Win by Pinfall, Submission, Disqualification, or Count out
Spoiler
Looks like she'll have to take down another wanna be porn star pretending to be a professional wrestler, Ingrid thought to herself, as she stretched out her fit, toned body in preparation for her match with Karla Rey Reinhardt. Like a lot of Ingrid matches, this one resulted from a Twitter argument where Ingrid called out Karla,rightfully so in her own mind, for wearing high heels or stilettos in her wrestling gear. To Ingrid, this was a big no-no, and a major disrespect to the business she worked hard in for. This match was in Ingrid's mind, to put back some integrity into LAW and pro wrestling as a whole, by taking down one of its biggest offenders, and proving that by pinning Karla to the mat.
With that out of the way, the LAW staff let Ingrid know that she was coming out first, before her redheaded opponent. To Ingrid, this was a good thing, as she'll be able to observe her opponent and her actions and purely showcase why Karla dosent belong in professional wrestling. She headed to the Guerilla Position and waited for her music to hit.
"Ladies and Gentleman, The following Match is set for one fall, making her way to the ring, weighing in at 125 pounds, THE ELITE PEGASUS, INGRID GALATEA!" The announcer yelled in the microphone as the loud mix of cheers and boos rangmout through the arena and the green-clad wrestler made her way out of the curtain. Ingrid took in the smoothie of reactions she was getting, having some faith in wrestling audiences that knew she was right about the likes of Karla. She then walked down to the ring, a confident look on her face, as she walked up the steel steps on the corner of the ring, and under the second rope. She headed to her corner and posed, before waiting for her opponent to make her entrance.
An all-consuming darkness filled the maundering L.A.W stadium. One drum smack, coupled with the dance of piano and choir summoned the woman who dubbed herself the “Main Event.” She emerged from through a cone of silver light, with intersecting spotlights that blemished her person, who strode onto the stage with arms extended, and a twirl as her head pointed towards the ceiling. Spoiler
〝And her opponent, from Hamburg Germany, weighing in one-hundred and thirty-six pounds… She is Miss Main Event! — KARLA “RAY” REINHARDT! K…R…R!〞 Spoiler
Cheers and shouts showered her appearance, from love and admiration; those loyal to her divine ruby hair that glimmered in light, to the leather chest piece that bore her initials in emblem of gold and scarlet, and the short-cut shorts, and the thigh-high-heel boots of ebony, gold and scarlet.
She strode down the ramp and pulled on her grappling glove, adjusted both arm sleeves that cupped wealthy biceps and tightened the golden dog leash around her six-pack abdomen to dangle tighter across her sashaying hips. Despite all this and the early cheer, boos soon salvoed from the far-away ranks while those closest to see their faces reflect off their attire were hypnotized by a quick cherry lip-stick grin as she scaled the steps.
Her hand slid across the top rope, back pressed as she squatted on the middle. One leg folded over the other, and she looked left and right. To what she saw, she scoffed, rolled her eyes and moved on towards a turnbuckle. The referee came to seat the ropes themselves, typical for a KRR entrance, but again, she chose to scale the turnbuckle and raise her fist to harvest one more dosage of twisted love and hate. She blew a kiss, leaned back and showed the middle finger when she blew, then vaulted the ropes to land in her corner.
She gripped the top rope and walked towards the other turnbuckle, eyes found the belittling Ingrid. Like a predator that stalked its next meal, her eyes didn’t move. Her tongue wetter her lips with one pass and she moved toward them and occupied the centre, separated only by a referee who stuffed themselves in between both wrestlers. Their requests fell on deaf ears as Karla spoke.
〝So, the Hundchen has a problem with my heels, hm? You mean these, yeah?〞
Her knee lifted and the leather up her thigh flexed. The spotlights culled, lights returned to normal as Karla pointed her golden high heel’s tip towards her opponent.
〝If you hate it so much, why don’t you come bite it off? I love those who use their teeth.〞
Ingrid was looking at her Redhead opponent, rolling her eyes at the antics of Karla. Karla pointed her heel at Ingrid, to which Ingrid replied "Oh stick it up your ass." She stayed in her corner, in disdain of her opponent.
So as soon as the bell rang, Ingrid threw a superkick, hoping to hit Karla right in the face.
Her lips pulled to one side and made a lopsided smirk. The boot settled back onto the canvas, and her arms extended outward, jutted at forty-five degrees - a V-shape composition to which she shrugged and laughed. “What’s the matter? You don’t like fashion sense?”
She continued to laugh through the bell, absorbed by her voice. Hands coiled through her hair, waded it back as she continued. “My, my. That gives me an idea. Maybe I’ll just have to stick this up YOUR ass- AH!”
The kick sounded off her chin and rippled the skin down her neck, cheek and spat out a wad of spit. She collapsed flush onto the canvas, silent as the prayer, arms folded by her head, and this contorted look claimed her face. Closed eyes - the faint glint of overhead light. A warmth that nestled and weighed down her arms and splayed out legs, that familiar ache that swallowed her face - a blistering headache to which kept her pinned. To which she mustered a groan and fought the beckoning itch that was the black infection that threatened to take her eyes and consciousness.
"I had enough of your dumbass talking, so I decided your best place would be under my foot." Ingrid smacked talk after hitting Karla with the big boot. Ingrid stared down at her redheaded opponent, an angry snarl across her face. This was a very focused Ingrid that wanted to teach Karla a lesson, her toned body gleaming in the spot lights.
"Now if you don't mind, Imma show you how a real professional wrestler acts." Ingrid said to the downed Karla, before she ran and rebounded at the ropes, jumped in the air, and attempted a leg drop across Karla's throat.
She held her jaw within her fingertips. It was like she dislocated it — that trademark numbness, then an onslaught of pain when she tried to move it, cursed further when she jerked it sideways. The same thing happened to her shoulder, except it didn’t whiplash her brain inside her skull. She managed to turn onto one side with her far arm reaching over. Their words rang on flooded ears until she shook her head, looked up and kissed the leg that came across her throat. Her legs kicked up and thrust. Arms stiffened then dreamt upon the canvas as she squealed, and robbed of breath as her throat ached to inhale, as though her windpipe had nearly swollen shut. Rendered motionless from all but a twitch of her hand that balled into a white-knuckle fist and hammer-punched the mat.
Ingrid had Karla at her mercy, having completely taken over the beginning of this match. She dropped her thick legs onto Karla's throat. She had Karla frustrated and out.
"Don't you dare try your bullshit act with me!" The strong language left Ingrid's mouth as she went down to pin Karla, hoping to have her taken down in record time.
"If it isn't obvious Karla, I'm way above you, so just stay down!" Ingrid taunted Karla as she pinned her.
Oh, so incredible static noise brought as legs slammed against her windpipe. The euphoria of suffocation could only lick her senses before air found its way. She sucked in, replied with a mangled cough, then inhaled a crucible that ushered a wheeze as the weight piled over her chest. The count struck one, and Karla slammed the canvas with her heel to bring her knees high, then thrust to kick out and raise the shoulder. Her hands dialled in and pushed on the shoulder closest to her head. She’d roll underneath the nearest ropes and throw her body to ringside, collapse hands and knees, hair draped on one side that hid her wide-open lips that sucked in a laboured breath, and her eyes that rapidly blinked to recollect any coherence. But underneath all that, there was a growl to be heard, drowned out by the crowd’s static noise, no louder than an aggressive purr, but there as she reached to grip the ring apron.
Ingrid cocktail held Karla's shoulders to the mat, almost as she was certain that she had won the match at that point. Sadly, Ingrid should have known better as Karla gave her a fierce kickout at the one count. Ingrid got on her knees, hands on her smooth thighs as she contemplated if she got too confident there. She took a short breath before pulling herself back up to her feet. While definitely still fresh, she was kinda happy Karla wasn't done yet, the fake dominatrix needed to learn a lesson in pain. .
Seeing that Karla was on the ring apron collapsed, Ingrid declared "YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY BITCH!" As she ran towards Karla, ready to hit her with a Basement Dropkick to the side of Karla's body, hopefully knocking her off the ring apron.
Her forearms rested on the apron and lifted her whole frame, so her feet may scramble for purchase. Blinking eyes and needled hair robbed any precognition. The mat’s thunder passed her by, and when she looked up, it produced two feet that shotgunned into her collar. Her torso whipped back, hands that gripped the apron stuck out before they too followed. Her head was first to smash against the outside mats; high-heels flung overhead in a back roll that saw her upper-back, her neck and her head’s flank sing against the metal barricade.
“Bleggh…” There was water to dizzy her vision. Her arms fell flat in either direction as she lay flush with only her head folded by the barricade, legs splayed and slightly apart; her chin pushed the collarbone bone. She gave an empty stare towards a sea of nonsensical colour, eyes stung, and her features contorted to usher a whimper.
