L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

Dalia Nadeen Mahmoud

"Tell me, why should I go out there? Not only is this not the match that was agreed to, but I know nothing about this Tomas Ferreira."

A last second replacement for her original opponent, Maria Esteves. An eager young lady who was quite excited to explore the kinkier side of life, playing the submissive role throughout. Dalia had taken a liking to her during their meeting. It would have been smooth, pleasant work for the both of them. A fine show, she was sure. A good payday, and a potential new client.

It seems that she'd caught a stomach bug that had been going around. Right on the day of the match. The Mistress of the Oil didn't want to think ill of someone so young, a girl who had so much to learn about how deep the rabbit hole goes. But this did irk her. She was a woman of structure, and the structure had come undone. She did not like this, and the suit in front of her was going to hear about it.

"My contract specifically states that I am to be allowed a meeting with any prospective opponent for any match featuring the Prisoner of War stipulation." To allow her the opportunity to determine whether or not she would want said opponent to be her prisoner in the first place, or if she would be comfortable in the event that she ends up being theirs. "This meeting with your chosen replacement has not happened, Mr. Henderson."

The man raised his hands in a placative gesture. "I assure you, Ms. Mahmoud, this replacement has been just as sudden to us as it is to you."

"Is that right?" Dalia didn't believe a single word he said for even a second. "I am not walking into this company blindly. I have seen what's happened to several talents in the event of this last second replacement business that you're trying to get over on me now. So if you think that you are going to talk me into getting into that ring to fight some bloodthirsty behemoth, especially in my own match, in my debut, you are sadly mistaken!"

"The man is five foot seven and one hundred and fifty-six pounds. New to LAW, new to Hentai elements in wrestling, and as far as we are aware..."

There it is. "As far as we are aware." If this was his attempt at convincing her to do anything but leave, he was failing miserably.

"He is new to oil and the Prisoner of War stipulation. For a woman of your stature, this is practically a day off."

"As far as you are aware."

Mr. Henderson breathed a deep sigh, and Dalia crossed her arms underneath her bust, waiting for the next bit of nonsense that was about to come out of his mouth.

"Look, Tomas understands what was asked of him. No strikes. Just grappling. We understand your concerns, and that is exactly why we have provided you with extra compensation for the inconvenience, some of it already wired to your account with what should be a satisfactory increase your post-match pay and an increased percentage of revenue going to you for what is recorded tonight as well as whatever content you may produce with him in the event that you are victorious and find him a suitable prisoner."

"Stay here." Dalia walked past Mr. Henderson and over to her locker, missing the exasperated shrug of his shoulders while she reached into her purse and produced her phone. After turning it on, she accessed her bank's app and checked her balance. They were indeed generous.

"Is the amount to your liking, Ms. Mahmoud?"

She didn't answer that. It was quite the pretty penny already, but she wasn't completely sold on whether or not it was worth it to go out and face that unknown element. This was a very sensitive manner. For her health, physical and mental. For her reputation.

"Listen, I sympathize with what you're going through right now." Good choice of words. If he'd dared to say, "I understand", Dalia would have cut him off right there. "LAW does have its share of scumbags orchestrating things. I won't deny that."

"Good."

"And I won't even try to convince you that there are indeed some of us here who do have your best interests at heart. All I ask is that you give us a chance." He held up a finger for emphasis. "One chance. If you look up at that stage and don't like what you see coming out after you, feel absolutely free to leave. Hell, go ahead and sue us for breach of contract while you're at it. Just give us this one chance to prove to you that, win or lose, we want you to walk in through the door feeling valued. That although this is not what you've agreed to, that we have carefully considered the best possible match for you on such terribly short notice. Just the one."

And after a moment's careful consideration of her own, Mr. Henderson...seemed resolute. Honest.

"Fine. One chance. But mark my words, Mr. Henderson, if this goes south, there will be Hell to pay."

She gave him a hard stare that was full of promise of misfortune.

"Wouldn't have it any other way." He went over to the door and held it open for her. What a gentleman.

Fine. Let's give this a go.

Through the hallways, and onto the circular platform that waited beneath the stage. Upon receiving word that she was ready, the sound technicians

She could see the lights in the arena dimming from her position. A controlled fire formed a ring in perfect timing with the opening lyrics.

"Love is burning thing. It makes a fiery ring."

Dalia started on a slow groove as the platform, with a steady speed, lifted her into view of the sold out audience. The fire was initially level with her knees, allowing the camera to fully capture her voluptuous body from all angles as she danced a slow 360. Hips swirling. Hands gliding over her body, as though to direct the camera towards the best possible shots. And then it began to climb...

"I fell into a burning Ring of Fire. I went down, down, down, and the flames got higher..."

Until they finally obscured her from view.

"And it burns, burns, burns. The Ring of Fire. The Ring of Fire..."

Then it dissipated, allowing her to pass, the way to the ring being lit by torches.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the following is an Black Widow's Web Match, to be contested in oil! Introducing first, standing a five feet and nine inches tall and weighing in at one hundred and sixty pounds, fighting out of Cairo, Egypt...! The Black Widow, The Mistress of the Oil, Daliaaa Nadeeeen Maaaahmoooud!"

From there, it was a straight walk to the ring. With some extra sway to her hips, of course. You have to give the fans something to appreciate on the way down. Her eyes showed not even the most minute trace of the reservations that she has about this match, something she would not allow.

With the tarp that had replaced the standard ring mat already slick with oil, Dalia took the safety of the untouched steel steps over a climb onto the apron, stepping over to its center before bending forward to trace a hand along one of her long legs, subtly directing the nearby cameraman to a shot of it in full, from the bare foot on upwards before lifting the other, extending it fully before slowly bending through the ropes.

Walking on oil requires precision and technique, but she hadn't gotten that second nickname -- her most famous, arguably -- for nothing. She'd mastered it a long time ago, making it second nature. As easy as breathing. In opposite corners of the ring were two buckets of oil, as per her direction. She leaned back in hers, arms resting on the ropes as she awaited her opponent.

Minutes before…

“What do you mean I’m on for an oil wrestling match!?”

Tomás yelled that passers-by could hear it from the hard, soundproofed doors of the locker room. He was bare from the upper body but wore black joggers and high tops. Not dressed for a match, as he was only there to use the gym facilities. Which makes this sudden call-up all the more perplexing.

“Look, I understand this is a massive surprise, Mr. Ferreira," Mr. Henderson would stand before him, groaning while massaging his eyes with his fingers. The man is exhausted since he was given the unfortunate task of finding a last-minute replacement for the match. “But your contract states that you are to be available for any match that management gives you, planned in advance or not. You signed up for this.”

“Que se lixe tudo isso, you do realize I’m not even a wrestler, let alone an oil wrestler! And you’re expecting me to go into a match that I can’t use strikes!?”

“It’s not the most convenient thing for me, either.” Mr. Henderson groaned. “If there was anyone else that I could have picked, I would have done so. But since you’re the only one here available, I have no other options.” The man would cross his hands, still standing while looking at the Portuguese Nak Muay sitting on the bench. “Plus, you should consider that I’m doing you a massive favor. I mean, do you really expect that you’d stick around in LAW where you can’t even grapple? The ‘W’ in LAW stands for wrestling.” The man would slowly enunciate that last word, pretentiously, which Tomas didn’t like. “So, like it or not, you’re gonna have to do some of that if you’re expected to stay here.”

“Well, maybe I could do with some lessons here!" Tomas was still irate, and the man’s attitude wasn’t helping matters. “Instead of just putting me into matches where I’m not well equipped! Where’s the professionalism with you fodas!?”

“That’s not part of your contract here. Nothing is stopping you from seeking help by yourself. You’re a grown man, aren’t you?” Mr. Henderson interjected. “Also, you not being able to wrestle hasn’t stopped you from being a draw here. Dunno if you haven’t noticed, but people pay to see people like you getting beat-.”

“What the hell do you mean “people like me”, cona de merda?” The Nak Muay stood up quickly, staring straight at Mr. Henderson.

“Criminals, Mr. Ferreira.” He spoke plainly. “Especially if they seem like they're getting their comeuppance. If you don’t like where you are, then you’re free to go back to where you came from.” Tomas’s eyes widened in shock. How this man knew about what went down in Portugal was most surprising. He hadn’t paid much thought to it since coming to Japan, but with this being brought up now, of all times… “Oh so now you’re blackmailing me?”

“No blackmail here. We're not keeping you hostage, if you don’t like it here, then you’re free to leave here. No one’s stopping you.” Tomas clicked his tongue, looking away. Of course, he doesn’t have many options for him to go. He’s been exiled from his home country, and his only option is to pay him to stay here.

“Look Mr. Ferreira, can I call you Tom? I'mma just call you Tom.” Tomas was about to say something, but Mr. Henderson carried on. “I couldn't care less wherever you stay or leave here. There’s always some guy that’s willing to take your spot. You’re in a very privileged position, you know. So many would kill to be here. Something you should know about. Anyway, I got a hot client that I must keep happy and while she’s definitely not gonna like a last-minute surprise, just like you would, you are definitely the type that can still give a show. Just stand there and look pretty while she does her thing. Who knows? Perhaps she’ll take a liking to you.”

Mr. Henderson pulled a note of paper before writing on it. “Of course, as per your contract, we’re prepared to make sure you’re well compensated for the last-minute match. Consider it a courtesy. And I think this should sweeten the deal…” The man showed the number to Tomas, and his eyes could not believe the kind of money he’s offering. More than a pretty penny. And way more than what they normally pay him as well.

“We will pay half in advance, but so long as you keep our client satisfied, you’ll see all of this in your bank account immediately after the match. Just give us that latino charm and you’re good.”

“I’m European.”

“Tomatoes, potatoes.” Mr. Henderson waved his hand. “Remember, no striking. I know it’s hard-wired in your brain and all, but just resist that urge. Not that you have a choice in the matter.”

“Que?”

“Whatever, we have a deal or not?” Tomas would groan, rolling his eyes before nodding. “Fine, fine. I’ll go satisfy this client of yours.”

“Excellent. Now I just need to speak to my lovely client and we’re ready to go.” Mr. Henderson would put the piece of paper in Tomas’s hand, giving a corporate handshake. “But shouldn’t I go pick up my shorts-?”

“Yeah, you won’t be needing that. It’s an oil wrestling match. Those shorts are gonna be useless.”

“Then what am I supposed to wear then?”

Minutes after…

The music of Dalia would die down before some underground rap production began playing on the speakers. His theme played for the crowd to hear a tune from his own country as the lights dimmed down and a spotlight shined from the ramp. Tomás would step out from the curtain with little much fanfare or pomp. Hard to get into the mood of playing a pro wrestler when it’s a last-minute match. Instead, Tomás had a focused look on his face, not trying to give away his emotions early this time as he walked down the ramp. Wearing just his tight black boxers, with the same cap on his head, and a towel draped around his shoulders. “And her opponent, weighing in at one hundred and fifty-six pounds…Tomás Ferreira!” Tomás didn’t think too much about the short introduction, but rather his opponent that’s standing in the ring with oil. The fact that she could do so without even so much a wobble was incredible. At that point, Tomás knew what he was getting into.

“Tudo bem, só tenho de passar por isto...” The Portuguese man sighed with complete resignation as he stood in front of the ring. Tomás would step inside the ring, as he normally would, but the moment his bare foot touched the oil-slicked floor, he already wobbled. He stopped for a moment, shaking his head before making the effort to pass his whole body through the ring, gripping on the ropes for dear life. His left foot was struggling for purchase and it didn’t help matters once he decided to swing his right leg inside. He fell onto the balls of his feet, his heart feeling the sheer embarrassment before pulling himself up with the rope’s assistance. He remained in that corner, seeing the woman standing with grace and poise, as if she was just standing in a normal ring.

“Saudações, senhora.” Tomás would say, a cheeky salute with two fingers, trying to make light of a crappy situation. Hopefully this one is pleasent to be with…

What a strangely curt introduction. Did this man get on someone's bad side, or is he just plain bad?

Either way, one thing that Tomas had going for him was his look. Not his physique, although he was finely built as well. It was his eyes: He wasn't in this just to get laid. Such men were a dime a dozen back in the Erotic Combat Club, and she'd handle them more times than she could count. Always easy work, whether or not they fell even further into her spell when they were in her clutches or they tried to escape them. And Dalia was never one to pass up easy work simply because it was easy. Money is money, after all.

But it was nice to have to work for it every once in a while. Put her skills to the test. Maybe Mr. Ferreira could be...Oh. Oh, nevermind. This was not going to be a challenge. Even if he did care nothing for the rules and made an attempt at swinging at her, he more likely than not was going to find himself unable to connect. Not when the simple act of entering the ring slipped him up. Good.

He took it in stride. Seemed pleasant enough, although she couldn't be certain with his speech. Something that sounded like Spanish, but wasn't; she'd heard enough of it to be able to tell the difference.

"Hello." Dalia still had her reservations about this, and it would show in her slight smile. Just enough to be called a smile. He'd started off polite, and she wanted to return the gesture. Not a problem normally, but in this environment..."I'm guessing they sprung this on you just a few minutes ago too?"

She figured a little conversation couldn't hurt. It wouldn't be much, but it could be a good peek at his character, nonetheless.

…He should really stop trying to speak Portugués.

Considering he’s yet to see someone who’s a compatriot, there wasn’t much of a reason to speak the language other than to keep it fresh. Sure, he’s exiled, but that didn’t stop him from using the mother tongue. But he found himself using it in situations where it doesn’t call for it. Then again, it’s one of his ways to let out his reservations without the other person knowing. With the kind of ladies in LAW who are ready to weaponise any weakness, it was paramount to protect himself.

Both in the ring seem to have their reservations, but they understood trying to make light of a crappy situation. Besides, the crowd doesn’t fully know it yet, only some knowing there’s a last-minute change if they cared about seeing new debutants and a Nak Muay that clearly can’t wrestle, let alone oil wrestle. However, if it means getting paid, then Tomás will have to push on through. At the moment, it’s the only reason why he’s out in the first place.

“Si-” Tomás immediately cleared his throat, interrupting himself before correcting that particular error. “-Sorry. I mean, yeah. If only he looked harder and found someone else....” The Nak Muay shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Oh well. Too late to think about what ifs, senhora.” He shrugged, shrugging her shoulders. The ashen-haired man assumed Dalia would want to get straight to business. Though with everything that has happened, from the crappy introduction to Mr. Henderson, it’s hard to be in the mood for anything sexy, let alone wrestle. Hence the lack of "that look" that Dalia must have noticed.

Unless asked, he kept his mouth shut about his wrestling ability. The last thing he needs is for Dalia to leave the ring, and Mr. Henderson is on his ass. “I know this is going to be very un-gentleman of me, but I hope you don’t mind leading this dance. For…*sigh*…obvious reasons…” Still embarrassed that he slipped, the Portuguese Pugilist hoped that the Egyptian got the hint that he was going to have trouble keeping balance let alone walking.

Dalia took a deep breath.

Okay. Tomas was just as off balance about this as she was. Even more so, actually. Comforting to know. And now that that word had been brought up, she had another problem, but one that might have a simple solution. The problem? He clearly wasn't into this. Perfectly understandable; he'd been pushed into something that was way out of his element at the last minute. And with both of them having been approached by management, just walking away would be...troublesome. Of course, if that was what he wanted to do, then she'd be right there with him. But he's still standing there now, ready to do this thing, as unenthused as he may be.

The solution? Tomas was still a man, and she's a beautiful woman wearing skimpy clothing. He'd just requested that she take the lead, and she knew just how to do it.

"Not at all." Dalia would say in response. Her steps towards him would be taken at a leisurely pace, showing off just how accustomed she was to the oil. Each one would be as smooth as if she were walking on a sidewalk, a simple yet strong demonstration of the wide gap there was between them. "Let's chat while I do this, Tomas. I like to know who I'm working with in these scenarios." Said the Mistress of the Oil as she closed in, just before circling around to his rear to grab the bucket. "I was told that you were new to this. To LAW, possibly wrestling in general? To contests in oil..." She raised it over their heads and turned it upside down, letting its contents spill all over them. She'd start with his shoulders, massaging the oil into them, and down through his arms as she continued. "To erotic wrestling."

As if to punctuate that last part, she'd circle back around to face him. Her chest, which had been covered plentifully through gravity alone, would be pressed -- mushroomed -- into his. She held him close, oiled hands roaming up and down his back. Their faces were mere inches apart, her own pair of hazel eyes staring into his, watching his reactions. Her smile had grown just enough to be called warm. Being so close to the man had her body starting to react as nature intended. She was growing warmer, becoming aware of her heartbeat. But being the seasoned professional that she is, Tomas would not see a single hint of these beginnings of her arousal.

"Exactly how new are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

At first, the whole management debacle was the only reason Tomás didn’t decide to walk away from all of this. Mind you, the prospect of a striker-centric fighter being put into all sorts of scenarios would be too good of an idea for management to turn it down and he could have been put into so many matches that he’d come close to the generous figure Mr. Henderson offered. Being paid that much for just one match, a match he demonstrated less enthusiasm about, was why he brought himself in front of the crowd. All the while, he’s trying not to slip and land on his face.

If he held any negative feelings towards Dalia, the sight of the Egyptian strolling towards him like how normal people do would have ticked him off. It’s like the difference between an experienced ice skater and someone just stepping into the rink for the first time. The divide between the two was already enormous as it is, and the result seemed like a foregone conclusion to most of the audience in this arena. Unless Tomás showed some sort of grappling game that he hid until now, that is. Which he did not. However, Tomás felt that Dalia understood the situation a bit more. It’s not the most desirable situation for both of them, but they’re keen enough to make this work.

Tomás looked on in astonishment at how Dalia made walking on the oil so easy. “Como é que...?” He muttered silently under his breath. It was impressive. So much so that he found himself staring. Not the kind of stare that Dalia might know of, though. The Portuguese Pugilist remained rooted to the corner, just barely, however, taking in the sight of the Black Widow as she came very close to Tomás. He wondered what kind of scent she had on. Dalia wanted to discuss more with Tomás so she agreed to take the lead, and Tomás was more than happy to oblige.

And, of course, the first question was about his experience. It was unavoidable, Tomás thought. Dalia wanted to know, and he’d be truthful with the Mistress of the Oil. There was no point putting up a front now. His mouth began to open, before the oil cascaded over the two, gunking both of them with the warm substance. Keeping his eyes shit, his dreads dripping down as the rest spilled on the ground, coating most of his body already.

His hand went to wipe some away from his face so that it didn’t come into contact with his eyes. That and to see the Egyptian beauty as she massaged the oil on his body, starting from the top. Shoulders were the first. Then, once she got closer, their chests transferred more of the oil between them. She could probably feel the muscles, the scars that remained from his past.

“Not new to LAW, no,” He would speak, all the while Dalia worked on his body. As she was doing her thing, his body welcomed it, although there would be some tense parts because of Tomás trying his hardest to remain upright. “I’ve already had my debut, so this isn’t my first foray here. For the rest, however, it is all new to me. The only time I used oil on my body was to moisturize myself, not to fight in it.” He tried to get a chuckle out, trying to delude himself from the fact that he was completely underpowered against the Mistress of the Oil.

“Don’t get me wrong, I know how to fight. But the rules here…don’t favor the skills I do have.”

As she worked more of the oil into his body, Dalia's fingers would cross over scars that spoke of a hard past. Directly along one here, and a few inches below was another. Were these the creations of a single incident, or two? Either way, they didn't feel like they were made in a ring. Maybe she was wrong, but Tomas didn't seem the type to participate in hardcore wrestling. At least not of his own volition.

But she was aware that her own distaste was coloring her thinking here; hardcore wrestling is something that she's never been able to stomach, and the mentality that drives one to compete in such contests on a regular basis is one that she'd never been able to wrap her head around completely.

The rest of what Tomas had on his back would just be more road for her fingers to happen to travel over. While Dalia wouldn't exactly call herself "fortunate" in regards to her own past having left no marks on her body, it gave her the sense to know that even this much could be considered prying. And out of respect, as one survivor to another, she'd leave it exactly where it was and listen intently about the now.

So tense, still, with a little laugh that he wasn't really feeling. An attempt at relieving the pressure. Dalia had come to the ring afraid of him being some violent maniac, like that man in the wolf mask who did those terrible things to the poor blonde that they suckered into being his first opponent. And not for a moment did she ever consider that maybe she could be suspected as being one of his many female counterparts. There was no shortage of them here in LAW, a promotion that's notorious for treating their male talent like meat.

All things considered, Tomas really had more to fear from her than the other way around. Time to change that, for the both of them.

"Just try to have fun with this." Dalia began, taking a page from Alix Jacques's expert handling of new people. She hadn't had to work with many of them herself, funnily enough. New to kink? Yes, she's had a number of clients like that. But new to something like this? Experienced only a handful of times.

She took a step back to continue her work up front, taking more time than she needed to when she got to his sculpted abs. He was a pleasure to work on, just the right amount of muscle. The right size for her. "All that matters is that you give me your best, in whatever form it might take." With his upper body finished, Dalia would lower herself before him to work on his legs. A split-legged squat -- no kneeling. Never kneeling; that wasn't for her to do.

Start from the bottom, and work her way up, her beautiful face mere inches from his crotch all the while. "And don't worry about the Prisoner of War stipulation." Like she'd be able to do the same, walking into something so unfamiliar against someone she's never met, with the prospect of potentially permanent ownership looming over her head should she fail, her captor free to do as they please...

Tomas is a brave man.

"We'll discuss that after this is over." Dalia's deliberate pace would slow even further when she reached his thigh. "Much easier said than done, I know." No breath would be wasted with any form of the sentence "You can trust me." Her house, her burden of responsibility. It was up to her to make him believe that.

Although Tomás had the arduous task of staying upright, he was still paying attention to other areas. Some that he’d rather not pay heed to, like some smatterings of the crowd snickering that this looks similar to a mother dressing their kid on their first day at school. He quietly grunted away the thought. Sure, he hated the fact that he was basically an invalid for now, but there was no changing the situation. Dalia was more than happy to help out, and he was appreciative of the effort.

The Portuguese man had a feeling that Dalia would be wondering where he had gotten those scars from. Thankfully, she chose to leave that stone unturned. Much as Dalia was willing to let things roll for now, he didn’t want his past to be the reason she’d run away. Perhaps it’s because the Egyptian realizes he wasn’t that much of a threat or she just chose not to ask too much about a person. It’s not hardcore wrestling, which was already bad enough for Dalia, but it is much worse than that. For her sake, she best not ask.

The Black Widow worked away on painting the canvas of the ashen-haired Nak Muay. At the very least, he wasn’t too shy when it came to the touch of a woman. Tomás wasn’t the kind of person that is, bafflingly, a dime a dozen in LAW. He felt those studious, caring fingers move like a paintbrush on canvas, tracing the lines of his abs. Tough to withstand most blows. Though he wouldn’t be expecting something like that, this match. He was curious as he looked down. Seemed to be taking a bit more time to appreciate this abs…

Seeing the Egyptian settle into a split got two raised eyebrows from Tomás. Sure, seeing her walk on oil was astounding enough, but not once did he see her wobble or be in threat of losing balance. “Is this like…errm…ice skating?” He questioned. The only thing that he could compare to is ice skating. Which he had only done once. And that was the last time if he had anything to say about that. “You’re able to do this…like this isn’t…you know…slippery.” His hands gestured to the oil that coats his body. A shiny sheen that accentuates every bump and curve of muscle. At the very least, he’s curious about that. Tomás did chuckle slightly upon the sight of Dalia’s face so close to his crotch. An amusing, immature thought, he’d admit.

As he worked her way up, Dalia would make mention not to worry about the Prisoner of War stipulation. Which, now that it’s on his mind, is pretty hard to not think about. “At least you understand, senhorita.” Dalia knew the situation very well, so Tomás wouldn’t lose his head over such a sentence. “Okay.” The ashen-haired man would nod at Dalia. She had proven enough to be trusted so far. Best to meet her halfway. “So, uh…I guess now it is my turn? Oiling you up. Unless you’re comfortable doing it yourself, that is?” Truthfully, Tomás damn sure knew that Dalia was more than capable of doing it herself. But since it’s her house, it’s her choice.

"Look at this dude! This is sad, man!"

"Yeah, is this supposed to be a match or a mother getting her kid ready for school?"

The comments that had made their way to the ring from the front row made Dalia's hazel eyes roll. In response to his shared annoyance, she would say to him, "You're right here, getting to feel my hands all over you. And soon enough, you'll get to put yours all over me." An appealing image to have in her mind, she had to admit. "Meanwhile, the most they can do is run off to the bathroom to rub one out at the thought of being in your place." She gave a silent chuckle, looking up at him with a smirk that spoke of how deliberate her suggestive positioning was. "Revel in that."

Some amusement was taken at his expression as he gazed upon her. Here she was before him, and his first thoughts went to how she was keeping her balance. Not that the obvious ones weren't present. "It's something like that, yes. I struggled with oil in my first matches with them; lost matches that I would've won -- and have won -- on an untouched mat. It frustrated me. But the owner of the club I wrestled at was a good friend, he was looking to expand his business, and the fans liked seeing me covered in the stuff, so I stuck with it. After a few months, I learned that oil wrestling's a very sweet science, and a greater equalizer than most people realize. Perfect the formula, and you can bring anyone to heel."

Just a little bit more, and...done. Dalia did a quick study of Tomas's expression when he talked about oiling her up. Even with the mention of the Prisoner of War stipulation, he looked like he was more at ease with this whole thing than he was moments ago. So she lifted her hands to his, giving them a measured pull. Not a forceful, commanding yank. Nor a coy tug that was more of a suggestion.

"I want you to do it." It was just like that: Her interest made plain, an invitation sent to join her on the mat, and a patient stare. Would he take it, or leave it?

Tomás gave a gruff scoff, dismissing the nearby crowd. The Black Widow wouldn’t miss such comments while oiling him up, seeing her eyes roll in response. He did let out a short snicker, more like an amused exhale at her response. “Aren’t I lucky, senhorita?”

The Portuguese Nak Muay had pondered on the state of the men in LAW. He wondered if those that have joined used to be among those in the audience that wished to be standing in this ring, at this very moment. No doubt LAW gets a lot of intake from guys that are pretty much disposable, yet ready in abundance. It reminded him of what Eliza said. So many wish to be in his position. If only they knew what it entailed even to have this chance. It wouldn’t have surprised him if management did pluck a few in attendance for an opportunity of a lifetime. Whatever gets them the views and clicks, he supposed.

The Portuguese Pugilist found amusement in relishing their internal jealousy. “Guys like these never made me worry.” He looked down, returning the smirk. “I only pity them.”

Dalia would be gracious in answering his burning question. And to his surprise, this was something that she learned to get used to. It wasn’t something of a natural thing, where you either had the balance or not. But it meant that Dalia knew how it felt with the “first time”.

He listened intently, mostly because all he could do was just stand and listen. All the while, this intrigued Tomás, hearing how the Egyptian eventually gotten better and better to where it became her speciality. It was the same thing regarding any sport. Apart from a handful of people that take to anything like breathing, the first time would always be rough. Once you get better at proficiency, things become better. Faster. Efficient. The body gets used to it, formed and sculpted to meet the stresses of battle. “So you do know how it is…”

Eventually, she would be done, and Tomás could appreciate how thorough Dalia had been. How he’d follow it up, Tomás can’t tell. Though at the very least, he wasn’t as…tense as earlier. Which made the invitation to do the honors himself all the more appealing. “Anything to make these guys jealous.” Her hands would guide Tomás’s and, with shaky, buckling knees, would follow the direction. Better on the knees than to do it while standing. At first, he seemed to be getting there, getting to a crouch, though an issue would arise: can he get to his knees safely?

With the way his feet suddenly slid underneath him, landing harshly right onto his kneecaps, the answer would be no. “Caramba…” He muttered, chuckling a bit as he felt that hard bump to the bone. At the very least, he didn’t fall right on his ass. That would have been more hilarious to the crowd. “Shall I start from the top?” Tomás would ask, unless Dalia had other plans in mind, he wanted to start just like how she’d started. From the shoulders.