straight up to ding them on the mouth.

It's the hop that gets Shimmerlace square in the heart. How the pink blazes are you supposed to tug the rug out from smiling little miss skipperydoo?

…Pretty easily, actually, fey hearts beating as thorny as they do. Shimmerlace nodded and grinned and shook the girl’s hand slow and venomous while mentally traipsing through her options—how does one best use a captured wrist? Should she flying armbar this wing, or just hold on while she sweeps the legs—when Winter’s palm smacked her jaw.

”Fuckin’...ow!” It smarts—the smack on the face at least as much as the laughs it wins on all sides. Not to mention the betrayal of it all, as if she'd been reaching out to pet a kitten and then, swipe. She touches her jaw, looks at her fingers, then back at Winter, and the whole framed picture elicits a short, dry laugh. Then the fairy laced her fingers together and took a step towards the diminutive nestling. ”Fair enough then!”

Fair enough, but not half so just as the wrath her Court is about to lay down. With a twist of the hips, she spun, spinning the ball of her two fists around in circle like a mace, arcing pink-streaked to lay the upstart flat and dizzy.

Bap! Got her right good.
Winter didn’t react at all after hitting that. Her glitter stayed frozen. The hand fell to her hip and she looked at them, still smiling and blinking occasionally as they reset themselves and their jaw. “Hum.” She checks her imaginary watch, lips puckered and towards one side. “I’m going to needing a day counter.”

But then she pipes up. STEPS up. “Oh!” And she puts her hands together, appearing ready as ever. What exactly that was, she had no idea. But it came soon enough. A five knuckle twisty, hitting her in the cheek like a hammer. It cracked off the bone. Her head snapped back. “WHA!” And the pain sets off her vocal chords. When her head came back, she looked straight, blinked rapidly before dropping to her back with the legs kicking up then flopping. “Myyyy cheeeeek!” She held the spot. “You are good fist-hitter. I get up now.”

And she did mean that…. For about half a second. She sat up, ready to make a pounce onto her knees -- but she couldn’t help but try and one-up their punch. So, once got into a squat, she put her hands together and jumped like a frog, throwing two-fists for one uppercut to strike towards their jaw again.

Dark clouds were forming over the Scion’s brow, as she shook her fist and looked down at the Songbird. A good fist hitter, ey? For a compliment, the words left her feeling hollowed out—closer to growling than anything else. This was Apex, the tallest sky for brightest comet?

Miss Songbird was short. Tiny. The kind of girl Madeleine would have loved to slip into a dress and prop on a shelf—but fuck, that didn't have to mean anything. Angelina Tarrant, Scarlet Terror of LAW, she was short too, and she never let that be a impediment to her burning hot and furious and mean.

Myyyyyyy cheeeeeek!

When Shimmerlace caught Winter’s frog-hop punch between her fists, she let her hang for half a second, fey smile painted on stiff as if she'd been petrified under Medusa's cold gaze. She lifted Winter’s hands same rate as she lifted her eyebrows.

”You, my wee warbling nestling of a compatriot, are engaged...” Her core grew tight, as the Feychild shifted her hips and chambered knee strike set to uncoil at Winter’s stretched tum. Her jaw clenched. ”...in a lot of fuckin’ whining.”

Caught in the Fairy’s web. Oh dear.
It didn’t suck so bad. Really, she wasn’t expecting them to be able to hoist her by the wrists of all places. Her shoulders caught most of the nip. But, it was alright. An extra inch or two stretched her out, but she always looked a little long, with that big skirt hanging down, tight on an hour-glass midriff and wider shoulders. All wonderful chosen aesthetics…. “You wee…huh-GAH!”

Her belly turned sour. Her clothes pinned to the skin, then drove deep, and she felt it shake her spine. She lurched over, spat, gasped and went bug-eyed for a second before deflating. “-ugghhh. Myy…. lunch--...” Winter’s groan dragged, and she had a soft pant, then looked up and made a slow applause with her hands. Then she worked up her voice. “…. Should I…. Be quieting?” She asked, still slightly breathy, touching the ground with her toes but having yet to really bounce back-- as if waiting her turn.

”NO ya shouldn’t be quieting! Fuck no—” Shimmerlace scowled, looked Winter up, down, and huffed. Fuck sake. If the violets Shimmer was hoping for had been peering in on this scene, she’d have flipped the channel by now.

Shimmerlace began to pace at a safe distance. The applause deepened the ravines in her face and put a darkling pink to her complexion. ”You.” She thrust a finger at Winter. “Are facing down the dark roseate edge of Springtime’s hidden moonshine, birdie. And you’re gonna start throwing down like a thrice-damned cloudbeam-shining hero, right fuckin’ now. Or!”

Crick-crack. The fairy laced her fingers, lifted them over head, and popped all there was to pop. Then her eyes rolled round on Winter. Her smile cracked back into place. She brushed her hair out of her face and back behind a shoulder as her feet clicked together and her hands folded behind her back. Then she bent at the waist and met Winter's eyes, kindly as frost smiling up the window-pane. “Or, dearest warbler mine, the magic our court will be weaving today will be a wee experiment in placing songbirds on stretchers. So up you come, cunt, loud and wicked as you please.”

Winter took the moment to brush herself clean. Prim and tidy. Fix your wrists, make sure the shoelaces are down to the right millimetre. Hair should be neat, but expressive. The mask must always be fixed. The headdress needs to remain aligned, and the bow tightly fastened, even if it chokes a bit. Keep the belt tight, bandages wrapped and don’t let the thigh-highs fold. Rules, rules, wonderful rules. She mastered it down to glances and minor adjustments as she listened.

“Ahh.” Her finger snapped, “I do!” To her best perception that was. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and cracked her neck both ways. “Triple Piano to…” Her fists punched an open palm. “Fortissimo!”

Her hands stayed, the forearms fell and looked like a prayer. She bowed. “Very well. Let's try again.” And when she straightened back up, she sprinted, making a quick bolt and jumping, curling into a ball and shooting her feet towards Shimmer’s shin.