Typical Prey: The Beast vs. March "The Hare" Michel [Match Debut]

[DeVir]

March might have never been one for a break (not a long one, even when in pain), but he hadn't been giving her one anyway. On her stomach, she wanted like three seconds (three seconds!) to pull her aching body and her scattered psyche together. Somehow the pain in her adrenaline-charged body was superseded by her panic that this wasn't how she wanted her first match to go, and if she could get her elbows beneath her she could get up and start...pulling off his balls. By now she hardly cared if the ref noticed. "You cock, I'm not gonna... let you..." Too spirited and keyed up to know when she shouldn't be forcing the issue, she was another second from starting to forcefully push herself back up to her feet.

His hands (and legs??) were on her again. That wasn't three seconds. "Noooooo-ohhh--NooooOOOUGH!" The mood of her complaining changed as she went from trying to snatch her body away to having her legs folded and lifted into a precarious position again, the bend of her knees bringing the gaping agony back to her sweat-beaded face. After a smack on the ass and a wise grasp of her wrists while she was reaching back to try and unhinge him from her legs, March was going for a ride.

The wailing doubled as he hefted her in the air. Her back, still pained from the powerbomb, and her shoulders joined her knees and ankles in tormenting her. Yet were her thoughts on pain? Nope. Her brain rushed through how foolish she must look and all she would hear from people who thought seeing her like this was shameful or hilarious. She almost had a full shouting match with an imaginary detractor in her head. She opened one eye to peer down at the crowd past her stretched-out body. They were cheering for her to escape, but she couldn't see that. They all looked like judges.

She couldn't keep going like this. Snapping, her wails turned into growls, and while she might have not had the arm strength to pull herself free, she started wrenching and shaking every inch of her body like a beast fighting for her life to pop free. It hurt like hell, but self-preservation had never been her strong suit.

[BlackAkuma]

Beast was far past the point where he was stupid enough to go easy on March. While he still didn't regard her as a serious threat, he’d come to recognize that she could, if given half a chance, surprise him, and he wasn’t about to give her that rope again. From this point on, he wanted to apply pressure, serious pressure, and bulldoze his way to victory.

That didn’t mean he couldn't have fun, however. It just meant that he had to do so in a way that also pushed him towards victory. This was an excellent example - a move that did significant damage to his opponent, while also putting her in a humiliating position, her fine body on display for the multitudes to see. They might boo him and curse him for hurting the sweet, innocent blonde, but more than a few of them were enjoying the sight of her limber body in distress and would likely be doing so for days to come. ‘

”Smile for the cameras.” Mid-submission taunts. The best kind.

To March’s credit, the girl was incredibly stubborn, and kept fighting even as her body was further contorted, putting up a hectic fight. It wasn’t a problem at first, but the longer it went on, the more of a burden it became, to the point where it was genuine feat to keep her suspended. The sweat was growing, and her legs grew slick, her struggles reached a furious intensity, like a chained animal trying to escape its bonds. Beast kept the hold applied for a few more moments, but eventually…

”блин.” He muttered under his breath as it all came crashing down at once, forcing him to drop the hold and let her body fall flat on top of his own. Beast had no intention of making it that easy for her, however, and tried to wrap his arms around her neck for a sleeperhold, hoping to catch her before she could flee.

[DeVir]

One benefit to having no attention span? Being able to take her mind far, far away when she was in terrible situations. It had gotten her through time in juvie, it had gotten her through bad nights at home, and it had gotten her through street fights and wrestling matches like this one. She placed herself in the best headspace she could; she thought about dangling him from a turnbuckle between her legs, or smashing his face through the announce table, or jabbing a pencil up his ass. All the while, she roared and shook, until finally, all came crashing down.

March wasn't so distracted that she wasn't ready to move the instant she landed on top of him, and she spat disrespectfully at all the pains, reaching for the canvas and pushing with her feet to roll away. It didn't save her. Not fully, anyway, but in part. The arm that snaked around what should have been her neck captured her jaw more than the source of all the blood rushing to her head, and though her mouth was welded shut and her teeth and ears grinding from the pressure (plus, she must have looked like a cartoon character with her lips forced up her cheeks), it wasn't as bad as going lightheaded. She moaned her struggles, fumbling with her fingers on an arm much stronger than her own. And any idiot could shift his grip in two seconds to start choking her out.

Enough. She had gone through enough with this prick! March's desperation outgrew her desire to be a good ring citizen. Trying to play it off as the mistake of a desperate woman so the ref wouldn't lose her shit, she reached up with both hands to grip around for his face, hoping one of her fingernails sank into his eye.

[BlackAkuma]

Beast could concede, he was surprised that March had this much fight left in her after all of this. He hadn't pegged the woman as all that durable, and he’d figured that being in a submission hold would take the wind out of her sails and make her easy prey, even after she’d escaped. He’d thought the sleeper would be the perfect way to end things - force her to waste energy, whittle her down to nothing, and leave her nothing more than a sleeping, broken husk on top of him, a battered shell for all the world to see. He might have even put her in a compromising position when he was done, something nice for her to wake up to.

But the opponent he had captured in his arm wasn’t some weak waif, wasn’t on the verge of fading into oblivion. No, she had more than enough fire in the veins to be a real problem, and keeping her under control was a struggle, with her managing to keep the neck out of his reach. A small annoyance, though, and one he was intent on rectifying. She was just delaying the inevitable.

Before he had the opportunity, though, March’s hand came to his face and started fumbling about. Nothing but the flailing of a losing woman, a rabbit stuck in a trap, and he paid it little heed…until one of those wayward figures sunk into his eyes. Reflexes won out and he released the hold immediately, rolling away to his knees and furiously rubbing at his aching eyeball.

”сука! чертова сука!” Nothing permanent as far as he could tell, but god, that hurt.

[DeVir]

March may have looked like she held onto life by a thread with the way her face contorted, but she thought about all the things her fingers were touching. And the number of lights on the arena ceiling above her (it was eight), but that kept her from thinking about how close he was coming to leaving her gasping for life on the canvas. That was his nose against her pinky. A tooth by her thumb. His ear that her index finger flicked. And the gooey dampness meant that was his eye, and her finger had already jabbed it without her having to try.

He lurched away, the ref yelled a complaint and flung her arms in the air between them, and March rolled away, making for a beautiful Renaissance painting for some cameraman at ringside. While the ref berated her and told her not to do it again (duh), March looked confused and innocent, if it were the furthest thing from her mind. "I didn't... mean it!", she choked out in between huffs. "Asshole was choking me, y'know, and I was just-" The ref stopped listening, apparently buying the story, and turned to check on Beastie Boy.

March grimaced at her many, many ailments, but she used the nearby ropes to stagger to her feet. No more lying on the canvas for him. Whether her pained and strained body betrayed her or not, she had to rely on the one thing that she never seemed to lose: her energy and spunk.

She avoided giving herself the time to think or doubt. Her legs ached and burned as she started moving, but she clenched her teeth and ignored their cries for a respite. And of course the fucking ref was in the way, which she only noticed once halfway there.

No, she wasn't in the way. She was a springboard that March's sore legs needed. A terrified springboard, once she saw March running at her, but a springboard nonetheless. "Duck!" March hopped, rolled over the ref's back, and swung her legs out, hoping to catch his neck and drag him down with a hurricanrana.

[BlackAkuma]

Beauty had begun to grow bored with all this. While she had enjoyed the sight of March’s contorted body and found he screams pleasant enough, the way things had been going reminded her of a movie she knew the ending to - there was only so much you could be invested in entertainment when it failed to surprise you. The blonde had done an admirable job, better than most would have if the situations were reversed, but Beast would be putting things away soon. She was certain.

Sometimes, she didn’t mind being wrong.

The eye-gouging was an exciting twist. Oh, March tried to play it off, but what was the American saying? You can’t bullshit a bullshitter. Beauty had pulled that trick before, notably on Beast himself, so she knew well that fingers didn’t just accidentally find their way into eyeballs. It was a tactic that she had gone to with little hesitation, as well. An obvious tell that she often drew from this particular well.

As it happened, Beast was given flashbacks to when Beauty had used this move on him, and he was no more amused by it now than he had been then. As soon as he cleared his eye, he fully intended to destroy her with a lariat, tie her up in the nearest corner, and just pummel her until what little sense she had left fled that silly head of hers.

The moment he could see well enough, he looked back to the referee. He could feel the pitter-patter of bare feet in the ring, indicating that March was running around, but it looked like she was heading straight to the referee, not him. What was she…

He saw the sense of it far, far too late, as she came soaring over the official and landed on his shoulder, capturing his head between her legs and pulling him through the air. His body flew about in an arc, a wild path that ended with him slamming into the canvas with her on his chest.

[DeVir]

What a dumb idea this would be in hindsight for someone who thought in hindsight. Not March. In current sight, her favorite sight, March let out a loud whoop mid-maneuver despite all that had gone wrong. As her leggy, twisting grip flicked him onto the canvas, she heard the crowd lift, and when the two of them landed and her ailing legs banged hard off the canvas, she could almost ignore the renewed pain, with almost being the most important word. "Damn, damn, yes, damn..."

Success. But if March knew anything (and that was a limited list of things she undoubtedly knew), she knew she couldn't get up and do much else of effect. Of the things she didn't know, many submission holds were not one of them. "Not as many as your stupid ass," she said to him while she shifted her body to try and hold him down with more weight on his chest. But she could still put a hurting on him. Her mind flew through a dozen holds other wrestlers had used on her or that she had seen other wrestlers use, and when she decided to jump on one of the simpler ideas, her arms and legs moved frenetically.

She stuck her calf, the leg warmer having long since rolled up to reveal bare, sweaty skin, beneath his chin. Then it was... grab the head, pull it against the calf so his neck took the brunt of the pressure. She didn't lock the opposite leg correctly, but she did remember to try rolling them both over, attempting to lock in a poor woman's version of a hold she didn't know was named the gogoplata.

[BlackAkuma]

March was saying something, but Beast was far too out of it to properly process the words. His equilibrium was way off tilt - it wasn’t just the hurricanrana, but the way she’d executed, catching him totally off guard, giving his brain no chance to compensate for the sudden shift. All he could do for the moment was look up at her with dazed, confused eyes, and while the view wasn’t horrible, it wasn’t one he wished to enjoy like this.

March wouldn’t stay idle for long, either, as she maneuvered around his body and placed her shin against his throat. At first, he wasn’t sure what her plan was, but he cottoned on when she pulled his head, forward, trying to choke him out. An unorthodox more, but not ineffective, forcing him to fight for every breath.

But if she thought this would be enough to knock him out, or even worse, put him to sleep, than she would be sadly mistaken.

Digging deep, Beast’s eyes flew open, then squinted tight, as he summoned his reverses and began to surge upwards, planting one foot on the canvas, then the other. He stood with her still pressed against him, rising to his feet and lifting her up, then put all his strength to forcing her off and shoving her hard towards the ropes. She’d come bouncin back, surely, and when she did there would be a devilish surprise waiting for her.

Beast spun about, raised his leg up, and swung it around in a wide arc as he flung his foot inward, attempting to hit her with a spinning hook kick to the face - his finisher, Clock Out.

[DeVir]

A fast mind didn't always equal a quick mind. March had come up with a hold as fast as anyone with a limited submission repertoire could have hoped, but anyone with a knowledgeable mind could look and see that her technique lacked. She shouldn't have tried it. The majority-casual crowd ate it up, however, seeing the blonde give the Beast a taste of his own medicine. For her part, March got into it, wrenching down with all the strength she had left and scowling like the sadist the woman outside of the ring would have claimed to be. "Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Stupid! Tap," she repeated, eager to see him surrender.

She was not eager to see him stand up. Again. The last time she had lost half of her spine. "Noooo! Stop. IT!" The hyperactive wrestler started to swing at his head with all of her might, but better sense won out this time because she could imagine fifty different ways he would slam her back down if she didn't have any leverage. She stretched out with her one free leg, trying to find the canvas, and this turned out to be the right choice... in part.

She was sent toward the ropes. Her twice-twisted, jelly legs threatened to fold out from under her, but the momentum carried her to the ropes. Discouraged by his escape, she started to once again notice everything wrong with her. Strained legs, all the way down. Burning ankles. Sharp pains in her back. A heavy head. Bruised abs. Even bouncing off the ropes, one of her calling cards, hurt, and the rebound hurt worse.

But when she got her eyes up and saw his foot rising to meet her, the Hare found that last sliver of charge in her batteries. Somehow, she caught his leg with a forearm as she reached him. Somehow, she had enough force to push at his leg and send both of them spinning with momentum. Her spin was faster, and with his back facing her, she hopped up, grabbed his shoulders, and dropped while she pulled him down onto her rising knees, making for a Piercing Little (big) Prick of a backstabber.

[BlackAkuma]

Beast was on the floor, face down, spread-eagled. He tried to move, but even the smallest twitch sent a blazing pain up and down his spine. He felt as if someone had just tried to hit a homerun on his ribs as if something hard and heavy had crashed into his back, and his spine was paying the price. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt, and as he laid there, he tried to connect the dots and figure out what had happened to put him there in the first place.

He had been running at March, full throttle, and set up for his finishing move. Everything was perfect. She was in the exact right place, he spun around at high speed, executed the move as he’d done a thousand times. It would’ve put her down for an easy three-count if it connected. Perhaps even a knockout.

Instead, all he hit was air. It felt as if she pushed at his leg and forced him to overspin, missing his target completely and taking him off kilter. He had her back to her, and before he could correct and face her again, he felt her hands at his shoulder, grabbing him, pulling him into…

A backstabber. She’d hit him with a backstabber. An effective one, too. All he could do was groan and moan as he lay there, wallowing in pain. Through his wincing eyes, he could see Beauty sitting on the table with arms folded and legs crossed, a glint in her eye as she watched her battered husband. He knew that look too well - devious thoughts were bubbling in the cauldron of her mind. For her, this wasn’t over.

But for him…