Laxia von Roswell vs. Sheila Morgan - Lightning in a Bottle

[BlackAkuma]

Sheila’s plan with the steel steps was fairly simple. She was going to plan them in a good spot, then grab Laxia, lifted her up, maybe put her into a piledriver or something like that, and then ram her fucking skull into the metal and knock her out. It wouldn’t matter if Laxia was too tough to pin if she was unconscious.

Of course, that was a little more difficult than she’d bargained for. While Laxia took the brunt of the damage from their crash, Sheila wasn’t unscathed. That hit had wreaked havoc on her, her back especially, so dragging the steel over was no small feet, but she managed after a few grueling seconds. It wasn’t as if there was too big of a rush, Laxia wasn’t going anywhere.

She had just gotten the steps into position when she felt a tug on her ankles, drawing her attention downwards. Before she could even properly process what was going on, it was too late - her legs were being pulled out from under her; she was falling forward, and her face rammed hard into the dense metal, her skull hitting with a sickening crack.

The Wild One couldn’t get her hands up in time, and her face took the full force of the impact, a blow that rippled across her noggin. She flopped off and fell to the side, landing on her back, as this strange, familiar coppery scent took over her senses.

Blood. Her nose was bleeding, maybe busted. Laxia had actually gotten first blood on her.

”Heh.”

[Letta]

The dull impact made Laxia squeeze her eyes shut. Sheila’s ankles slipped from her grasp, and the woman toppled to one side. Her counter had worked. Drawing her arms back, Laxia let out a breath and felt some of the tightness in her chest ease. But the moment she moved, pain flared through her abdomen. “Nnngh...” She curled forward, one hand pressed to her stomach. Knocking Sheila down had done nothing to make her own pain disappear. Springing up to launch a follow-up, unfortunately, remained wishful thinking.

Then she noticed the red spreading beneath Sheila’s nose. The sight briefly tempered her relief with concern for her opponent. She had an uneasy feeling that the match was about to turn uglier. But her aching abdomen, the table smashed beyond recognition, and the memory of her chest being crushed beneath the chair soon chased that hesitation away. If she held back now, she might end up looking considerably worse herself.

Wait... had she just laughed..?

Laxia’s brows drew together at the faint chuckle. Not a groan. Not a curse. A laugh. What, exactly, was so amusing about hitting the steel steps face-first? She did not like it. Not at all. But she could not afford to waste time puzzling over it. Once Sheila was back on her feet, this opening would be gone. Laxia lowered her hand from her stomach to the floor and dragged herself toward her opponent, breathing in short, uneven bursts. A faint, cold smile touched her lips as she drew alongside Sheila.

“Laugh while you can..”

She seized one of Sheila’s arms and a handful of her mane. Ordinarily, she would have considered hair-pulling beneath her. But remembering how her own hair had been yanked around earlier made her grip tighten. Perhaps the match was stirring her own catfighting instincts. Either way, there was a certain satisfaction in being the one doing the dragging for a change. Laxia rose to her feet, hauling Sheila up with her. She dragged her a few steps toward the apron and, without releasing her grip on Sheila’s hair, slammed her face down against the canvas on the apron again and again. Each impact produced a dull thud.

“Does it hurt...!? A little dizzy??”

A faint red smear marked the canvas. If Sheila’s upper body remained draped over the apron, Laxia would slip into the ring beneath the bottom rope. She settled on the edge with her legs extended outside, then turned Sheila to face the crowd and drew her head back between her shapely thighs. This time, it was her turn to deny her opponent a chance to breathe. Raising both arms, she gripped the middle rope for support and squeezed her thighs together, attempting to lock Sheila into a tight headscissors...!

[BlackAkuma]

It really was busted, too. Sheila had taken more than enough busted and broken noses to know the difference with clinical precision. Specifically, a broken nose hurt so much more, you could feel all the little bones shifting on your face with every breath. This was just a flesh wound. It would make breathing and smelling a little difficult for a couple of hours, but she would be fine.

Still, it was first blood, and if you told Sheila an hour ago that some pampered princess would be getting that on her in what was essentially a hardcore match, she would’ve punched you for the insult.

So, yeah. Yeah, it was funny.

Laxia didn’t seem to get the joke, though, if her words were anything to go by. Sheila was just about to explain it to her when the woman came over and seized her by the arm and hair, roughly hauling her up. Getting her hair yanked in a match was another experience that the Wild One was more than used to, couldn't remember the last time that it hadn't happened in a match, but even so, this sort of aggression was new from Laxia. Wilder, more dangerous. She liked it.

She came along for the ride as she was dragged back to the ring, and Sheila fully expected to be thrown in under the bottom rope. Instead, Laxia had something a little more direct in mind - namely, ramming her skull into the ring multiple times, over and over, filling the Wild One’s vision with fog and stars. By the time she was done, Sheila was a disheveled mess - more than usual - and all she could do was lay on the apron, struggling to stand.

Laxia, ironically, made that a lot easier when she came around and wrapped those legs around Sheila’s head, clamping tight with a headscissors that kept her anchored to the ring. She thrashed about in the hold, squirming and kicking like an animal caught in a trap - which wasn’t too far from the truth of things, really. Aside from the crushing pressure, oxygen was rapidly coming at a high premium, and her body was running on a short supply…

[Letta]

Only moments ago, Sheila had been running wild at ringside. Now she was thrashing in Laxia’s hold. It was a shame Laxia could not see her pained expression for herself, but the sight of a wounded predator held firmly in check must have made quite a spectacle for the audience. Certainly one worthy of the match’s highlight reel. Whenever she felt Sheila’s resistance weaken, Laxia eased the pressure of her legs. She let her draw a breath, only to tighten her thighs again and cut off her air once more. All the while, Laxia remained seated on the mat, gradually recovering her own strength as she wore Sheila down.

“Not so amusing now, is it...?”

Her grip on the rope tightened, and the corners of her lips lifted. The crowd had spent so much of the match cheering Sheila’s relentless offense. It was time to show them who was in control now. Laxia had thought her previous matches proved the point well enough, but apparently, some people still let her pretty face distract them from just how lethal she could be. Once she had caught her breath, Laxia reached down and swept the blonde hair away from Sheila’s face. It was not an act of kindness. She simply wanted the audience to have a better view of that expression. The rougher Sheila treated her, the more Laxia’s mean streak came to the surface...!

Laxia took hold of Sheila’s hair with one hand before releasing the headscissors. Keeping her opponent propped against the apron, she stepped down to ringside. She then grabbed fistfuls of Sheila’s gear at her back and waist, roughly hoisted her up, and shoved her beneath the bottom rope. Following her into the ring, Laxia caught her under both arms, hauled her halfway upright, and shoved her toward the center, sending her back to the mat.

Continuing the attack would probably have been the sensible choice. But that was not what Laxia wanted. Had Sheila’s rough methods begun to rub off on her? Was it simply her desire to pay Sheila back for everything she had endured? Or perhaps she resented how wildly the crowd had cheered that reckless, table-shattering attack. Whatever the reason, she had no intention of letting Sheila claim every highlight tonight. She could captivate a crowd just as well. If Sheila, or anyone in the crowd saw her as nothing more than a gazelle fleeing a predator, Laxia intended to change their minds.

Laxia turned away with an imperious air, leaving Sheila behind. Slipping between the ropes onto the apron, she looked back toward the center of the ring. Careful planning was not just about avoiding risk. It was about knowing when to take it, and committing without hesitation when that moment came. The other sports she had pursued demanded that same boldness. However effortless she made them look, her spectacular moves always carried risks. The one she had in mind was no exception. Laxia raised both hands and clapped, encouraging the crowd to join in, before lifting one index finger high. Her eyes, however, never left Sheila. She was not simply taking her time to show off. She was waiting for her opponent to begin getting up.

If that opening came, Laxia would immediately seize the top rope. Using the bottom rope as a foothold, she would hop up and plant both feet on the top rope. She did not need to balance there for long. Just one brief, precise moment to turn her footing into flight. As poised as a ballerina on a familiar stage, she would steady herself as the rope dipped beneath her weight, then...

“Haaah...!”

She would ride its recoil high into the air. The crowd might see a light, graceful leap. Sheila would have to contend with the height, the speed, and the precision behind it. Extending both legs in midair, Laxia would aim her boots like a rapier’s point at Sheila’s upper body, attempting to deliver her signature springboard dropkick, Azure Rapier...!

Springboard Dropkick

[BlackAkuma]

Sheila actually thought it was pretty damned amusing. She couldn't say that at the moment, what with being choked and all, but she would happily have told Laxia that if she could.

It was good to see that this woman had some grit about her. She had to admit, after she nailed her on the table, she thought the snobby little bitch wouldn’t be getting up for anything, much less having enough energy to really fight back. Women like this weren’t made for the hardcore scene, they tended to crumble when you put them in real fights.

But Laxia was hanging on. Hell, she was thriving. It was like taking that hellacious hit had woken up something deep within her, and now she was running wild with it. Sheila could respect that, even if it was currently getting her strangled to death by the woman’s thighs.

A nice set of thighs, too…

She could admire them later. For now, she was fighting and struggling for every breath she could find, as the woman’s legs continued to clamp down, crushing her neck like a living noose. It wasn’t going to give Laxia a tap out anytime soon and she wasn’t going to sleep, either, but it was doing a good job of sapping the live out of her, leaving her weak and pliable.

It made her easy prey when finally did release the hold, not able to fight back at all when Laxia unlocked the scissor and dropped down beside her. She was still struggling to catch her breath as she was rolled into the ring, and she needed a second at the center of the ring before she could properly move again. And when she did…

Sheila sat up and groggily began rising again, getting her wobbly feet beneath her as she pushed up. Her first instinct was to figure out where Laxia was. Looking right, didn’t see her. Looking left, didn’t see her. Looking up-

There was Laxia. Or, more importantly, there were Laxia’s boots, on a crash course with her chest. They landed, bang on, with an impact that sent the Wild One flying off her feet, crashing on her back, and rolling twice from there. She might very well have rolled clear out of the ring, too, if she hadn't managed to get her leg up at the last second so it hit the ropes and kept her confined.

Saved. Sort of. Gripping her chest and aching, Sheila made another attempt at rising, a slower one this time, gripping the ropes for support as she tried it.