L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

Casino Bingo Match
Competitors must complete three steps of a "bingo" card that will have a running tracker on the casino screens - earning one fall by pinfall, one by submission, and one by knockout. Falls count anywhere. After each won fall, the loser of the fall cannot retaliate against the winner for a one-minute domination round. The winner is awarded $50000 as a bonus from the casino sponsorship for winning.

Spoiler

The heavy tread of Brooklyn’s boots chewed into the deep pile of the locker room carpet, leaving aggressive divots with every pivot. Gold-leaf sconces and velvet settees mocked her; this didn't look like a locker room but a boudoir, and it set her teeth on edge. "Velvet," she muttered to the empty room, her voice dry and annoyed. "Who puts velvet in a locker room? Ridiculous."

She came to LAW to fight, to impose order on chaos, yet here she stood, preparing to debut not in the adjacent MMA arena with its proper canvas and cage, but directly on the casino floor. The incessant ding-ding-ding of slot machines leaked through the walls, a cacophony of disorganized noise that threatened to drown out the focus she spent years cultivating. In fact, she ended up lightly kicking the bench as she passed it, but her tension broke with a sigh.

She stopped pacing, pinching the bridge of her nose. She needed to recalibrate.

She ran a mental diagnostic on the rules again. A "Bingo Match." One pinfall, one submission, one knockout. That part, her tactical mind respected; it served as a checklist, a mission parameter requiring the complete dismantling of a target. But the addendum - one minute of unrestricted "freedom" over the opponent after each fall - sat heavy in her gut. It veered dangerously close to the salacious antics Juno raved about. In fact, she had asked Juno to watch from the crowd so she wouldn't have to hear the younger woman rave about the merits of this match ahead of time.

"No, it's not indulgence," she whispered to herself, staring at the ceiling. "You break the spirit, you break the body. Practical." Was she lying to herself? ...Rather than unpack it, she shook her head, forcing the thought back into its box. Focus on the objective: The winner’s bonus. Wrestling had appealed to her for the chance to use her best skills - her fighting skills - to make honest, life-changing money. Tonight proved no exception to her rule.

Brooklyn halted before the full-length mirror to inspect her armor. The woman staring back looked carved from mahogany and granite, her skin oiled to highlight the deep valleys of her abdominals, like the makeup people had asked. A woodland camo bandeau squeezed her chest, offering minimal coverage but maximum mobility, while matching camo hot pants clung tight to her hips and thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination regarding the power stored in her legs. She adjusted the black gloves on her hands, flexing her fingers. She looked efficient. Lethal. But they told her she looked like a potential star, too. She supposed she would take the compliment.

"Showtime," a producer barked from the hallway.

She didn't turn, only slapping her own cheeks in the mirror. "Lock it in, Betts," she commanded her reflection. "No mercy."

"Walk" hit the speakers, the driving, sludge-heavy groove cutting through the casino’s ambient noise. Brooklyn marched through the curtain. Her expression remained locked in a permanent, stone-faced scowl, but her body language screamed ownership. She didn't tunnel-vision the ring; instead, she turned her head slowly, her black eyes sweeping over the high-rollers and tourists, intense. I am the shark, her posture said, and you are all just in the water.

She stalked past the roulette tables, ignoring the catcalls, and approached the ring. She grabbed the middle rope, giving it a violent shake to test the tension, the cables rattling in their turnbuckles. With a sudden burst of athleticism, she vaulted onto the apron and hopped over the top rope, landing in a wide, combat-ready stance. She slowly panned the room, soaking in the fear and the awe, before running over to the ropes and sinking deeply within them, firing a salute toward the hard cam before she bounced back to the middle of the ring and stomped one foot loudly enough to eclipse the cheers, letting them all - and more importantly, Tiffany - know that she came here to be loud.

Spoiler

Several assurances from backstage personnel assuaged any lingering doubts Tifa may have possessed as to whether this was actually the locker room offered to her when she was first escorted within. Concerns had abounded that any minute now a boxing heavyweight would start raising a rampaging ruckus over being assigned to a decrepit janitor's closet with one lone rat scurried within as company. Accommodations like those were what Tifa had come to expect after having spent countless bouts spilling blood and hyperextending limbs within underground arenas supervised by gangsters whose only concern was no fatalities and no refunds. Obviously she knew that signing up with LAW would mean a significant upgrade from those unfavorable conditions, but the sheer breadth of which wouldn't officially dawn on Tifa until she spied the monolithic television screen outside the casino when she was being chauffeured around the boardwalk by an appointed LAW limousine, advertising Brooklyn Betts vs. Tiffany Lockwood as the marquee main event match of the night and taking place square in the middle of the casino floor. Betts and Tifa's faces being placed parallel to the other with computerized explosions, obscene closeups of their physiques, and all sponsored by betting apps. Guess not everything was an outright improvement.

*Ohh, velvet~...How chic~...* Tifa admired the luxurious fabric of the upholstered furniture with a trailed hand as she continued to admire her lavish surroundings, but her attention was diverted to a television monitor hanging from the ceiling showcasing the same advertisement alongside the $50,000 payout granted to the winner of the bout. A stark reminder of the debt she owed to her family as she steeled her resolve with a somber but resolute determination within her amber iris'. The barmaid performing some limbering arm and back stretches now adorned in her stretched cotton top which exposed her slender midsection and leather miniskirt with suspenders strapped around her shoulders. A supple vitality to her core musculature that flexed and loosened with each stretch taken whether it was her luscious thighs or taut biceps. Tifa knowing that an elaborate match consisting of multiple falls like this was going to be more of a marathon than a sprint, which meant either side had plenty of opportunities to make a comeback and conserving her strength whenever possible was pivotal. The penalty portion of the match was most definitely going to be the wild card element, but she'd tackle and pummel that bridge when she came to it. The producer's cue call signaled that her entrance was coming, and she made her exit with a punch smacked into her open palm.

A jubilant and vivacious beat erupted from the speakers in tandem with a spotlight swirling lightshow that enlivened the spirits that were dampened by the monstrous threat levels exuded by her adversary for the night. Tifa shoved the curtain aside with one hand and brandishing a chilled pitcher of beer in the other, raised overhead with a beaming winked smile in a combined presentation that rallied the audience behind her practically instantly. Earning her moniker as "The Brawling Barmaid" as she joyfully traipsed ahead with attentive care taken to refill any red solo cups offered from fans with her frosty beverage. Tifa setting her pitcher aside once at ringside and high fiving several fans on her way towards the steel steps, climbing them and perching herself atop a corner turnbuckle. A nimble feat of athleticism showcased as she vaulted into a mid-air rotation and landing with one leg extended to the side in an impressive superheroine landing but now standing upright and seeing eye to eye with the menacing mountain of a women. "Certainly not what I expected from a debut match, but I guess I can't complain when it comes with a cash bonus like that. What do you say to the winner buys the first round of drinks after the match? Just so there's no hard feelings..." Tifa proposed with a cordial yet competitive smile and some springing hops on the tips of her toes.

Spoiler

In a lot of ways, Brooklyn felt like she had to continue calibrating her compass for this whole wrestling deal. A woman needed to make a living, and independence after a military career didn't prove cheap. She liked to fight, too, and she had the body, the fitness, and the mindset for it. The idea of losing didn't much appeal, but she didn't plan to do much of that. She felt like she had made the right choice, ultimately. But as she peered out at the crowd, while their attention to her waned in favor of waiting for her opponent, she realized she didn't know who she wanted to be in the ring.

She dropped the intimidation routine for a moment, rolling her shoulders and swinging her arms to loosen up the deltoids. Honorable and capable, obviously. But beyond that? She didn't know. The idea of being feared didn't completely sit right with her - it felt isolating, cold - but she couldn't deny its practicality. Fear made opponents hesitate. Hesitation led to mistakes. Mistakes led to victory. On the flip side, she didn't know if she felt ready to be worshipped or adored, either. Cheers felt foreign.

Didn't matter now, she reminded herself. Tifa was on her way.

Brooklyn straightened up, her spine snapping into alignment as Tiffany Lockwood made her entrance. Ah. Okay. She had a pitcher of beer in hand. Brawling... Barmaid? Brooklyn’s eyes flicked to one of the monitors, confirming the moniker. She had assumed it referred to a past career or just fit with some look or style she preferred. But bringing alcohol to the ring? ...Maybe she showed up to matches drunk. That would sure make this fight easier, if so.

Brooklyn squinted, tracking the liquid in the red solo cups, trying to see if Tifa actually downed any of it. Didn't look like it.

Good looking woman, too. Objectively speaking. Brooklyn didn't let the space between her legs make decisions for her brain, and she tended toward men anyway, but she had to admit the intel didn't lie: Tifa had a killer body. The leather skirt hugged dangerous curves, the hair cascaded in an alluring way, and as she got closer, those eyes looked like they could command attention. Brooklyn felt pride in her own physique - her skin gleaming under the lights, the woodland camo accentuating the hard lines of her abs and the powerful flare of her thighs - but she could recognize desirability.

And she was... friendly.

Brooklyn ran her tongue over her teeth and lips, a nervous tic she usually suppressed. She regarded the woman coolly, her face a mask of indifference, but Tifa’s bubbly greeting managed to crack the armor.

First round on the winner?

Of course. She brought up drinks.

A faint, genuine smile broke through the cold focus, softening the hard lines of Brooklyn’s face. She huffed a small laugh, shrugging her shoulders. "Uh, sure," she said, her voice carrying a dry amusement to go along with its husky rasp. "Not like we wouldn't be able to afford it. I'll make sure to keep your taste buds intact so you can enjoy it."

The referee, dressed not in stripes but like a casino croupier in a vest and bowtie, stepped between them. He began to dramatically declare the rules of the "Bingo Match" to the crowd, his voice booming. Brooklyn tuned him out; she knew the parameters. Instead, her eyes scanned Tifa’s body, not with lust, but with calculation. Knees are a target. Solar plexus is open. She was mapping out the demolition when a flash of movement caught her eye in the front row.

Juno.

Her tag partner practically climbed over the barricade, waving wildly. A mix of annoyance and warmth bubbled in Brooklyn’s chest. She gave a small, almost imperceptible wave back - just a twitch of the fingers - before snapping her focus back to the ring.

She squared up, placing her hands on her hips as the announcer introduced them like prize fighters. When her name boomed over the speakers, Brooklyn didn't dance or wave. She simply locked eyes with the hard cam and flexed, the muscles in her arms and shoulders popping with explosive definition.

Considering that her parents were the owners and proprietors of her rural village's one and only watering hole, Tifa's unorthodox upbringing coincided with an adept understanding of human nature and several lessons learned through some admittedly unscrupulous sources. Card sharks helping her as a child with math homework by using the numbers on their playing cards as visual aids, learning about the birds and bees through some of the obscener tattoos brandished on the flexing biceps of the local roughnecks. A life raised amongst underhanded ruffians and bartering smoothtalkers gifted Tifa a healthy dose of skepticism whenever situations appeared to be too good to be true, such as tonight. Spacious limousine complete with freshly stocked mini bar. Carpeted locker room with velvet furniture and attentive personnel outside her door. Tifa's neck began aching from watching for the other shoe to drop, and that particular shoe appeared to be one of the military boots adorned by the chestnut powerhouse currently locking eyes with the bar maiden. Stoic and uncompromising whose physique exemplified the discipline Betts must strive towards in order to achieve a sculpted figure practically radiating strength. Guess the upgrade in terms of caliber of her foes was the tradeoff for the velvet upholstery...

"Hey, I appreciate the consideration~...There ya go, no reason why we can't keep be civil in between exchanging haymakers and hyper-extending some arms." Tifa knowingly replied in a facetious manner to Bettie promising not to smash her taste buds in the ensuing tussle, ceasing the nimble jaunts on her toes once sufficiently limbered up. She was honestly thankful for the congenial repartee since it ascertained that her daunting adversary at the very least possessed a sense of humor, camaraderie, and seemingly had no inclination towards crossing some lines that those within her old fighting haunts had no issue with stepping over. A small victory that gave Tifa hope that she could find a way to fragment Bett's rockhard figure if she could pierce that unflappable demeanor of hers. "Certainly have quite the pokerface, ya know? I can't fault anyone for putting all their chips on you...but I think you're looking at the odds-on favorite, right here~..." An air of confident determination accompanied a competitive smirk and the casino croupier/referee stepping between the competitors for the perfunctory explanation of the match rules. Tifa's hazel iris' catching Betts scanning her for potential weakpoints like a terminator in revealing camo-fatigues but deviating from that programming to glance towards someone at ringside.

Tifa catching the gesture but scarcely given the time to satiate her curiosity as the announcer began bellowing introductions of the competitors within the squared circle. Betties flexed gunshow eliciting a centralized round of applause and cheers from those enamored with any women whose oiled musculature glistened underneath the shimmering spotlight and whose abdominals possessed cheese grating clarity. Someone at ringside in particular voicing their vocal fandom above all others, though. Tifa's own introduction accompanied a provocative arching of her spine, that same hard camera concentrating its lens on the swelled abundance showcased before the barmaid straightened out her back with a flirtatious wink beside her clenched fist. A unified adulation cementing Tifa as the precocious and jubilant fan favorite underdog of a match now beginning to commence once all pleasantries were established. Several people abandoning their slot machines in favor of witnessing the wrestling spectacle now unfolding, save for the elderly curmudgeons continuing to insert coins even with the ring bell chiming in the distance. Tifa circling the ring in tandem with her militaristic adversary, taking a soothing breathe with eagle eyed concentration as she began stepping forward with arms raised and outreached for an attempted collar and elbow tie-up into a side headlock...