Madeline Christiansen vs. Armando 'Army' Rodriguez - Our Dance

[BlackAkuma]

Some might’ve been annoyed with Madeline’s evasive style, how she seemed focused on evading and making so many shots miss, but Army wasn’t letting it get to him. She wasn’t trading shots, but that was the smart thing - maybe the only thing - to do in a situation like this. They both knew that a solid shot from him could have dire consequences. While he didn’t doubt she was tough, maybe even tougher than she looked, that didn’t mean she was equipped to take heavyweight shots. With this game, things were in his favor. He was going to hit her. Eventually. Time was on his side.

That being said, Madeline was doing a good job of dancing on the razor’s edge, resisting his efforts to pin her down. In the streets, in an open field, she could probably evade him for much longer, but the ring had its limits, whether it had three ropes or four. The corner was not her friend.

Army worked her, positioned, moved to the right spot, and then let loose with one of his best punches. The results? Mixed.

It wasn’t the clean hit he wanted, but it was a hit. Blocked, but better than nothing, and he prepared to follow it up and drill that same spot. Madeline’s instincts were on point, however, and instead of moving away, she moved in, taking him by surprise as she came in and wrapped him up in a tight clinch.

She wasn’t all that heavy, so the weight alone wasn’t enough to throw him off balance, but her foot placement nearly did, as she slipped into his steps and forced him back. He heard her say something, but he failed to capture it over the crowd’s rumbling, losing it to time.

He brought his feet down, widened his stance, and anchored himself, narrowly avoiding the trip, but he still needed to deal with the beautiful woman clamped onto him like a limpet. Strikes were out, but that didn’t mean he was out of options. Especially in wrestling.

Army brought his arm over her shoulder and his other came under her arm, mirroring the clinch and keeping her pressed even tighter. He dipped down, then rose quick, lifted her off the canvas, spun about, and attempted to slam her into the canvas and come down on top - a modified version of a belly-to-belly suplex.

[Lightman]

Evasion was never about running. It was about choice. Madeline continued to make those choices deliberately, allowing punches to skim past gloves and shoulders, conceding space only when it served her. There was no shame in refusing to trade with a heavier striker. Anyone who believed otherwise was fighting ego rather than the opponent. Her expression remained composed, eyes sharp, breath measured, as she worked along the narrowing boundaries of the ring.

The block landed solidly enough to matter, forearm taking the brunt of the blow with a dull thud that reverberated through her frame. Instead of withdrawing, she surged forward, collapsing the distance before he could reload. Her arms wrapped in tight, chest to chest, head tucked safely beneath his chin. The shift from striking range to clinch was immediate and jarring, the kind that stole momentum from fists and replaced it with leverage. “There we are.” She murmured, voice low and pleased, even as the crowd noise swallowed the words.

Footwork did the rest. Her steps threaded inside his, heel hooking just enough to threaten balance without committing to the trip. The pressure forced him back a half step, then another, her weight not overwhelming but precisely placed. For a moment, control hung in the balance, and she leaned into it, content to test his reactions in close quarters where timing mattered more than power.

Then the lift came. Arms cinched tighter, hips dipped, and suddenly the canvas fell away beneath her boots. Madeline reacted instantly. Rather than stiffening or flailing, she tightened her core and shifted her hips mid-air, turning her body slightly off-axis. Her arm threaded deeper around his shoulder, overhook biting down hard to limit rotation, while her free hand pressed against his hip to guide the descent.

They came down, but not cleanly. She hit on her side rather than flat, shoulder and back absorbing impact in a controlled roll. The breath was driven from her lungs in a sharp exhale, but she flowed with it, letting the momentum carry her through rather than resisting it. As he followed her down, Madeline was already moving, knees drawing in, one shin sliding across his waist to create space.

“Good effort.” She said through steady breath, as she framed against his shoulder and hip. The English Rose’s legs worked quickly, re-establishing structure between them, denying him the easy top position he wanted. One foot planted, the other hooked, she angled her hips away, threatening to either recover guard fully or scramble back to her feet if he hesitated.

[BlackAkuma]

It was brief, but Army could admit that he rather enjoyed that moment where the two of them were pressed together in a clinch. A soft, inviting body, but solidly built, too - there was real muscle under there, serious power. Strong, fit, but wrapped in a pleasing package. He was starting to look forward to the hentai round more and more.

For now, though, his main concern had to be getting to that round in the first place, which he was having mixed results with. He was starting to grow highly aware of the fact that their fighting style had more differences than what he’d assumed at first blush. It was just the way they attacked, but the methodology - Army was much more about offense, but Madeline seemed set on being defensive. So far, almost everything she’d done was to fend him off or make it harder for him to capitalize. Evasion, protection, but not much in the way of pressure coming his way.

It was curious, a little stifling, and the trend continued even now, as he whipped her about and went for a slam. While she couldn't fight both him and gravity, she did a great job of mitigating the damage, bringing herself in a position to take the fall in the best way. They came down, but it way that not only didn’t hurt her much, but made it hard for him to follow up.

He could only let out a breathless laugh. ”Lady, you’re like fighting a turtle.”

But Army would crack that shell, and he felt his had a good idea on how. Instead of keeping her down, he backed away and gave her all the space should could want to rise, but the moment she did, he’d have a surprise waiting for her.

Army pushed up, closed the distance in a rush, and reeled back with his right arm, as if going for an uppercut. Instead of keeping his fist straight, however, he twisted it sideways like a hook, threw himself in, and launched the blow straight up from below, sending the punch rocketing towards her face, driving upwards with his legs, hips, and torso all behind it.

Not a hook, not an uppercut, but a Smash - the deadliest punch in his arsenal.

[Lightman]

There was an odd warmth to the exchange, even now, a playful current running beneath the violence. Madeline did not miss the way his attention lingered when bodies pressed together, nor did she begrudge it. Physicality had a language all its own, and she spoke it fluently. Still, the Englishwoman had no intention of indulging it prematurely. Matches were won by patience as much as desire, and she was content to let anticipation simmer.

His laughter drew a faint smile from her as she rolled through the end of the slam and created space. “A turtle lives a very long time, sir.” Madeline replied lightly, voice carrying just enough to reach him. “Usually by choosing when to stick its neck out.” She rose smoothly, not hurried, posture upright and composed, eyes fixed on him as he deliberately gave her room. The invitation was obvious. So was the trap.

Madeline did not rush to close the distance. She took a single step forward, then another, weight centred, shoulders loose. Her guard was relaxed but ready, hands open rather than clenched, prepared to frame or parry as needed. His body language shifted as he surged in, power coiling through him in a way that made the air feel tighter. This was different. This was commitment.

The punch came with everything behind it, a brutal rising arc meant to end the conversation decisively. Madeline slipped just off the line at the last possible moment, torso folding and turning as she let the strike tear past her cheek. The wind of it brushed her skin and stir her hair, close enough to be honest, close enough to matter. Her lead foot pivoted hard against the canvas, hips rotating with the motion, eyes already tracking his exposed line.

“There.”

No hesitation, now. As Madeline's weight transferred, her rear leg lifted in one smooth arc, knee rising first before the lower leg snapped out after it. The motion was tight and controlled, foot and shin cutting upward through the air toward his jaw, driven by the same turn of the hips that had carried her out of danger. Timed well enough to meet Armando as his balance shifted and his guard lagged behind his ambition.

[BlackAkuma]

”Hey, I never said that was a bad thing.” Army quipped back as they jostled for position. ”Sexiest turtle I’ve ever met, for the record.”

He joked, he played, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t serious about putting Madeline down, and he proved that in the next moment, when they parted way. He waited until the time was right, spaced things out, and when she was in the proper position after getting up, he came at her with that move.

The Smash was Army’s best move, his Sunday Punch. He’d perfected it through his boxing career, to the point where he could finish a match straightaway if he could find a way to land it clean. It made good use of all of his best assets - coming from a weird angle thanks to his Southpaw stance, able to launch at long range, and he could deliver it with serious power. While he was confident that he could rock Madeline’s world with any of his punches, this one would put her down for the 1, 2, 3. Maybe even knock her straight out.

But he had to land it. That was the trick. The massive windup made it difficult. He was banking on the surprise here, hoping that it would be enough to catch Madeline off guard before she could dodge, but…

Didn’t happen. She moved out of the way, narrowly avoided his heavy punch, so close he swore he could feel the heat on her face. Disappointing, but a good sign - he’d come close that time, he’d come closer next time. ”Almost got you that-”

The worst hit to take was one you didn’t see coming, and Army didn’t see that kick at all. A flash of movement in the corner of his eyes, followed by an explosion on the side of his face, one that sent him staggering away and nearly spun him all the way around. He bounced off the ropes and stumbled forward as he tried to shake it off, but he would need a couple of good seconds. She’d tagged him well with that one.

[Lightman]

The impact landed clean, a sharp crack against the side of his face that turned his head and sent him reeling into the ropes. Madeline followed the recoil with a small, satisfied smirk, eyes bright as she watched the effect ripple through Army. Catching strikers in moments like that was always a quiet pleasure. They spent so much time waiting for the clinch that they wouldn't expect she could strike back.

And when the realisation came, it tended to come hard.

“Got you that time.” Madeline chimed lightly as he staggered forward again, her tone playful despite the hunger behind it. “We don't count ‘almost’.” The English Rose did not linger at range to admire her work. The moment Armando's balance wavered, she moved, feet carrying her in with purpose, intent clear in the way her posture sharpened and her shoulders squared.

Her hands reached for him as she closed the gap, one finding high purchase near the shoulder while the other slid lower to guide his momentum. She did not try to force the man upright. Instead, Madeline stepped across his line, body turning in front of him as her hips rotated through, placing herself square and front facing, chest aligned as she began to spin.

The leg came next, rising between his stance with precise timing. Her thigh threaded deep and close, lifting as her torso continued to turn, attempting to reap him cleanly off the base he was struggling to recover. Her grip tightened, shoulders dropping as she tried to elevate him fully, committing to the arc of the technique and trusting the mechanics she had drilled into muscle memory.

A smooth, flowing motion, the kind that relied on technique and rhythm, rather than brute strength, drawing his weight forward and over as she sought to fold him into the Spinning Front Uchi Mata she had named Floral Flush.

[BlackAkuma]

Strange as it might’ve seemed, Army was actually glad that he took this kick to the face. Not a masochistic thing, mind you - he wasn’t one of those guys who came to LAW just so hot women could wail on him, though he didn’t exactly have a problem with that sort of thing when he was in the right mood.

No, it was more practical than that. The kick to the head was a good wake up call. His brain was in fight mode, yes, but his body could do with a good jumpstart, and the best way to do that was for him to take a good hit. And damn, did, Madeline give him a good hit.

The strike struck him clean on the jaw and sent him stumbling. It wasn’t the worst kick he’d ever taken, but it was still top notch, reminding him of the one’s his cousin, Felina, used to tag him with when they sparred. Hight praise.

In fact, knowing her, she was probably watching this match and having a laugh at him, right now. She’d tune out the second they entered the hentai round, though.

It was one more reason for him to bring the win home, at least in this round. Madeline wasn’t about to make that easy for him, though. She made good use of the window she’d made, rushing in and grappling with him, grabbing his arm, maneuvering her leg, pulling him, spinning about…

It was some judo/jiujitsu shit, let’s say that. Army didn’t know what it was called, but it was enough to spin him around and put him flat on his ass, and on his ass where he stayed for the moment, left to gather his bearings while she took control. He had enough presence of mind to make a note of how close the ropes were, though. He got the impression that would be very important in a few seconds…

[Lightman]

The throw dumped him flat with a crisp finality, her spin carrying all of his compromised balance into the canvas. Even without the flourish she added, the technique was notorious for how efficiently it uprooted people, and with her timing layered on top of it, there was little dignity left in the landing. Madeline stayed on top of him for a brief beat, as she looked down at him, satisfied with how cleanly it had come together.

“Turtles don’t usually end up on their backs.” She quipped, already lowering herself toward him. The grin that accompanied it was unmistakable, playful rather than cruel. She had earned the moment, and she allowed herself to enjoy it without lingering too long. “And yes, I speak from experience.”

Madeline began to advance with patience, weight low and controlled, one hand settling onto his arm as if merely to pin it in place. Her movements were calm, lacking any rush or scramble. Each inch forward was deliberate, her spine straightening as she sat up over him, coaxing his posture into a position that suited her far more than it did him.

The grip on Armando's arm tightened subtly, drawing it across her centreline as she shifted her hips. It looked almost benign at first, a positional adjustment rather than an attack, but her balance told a different story. She was already aligned, already prepared, waiting for the exact instant when his attention followed the wrong cue.

Then she moved. Her legs snapped up in a fluid flash, one swinging high as the other threaded through, calves closing around his neck with practiced, serpentine precision. Her hips lifted as she turned, angling her body to seal the space, the arm she had captured now dragged fully across as her thighs locked together.

She settled back into the mounted triangle, posture composed even as the hold came alive. “Stay with me, now.” Madeline said, voice calm and almost conversational, her famed emerald eyes never leaving his.

[BlackAkuma]

And, of course, the ropes were too far away for him to reach. Judo/jiujitsu shit in action.

He’d actually taken a couple of jiujutsu classes, back when he was still trying to get a handle on his wrestling style, and it had gone disastrously bad. It might’ve seemed like a cliche, a boxer having trouble with a ground wrestling style, but it held true. His whole life, he’d been taught to fight standing up, head on. Even as a wrestler, he was always at his best with suplexes and slams. But the moment he went to the mats, things got messy. He could never keep up with the positioning, the way holds needed to be threaded, the intricacies of every moment, the placement.

People like Madeline always made it look so effortless. He’d only been on the floor for a few seconds after she dropped him, but that was more than enough time for her to slither over him. He struggled, but that only seemed to help her out, as she moved about him and brought his arm under control with ease. Her limbs moved as if they were each their own, separate animal. One leg came over him that way, the other came this way, they met besides his head, and now came the pressure.

Army gritted his teeth as she poured on the pressure, cutting over his circulation, making him fight for every breath. He might not have been too familiar with this style of wrestling, but he knew this move enough from painful experience to recognize the danger, and if he didn’t do something soon, he’d…he would…

…wow, Madeline had the prettiest eyes. Green, but not just green. Glowing green, like they had a light behind them. It was the most vibrant shade he could recall seeing, and for a second, he couldn't help but stare. Her gaze drew him, totally mesmerizing, and…

Focus, focus. Army closed his eyes and brought his head back to reality. There was a way out of this, he knew that, but not from this angle. The first order of business was to change the orientation. Army threw his body one way, then the other, then the other, building up momentum with every twisted, until he threw himself hard in an attempt to tumble them over and put Madeline on her side. It wouldn’t get him free, but it would be an improvement with better options.

[Lightman]

Ah, yes, the mounted triangle.

Interestingly, something of a signature in LAW, made famous by someone far smaller than Madeline herself, proof long ago that leverage and precision mattered more than size ever could. A hold that punished impatience and ignorance in equal measure, and once it was set, it demanded respect. Madeline had learned it early, refined it over the years, and now it was cinched neatly around Army’s neck and shoulder, her legs locked with calm certainty.

She sat tall in the choke, back straight, hips engaged, every line of her body aligned to make the space inside it as small as possible. Armando’s struggles came quickly, strong and frantic, but they were familiar, almost expected. This was where strikers so often faltered, where instinct betrayed them. Power alone did nothing here. Technique ruled, and Madeline was very much at home.

Her gaze stayed on him as he fought for breath, and when she noticed his eyes lingering, unfocused, a soft smile curved across her lips. It happened more often than she liked to admit. “Oh, so now you want to look at my eyes.” She murmured, amusement threading her voice. “You may look. Or don’t. Makes no odds to me.” There was no malice in it, only the confidence of someone who knew exactly where the balance of the exchange lay.

When Armando finally committed to movement, throwing his weight and twisting hard to one side, she went with him rather than against him. The roll took them onto their flanks, canvas rushing up beside her shoulder, but the choke never loosened. Her hips shifted instinctively, angling downward as she squeezed her knees together, one calf drawing tight behind the other to keep his posture broken.

She adjusted her grip on his trapped arm, pulling it closer to her chest to prevent him from posturing up, toes flexing as she relocked the figure of her legs. The pressure stayed steady, unhurried, a constant presence rather than a sudden spike. This was control, not panic. Control did not need to rush.

“Mmmm…someone’s thinking.” She said lightly as they settled on their side, breath even despite the effort. “Still not quite right, but it’s a first step.” Her head rested briefly against the mat as she made another small correction, hips lifting just enough to reclaim the angle she wanted, ensuring his attempts brought him discomfort rather than freedom.