Did Arlise Christiaens need to prep for her usual two hours for a match where she would become covered in oil?
Whether or not she truly needed to do so, the Belgian beauty did. Though she avoided some of her usual makeup, knowing it would get smeared all over her face and leave her looking horrible, she nonetheless touched up her eyes and lips and spent... exactly as long as she usually would have fixing her hair and even her simplistic, scant attire, more suited for a match on the mats and in oil compared to her leotards. No one rushed her, anyway - her match involved no one but Arlise herself and her opponent. The only ones privy to its events and results would watch the recording later, and she wished to look good on that recording.
It seemed a suitable circumstance for a rematch with
Daisuke. The prince, as he loved to be called. She rolled her eyes, though with as much amusement as disgust, as she leaned on a bench in the dressing room and pulled at a lifted foot to stretch her leg. Their previous "match" if one could call it that, mere weeks into Arlise's time with LAW, had required nothing but the two of them and a ring in the gym. A few scattered visitors to the gym had witnessed their battle, of course, but for all intents and purposes, the two had struggled against each other in solitude. Arlise considered that match... relatively decisive, but she knew that Daisuke could have relied on all the usual excuses about the "unofficial" nature of the match as an excuse to seek her out and demand an official rematch. He had done precisely that, and she had not denied him the chance.
But the circumstances - those should stay the same. Oil stood as the only addition, and she understood why - not simply because he wanted his hands on her oiled skin. Oil did truly separate the true grapplers from the imitators.
Finishing her stretches and eager to put him in his place once more, Arlise strolled down the hallway to the designated room and eased her way in, finding him awaiting her. Seeing him going through his own routine had her rolling her eyes again, and she silently watched him for several seconds. She might have conceded that he had a body even women would envy if he did not already have such an inflated head.
Finally, she pushed inside and announced herself with the audible pitter-patter of her feet on the featureless floor until she reached the mats, and she eyed the oil at her feet with a hand on her hip before her gray eyes lifted to him.
"I should have you do all the work with the oil as my reward for winning our last encounter," she sassily told him.
