L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

For BlackAkuma

The arena buzzed with anticipation as Iya Zakharov leaned lazily over the top rope, her elbows resting on the cables like she was settling in for a casual chat. Only her glare, sharp and icy, gave away that she had absolutely no intention of playing nice. The crowd was noisy, equal parts curious and thirsty—she caught a particularly loud whistle and turned her cold gaze on the fan who delivered it.

Horny. Typical.

Her thick, powerful frame was wrapped in gothic leather that only emphasized the dangerous curves and muscle underneath. A leather halter top clung to her torso, her pale skin glowing under the bright lights, while black stockings traced her strong legs, held in place by the bottom seam of her tight shorts. The outfit was finished with leather boots that could likely dent a skull and makeup sharp enough to file nails. She looked like someone who’d either haunt your dreams or just end them outright, depending on her mood.

And tonight? That mood was “give me what I want.”

Iya

She shouldn’t have had to fight to get this airtime, but LAW seemed to be run by the kind of people who mistook red tape for actual ideas. She’d spent the last week badgering anyone in charge, intimidating the ones she could and quietly tolerating the ones too distracted by their crushes on her to be useful. When sweet-talking the last holdout didn’t work, she might’ve mentioned something about “hexing” him if he didn’t find her a spot. That had been enough to get her five minutes on air.

Five minutes she had every intention of turning into something more.

Finally, she raised the mic, her Russian drawl slicing through the noise like a cold wind.

“My name is Iya Zakharov.” She gave a little shrug, twirling the mic as if even saying that much was an inconvenience. “You probably saw me on the website. Or not. You can do whatever you want, even miss the chance to look at my photos."

A few whistles came from the crowd. Iya again glanced at them as if she could intimidate them away. When they did die down, she figured she had done precisely that.

She pushed off the ropes and began pacing the ring, her boots thudding softly against the mat. “But those photos are a problem. I came here to wrestle. Not to smile for cameras. Wrestle. Not to parade around like some fashion doll for weeks after weeks after weeks." She looked as if the idea offended her. “But to get in front of all of you, I had to talk to people who only wanted me posing. Half of them were scared of me. The other half were too busy drooling to listen. And if seeing me wrestle is what you want…” She tilted her head, motioning toward them with the mic like it was a weapon, “then scream. Tell the idiots what you want, loud as you can.”

The crowd roared, eager and wild. Finally, there was a glint in her eye that turned into a self-satisfied smile as she glanced toward the curtain. “Hear that? Come pull me out of this ring and piss off this crowd." As if daring them to do precisely that, she hung over the ropes on the same side as the ramp and stage, licking her chops. No one came out. Not one peep from anyone or anything.

Enthusiasm began to drip into her movements as she swung back away from the ropes. "Good. I do not care who is back there. I do not care what kind of match it is. You want to hit me with chairs? Fine. You want to throw me through a table? It will not matter. I just want to fight you…” She jabbed a thumb at the mat, her expression darkening. “...and warn you. All you will find in a ring with me is pain.”

She dropped the mic, her smirk razor-sharp. With her arms spread wide, she leaned back into the ropes, her icy gaze daring anyone to step through the curtain and prove her wrong or tell her to leave.

”Sign here.”

”Okay.”

”And here.”

”Ooooooookay.”

”And…you are actually reading this, right?”

”I am totally reading this.”

Army was totally not reading the document that was in front of him. In his defense, it was kind of dark in the gorilla position, not the best lighting for reading fine print. But, in his experience both as a wrestler and a boxer, it was usually just a good idea to sign whatever your agent put in front of you. You paid him to care about this stuff so you didn’t have to, after all.

Or her, in this case. Aika Sumeragi, to be specific. His new agent. Not that the previous one he had was bad or anything, but that was when he was boxing - when you were doing wrestling shit, you wanted someone with wrestling experience, and she came heavily recommended. True to her rep, she’d gotten him signed up with LAW fast, even faster than he’d expected - he had just come by the show tonight to get the lay of the land, shake a few hands, see faces old and new. But she’d had the papers on hand, so…

Bam. Done.

”Uh-huh.” She looked him over, skeptical of his broad smile and trusting eyes, but stuffed the papers back into her folder, anyway. ”Well, that settles it, you are officially a LAW wrestler. Welcome to the madhouse.” She swung her arm around, as if the dingy hallways of the backstage were some grand reveal. ”I’d show you around, but I guess you want to get your own lay of the land?”

”You guessed right.” He caught himself leaning to the side as a pair of buxom beauties passed - a tall, thick-looking goth and a redhead wearing nothing but suspenders. No shame, no shame. ”I’ll find my way around, don’t worry. Got a good sense of direction, and-”

“My name is Iya Zakharov.”

Army’s attention was drawn to the side, as a sharp voice came out of one of the nearest screens. He’d only been paying half-attention to it, enough to know that someone was making their way down to the ring, but he’d figured that would be for a match. Instead, it looked like Iya had something to say.

A lot of somethings. He stood along with Aika and watched as the woman - another thick-looking goth, though not quite as much as the one who’d just passed him by - got something off her very impressive chest. From the sound of it, she was spoiling for a fight and was in desperate need of a dance partner. Army had never heard of her before, had no idea how well she could handle herself, but if she could back up even half of the shit she was talking…

”Eh, that’s typical.” Aika shrugged and gesticulated at the screen. ”We get that a lot, here. Newcomers always want to make a name for themselves and start out-”

Army was already gone. Stealthy, for a big guy.

”-hot.” She clicked her tongue. ”Well. Shit.”

***

Iya wouldn’t have to wait long at all, as Army came sauntering out of the curtains a moment later, coming out to what might have been the

. To be fair, he’d put the sound crew on the spot, since they didn’t have the copyrights for his chosen theme music selected just yet, but it was better than coming out to silence. And speaking of silence…

Yeah. Not too much from the crowd. He got a few scattered cheers, here and there, but by and large the people were just confused to see this large Puerto Rican man coming down the ramp. Undeterred, he brought the mic up to his mouth and spoke. ”Not a lot of indy fans in the audience, huh? Fine.” He turned his attention down to Iya as he approached the ring. ”Name’s Armando, call me Army. I can tell you got, like, a ton of energy, so I’ll keep this simple and quick.”

He made his way up the stairs and slipped through the ropes to stand over her, getting a good look of her, head to toe. Solid build, probably in the middleweight class, thoroughly stacked. He probably outweighed her by a good fifty or so pounds, but he’d been dropped by smaller, so he knew not to look too much into that. Hell, the tiny ones were always the biggest pains.

”I’m new on the roster, was backstage, saw you out here looking for a fight. Good fucking energy, I’m all about that life, so let’s do it, you and me.” He pointed between them and

, letting it fall down on the back of his hips and bringing his chest out into the air. That got something of a reaction, at least from some of the ladyfolk.

”You said you’re down for anything, but I suck at picking stuff on the spot, you choose. What’re you in the mood for, standard, hardcore, submission, maybe some…” He did a quick five-knuckle shuffle with his right hand and let her fill in that blank. Felt weird just to come out and ask for hentai, but she didn't strike him as a prude, either.

Iya reclined on the top rope, letting the seconds drag, while he crowd murmured in anticipation, unsure if they were witnessing the buildup to a match or just another stunt. Iya's patience had never been her strong suit, but even she wasn't disappointed when the music hit. It was... shit, but it meant someone had taken the bait. Her lips curled into a slow, predatory grin.

The crowd’s reaction to him was was lukewarm at best, but she didn’t give a damn. Her focus zeroed in on the man making his way down the ramp. He was big and carried himself like he knew how to throw his weight around. That was all she needed. If he could give her a fight worth remembering for a day or two, he’d do.

He stepped into the ring, his gaze dragging over her reclined form in a way that made her roll her eyes. The same two words crossed her mind. Horny. Typical. Iya straightened up, rolling her shoulders as the tight black leather of her gothic attire rippled over her thick, powerful frame. She shot him a glare, twisting her lips in disdain, silently sending the message that he wouldn't be going anywhere pushing that front.

To his credit, he didn’t falter. Armando, or Army, or whatever he had called himself, started speaking, though it was clear he was more accustomed to flexing his muscles than stringing together compelling sentences. Then he stripped off his shirt. That was better than the talking, and he was good at flexing his muscles. Her eyes flicked over his chest, her interest showing for the briefest moment before it vanished beneath her impassive expression.

He kept talking, but his words were as muddy as his intentions. And she didn't understand what the fuck he meant by that gesture. No, she knew the gesture. She just couldn't tell if he wanted the two of them to stand in the middle of the ring and masturbate on each other, which didn't sound like anyone's idea of a good time. Her features scrunched at the implication.

Without waiting for him to blabber more or recommend anything else equally stupid, she strode forward, her boots hitting the mat with purpose. She grabbed his wrist, yanking the mic toward her mouth with an ease that belied her strength. “'I Quit' match,” she simply declared, her voice demanding and sharp, before she released his wrist and straightened to stare smugly into his face.

The crowd stirred, their energy finally catching up with hers as the declaration sunk in.

Yeah, Army hadn't missed that flicker.

He didn’t pull off his jacket just to impress the ladies - it was how he always fought. Always had been. But, he wasn’t an idiot, he knew how he looked, and he knew the sort of reaction he could get. Iya clearly wasn’t super-interested in anything sexual with this, but that wouldn’t stop him from getting a tease in. That was just his way.

It was also his way to handle anything that got thrown at him in the ring, hence his quickness with letting her make the selection. He had his preferences, sure - if it had been left up to him, he’d go for the Last Man Standing match, loving how it was kind of a boxing hybrid. But he’d just met Iya, was getting a feel for her, so he was curious to see what she’d settled on. Maybe something wild, like a hardcore match. They could do a street fight, or…

I Quit. Yeah, that was an option.

Army’s eyebrow quirked up at that one. Not what he would’ve guessed. He’d never been in one himself - typically, you only saw those in blood feuds, and while he’d made some enemies in his time with the squared circle, it had never reached the point where things got that serious. Tapping out was one thing, but being made to say those two words was a serious black spot on your record.

Iya was whipping that out for her first match in the company. Army confusion gave way to wild smirk - yeah. Yeah, he liked her. And no, he didn’t fail to notice how strong her grip was when she pulled that microphone away, either.

”Okay…” He rubbed his chin, nodded. ”Okay, shit, let’s do it!” He raised his fist high as the crowd cheered along. They might not have known eithe rof them, but they knew a good fight in the making when they saw one. ”Let’s get a ref out!”

Army threw the microphone away and stepped forward, bringing her body close to hers and dropping his head enough to butt foreheads. He smirked through it, not too serious, but the aggression was real. He might joke, but he would bring it when the bell rang, and he wanted to make sure that was crystal clear.

”I respect that attitude, but still…I’m about to put you down. Hard.” His eyes narrowed as he added some pressure. ”Nothing personal, okay?”{/color]