Tiaras and Tricorns: Angelina Tarrant vs Madeleine Citronelle (Apex Qualifier)

[Malkavia]

Apex Qualifier
Hentai Allowed
Best 2/3: Falls are pinfall, submission, and climax
POW: Winner gets loser for a Weekend

—

No expense had been spared in grooming the stuffed mink, Mademoiselle Codswaddle, for this ring and this audience. From the vast inventory at Jouet D’or, Madeleine had filtered through hundreds of toys and animals and accessories, a dozen fuzzy candidates, only to find in this human-sized stuffed mink exactly what she needed. Just backstage, Codswaddle was tucked under Madeleine’s elbow, stage lights reflecting like stars in her black marble eyes. A golden cape hung from the mink's neck down to its little rodent footsies.

Tonight is goodbye, old friend.

Trumpets. Piano. Drums. The spotlights had been programmed into four clusters. Cluster A pulses on the first downbeat, cluster B on the second. The lights flash and dance. Back to the crowd, Countess can see the reflected glitter of her golden silk and jewelry speckle the walls.

Countess and Companion

Then—Fan kick. She carves a circle in the air with her heel, turns, beams. It’s her and the multitudes, and the trumpets are as electric as the gleam of her hair tossed behind her. A walk becomes a trot, the drumline builds, and the trot becomes a run, and here comes the first toss! Codswaddle arcs into the ring, and Madeleine’s not far behind. She dives to the second rope, leaps through the gap, catches her ally, rolls into a somersault—and breathes as she sticks the landing.

The spotlights from every side feel incandescent on her skin, but it’s the cheers from all sides that make her glow. Her eyes glitter as she soaks it in. One last hug for the fluffy mademoiselle.

When the time comes for Madeleine to stand and take her corner, she scans the audience. It takes a subtle kind of intuition to choose the right person. Less process, more feeling. Not just anyone deserves to take a piece of the Countess home. She found her girl, a blonde woman wearing stylish flats and an impeccably paired red skirt and white blouse and red blazer. That kind of effort, that attention to detail. Yes. Here was the deserving audience participant. Madeleine caught her eyes, pointed, and smiled her very widest. Then—the toss.

There was pain in giving up her collectible. But the look of delight on the recipient’s face when she caught the toy, and the noise from the crowd when she grinned...It all made Madeleine buzz, and as she turned to gaze down the long runway of her opponent, her flushed face glowed.

[Monsy]

One more to fuckin’ go. Aye -- and like all turbulent rhythms in this apex song, she expected a chorus. Not hand-picking this one was something of a candy. It’s all wrapped up, good ol door number three. She needed it first hand. How does this girl move, look and vibe? Angelina stuck around catering to ponder that, then ordered herself a raspberry slushie before heading for the stands. A text hit her phone.

Producer: Where are you?
And she texted back: Lower bowl. Just play my shit. K?

Then turned it off, stuffing it into her leather coat to walk the black aisles. The place is pretty stacked, with the lower you go, the more dense it gets. Not many seats to take. People were standing, sitting and even kneeling to chat with their buddies. She took an aisle seat beside two people who gave her funny looks. A finger crossed her lips, “Shh.” And they returned to watch Madeleine Citronelle make her entrance, full of noise and flair, with some flair to drown the blonde in more colour. What a fuckin’ leap. She sipped, but kept sipping, eventually losing herself to brain freeze by the time the mink was thrown. Her eyes, moth and nose curled up, then slapped her temple a couple times. And after she picked a handful of popcorn from her seat neighbour, she hushed them again, then got up.

By that time, it was Angelina’s cue. Her music dropped with its pedals and guitar. That head-nodding rhythm of nineties rebellion and grunge. Spotlight donned the stage but nothing was there. Angelina slurped the last of her slushie, then tossed it.

“That’s my go. Stay pretty, dorksticks.” Then got up, stood in the aisle and ran down the steps, approaching the railing -- no slowing down until she jumped it, adding a flip where her legs span overhead like a swinging knife, and scarlet flame danced. She hit the ground level, low, crouched with one hand on the ground, looking towards the ring with a grin. The crowd around her had a small pop, and the spotlights unveiled the marauder, geared-up and ready to swing with her short-shorts, leather boots, black jacket and many belts.

“Let's get this shit goin! Pirate style!” Angelina yelled aloud to the crowd’s delight, walking the remainder just stretching her back, rolling shoulders, extending her arms to full wing-span before pulling them back in. The barricade was vaulted and Angelina went up those steel steps, charging the corner, stepping up to the middle, then top. She crossed her arms and flipped dual birds, then hopped on that singular leg, rotating the ankle and dropping into the ring. Just needed to strip her jacket, not before peeling something out, then viola -- it left her in a two-piece attire. One look at her opposition, and she popped her brows momentarily, stepping forward.

Spoiler

“Yo-yo-yo. Nice fuckin’ cape.” Angelina bounced her head with nods and a grin, then began donning what she peeled out -- a thin black glove from her earliest few matches in this LAW biz. “It looks like we’ll be gettin’ to know each otha’ real well eithah way here. So, lets just get ya preferences straight.” The back of both hands were shown to Madeleine. One naked and the other fully dressed in black. “Glove or no glove?”

[Malkavia]

No show. Regulated breathing and a visit to her mind’s study kept the smile bright long enough to blink, to realize her error and catch spotlights’ shift. Our pirate padded along the guardrail with the shredded-ear self-assurance of a junkyard cat. Was this broadside entrance planned, she wondered, or executed on a whim?

Madeleine found lines for a profile idly breezing through her head. It’s not the jump that rests in the mind’s eyes, nor even the heel over head cartwheel through the air. The landing was spectacular, especially with the spotlight exclamation point.

And like the Rage Against the Machine pulse she'd captured and made her own, she carried on relentlessly, one surprise after another, until–

”Gloved.” Madeleine pushed off the ring post and stood straight. She held one hand on her hip and pressed an index finger to her lips as she scanned Angelina up, and down, and up again. ”It’s texture! It's urban! it’s scruff. Another layer of that looks good on you.” Madeleine’s eyes lingered on Angelina’s. ”Another layer to be stripped away when we want to reach your skin.”

The rumors were true: the violet eyes really were striking. ”On a related note.” Madeleine’s scarlet eyes flicked to the bell and back as she, smiling, raised her fists in a boxer’s guard. ”I enjoy your taste in rap metal.”

[Monsy]

Please be cool. Please be cool. Looking at her once over, hard to say. Style was, this girl was your fuckin’ Ace of Spades, Queen of Hearts with all that gold-trimmed red and still had cards left to be placed. She followed the cape around, spied where she wanted to spy, from the waist, legs, shoes, then worked her way back up through those gold skulls, spine, arm sleeve, nails and tiara. “We’ll get to that.” Angelina nodded along, smug. Seems she wasn’t the only one having a good first impression. Ain’t this a fuckin’ score.

That bell rang, now met with the task at hand.

“It’s cool to be enjoyed for a change.” Angelina bent over the arm across her belly, then turned her head up, making her mouth click and adding a wink. “This’ll get pretty messed up. Soooo… Fair warnin’ right now, girl.” Angelina straightened up, took a breath, put one arm down and placed the other vertical in front of herself. She stood square, but took one step forward, strafing to close the gap into leg-throwing distance. “I like to go for broke!” There she crouched, with her back leg now swinging counter-clockwise to enact a sweep!

[Malkavia]

One fist guarded Angelina’s chest, the other hung loose and available at her hip. La garde basse. Our pirate had experience kickboxing—Excellent. With a height and hence range similar to Madeleine’s own, Angelina promised to be a rare treat indeed.

DING DING. The bell saw Angelina slide into Madeleine’s space and lash a sweep towards her calves. Angelina's lateral movement, with her weight distributed in the balls of her feet, kept the Marauder’s back erect, her options mobile, her next action flexible and difficult to predict. Very good..and very aggressive. Her streetfight ferocity went beyond a sculpted midriff and thorned horns, it seemed.

Madeleine pivoted her weight to the left, sidestepped the strike, and circled towards center-mat, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Right, left. Quick and springy while her heart-rate rose to meet the match. ”Messed up, hm?” She kept the defensive line between them thick—la distance juste, over which she could watch with eyes locked like a lioness in the brush. ”And what does messed up look like?”

The word like fell on the same beat as her heel against the mat. On that beat, she pivoted on her left foot, shifted her right hip towards Angelina, and shot a roundhouse volley over the defensive line—an attempt at Angelina's hip.

[Monsy]

Boxer’s guard didn’t click for her senses. Why that of all things? If she were better versed in going for it, the answer might’ve been to tie up, take the control and use that bladed stance against her. Still, the legs were something easily targeted. Dorks on the street had their coordination limited to swinging shoulders, holding that stiff back and keeping their momentum grounded like a weapon. Simple tricks and quick foot-flicks had the edge. But Madeleine was faster. She stayed there, leg still extended and looking at the circling countess. Guess this is where the ‘pro’ bit punched in.

“I ain’t spoilin’ nothin, yo.” She poked her tongue out at Madeleine, putting an index finger under her eye as she stood, matching her opponent foot-for-foot, square-stance, preparing herself for the--

“Gah-” A dry crack sounded off her hip. Angelina’s frame curved with the strike, like being slammed with a puck from a slapshot. It bit deep into her bone. The thing had a small nauseating taste as it travelled down her leg, giving her a small limp. “....Owww.” A shoulder pointed at Madeleine, and she bit her lip, shaking her head out like it could clear the hurt.

“That… was so fuckin’ unexpected… I can just…--” Angelina peeked at the corner, then bolted for it, coming at it from a wide angle then hopping up, using the second turnbuckle pad as springboard to shoot herself towards Madeleine, then swinging that leg at her head, cracked from the thickest whip. An Off the Wall -- showtime kick!

[Malkavia]

Madeleine’s first error was the smirk. Crack! She felt it curl at the edge of her dimples the same time she felt Angelina’s lats fold around her foot. It was Angelina’s own fault, damn it--what did she expect tossing a tongue-out eye pull like that? Urbancore grunge on a slender frame the Countess could handle, but throw in that bratty, cute spice and it became positively unfair.

Concentrate Mads, dear. A smirk was unsportsmanlike, so she made it slither under the skin. All the while, her eyes stayed locked on Angelina. She’d expected to get information from that strike–to unearth a tendency to parry, perhaps, or discomfort at the edges of long range at best. To actually *land* the exploratory jab, full-bodied and rib-bending…Perhaps this was a gift she could wrap early.

So, next steps. Chamber another kick and unload one volley after another, a dozen cannons to Her Majesty’s broadside, fast and golden and–

…The pirate was sailing the wrong way. Angelina put her back to Madeleine, whose instinct was to chase. She darted, fist clenched and ready to bite, with her lips parted and brow creased in a question, because she was accustomed to savateurs…Fighters who don't even think to clarify that “la distance juste” has a vertical dimension. But this was a wrestling ring, and when the pirate sailed overhead, Madeleine’s thoughts short-circuited looking for an angle whereby she could punch up,

Angelina’s heel dented Madeleine’s cheek, and her teeth cut into the inside flesh, and she tasted iron. Force rippled through her silky white skin, and a light flashed and went dark as her brain seized from the shock. As her body went limp, her head whipped to the side and spittle sprayed from her lips and painted a pink arc down the length mat. She smacked her back center-ring and lay clutching her head in a noiseless puddle of shock and pain.

[Monsy]

As the great Lenny Feder once put wonderfully before his ass was kicked, ‘You wanna throw some legs? Throw some legs, huh?’ -- This advice was sound as ever. And never the one to let herself be trumped, nor abide by dumbfuck Hollywood pacing of switching gear one to two, she went straight for seven, and made good on what she said at the start. ‘Go for broke’. Thing about slinging from the second is that it lets her control the thrust from an easier eagle than the top, coming at dear Madeleine straight from a rocket, swinging the leg and feeling that light push on her heel. Like smashing a full-bottle, sending it to the abyss. Angelina went into a front-roll on her landing, stood up and flipped her red hair back.

“Mmm--” Holy fuck was that ever arousing. A full course of elation sent her spine into jubilance. Her face tightened up, her nose wrinkled, teeth clenched. Her elbows were tight, arms folded, and you can hear her just want to scream YEAHHH for how that fuckin’ landed. A very first ollie all over again.

The noise that did omit was just this pent-up growl, white-knuckled fists as she let it out, then loosened up. She made her sprint for Madeleine, dropping to her knees, and putting her hands underneath Madeleine’s thighs. They were picked up, squeezed, and both grips slid to the back of Madeleine’s knees, pushing them up, higher, then over, folding the Countess in two so she could get a sight of that spittle-leaking face, an ankle to each ear. She flashed her tongue a second time, and by pirate jesus himself, if this worked, she might just use it afterward.

[Malkavia]

Thousands of people watched Angelina hoist Madeleine’s legs, press her back to the mat, and fold her knees around her ears. (Ass up). Her dress hem fell about her waist, leaving her hips, her body as exposed as they were crushed.

The feeling of the enemy’s bare belly sliding across her thighs until, the Countess was below, beneath, made something sharp turn over in her gut. The pirate’s breath blown carelessly on her face coaxed the knife lower. Twisted and painful and throbbing, the tight, anxious knot settled between her legs, and then…the face–Tongue. Out. Bitch. That made her tender insides burn. Her fists clenched. An almost imperceptible whimper cracked in the throat of a blonde with lidded eyes. Goose pimples erupted over her bare legs.

“ONE!”

And then it was real. Every atom on Madeleine’s surface felt the roar from the bleachers, their shouts, applause, screams. She kicked before the ref’s hand was half way up from the mat.

Boiling in her chest saw her scramble to the ropes farthest from Angelina and tear herself to her feet. Her head throbbed, a glowing on again off-again beacon of pain, but that was nothing compared to the hot, gasping breaths–

Calm, Mads.

It's not a switch. One doesn't simply turn off humiliation like a faucet. But sublimation is a habit, and Madeleine had practice. Her lips went thin and her breaths steadied the same time that her eyes settled on Angelina. Study. We’re in our study.

La Garde Hausse. One hand high, one hand low. Feet square. She lifted a wrist, wiped her mouth and flicked the moisture to her feet.

”...Touchée.”

[Monsy]

Kinda squishy. Made it was just the hold, with an extended touch from Angelina’s midriff and a subtle bump of hips. How she could pluck that girl’s tiara and wear it herself, and be the newly crowned Queen when she takes her future seat. A Queen’s whet appetite had her licking her lips. It also had her shuffling up the knees until it hit Madeleine’s spine, adding more height to arch her back, seeming taller than she ever could be. At least for a second… and a half.

Her gold slipped with one kick and Angelina fell onto her elbows. Not hurt, fuck, not even annoyed. She watched that girl scramble from the post view in the house after all, pushing her lips together, smug like the feline. “Nice.” Then took a deep breath, steadying herself after that recent burst. She went up to one knee, watched Madeleine stand and guard. Angelina framed it with her index and thumbs. “Me. You. Kung Fu Panda. One, two and three. That sound good?”

On the mark of a wink, she dashed, coming head-on like a small car entering fifth gear in under a second. She jumped before she got to six, put an open hand forward, pulled the opposite elbow back. That fist tightened up, arching the shoulder-blade before she threw that arm. A superman punch aimed to dome Madeleine square between the eyes.