Nathalie Christiaens vs. Theodore 'Theo' Logan - The Devil In Blue

[BlackAkuma]

What was this style? It was hard for Theo to put a finger on it.

She had some training, it was clear. He’d come across a couple of completely untrained people during his MMA stint, guys who thought they were hot stuff because they won a bar fight one time, and the telltale signs always gave them away. Their stance was poor, they made a fist the wrong way, they fell for every little trick and feint, easier to read than a storybook.

By comparison, Nathalie was far better, though she lacked some polish, moved less fluidly than he would’ve expected from someone who’d been formally trained. He was surprised she managed to evade the jab clean; that was one of his best punches.

The right cross caught her, though. She probably could’ve avoided, but she tried to come in on the half-beat, not giving him the proper space. She was eager, too eager, and she paid for it with a good shot to the face. He’d remember that.

Theo saw his opening. He moved in and drew back his fist, only to find his momentum sharply halt when something hard and fast crashing into his side. It took a split-second to realize it was her calf, shooting out with a halfhazard kick as she retreated. Not even close to a full hit.

It didn’t need to be. He got another taste of her power, right on the ribs, and this time it was enough to make him cry out and stagger to the side. He planted his feet before he could go too far, but turned back with renewed focus - he needed to do something about those kicks. He needed to get inside.

A charge, then. He ducked low, tightened his guard, and rushed into her personal space, looking to bulldoze through whatever offense she had ready for him. He opened his arms as he came in, wrapped them around her waist, and attempted to push her back into the corner at ramming speed, hoping to limit her options there.

Felt like a smart move. Willy didn’t agree. ]”Geez, dude, ease up.” He called out from behind the post, probably there to get a good view of Nathalie from behind. ”Not that serious.”

”That is not helping!”

[Winter]

Yes, punch me again.

Nat's face did not agree, but she couldn't help but turn smug again internally seeing him stagger back from her wild kick. She had caught ribs with that one, her bare foot and the thumping impact against it informed her. Unfortunately, she did not get to see what else resulted as she turned to support her teetering body with the ropes to avoid flinging herself to the ground on the follow-through. She lingered there long enough to straighten again, open her mouth in hopes the crackling sound on the side of her head - and the pain - would go away, and swing back toward him, hoping he remained a prime target for a flying foot.

He didn't because he hit her before she located him.

An unnamable sound pushed free from her gut when he plowed into her, and her slender frame failed to resist the momentum. He carried her like stolen purse into the corner, and she cried a proper cry when her back met metal. The blow crunched her spine and didn't do anything better for her bending shoulder blades, but her body had just enough bend and resilience to spare her from worse. Regardless, she seethed, tensing up from anger that equaled the pain - and most importantly of all, she agreed wholeheartedly with the voice calling from behind her. Was that his dear partner?

Nat took the words as motivation and inspiration - she struck out with a hand long enough to cup him tightly by the cheeks, forcing his head and therefore his charging shoulders away. "Listen to your friend!" A familiar counter had served her well from this position, and she needed just an ounce of space...

She found it, and she gripped the middle rope, hopped, and swung her legs up and around his waist. They shuffled and coiled until she could pull him just an inch closer and hold him tightly enough in a figure-four bodyscissor to give him a scare.

[BlackAkuma]

Susan Carmichael.

Or it could be Susan Carbody. There were two girls in Theo’s third grade elementary school class, and he got them confused even to this day. It didn’t matter - one of them was this bigger-than-usual girl who was constantly starting stuff with him. Probably because she liked him, in hindsight, but he didn’t pick up the cues back then.

One day, he’d enough of it and finally confronted her about it, got up in her face, looked like he would start a fight…but didn’t. He balked halfway, because boys don’t hit girls—unwritten rules.

Susan Carmichael gave him a black eye. After that, Theo had much less of a problem hitting women.

…come to think of Willy had been there, too, laughing after he got decked. Some things never changed.

An idle thought, a memory that came to him now as he proceeded to corner Nathalie. She pushed his face away and created distance, but that was perfectly fine; he was about to do that, anyway. He reeled back, cocked his fist, and prepared to launch a haymaker square into her face.

Only one problem: He couldn't breathe.

His lungs weren’t expanding, his breath was being forced out at an alarming rate, and it took him a solid second to process that the culprit was Nathalie. Specifically, it was her legs, which had wrapped around his waist and took on a form that was akin to a tree trunk, both in size and hardness. Theo cried out as the pain set in and he went into a struggling fit, desperately pushing at her hardened thighs and finding absolutely no give.

Thank God for the referee. She couldn't break this up soon enough.

…Nathalie was totally going to milk the four-count, wasn’t she? Fuck.

[Winter]

People did not look at Nat and see strength. She loved that about other wrestlers - it branded them all as inferior idiots.

For all the runway leanness of her long legs, she had watched them cut off the breathing of even the ugliest skulls, the most nonexistent muscular necks, and the burliest torsos. Whatever the size of her legs, that did not make the muscles any less like carved steel when she flexed them, and she had learned something over years of fighting on the streets and battling in the more organized setting of a wrestling ring. Slender legs could slip into the spot to crush a windpipe, force a bitch's temples together, or tuck beneath a set of ribs. Others could keep their stubby fat little legs - she would keep on knocking out the morons who did not take her power seriously.

Theo would not be falling unconscious from her elevated bodyscissor - she could not generate that sort of power from this position - but the shock and panic that radiated from him left her beaming. Her streamlined frame made it easy for her to keep herself aloft and put enough into the squeeze to leave him barking out his complaints, and while Nat could see and hear the warnings from the ref, she put her out of sight and out of mind and stared into Theo's face with a mocking, outstretched tongue that was almost Jordanesque.

But she remembered her supporter behind her, and Nat twisted her head far enough to glance at him in her periphery. She leveled a wink his way - though the first row seemed to believe it belonged to them - before she turned back, straining so that her abs rippled and legs flared with power when the referee uttered the four.

Nat let him go, and though one foot dropped to the mat to keep her from falling, she swung the other out at his gut to keep him at bay. She finished her landing with both feet on the mat... and went lightheaded, having perhaps exerted too much right after taking a knock to the head.

Worth it. She brushed it off with a flip of her hair, doing her best to avoid betraying the weakness. "It would be smart for you to keep your eyes on me," she taunted.

[BlackAkuma]

”1!”

It seemed impossible, but Theo couldn't take in a single breath. It was like his lungs just didn’t work, and he’d never experienced anything like it. The relentless, crushing pressure that sliced into his body and forced his organs to move out of the way or be crushed.

”2!”

He pushed at her thighs out of reflex, but he knew that wasn’t going to get him anywhere. These legs were strong, inflexible, and felt like bands of corded steel around his body, like he wouldn’t have had any more success if he’d used a crowbar.

”3!”

He leaned back and hissed through clenched teeth, as the last second went on for what felt like an eternity. His legs were weakening, and there was a small, stupid part of him that wanted to tap out. Thankfully, he had the good sense to ignore that part of himself, but he was so glad that this wasn’t a no-disqualification match.

”4!”

He was finally let go, and while he wasn’t in a position to do much of anything at the moment, she ensured he couldn't when she pushed him away with her foot. He stumbled back a few steps, only to fall to his knee as he clutched his sides and sucked in all the oxygen he could muster. Hardly the best spot to be in, and he pushed himself up to his feet a moment later with a rough stance, but there was no hiding the pain he was going through. He needed a moment to collect himself, and given Nathalie’s pattern so far, she wasn’t liable to give him that.