Alicia Soto vs. Angela Belti - Lost In Hollywood

[BlackAkuma]

Was that Dizzy screaming? ANgela could’ve sworn she heard her daughter’s shriek through the roar of the crowd, a faint noise through the mass, but even that was enough to make her motherly sense perk up. Her first instinct was to check on her, to get up and make sure she was okay, but that was denied when her body couldn't heed the call. She was too weak to do anything, it felt like her body had picked up two hundred or so pounds that weren’t her own, she was on the floor, couldn't move a muscle, and…and…

How had she gotten here in the first place? And what was that noise, that heavy sound nearby, like something was hitting the canvas?

”2…!”

Angela’s mind raced, trying to retrack her steps and get a good idea of how this came to be. She had been up on the ropes, battling with Alicia, and then…she got hit? Everything was so foggy. She remembered flying through the air, hearing this loud, sonorous crash, and there being this explosion of pain, and everything went fuzzy after that.

That was, until now, where she laid on her back and looked over through glassy eyes, as the referee’s hand fell in slow motion. No stopping it, no escape, nothing to do but watch and wait for the ax to fall.

”3…!”

It was over. Just like that, over. Angela lost the match, and yet, it came with a sense of relief, this wonderful euphoria as the crowd cheered and the bell rang. She’d lost, but a smile crept along her face regardless, along with a profound feeling of accomplishment. Something had happened here. Something good.

For now, Angela didn’t want to analyze it. All she wanted to do was close her eyes, sag under Alicia and relax. Just. Relax.

[HotWheels]

Cynicism crept its way into her psyche, motivated more by the notion that this old, leathery bag would somehow get out of this again and they would carry on forever. Siren carried no reasons to think this pin would gain her any more than the last. Sure, she hadn't thrown momma hefty onto her shoulders and neck off a five-foot incline with all of the big Latina's weight behind the drop the last time, either, but the match had something of a neverending feel to it. Siren only acted as dead weight, too, no more energy left in her reddened, bruised, sweaty, stretched, beaten, almost bloodied body to be more than a sandbag. She also couldn't make it past the one with another jerk of her head. Hurt too fuckin' much.

But her failing to nod her head didn't mean the two didn't sound. Still Siren didn't bother hoping. No, she just let her head roll to the side, somewhere between one of Angela's breasts and the Latina's own shoulder as she listlessly held the bigger woman down. It seemed an inevitable thing that Angela would find yet another gear, toss Siren's weight aside, force this thing to continue that Siren couldn't continue if her life depended on it. Shit, at this point, her life depended on stopping before she broke into twelve beat-too-hell pieces.

The three sounded strangely foreign to her while she kept waiting to be tossed onto her aching back yet another time. She looked up almost in disbelief, or the closest someone so self-assured could come to disbelief in her accomplishments, at the ref, then at the crowd, then at Angela still somehow on her back. Her head fell, every hint of a reaction hidden behind her curtains of hair and her body still despite the raucous roar around her.

She reared up and brought both fists down on the mat at Angela's side with so loud of a sound one might have thought she punched through it. And shit, shiiiiit did it hurt to move so suddenly, but nothing else could come an ounce closer to representing the sense of triumph she felt. Hell... she didn't know what she felt. Was it all triumph? Nah, there was some relief, both for her smart mouth and reputation and for her poor sore body.

But she got her. Siren rolled over onto her back, holding up deuces with both hands to let the crowd know she heard them. It wasn't quite a grin on her face, not quite a grimace, not quite a welling of emotion. Just satisfaction.

She'd get up in a second. Maybe. But listening, reveling, for now.

[BlackAkuma]

Dizzy’s mother had dragged her - in a couple cases, literally - to more than a few wrestling shows in her life, taking her to matches all over Europe and Asia and even the Americas a few times. As irritating as that sort of life could be, it had given her a view of the world that only a handful of people could boast, seeing more countries before she turned twenty than most people would see in their entire lives. She’d been mixed in with crowds of all shapes and sizes, from cramped little twenty-something shows in a gymnasium to packed stadium shows with thousands and thousands of roaring fans.

Maybe it was just her failing memory or something, but Dizzy swore, she’d never heard a louder crowd in her entire life.

They were deafening, loud enough to make her ears start to ring as she made her way around the ring. They were cheering, clapping, and clamoring at the absolute slugfest they’d just watched, and she couldn't blame them. She’d known that her mother was tough, seen her in all manner of matches, but it had been a good, long while since anyone pushed like that and brought so much out of her. It was like being in that ring put her in a time warp, and if the weak, but wide smile on her face was any indication, she’d just had the time of her life.

Some of the security gave her the stink eye, but Dizzy brushed past them and slid her way into the ring and popped to her feet near the two warriors, the disbelief clear on her face. They were both alive, more or less. They looked like they’d just been dragged out of a car wreck, but still alive, both with this weirdly serene look on their faces. ”Gesù Cristo, you both are crazy.”

”Dizzy, language.” Her mother muttered as her eyes flickered open to take a quick scan around her. She closed them tight a moment later, then grimaced and made an effort to sit up, nearly flopping back down a couple times along the way. She pulled it off, though, and looked over her shoulder back towards Alicia. ”Hollywood Siren, huh?” She said the name with some reverence, the kind of bass she would’ve reserved for her title. ”Not bad. Not bad at all.” She reached out to take Alicia’s hand. ”Would you help an old lady back to her feet?”

[HotWheels]

Alicia's high swerved, tempered by the pain that started to crush her from every angle as the adrenaline died down and by the rational acknowledgment of what had just happened. All she wanted out of this was to give a revered name hell, and she had given her hell. So much hell that she had beaten her. So much hell that she had no doubt made the woman, at least internally, take back all those doubting glances and subtle comments about her sexuality. So much hell that the crowd would all have no voices tomorrow. At those realizations, her arms fell to cover her eyes as sweat tried to pour into already-burning eyebrows, but below that concealment, a smile broke through.

It increased and almost became a laugh when she heard Dizzy's voice, but a laugh would have hurt. It could wait. The momentary peace had passed, exchanged for the ref pleading with her to get up so she could raise her arm and Dizzy a step from having a stroke and- mama Belti, hovering over her. Alicia finally lowered her arms and peered up at her, something between concern and curiosity on her face. She didn't answer the big Italian, figuring she planned to take this somewhere.

And she did. Alicia didn't quite smile at the halfhearted compliment, but her face proved sly nonetheless. She didn't say a damn word, either. She thought mama had caught just enough about her personality in this match to know that having Alicia respectfully shut her mouth without insulting or gloating served as a means of respect in and of itself. It meant she accepted that halfhearted compliment. That she thought mama wasn't too bad, either. And ignoring her pain, she popped up like nothing was wrong with her, her posture dismissive, and clasped mama's hand. What little strength she had left she dedicated to hauling her to her feet, staring right into her eyes the whole way. That had been a fucking masterpiece. Or whatever the opposite of a masterpiece was.

The ref saw her chance, and Alicia had her arm in the air before she knew it, looking out at the crowd. And she let it soak. She'd be the Siren once mama had gotten her cheers, too.

And she would rub it in later.

[BlackAkuma]

Angela would spend the next week in a bed, at minimum. Even now, as Alicia helped her stand, she could feel the adrenaline wearing off and the pain setting in. So much damage had been done to every inch of her body, so much destruction. There wasn’t a limb that didn’t have at least some ache to it, and her spine felt like it had taken a few shots from a steel baseball. It might even be a good idea to get an X-Ray, to see if she needs some surgery or something extensive. This match had taken real time off of what little she had left in her career.

And she did not care, not in the least. When Alicia took her arm and helped her stand, she knew it had all been worth it—coming to LAW, bringing Dizzy along, the training, all of it. This was the way she wanted her career to end—with matches like this, against women like this. This was the future of the heavyweight division.

She stood up, never breaking eye contact with Alicia, even for a second. She stepped back as the referee raised her hand, getting a full look at the woman - still with that infuriating dismissive look, so cocky and arrogant and sure of herself. But then, she was young and strong and once upon a time, Angela herself had been much like her. She’d worn more clothing at the time, yes, but shockingly similar in most other aspects. Alicia had earned her victory lap.

Angela reached out and put a hand on Alicia’s shoulder, squeezing it momentarily with a solemn nod. ”Thank you.” She started to walk past her, only to stumble on the way to the ropes, with Dizzy moving over to catch her - not that she could’ve done much to support her if she did fall over, but reflexes took over. Thankfully, her mother was able to correct herself at the last second and straighten back out, holding a hand out to reassure her. ”I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”

Dizzy watched her mother walk through the ropes and start the lonely march up the ramp, holding her fist up high as she went. She stood there, silent, before she turned back to Alicia with a knowing smirk. ”Here,” She handed the headband back to the victorious Latina. ”You dropped this.”

[HotWheels]

If Angela would spend a week in bed, Alicia would no doubt spend two. Even the lifted arm sent so much pain through her chest of raw beef and the back that had taken eighty percent of the impacts during the fight that she decided to yank it down, showing that bit of defiance that people should come to expect from her, and instead moved toward the ropes. She leaned over them, staring out at everyone with a cocky intensity that doubled as a chance to rest, before she leaned back, wiggled her shoulders lightly, and wiggled her shoulders, patted at her chest for some latina heat, a shoutout to the wrestlers of her mother's culture.

That was all she had in her. So much pain permeated through her that she almost misinterpreted Angela's hand as a muscle tightening, but she swung to see the woman and hear her words. Thank you? A crooked smile wormed its way across Alicia's face. Bitch was as crazy as she herself was. All she offered was the tiniest nod, and by the time she did that, she had nearly fallen too. She returned to the turnbuckle for support, perching on the middle rope, before watching Dizzy help her mama get through the ropes. Good daughter.

Alicia, betraying her own persona in a way, raised her hands to start a clap for Angela. Maybe that would get her to the back faster so Alicia could head back there too and put ice and heat on every part of her body. Thinking Dizzy had followed her mother, Alicia let her head hang, only for the niña pequeña to return, Alicia's headband in hand. Alicia smirked from behind her hair, and to save face a bit with all the respect and sappiness, she snatched it roughly from Dizzy's hand, her face the only thing letting Dizzy know that she appreciated it.

Soon, mother and daughter had departed, leaving Alicia to stumble down the ramp, rollerblades in hand, like she owned the building, willing swagger into her steps. Right now, she felt like she did own it, pain and all.

Fin.