Victory by Pinfall, Submission, or KO
Katsumi has been causing a ruckus in the ranks; putting herself out there, pushing hard against her forerunners, getting up in all the faces she can find. All the faces. And it seems to've caught the attention of a booker. It's hard to say who exactly put in for this match. Maybe the higher-ups wanted to give Katsumi a chance to really prove herself. Maybe her opponent's manager wanted to shut the punk up. But whatever the reason may be, Katsumi Oshiro, the Punk Princess, will be facing the famous veteran, Thunder Ryuko.
Of course Katsumi knows who she is. Of course she's seen her in action. Her reputation precedes her, and her pedigree is obvious. It'll be a huge deal for Katsumi to beat her; a real credit, something she could put forward as a sign that she's every bit the real deal she's claiming. Past matches are past. The next match is always the most important one. And her next match is against a girl bigger, older, and more experienced than her.
That thought creates a lump in her throat. She swallows hard.
Already dressed for the match in her sleek black wrestling boots, black short shorts with feline-themed belt, black choker, pink longsleeved shirt, and black sportsbra-esque top beneath, one might think she's ready for this. She doesn't look it, though. The petite Asian is pacing back and forth in the dressing room, her hands covering her face, frame rigid. She's got to win this, but she's extremely positive that even if she pulls it off, it's going to hurt a lot. It's hard to bite back nerves in the face of these odds. No one's backing her to come out with the victory here. Hell, forget nerves - she's kind of scared.
"Oshiro-san," comes a mousy voice from the door. "They're ready for you."
"Mmngh!," is Katsumi's atypically timid, muffled response.
Insofar, Katsumi has been the second wrestler to enter the ring. Tonight would be different. She doesn't know what that means. Maybe it means nothing and she's making something of it. Maybe she's hyping Ryuko up to herself far more than she should. Or maybe they expect the better wrestler to go second and really elicit that pop from the crowd.
Katsumi's stomach knots a little more behind the curtains. She begins bobbing on her boots anxiously, tiny frown on her face and brow knit.
Katsumi's music hits the arena...
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Making her way to the ring!," begins the announcer. "At a height of 5'5", and weighing in at 124 lbs.! From Osaka, Japan! The Punk Princess! KATSUMI! OOOOSHIROOO!"
The curtains are thrown aside, and the young Japanese girl bounds into view, still hopping on her boots, but now in beat with her music. A pair of amber-hued pyros flare at either side, and the punkette tosses her hands into the air. With a nimble pirouette on toe, she begins a spirited trot down the ramp, awash in a mixture of cheers and boos from the audience. The tension, worry, and excitement are all bottled deep inside her for now, her expression set in its near-trademarked cocky, confident, and utterly impish smile. As she nears the ring, she grabs onto the lower hem of her shirt to pull it up and over her head, exposing her trim midsection to the open air.
Katsumi
She hops up onto the ring apron and neatly pivots to face out at the audience again. She shoots a wink before arching her back over the top rope in a deliberately provocative, yet languid angle, pulling her frame taut as she rolls over to land neatly onto the mat. In a flash, she's dashed up the nearest turnbuckle to throw a fist into the air. She nods to the audience in a show of assurance that she, in earnest to herself, does not actually feel. She hops down to repeat the treatment in the opposite corner of the ring before finally dropping and turning to wait there for her opponent to enter.
She's practically shaking. Crap.
