Falls Scored With Pinfall, Submission, or KO
PoW Stipulation
Winner Keeps Loser for 24 Hours
The LAW arena is electric with anticipation tonight. Cheers, stamping feet, commotion in general floods the main bowl of the dome in excitement for the upcoming event. Two women are about to clash in the ring, who could not be more opposite in appearance and demeanor. The match is expected to go long, and the fighters are expected to be desperate. Because whichever woman comes out on top will claim ownership of the woman defeated. Implications abound, to be sure; the match is loaded straight from the start. Nothing is guaranteed to happen one way or the other after the cameras stop rolling, but conclusions are within leaping range.
Katsumi knows the name of her opponent, and she knows her look. And as far as those looks go, Esther looks formidable. She's muscled in all the right ways, seems confident, and knows how to glamorize the gifts the good lord gave her. It makes her reflect back on her own makeover, going from a street-punk tomboy to the gorgeous (hairtoss added~) femme fatale punkette she is now. Egotistical to view it this way, perhaps, but she can't help but consider the arrangement to be a battle between two egregiously pretty women tonight. And if Esther has a thick accent, she just might die.
..no, NO, forget that last part. Katsumi does not have a type, shut up!
She smacks her gloved palms to her face briefly, as if manually pushing the thought out of her head. It's probably just a gimmick look with weird-ass Amish parents or something, that's all! Some chick from some random state in the western world pretending to be an archetype! Nothing to write home about. No reason to think back to her first kiss with a girl. Not at all. No chance.
Tonight's match is about making another step towards forcing the management to recognize her. To acknowledge her. A chance she doesn't intend to squander, even if they saw it fit to attach that insanely suggestive stipulation to the end of it!
As if that wasn't enough to give Katsumi some serious concerns, as well. Signing herself over to a stranger is horrifying. She just... she can't lose. She just can't. She can trust herself with what she would or wouldn't do to someone. She can't trust someone else.
The lights dimming in the arena cause Katsumi to refocus on the present. It's go-time.
Katsumi's video begins playing on the tron.
The music swells, anticipation builds, and with an explosion of industrial rock, Katsumi Oshiro strides out to take the stage. Her arms swing wide, high above her head before coming to rest stretched to either side, presenting her lithe figure to the audience, hips swaying first to the right, then left where it remains cocked. And that figure is left largely on display, foregoing the leather jacket of her typical entrance attire. Primarily black, her trunks hug jealously to her hips and leave her thighs bared, all the way down to kneepads and boots. Gold accents intersperse, from the soles, strings, and toebox, to the studded belt pointlessly looping the trunks. The same scheme carries to her bralet top, similarly studded with gold. The article is fashionably, sportingly abbreviated to leave the full span of her lean, toned midsection on display, and a generous share of cleavage. Elbowpads and fingerless gloves finish the arms, and a narrow choker loops her neck, centered with a gold heart-shape.
Katsumi Oshiro
And with that, she begins down the ramp.
"Making her way to the ring!," begins the announcer with breathless enthusiasm. "At a height of 5'7"! Weighing in at one hundred and twenty-four pounds!"
"From Osaka, Japan!"
"The Punk Princess!"
"KATSUMIIII! OOOSHIIIROOOO!"
Katsumi's confident stride to the ring is marked with a feminine sway of the hips, her arms poised to shoulder-height at either side. Her palms are pointed out at both sides of the aisle, as if both acknowledging and dismissing the fans simultaneously.
Upon reaching the edge of the ring, she grabs onto the middle rope. With a firm pull, she swings her body up cleanly onto the apron and whirls around to face the crowd she'd just passed. With a wickedly impish smile curving the corners of her lips, her right fist is presented forth to them while her left hand slowly rotates in a cranking motion - gradually producing a middle finger.
"Muah," she air-kisses.
The audience reacts with a mix of praise and scorn. The audience has always received her with that torrid combination, a truly polarizing figure in the world of wrestling. Katsumi revels in it, arching her back against the ropes with languid pleasure before whipping her lower half up and over in a graceful somersault to enter the ring.
From there, she races to the far end of the ring to rush up the middle rope. Standing high above the neglected side of the arena, Katsumi leans out over them and throws her arms wide, presenting herself to their cacophonous frenzy. She loves this. She lives for this. And the pleased, confident smile on her face betrays as much.
At last, the Punk Princess drops from her perch to move into her corner. Vibrant green eyes affix to the entrance, awaiting the night's rival. A knot tightens in her stomach, but she plays it off, reclining against the turnbuckle pad and draping her arms over the top ropes.
