P.O.W Collar Match.
Before gaining the fall, competitors have to collar their opponent.
The loser becomes the winner's prisoner for twenty-four hours.
-Before gaining the fall, competitors have to collar their opponent.
The loser becomes the winner's prisoner for twenty-four hours.
Today brought a special opportunity. One she couldn’t pass up—a P.O.W match. But not just any P.O.W match; it involved collaring. Since Karla joined L.A.W, she scarred the ring with a vexing ego and complete disrespect for her opponents - verbalized in one condescending term, “hundchen.” Befitting for this type of match, no? And for that reason, the flamboyant redhead chuckled in her locker room, brushing out her red hair, buckling the last straps of her black bodysuit, and pulling a pinch of fabric from her hip, letting it slap against her skin. All while gazing in the mirror, leaning forward with one hand on a vanity, applying the finishing touches for her exuberant appearance - blood-red lipstick, blemishing a lasting shine. Oh, wait! The coat. A tall pelt of white fur draping down to her thigh, over her arms, and open at the front. And to varnish the look, red shades.
On cue, the door knocked. She appealed to her servant, who sat idly in the chair. Hurriedly, he marched to the door, opening it slowly and peeking his head out. “She’s not speaking.” He scolded.
The law staff member nodded, looking down to the clipboard in his clutches. “Well, it's time.”
Nodding, the door shut. “Miss, the audience awaits. Will I be joining you?”
Waving one hand, she replied, “No. To my knowledge, this match has special stipulations where I’ll be taking a guest home with me. So I need you to pull the limo around, understand?”
“Yes. I’ll arrange it.”
Opening the door, he gave his last remarks, “Break his leg.”
She huffed but grinned nonetheless. It seems like she had a fan. Not like she demanded such, but both of them shared assured confidence in tonight’s victory. She demanded that much. Though something else dogged her about this match, ultimately deciding not to face it and head to gorilla without further delay. On command, the lights were culled, casting a shadow that swallowed the arena. Ominous thumps filled the void, bubbling higher in techno fashion as Karla walked, completely masked by shadow until the beat drop, where her person became enshrined by two intersecting spotlights. Standing tall, feet shoulder-width, arms crossed with her chin tipped up, bearing a fiendish smirk.
“ This is a Prison of War Collar Match, scheduled for one fall. Making her way first, from Hamburg, Germany. K… R… R!!”
The spotlights followed her down the rampway, making a powerful stride, brimming with purpose. Both arms stretched to the side, executing one slow spin to bask in her primarily negative response. Like she needed praise. And once she scaled the ring steps, she stood on the apron, blowing a kiss to the scorning crowd, before turning around to shout at the referee.
“Get over here and earn your washed-up wage!”
Exchanging glares with the referee, the standoff ended in compliance. She came forward and sat on the middle rope, allowing Karla to finally enter the ring as her entrance music faded, allowing the lights to return in earnest. Grabbing the referee’s collar, she yanked them up, patting their cheek with a ten thousand yen bill she pulled from her pocket. “Much better.”
She released them and occupied her corner, beginning to strip away the shades and coat, piling them under the turnbuckle. Waiting is all that remained.
