POW Match - Evelyn Fallanger vs Blaise Cameron

[Monsy]

Prisoner Of War Match
Victory by Pinfall: Extended to a Ten-Count.
The loser shall become the winner's prisoner for twenty-four hours!

-
Bleak times are to be turned on their head! One more chance was all she needed, and the crowds will bask in her talent! - Optimistic thoughts filled her mind, fanning her spirits within the locked confines of her dressing room. The upstart clapped both cheeks, dialling her focus on the mirror before beginning to dress. She donned a tie-up top and bottoms, with additional arm sleeves and stockings over brown fingerless gloves and ankle boots. The colours paid homage to her homeland, star-spangled and red and white striped, with an additional blue and red cropped vest, along with the arm sleeves and stockings. She styled her hair into a ponytail, garnishing the look with a free-falling stroke of pearl-white that draped off the side of her head, down to her midsection.

“Remember, just don’t let him see how nervous you are. You’ll be fine. And when I win, he can buy me snacks, or something…” She said, whilst brushing her hair.

She hadn’t been able to invest too much thought. Bookings were chased; beggars weren’t choosers. And tonight, the match-up was utterly foreign in all aspects. A PoW stipulation - the wording crept a chill, almost threatening as it went beyond the ring, before realizing what it meant. Not only that, but facing a man - Blaise Cameron, with an extended pin, brought nothing short but a bashful look on her face, embellished in a pink hue. She had to slap her cheeks again. Risks were huge. On one end, pinning someone for a ten-count would be great! Dominance, power, the perfect display of skill she's been looking for.

“Maybe if I ask nicely… N-No, no, I gotta win this one fair and square. Piece of cake! Yah!”

Curing her own anxiety, Evelyn got a knock on the door.

“Miss Fallacy! You’re up!”

“Right! Let's go!”

Strapping a loose belt around her hour-glass figure, she nodded once, then left her dressing room, skipping towards the ring. Cue her music! Before settling on the woman, spotlights swirled around her person, amplifying Miss Fallacy's presence on the rampway.

"This is a Prisoner of War match, scheduled for one extended pinfall! Introducing first, from Venice Beach, California, Miss... Fallacy!


The crowd cheered, dazzled by the young upstart's charisma, reeling in their full attention by raising a finger above her head, giving a twirl before skipping down the ramp. She went left, outstretching her hand to high-five the fans, waving to the other side with her right. Coming to the ring steps, she sprinted up with spunk, walking along the ring apron before turning to face the crowd once more, giving them her signature finger gun gesture with one hand by her hip, the latter pointed straight out. Finishing her theatrics, she weaved between the ropes, hopping into the ring. Prancing, she did one full lap around the ropes, raising her finger while beaming a model smile, arriving at her corner where she finger-gunned the rampway, just as her music faded into nothing.

Spoiler

[CyanDimitrik]

In similar vein, it feels very much like a resurgence for Blaise. Coincidentally, the young man is also staring at himself in his mirror. Is this really him? This remade sort of person? The results can't be denied - he used to be a plucky punching bag no one took seriously. And why would they? He won clean once, in an arguably unofficial match. And that resulted in the opponent hating him. She seemed like such a nice girl at first, too.

So here he is, Blaise Cameron, rebranded the "Phoenix" for having died off and reappeared out of nowhere more glorious than ever. He's had one match so far, but the difference in demeanor, effectiveness, and tenacity speaks for itself. However, something feels... off about it. Like something was lost in the process; some intrinsic thing that first attracted him to wrestling. He's a new man now, undeniably superior to what he was. So is it really him...?

Blaise exhales a soft, troubled sigh. He doesn't have time to think about it now. Maybe just wrestling will shake loose whatever hangup he's experiencing. The audience deserves his best, and he owes it to himself to be the best.

He gives himself a final look-over; sleekly-toned upper-body left bare, save for a pair of sapphire blue and black elbowpads. A pair of matching wrestling trunks and shin-high boots complete the ensemble. At least that much hasn't changed about him.

Blaise Cameron

Oh! One accessory he almost forgot! A pair of gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses are fetched from the counter and slipped over his eyes.

Once again, Blaise is the second to be called out to the ring. He bobs on his boots anxiously as he listens to his opponent's music - not a bad choice! And the opponent is from California! Someone else from the States! He'll actually be able to use English with her. Quirky name, though. Sadly, he knows nothing about her - neither what to expect in terms of appearance, nor what she's like, how she fights, nothing. Just that this is a match wherein one will get to keep the other for a day.

These stipulations are nerve-wracking. If the opponent is a good person, the risk isn't so bad. If they're not so great a person, it could be twenty-four hours of Hell. The only thing he knows for sure is that he isn't a monster. The other person, whoever they might be, would be in good hands. In short: he has to win for twice the reason.

The music dies down, leaving only the roar of the audience in the stadium. Then suddenly, the electric guitar riffs of Blaise's own rich Americana music begins to blare.

It's My Life - Bon Jovi

"And her opponent! At 5'10", and weighing in at 171 lbs.! From Miami Beach, Florida! Reborn from the ashes of his former self! Blaise! Cameron!"

Blaise rushes out onto the center stage and thrusts his fists into the air, a pair of pyros billowing at either corner beside him. Despite his radiant smile, the audience is still trying to determine how they feel about him - a former full-time loser, now suddenly back with a slick new image? Sure, he's seen one match so far.. but that doesn't make up for such relentless past failure.

His trot down the ramp is an energetic one, same as always. With a hop, he slides beneath the bottom rope and carries the momentum onto his palms, wherein he pops into a snappy, acrobatic handspring. The result sees him land neatly on his boots, arms spread to either side. The audience is still pretty lukewarm, but for diehard fans from before.

Sigh.

He doesn't let it get to him. As the referee approaches, he plucks the shades from his face and gently slots them over her head, leaving her momentarily stunned. With a wink, he notes, "I'll be back for those after the bell." Blushing, she just goes with it and ushers him back into his corner to check for foreign objects. Where exactly he'd be hiding them in his scant attire is anyone's guess.

At last, he gets to set those big bright blue eyes on his opponent. In pure reaction, the smile on his face softens a bit. That's a stunningly pretty girl he'll be facing, with the potential to get to know her better even after the contest. But what's her personality like? His gaze dips briefly, scanning her generously exposed physique - she's in great shape, knows how to accentuate her looks, and he can't be mad at the obvious patriotism. At last, his gaze ends on her face again. All high marks.

But the personality is what nags his mind.

'Please be cool, please be cool...'

[Monsy]

Swallowing deep-breaths, her foot tapped without a pattern. Induced anxiety from the wait, the unanswered questions about to be unveiled. Who was her opponent? Was she in for the worst? Soon, her single foot soothed into dance, tamed by the rhythm of Blaise’s recognizable entrance theme. Two hands grabbed the ropes, enamoured by the pyro effects, his honest look, and the splash of high-energy he took when entering the ring; springing into a stance, Evelyn slow-clapped, impressed by the display of athleticism. ‘So this is the guy, huh? I can take him. I have to’ He didn’t seem deplorable, both easy on the eyes and a flair she greatly admired the instance she saw him. Even so, he didn’t seem like the type to lie down easily, especially after that show. Something about being reborn - the line piqued curiosity, left unanswered. Perhaps when she wins (of course), she’d get to the bottom of it. But for now, there was only one thing on her mind—a good show. Corner to corner, the opponents were lined up and checked. Evelyn watched his antics, and then, when the referee parted, they exchanged stares. Like chiselled stone art, blessed with a welcoming complexion and features, embellished by his reserved attire that gifted a wealth of powerful eye-candy. You’d think their attires suited that same purpose, as Evelyn cascaded herself in a gimmick to flaunt her hour-glass figure, decadent in modest muscle from her legs, backside, and abdominals. Warm purplish eyes, an award-winning smile, sparkling brighter than pearls, decorated hair, all amongst other assets to get the attention she wanted. But at long last, their gazes met, cursing her heart to skip. She grinned, answering his stare with pearly-whites, raising one gloved hand to wave her fingers, leaning forward to finish her silent greeting with a wink.

Narrowing her posture, a short wait stewed between them as Evelyn twirled her ivory hair around her pointer finger, leaving much to ponder. She can tell he was nice. He had to be! Not a single skull tattoo in sight. Having cured much of Evelyn’s worry, an eager foot stopped tapping, folding back, so her sole pressed against the turnbuckle. DING DING DING - The long-awaited bell sang its tune. She pushed, accelerating into a skip, then a hop to reach the ring’s centre. There, she did nothing more than wait with both arms folded behind her back. And assuming he didn’t barrel out the gate like some raging bull, she’d offer a short dialogue.

“Hey there, Blaise, let's do our best to put on a good show, ok? And no hard feelings when I win, I’ll take good care of ya.”

Finishing her spree of confidence with an extended hand, offering a show of sportsmanship before their bout begins in earnest.

[CyanDimitrik]

The eyes have met; the little details of body language aren't lost on him. Every coquettish little twist of the shoulders, the twirl of silvery follicles around her finger, the brightness of her smile, it all played into that confident, girlish image. Hopes are raised. She's gotta have a good personality. It would be such a cosmic letdown for her to turn out to be a jerkface. This is the type of girl he'd admire in any setting - the ring just carries the convenience of forcing them together rather than plotting an all-too-often awkward first move.

She trots more quickly to the center of the ring than him. Eyebrows lift, deliberately openly appraising her eagerness and demeanor for theatrics' sake. His own approach is measured, paced, but not guarded; it's a risk. He's giving her a chance. Prove him right. And what she says when they close the distance is just so adorably wholesome, it causes the coolly measured facade to crack with a small, boyish smile. He glances to the hand, then back up into those big, purple-ish eyes.

The hand is taken. He doesn't give it a firm business-like pump, but rather a gentle squeeze - definitely less the sort of a platonic transaction, and more on the flirtatious side. "I think you'll be surprised with how much ya like hanging out with me after I win," he returns, the smile shifting a little more playful. Unless she's withdrawn her hand, it'll still be held as he pauses to eyeshift slightly. "I mean, after I've had like five minutes to straighten things up a little."

Knowing the girl is someone like this? Someone he might actually be into? Making a good impression on a personal level is important!

[Monsy]

Any ounce of tension was severed. Two competitors met in the middle, closing the gap until they stood a few feet apart. She craned her neck, compensating with their height difference as their hands intertwined. Gentle like a mother’s kiss, returning the squeeze with glee, adding the small shake. Neither of them appeared eager to let go, willingly mended as Blaise returned the line. Brims curled into a smirk on one side, jutting an arm out and pressing a palm against her hip, leaning on that side. Quite intriguingly, Blaise broke her expectations too, expecting some serious demeanour that rendered her goodwill annul. Instead, she faced a mirror. Bemused, the girl shook her head, dipping her head for a moment to shield a quiet giggle. After, she reinstated their mutual stare, nodding.

“Awe, that’s adorable. Surely then, it’s a win-win for both of us!”
Then with the hand on her hip, she waved it, dismissing his notion of a messy abode after conjuring something witty in her head, hoping to leave this conversation in her control.

“But don’t worry about that; you’ll have plenty of time to straighten things up after my twenty-four hours are up. Soooo, good-luck! You may... Or may not need it.”

Finishing with some playful good-will, Evelyn broke the link between their hands, withdrawing a few steps while keeping her purplish eyes locked on him. After three steps, she shot one arm diagonally above her head, opening and closing her palm, trying to rally the crowd as she invited him to have a test of strength!

[CyanDimitrik]

"Definitely a win-win," Blaise concurs, his tone lessening in mirth just for that one moment of pleased sincerity. This quirky girl with the pretty eyes and fantastic body has demonstrated that she does, indeed, have a good personality to match. Either way this match ends, he expects they're going to mutually enjoy it. Of course, it could be a ploy, and he could be getting way ahead of himself - they'd only just met. But the lingering way their hands connected and their eyes met, how they played off each other, it was all... sorely missed, in a way.

Joy. That's what he felt like he was starting to let slip since the hardcore training. Just taking joy in doing this thing he loves. Taking it so seriously that it became a chore rather than labor of love. But this, so far? With her?

Fallacy gets to have the last word as she breaks away, Blaise taking just a second to steal another glance over her body. Perky breasts, toned abdominals, smooth hips - he might need luck after all. Just getting distracted could be an issue. But as she juts an arm into the air in what is the universal wrestling invitation to a test of strength, his focus sharpens again. He's not that old version of himself - he can concentrate. He can work past her beauty and achingly adorable behavior to see this through to a badly needed victory. Just look at those little fingers flex at him.

Blaise spares a glance to the audience, playing up the moment of the shorter girl challenging the taller male to such a thing. But with a wry smile, he returns his focus onto her and raises his mirrored hand into the air. The show of it continues as he gingerly, 'cautiously'-but-not-really flirts with her hand, before finally lacing his fingers between hers. Palm presses to palm, but no pressure yet. He takes the initiative to lift the other hand, fingers splayed to invite the other palm, before retraining his bright blue gaze on her magentas.

"Ready...?," he murmurs, the sparkle of excitement obvious behind his eyes.

[Monsy]

One dainty hand eagerly awaited its partner, coupled with a racing heart that produced excitement like a factory. Four inches and almost fifty pounds made their difference, and while his physique is both dangerous and detrimental to her focus, she wanted to tango with it, like staring down a lion… Albeit, an oddly kind one. He wouldn’t refuse a chance to take control, right? At least, at the beginning. Don’t get her wrong; she needed this victory more than ever; both of them did. That’s why when Blaise answered the challenge, she hopped once, amping herself up, feeding into Blaise’s delay with her feet stomping the canvas. Following a few hip sways, switching from side to side, she tilted her head as the distance dialled in. A step further, opening her hand to make it appear as big as possible, standing tall with one boot welded against the other. Likewise, she applied no pressure, akin to a loving hold as her fingers curled, resting in their new home while he invited her other hand. Without hesitation, her hand coupled his own, sealing herself to the challenge she issued. Hopefully, he didn’t have plans about kicking her exposed midriff; after all the palpable waiting, spoonfeeding a promised spectacle - it would be a crime!

“Uh-huh. Yep! Bring it, big guy.” Cheering as her knuckles turned white, baring down on his hand, granting a final cue that she was ready for whatever happened next. Bright blues and magentas now fixed on the other, narrowed yet brimming with anticipation. She jutted one foot back, dipping her hips low to bend the forward knee—lastly, a push. One big heave, swallowing a deep breath and shooting it out her nose, attempting to seize the initiative to see how she fared. If she misplaces him even a little, she’d be proud of herself.

[CyanDimitrik]

The audience is on the edge of their seat as the two combatants, seemingly on good terms, prepared for their opening and dramatic salvo.

Blaise's palm presses into Fallacy's, and then the next set of hands meet. Fingers link together, and his stance begins to mirror hers - his right leg draws back, the left poised at the ready to contest her oncoming force. The thought to strike her in that bare, defenseless belly crosses his mind, but it feels like too much of a cheap shot. He'll get to work her body over soon enough, he guarantees himself. For now, he wants this moment shared with her to be pure. Her strength against his. Wrestling at its sincerest.

She immediately pushes into the grapple, taking Blaise by surprise. That much-desired step is taken from him, then another before his right heel digs in against the mat. Biceps noticeably flex to catch her momentum, thighs tensing and pectorals engaged to meet her strength in equal measure. His body angles closer, those bright blues burning intensely on her beautiful magentas. With a seething exhale, he plants his left boot and pushes forward with the right, attempting to outright overwhelm her forward force.

"Hnng...!"

[Monsy]

Ready, set. Go! Time had its fill of stalling, theatrics, and greetings; now, it was time to wrestle! Palms meshed into one, linking the bodies of Blaise Cameron and Evelyn Fallanger, two competitors before determined to get the upper hand. And given the size difference, Evelyn decided it best to attack first, gambling all her strength for one big push. By some marvel, she unseated his footing not once, but a total of twice! Eyes locked, she giggled, finding her excitement soar before she started to meet a brute wall. Under his flex, her legs started to strain, trying to maintain her momentum by lifting the weight, then jerking it forward, trying to gain another step of ground. But, she’d met her match. The silly hope she had was snubbed, thinking she could win this test of strength by surprise when power always catches up.

“C-Come on! Please, just… one… Nnngh-”

Offset by his initial push, she bent her foot, sliding on the balls of her feet, her elbows retreating towards her side and back arched with added struggle, bringing them closer. One eye closed, keeping the other sealed on him while she chewed on her soft bottom lip, ushering a wobbly breath, before making the greedy mistake of trying to raise her boot and reassert herself. Everything collapsed after that, beginning to fall back on her heels, vying for balance, his grip all that saved her from taking a mildly embarrassing tumble. Now, the fate of this grapple vested in his command, as Evelyn’s hands was arrested by his, her legs occupied. Maybe a kick would’ve been smarter...

[CyanDimitrik]

Almost certainly, a kick would've been the smarter opening salvo. But where would the honor have been in that? Meeting on equal footing, two warriors clashing, vying for physical dominance - there's little purer than that! And feeling himself gain the upper-hand, seeing the strain in her face, how her hands clench just a little tighter against his, it's all adrenaline-surging for Blaise. As her elbows bend back, he pushes himself forward further, leaning his torso at a heavier incline. Just as her balance goes, Blaise seizes his opportunity to take control of her body!

Without releasing her hands, he attempts to wind her arms behind her lower back. Naturally, this would see his arms looping her narrow waist, and immediately yanking the girl's form flush against himself in their first body-locking entanglement. Toned pectorals press in against her scantly-covered breasts, his sleek abdominals firm against her own bare abs, and hips pressed against her hips. He's instantly aware that he's grappling a girl who's basically just wearing a bikini, the feel of her excessively bare skin against his eliciting an almost electrical tingle at every point of contact. But he doesn't shy back from her. Rather, the arms tighten - lightly at first - to squeeze her stomach harder to his in the start of a bearhug.

Besides the obvious and intended effect of mashing their bodies together, it has the natural side-effect of bringing their faces close together, letting Blaise's gaze settle on hers. A smile brightens his features again, if slightly colored from the effort of crushing the pale-haired beauty. "Gotcha," he murmurs. "..Is your name really Fallacy?"