In the Light of Day: Yuri Yoshika vs Darina Daybreak

[Malkavia]

Standard Match: Winner decided by KO, pinfall, or submission

Monika had often extolled the virtues of conducting basic research on one's opponent. Identify her style, her training, her strengths and — most critically — her vulnerabilities. Come to the match armed with a clear path to victory, knowing that yes improvisational response to the live developments of the game will be essential, but the foundation laid in prior research is the soil from which brilliant plays might sprout.

As Yuri put on her leotard and laced her boots, and she stared numbly into the backstage concrete floor, she reflected that this theory was sound enough. When there were weaknesses to exploit.

But Daybreak? Daybreak was an experienced combat athlete with rigorous training in a variety of martial arts who had already, whether by her words or sheer irresistible attitude, declared herself with earned confidence to be one of LAW's brightest new talents. What Monika failed to consider was that research might be demoralizing, might provide less a path and more of a several-story wall, armed with ballistae and crossbows touting flaming arrows.

Yuri sighed deeply, hands to her face, as she sat on a backstage bench. What she wouldn't give to be able to remain back here indefinitely, small and content and safe in the lonely quiet. Alas. As soon as she thought it, the intercom blared.

"Five seconds, Yoshika."

As she assumed a stoic stare and stepped towards the ring, she realized her entrance theme did as much work for her, the performer, as for the audience. As the children's choir sang in swaying melisma to evoke some distant and misty mystery, she too felt swept up in the...ascendance of it. As if she really could embody the spirit it placed in her imagination, a woman of mists and strange waters.

She met cheers, too, as she slid under the ropes. Sayori, Monika. Even Natsuki. As per usual, they sat at the front row of steel chairs in the single-floor ring, four of perhaps a hundred spectators.

"You look great, hun! Just march out there and do what we talked about."
"Yeah, smash her face in!"

Yuri stood in her corner and took a deep, mindful breath. Just close your eyes and be. The electric guitar of her theme rose in her chest. She endeavored, with the best of her self-regulation, to let what her friends cheered reach her and mean something. Live up to it. Be what they need you to be.

And for a moment, she half-believed it.

[FreestylePoet]

"May I have your attention, please?"

Darina Daybreak

The crowd popped. All it took was one little impression of Detroit's most learned scholar. With the first nasally word, Darina had dispensed with the regular. No pulsar stars to set the tempo, no ascension of a golden backlight. The Lady of the Lake had built enough anticipation. Mist and night, they'd had their turn.

It was time for Daybreak.

And from the very first measure of bouncing synths, Darina Daybreak would provide! The entrance immediately shone at full gold, giving rise to that characteristic hooded silhouette. Along the ramp, little spotlights poked through the remnants of Yuri's entrance, like a morning sun's rays glimmering off a dewy fog. And the woman of the hour herself leapt into view, roaring to her fans:

"Yeaaaaahhhhh! Let's gooooo!"

She curled both arms into a demonstrative flex by her waist, then ruffled that little plastic chestplate as if brandishing her sigil. Her path to the ring was waylaid by fist bumps and selfies and even a smooch from a cute little number who'd paid for ringside seats. All the way, she hopped and skipped and jumped in whatever direction the beat asked her to. Finally, when she'd made it to the apron, everyone's favorite Muay Thai Chick (trademark pending) turned to face the crowd. Mic already in her hand. "Yeahhh," she said. "I know you know what time it is, LAW. I know you know. Say it with me now-"

"The STARS are gonna SHINE toNIGHT!"

Chills, like always. Satisfied with her work, Darina finally slid into the ring and bounded over to her opponent. "'Sup? Man, that entrance of yours was sick. Felt like I was in the middle of a seance or something." Her gaze slid over to the troupe of women sitting ringside. Darina flashed a smirk and wink. "Ah, you brought friends. Great idea. One to clear the path and two to carry your sleepy ass backstage, right?"

[Malkavia]

Yuri’s hands clenched on the middle rope. As her eyes watched Darina dart a zig-zagging wave down the ramp, Yuri’s stomach twisted and jumped as if it too were skipping down a runway.

Darina confirmed Yuri’s sense of LAW’s diverse, broad, and deep talent. In her debut, Yuri had felt a pang of envy for Pollie’s capacity for spontaneous, metered diss tracks. Darina’s entrance, too, suggested a constellation of natural gifts and honed skills, but what made Yuri’s throat tighten as she became aware of her pulse in her fingertips was more than the sum of those twinkling lights. There was an aura to this package—freedom. To charge, to cheer, to gloat, to kiss.

Ah, and there’s the clammy palms. We are, I suppose, on cue. She tilted her head towards the mat, staring at the LAW logo. Perhaps it might not be the most dominant of poses, but it hid her eyes in shade. As she often reflected in her poetry, the eyes reflect all that curdles within, and those that would bury themselves must cover them first of all.

Darina’s words to Yuri constituted a one-two punch. The compliment unsteadied her guard, and then the jab about her friends caught her in the gut. Oof. Anger seeped into her blood like acid rain into limestone. She felt her friend’s eyes suddenly and keenly, and her jaw clenched.

This is where I would utter a comeback if I were…good. But she'd tried that on Pollie, and just the memory of that was enough to make her cheeks prickle. So she said nothing at all. She stared at the mat, unmoving. Barely breathing. As the silence dragged, she thought about Darina’s “seance.” And ghosts—spirits and spectres, and the majesty of night.

Yuri lifted her head. Slowly. And let her head cock to one side. She raised a single arm to Darina—drawing with it all the shadow of the sepulcher and the underground night never touched by sunlight. Then with her eyes still obscured, she gestured to the breaking day. Come, then, and meet me.

A challenge to Yuri's dark mien came from the crowd. Part of it was the Oooh! from the crowd that, to Yuri's mind, took her gesture far too seriously. But that wasn't the real challenge. The real challenge came from her close friends. Monika, of course, cheered, and Natsuki's characteristic whistle managed to be ear-piercing even through the (small) crowd. But, Sayori...Well—

"Let's go Yuri, let's go!"

Sayori tried to get a chant going.

"Let's go Yuri, LET'S GO!"

It was...not particularly novel or incisive as far as chants went, and the only people who picked it up were the club members. But that was enough. Three girls swayed together in the seats. Three girls clapped (twice) after each round.

It was an enormous challenge to Yuri's psychic reserves to listen to Sayori's enthusiasm and keep her lips unquirked with the smile bubbling in her stomach—but, bleak as the grave, she managed to keep the dead gray dullness in her eyes.

[FreestylePoet]

It really was awesome, how just a single movement could get the people going. In MMA, landing something was the quickest way into the hearts of the masses; in wrestling, it seemed, just the anticipation of the thing got asses out of seats. When Yuri raised that arm, she became a mystery in the dark, which any self-respecting fight fan would need to see unraveled. Something that goes bump in the night -- that only the break of day could bring to light.

So, Darina responded to the call of this dark wizard chick in a way only she could. She raised her arms into a classic Muay Thai pose, extending one out to mirror Yuri's pose. This pose was where it all began; everything in a fight stemmed from this. She was hunched, but firm. Poised on the balls of her feet, but ready to strike.

The crowd murmured again, just like they did for Yuri. This time, though, eyes flickered from one woman to the other, taking in the clash of stances. Finally the bell rang. Darina's teeth flashed wide, and she bobbed from foot to foot. That strawberry blonde over there made for a pretty good metronome, with all that chanting and clapping. Once she found the rhythm, Dare counted the beats. Just one more cycle was all she needed:

"Let's-go--"

"Yu-ri--"

"Let's-go!"

CLAP-CL--

Suddenly, her outer hand shot out! Darina grasped Yuri's forearm, the same hand that had knocked out countless women now clapping onto Yuri's sleeve. Her grip was tight. Dare nodded in half-hearted apology, then shifted her gaze to the ringside seats. A blonde, brunette, and pinky walked into an arena. Who was she to deny them their punchline?

"You guys better get the stretcher ready!" she said to Yuri's club. "Like, real -- soon!"

At that last word, Darina pulled. First back, to bring Yuri to the center of the ring. Then, in every direction God invented, each with a goal Darina couldn't pick from: Down to lower Yuri's guard, up to unbalance her, left or right as if to start pulling her into a hold. At the same time, her pulled-back fist floated wherever their shared grip wasn't, feeling out how Yuri reacted to each hole in her armor.

[Malkavia]

All it took was for the bell to ring for Yuri to understand a nuance to the word poser. A pose is as easy as it is convincing, the kind of chameleon-skill a practitioner might learn in the first week of their journey into craft. Yet the appearance is but a facsimile, primed to crumble at first contact with the enemy.

Yuri did not crumble, though, so much as she swung like a doll in a reckless owner's grip. Yuri stumbled, lost her footing, fell to her knees. The crowd went ooooh. Pain stung in her shoulder socket.

Yuri tried to ground her stance, two feet to the mat, but Darina never gave her the opportunity. Every time she came close to finding her feet, Darina yanked on her grip, Yuri grimaced from the pain, and she stumbled and tripped. Alright—alright—think. Think like water, like a Judoka. A grip was what she needed. An Eri Kumikata, or lapel grip, would allow her to find stability in her opponent's body, and—

Darina's fist flew towards Yuri's face. It was a blur of motion in her peripheral vision, but Yuri's animal brain saw it. Processed it. Hit the panic button. She flinched away, her feet sliding and kicking across the mat as she did so. Her heart leapt to her throat and got caught in the airway with a whine—and nothing hit. Yuri blinked, then flailed around and looked at Darina.

Her fist was somewhere new. A totally different direction—north this time. Yuri flinched again, but with half the force. A cold sweat broke out on her brow as her mouth sagged open.

Darina could come from anywhere.

Anywhere.

And since she couldn't run from anywhere, the prey animal in her brain wanted to freeze instead.

Finally, amidst all that chaos, her hand caught hold of Darina. The grip helped steady Yuri. She could pull herself to her feet, except—except she'd caught Darina in the hem of her—

Shorts.

Yuri swallowed, hard.

"nng..." For half a beat she couldn't say anything at all. Then her voice came through in a croak. "S-sorry!"

Wait...

"Oh my GOOOOOOD—PUNCH HER STUPID FACE YURI!!!

(Ah. That would be Natsuki. Fuck.)

Another of Darina's yanks pulled the breath out of her and ripped her fingers out of...there. Her fingers knotted together — keep the the thumb on the outside grip — because even though Natsuki had just broadcast this move across the entire room, it was the only idea Yuri had besides flailing.

As Yuri swung, she watched the golden center of the keplerian ellipse she was stumbling on, and felt in her heavy bones what a silly, leaden bird hope could be.

[FreestylePoet]

The first rule of self defense was -- well, it was like Mr. Miyagi said, right? No be there. But the second rule was a lot more fun. No be where the other chick can see you. That was what Yuri was experiencing. Darina pulled them round and round. Her fist flitted around faster than Yuri's eye could track it.

That deadly dance was only a thumping, whumping beat for Dare: A multitool, a different danger on every end. One angle and another, and then, and then, and then. A new frame of reference coming every second like a row of physics questions, and when all was said and sent?

She switched the track. Rhythm and flow went out the door, and she yanked like a scratching needle on vinyl. Yuri stumbled. Right into the luckiest handhold on Earth, a tether that most would treat like manna from heaven. Darina gave a low whistle, and then another pull. The kimono from the mist fluttered back to its stance, then the Daybreaker's arm went back to work -- this time to pick an angle for real.

"Eeny- meeny- miney- Whoa!" She pulled her chin back, only slightly tipped off by the shrill armchair general sitting ringside. Yuri's fist grazed Darina's nose, more the other side of the pillow than a nap on asphalt. Still, a move was a move, and the game was on.

"Wow," Darina chuckled. "First you try and get in my pants, then you swing at me. Talk about mixed messages..." She sighed. Her tugs slowed, and she shrugged as well she could in this half-clinch. "Oh, well. Soon, we'll have all the time in the world for you to pick a lane. I can even put a sock on my--"

Darina slammed the door. She planted one foot on the ground.

And spun backways 'round her heel.

[Malkavia]

Darina's elbow swung out of the stratosphere and slammed into Yuri's face.

The elbow strike did not hit Yuri when she blinked. It hit her while she was getting ready to blink. Exploding into a crevice between thoughts. One instant, the lights were on, and the next—

Her ears popped. Pain formed at the center of her mind and erupted through the roof of her skull. It felt like gray matter had exploded out the now-excavated hole, and her entire head dissolved.

She wheeled backwards, spun all the way around by the force of that spinning elbow so that her back faced the Daybreaker. She took one step, two steps, tumbling forward. Her arms grasped at nothing, like a blind woman searching for a guard rail. Then she fell. Hit the second rope. Slid so her head hit the first. Her jaw worked, silent as her own world (sans the ear-piercing tinggggggg of her newfound tinnitus).

Then she hit the mat—back first.

One of Yuri's eyes was open a bit wider than the other. Blood ran from both nostrils, and her gaze fell on some faraway...something. It made no difference how loudly Natsuki groaned.

"For FUCK sake Yuri!"

She didn't register the sudden horror in Sayori's voice when she screamed, hands over mouth.

Yuri had become a sack of potatoes. Heavy. Leaden. Content to let the world spin around her empty, throbbing head.

[FreestylePoet]

"BY. GOD. I THINK SHE'S DEAD!"

That was a familiar tune. A commentary crew blowing their headsets up as every seat in the joint suddenly went empty. Hands went on heads, and palms covered mouths, all backdropped by a cresting roar. And then there was the wicked snap of Darina's elbow sheathing itself in Yuri's face. That was the sweetest sound of all, a moment that she'd get to hear over and over come the morning, when the talk shows and social media got a hold of it.

For now, though, all Darina needed to know was that this shit was wraps. Before the other girl even hit the ground, a primal "YEAAAHHH!" was already tearing its way through Darina's throat. Darina turned and stepped strong to the far side of the ring,

in celebration. She hopped up on the bottom rope and blew a kiss to the three Young Lionesses who'd come to cheer their friend on, then let herself fall back down onto the canvas.

Her backstepping momentum took her back to Yuri. The poor girl's limbs were splayed over tousled purple hair, and her only sign of life was the snory staccato of her loose-held belly. Darina planted her foot onto it and went arms wiiiide open. Cameras flashed at the penultimate moment, and the referee began her count: "One! Two! THREE!" went the world, and one-two-three went the Daybreaker's fingers. The match was over, bare seconds after the word "go."

Even as the bell rang and Darina was announced the winner, the stadium was still a roiling sea of over-sated fight fans. But the moment closed in on Darina; long or short, it was a match well-fought. Though the puncher's chance had gone against Yuri, Darina was happy to share the ring with her tonight. As soon as the referee had cleared Yuri's safety, Dare moved over to the fallen woman and offered a hand and smile.

[Malkavia]

Yuri was aware of many things. The blood on her face. The noise from the crowd. The boot on her chest. It all felt heavy, clinical, and distant. They did not connect together in her mind as a shared reality but rather as separate problems, walled off from Yuri and each other.

"ONE! TWO! THREE!"

The blood clogging Yuri's snout was...gross. And annoying. When she tried to breathe, she couldn't drag the air through her nostrils, but the pressure made the ache in her snout bloom. She tasted and smelled iron. It was depressing, since she hated breathing through her mouth, and even in the red, shattered haze, she knew it would take a long time for her snout to return to normal.

DING DING DING!

Ah. The boot.

It clicked.

She'd lost...literally underfoot. How poetic.

She pictured Darina as a conquering Roman legionary. Her hair catches in the wind, flashing like fire in the sunlight. Her sandaled foot rests on her pathetic, conquered prey. Laying claim. At least, Yuri mused, Darina had not crushed her grotesquely giant tit under her powerful iron heel. At least Yuri had not been naked and exposed to the humiliation of all those prying eyes. Blindfolded and moaning.

(The idea of such an encounter sent a cold, not unpleasant shiver through Yuri's back.)

Eventually, Darina helped Yuri up.

"Mmm, thank you. For an excellent match."

Polite words, true perhaps if you played some of the definitions diagonally. Once Yuri was able to stand, she offered a bow to Darina. Clumsily, it must be admitted. She was having trouble keeping her balance.

Darina was alright. Not really a legionary at all. Just—an athlete with a future, who had made Yuri's ultimately pointless travails quick and relatively painless. The crowd clearly adored her, and Yuri was glad. She felt in her bones that it was deserved. In the end, although everything went precisely as Yuri had predicted, she felt herself to be a small part of something spectacular. As Darina soaked in the applause and glory, Yuri felt relieved to be done so quickly, as she slunk out of the ring and back into blessed anonymity.

—

Or...near anonymity, anyway. There were, alas, the girls.

"Are you okaaaaaay Yuri?"
"How are you feeling Yuri?"
""That really really really looked like it hurt!"
"Let me look at your pupils. Do you feel nauseous? Yuri, if you think you might have a concussion, we should get you scanned..."
"Oh my goooosh I was sooooo scared—"

She felt just fine.
Thanks.
She just wanted to go home and read a book.

"Yeah, OK, I'm not gonna lie, that was pretty sad Yuri."

Yup.

"I mean you just let her step on you."

Mmmhm.

"You couldn't have just—rolled over? She wasn't even pinning you Yuri!"

...Yuri could sense long hours ahead. Long days, even. Stretching out like a vast, unforgiving desert.

"It's OK though. When I fight her, I'll knock her fricking socks off. And bring back one just for you. Just you wait!"

[Malkavia]

WINNER BY PINFALL: Darina Daybreak