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

[BlackAkuma]

People oftentimes asked Theo why he and Willy were friends. Depending on his mood at the time and their reason for asking, he could give many answers, with the most common being ‘our Moms made us play together’.

The truth was a wee bit more complicated than that. As hard as it could be to tell sometimes, Willy was a good guy. Gullible, sure, and he thought with his dick way more than he should. But when Theo needed him - really, really, really needed him - he was always on the ball. The guy was like an ox in so many ways: strong as fuck, good for grunt work, but with a tendency to stink up the place.

This, though, was not one of his worst days. A genuine, tangible part of Theo wanted to give his friend a good slap upside the head, but he kept it under control for now: He had bigger problems. Namely, he needed to deal with the Belgian who’d been beating him silly with her ass for the past minute or so.

Nathalie wasn’t giving him any leeway, as she came charging in again before he could get away from the ropes. He thought she’d take him head-on again, but instead, she used the ropes and caught him in the back with a wild variation of the tiger feint kick, one that struck him in the spine and sent him stumbling. Good execution, there. He hadn't the first clue who’d taught Nathalee how to wrestle, but they’d given her a good set of moves.

He could be impressed later; for now, Theo had to deal with it. Going in hard hadn't worked too well for him, but he didn’t like the idea of hanging back and letting her get comfortable, either. Not with those legs, not with those kicks. Dangerous as it was, he needed to bring the fight to her. Needed to be aggressive, but not stupid.

Theo stumbled back a few feet from her strike, then charged her way again, hoping to catch her before she could chase after him. He went low, almost crouching as he closed the distance, only to leap up at the last second and launch towards her head while her leg shot upwards, attempting to take her off guard with a rising knee, aiming the point of the bone for her face.

[Winter]

Nat gathered that he had not seen that one coming.

Her attitude had ensured that half a dozen different coaches had instilled bits and pieces of their movesets and experiences in her before finding her too much trouble and sending her along to the next coach. Her talent ensured that she never lacked someone willing to train her and claim her as “their protegee,” but with by learning from each coach until she rubbed the wrong way, she had absorbed several different fighting styles. All of them combined with her street fighting background - a talent born of necessity given her way of life - to make her unpredictable, adaptable, and capable of catching the Theos of the world off-guard with her varied moves.

At the risk of gloating too much, the raven-haired Belgian leaned on the ropes to present the sweat-slick of her chest, abs, and thighs. Her antics continued to win favor with the previously lukewarm crowd, and she believed that had as much value as a win. Fandom meant prestige and money, and Nat loved the idea of considerably more of both. But she did not overstay her welcome - after a moment’s posing, when she saw that Theo had managed to keep his feet, she propelled forward, ready to drive him to the mat with yet another flash of her superior athleticism. And here she had thought he could keep up with her - what a shame.

Almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind, paired with her next plan - to hammer him in the back of the neck with a descending heel - he cast her declaration of his shame out and into the sands by turning on her. The Sapphire Stunner’s momentum made a change-of-direction almost impossible, but she unwisely attempted to adjust, anyway, and only ended up teetering on the side of one foot before she could spin away like a footballer trying to break free of her defender.

In a sense, she did dodge what he had planned for her, albeit by making it worse - she stretched her lean body out so far that the knee caught her between the chin and the middle of her neck, and she choked on the damage to her throat before the hit spun her to the ground on her stomach, rasping and gasping. Fucking… shit.

[BlackAkuma]

Well-rounded.

Those were the two words that Theo kept coming back to when he thought about Nathalie’s style. Most of the women he’d encountered in LAW were quick on their feet, nimble and agile, dancing around the ring. A small few were powerhouses that could hang with Willy. Some of them had strong legs or were skilled with submissions.

Nathalie was the first one who didn’t seem to have any real leaning one way or another, but was just good all over. Strikes, grappling, even the tricky luchador stuff. She was playing mind games, but he got the impression that it was less out of necessity and more out of entertainment. She was more than good enough to hold her own, straight up.

All the more reason to bring the fight to her, cut her off before she could get her momentum going again. In this he was successful, even more than he’d expected, as he managed to land the knee while she was attempting an attack of her own, catching her in the throat. A nasty, lucky hit, and one he’d gladly take.

It was enough to bring her down, flat on her back, and Theo hurriedly moved in to capitalize, not wanting to waste a single second. He grabbed her leg, tucked it between his thighs, fell on her back and reached around her head to grasp her chin, attempting to pull Nathalie back with an STF, a move that would neutralize one of her legs while putting extreme pressure on her lower back. The perfect way to wear her down.

The ropes were a good distance away - not impossible for her to reach with some effort, but she would have a hell of a time if he could lock it in. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to seeing her try.

[Winter]

If Nat’s panging throat had allowed her to form words, she would have surely added some colorful ones in French to go with those coursing through her mind.

Instead, she coughed and sputtered, and though it risked her looking utterly foolish, she held both palms to the front of her neck and kicked the mat in a rising panic from the lump of sharp pain that choked her and silenced her and worried her. It didn’t seem as if it planned to go away anytime soon, either, even as her hands worked to massage it away. Her eyes watered too, and she could not see or think about much of anything short of hatred and an aimless desire to escape from the situation to spare herself from looking pathetic.

Theo’s grabbing her leg ensured that out of all the options, she first regained her voice, even if it sounded like she had swallowed a blunt knife. She unleashed a few of the most colorful curses and insults she knew in French, so the horrible sound likely helped add to the vitriol. Even unable to see through the water in her eyes, she started searching for a ref, the ropes, a bludgeon, or anything else that might aid an escape, but all the while, he began to fold her up and ensnare her.

Having her leg bent and trapped hurt badly enough - though no worse than her throat - but she unfortunately found more of her voice when he pulled at her chin. “AAAGH! Fucking connard…” Her jaw locked before she could add anything more, and everything from the middle of her back to the trapped calf cried out as he forced them to bend. Worst of all, though, it strained her neck, and that facet of the hold’s equation left her momentarily paralyzed with pain, able to do nothing but grip his hands with both of hers. She wore her misery on her face save for the hatred in her flitting eyes that dared the camera operator to take a closer look at her.

[BlackAkuma]

”You’re turn.”

Theo wasn’t a vengeful sort of guy - usually. He could have a temper, sometimes, but it usually took a great deal of trauma before he reached the point where he would take things personally. Wrestling was a business, a sport, not that serious, and he didn’t want to be one of those people who held grudges and got into massive feuds. But having an ass rubbed in his face? That’d do it. Yup.

Nathalie seemed intent on making this whole thing extra personal, so she would getting the nastier treatment out of him, today. The STF was the perfect move to wear her down, target several of her best spots all at once, and she seemed to realize it, too, if all that cursing was any indication. He had no idea what a ‘connard’ was, but it sounded a lot like ‘asshole’ to his ears.

Good. If she liked that, she was going to love this.

”Eyes up.” He couldn't resist throwing her words back at her as he moved forward in the hold, stretching her leg out even more. He abruptly let go of her chin, but if she thought that meant she was getting relief, she’d be sorely disappointed when his arm wrapped around her throat and he transitioned from the STF to the STS - stepover toehold sleeper. Now she didn’t just have to deal with pain, but the looming threat of being choked into unconsciousness. Not the best thing for the image she was trying to cultivate.

From the edge of his vision, he caught Willy looking over, unsure and nervous - even better. He could finally see how they were supposed to be handling business in these matches.

[Winter]

She hated his snide words all the more because of the truth in them.

He did make it her turn. Nat resisted the urge to whine and complain as she crumpled up further and further in the hold, trying to find some inch of space to release the tension in her body and free her throbbing neck. She began to look more like a raisin than a woman, but for a brief second, she inched into a space where her flexible body could navigate the pain of the hold. She started shuffling with her free foot and planted a hand on the ground, eager to force her way out of her state as a C-plug.

He shuffled the hold on her leg tighter at that exact moment, and Nathalie groaned her frustration and agony. She did not let that shift stop her, but the next one did - and his ongoing taunting somehow made the predicament that much worse. She jockeyed to slip free at first, but she reacted too slowly. His arm wound around her neck with all the snug fit it took to look like it belonged there, and Nat's pride took a tumble in favor of wide-eyed fear as his muscles constricted her neck and left her sputtering for a clean breath.

Shit... shit. The crushing weight of knowing this could end her match early and leave her looking like an absolutely pathetic catin who handed this struggling fool a win almost eclipsed the panic of the pressure on her throat - many a bitch had tried to choke her before, even before she began wrestling - and fortunately inspired her to instinctive action. She pushed down hard with both her one free knee and the elbow on that same side, attempting to propel them just enough to force them both to roll over so she could stretch out every appendage in a bid for the ropes somewhere behind him - or to squirm free entirely if she caught him unprepared.

[BlackAkuma]

So, this was what it felt like to be on top in a match? Theo could not lie, he was liking it.

So often, too often, it was the other way around, with him being on the bottom while someone - typically a woman - stretched him out. Turning the tide was a refreshing change of pace, and one he was relishing in. Especially since it was starting to look like there was a good chance he could even win with this.

To her credit, Nathalie was holding in there far better than most would. Maybe it was toughness; she was built that way, but he suspected it had to do with good, old-fashioned stubbornness. She didn't strike him as the type to do well with losing, and even less with losing to a man.

Whatever the reason, she was putting up a fight, even after he transitioned to the choke. It was almost as if the choke gave her more energy, strangely enough, as she found the gumption to pull them both forward, inch by inch, until she snagged the ropes.

The referee came over to break things up, and as tempting as it was for Theo to milk the count, he let go after two, rolled away, and pushed up to his feet, moving slowly, taking a moment to catch his breath. He was in a good spot, so there was no reason to waste it by rushing.