Down to Size - Parker Ward vs Bashira Matsumoto [Standard]

[Parker]

Parker felt that dropkick. Felt it shudder through her boots, felt Bashira’s face compress beneath the soles, felt the ring quake under the titan’s mass as she toppled backward and… oh god, she didn’t stay down. Just stumbled into the ropes.

The rookie pushed up to one knee, chest heaving, wide-eyed and flushed with the adrenaline high of maybe, just maybe, turning the tide. Her hope had been Bashira would be like a turtle turned on its shell, unable to right itself and be easy pickings but that was not the case. She wiped hair from her eyes, disbelief cracking into a shaky grin. It was fine she just… needed a new plan this was still salvageable

Then the grin died. Baby-blue eyes widened as the large woman came barreling back with all the fury of a freight train, a massive tree-trunk leg swinging up at her. The boot came at her like a meteor aiming to take her head clean off her shoulders.

“EEP!”

Parker pitched sideways, tumbling in a frantic shoulder-roll as the boot whooshed past her scalp, missing by inches and hitting nothing but air (and probably altering weather patterns). The brunette cut her momentum on a dime with a practicee sprawl then she was pusing up with military precision to get back to her feet. She scrambled fast, almost slipping from sheer urgency, heart hammering, survival instincts shrieking louder than the crowd.

“Stay moving stay moving stay moving,” She murmured to herself, trying to present any solution she could to deal with this. Weight classes existed for a reason and while she was certain she could punch above her own, this bordered on the ridiculous. Scratch that, this was the ridiculous.

Parker darted around Bashira’s flank like a fox around a stomping ox, cutting tight and low, then lunged. A determined missile threw the weight of her shoulder and arm right at the back of Bashira’s knee, aiming with everything she had for a classic chop block to the powerhouse’s foundation. She was swift to act and quicker to flee, not wanting to be anywhere near Bashira if she actually toppled. Skirmishing wasn't her style, but tonight it had to be.

[killcarrion]

Not many positive attributes could be assigned to Bash. But being pig-headed and obstinate came in damn useful when refusing to succumb to consciousnesses-rattling dropkicks. A woman of her stature having become far more accustomed to just straight up taking the hits like those rather than dodging them because of...well, obvious reasons, and this meant cultivating the endurance factor of a bull-headed rhinoceros with about the thinking capacity to match. Bashira tanking herself through the dead-on accurate dropkick and with a blubbered whirling of her head she recuperated enough of her faculties to acknowledge the opportunity presented as she was sent backpedaling against the ropes. The elasticity of the threaded lifelines propelling the rotund brawler back towards the center of the ring with more velocity Bashira could normally generate given her nigh thee hundred pound physique. Every ounce of which was now careening towards the nimble puke like a freight train of overweight destruction with a Big Boot attempt...

...narrowly foiled by the sprightly spryness of a rookie who was inches away from having the treads of Bashira's size thirteens embedded into her own visage. The bear brawler stamping that boot into the canvas with an aggravated scoff from the acknowledgment of her strike whiffing completely, taking a second to get her balance back and ceasing her forward momentum before beginning to scan around the ring with balled fists and a glowered grimace. A predator hunting its prey who would make their own presence abundantly clear via the spearing tackle aimed right for the back of Bashira's knee. "GAHH!!! You Mother Fucking Fuck!!!" Bashira ensuring the television program's adult rating with hurled epithet's capable of being heard in the rafters as she buckled and wobbled with an inebriated stance until eventually buckling down to one knee. A gloved hand clamped onto her battered hamstring alongside the back of her knee as the giantess found herself incapable of standing upright and in an obvious moment of weakness.

[Parker]

Parker didn’t wait for the crowd to finish reacting. The moment Bashira’s roar rattled the air and the mountain of a woman dropped to one knee, Parker was already moving, instinct, adrenaline, and sheer feral determination driving her faster than her brain could catch up. The rookie circled wide at first, boots scraping hard across the canvas, careful to stay out of arms reach in case any wild clubbing strikes surged out from Bashira. The big woman was a wounded animal, but no less deadly in desperation. Parker kept low, shoulders hunched, fingers splayed like a grappler ready to spring.

Then she did.

She lunged in, scrambling around Bashira’s massive frame before the brawler could twist toward her. Parker practically vaulted up the woman’s back, arms snapping around her thick neck in a tight clasp. Her boots scrabbled for purchase, trying, failing, adjusting again as she fought to climb her like a furious little spider monkey.

Her bicep drew tight, grinding down as it attempted to cinch into a space beneath Bashira’s chin. Parker wrenched the sleeper hold in with everything her wiry frame could muster. Her legs shot wide, aiming to clasp around Bashira’s waist but the woman was simply too big. Parker’s boot heels instead were forced to dig into the larger woman’s sides as if she were riding a horse, anything to help her cling on just enough to have gravity assist with her hold.

If she couldn't wrap her up, she'd try to topple her.

Parker shifted her weight to one side, then violently heaved her whole center of gravity in that direction, yanking, twisting, throwing her hundred-and-forty-something pounds against Bashira’s equilibrium like a wrecking ball with a pulse. She let out a guttural cry as she committed fully, arms cinched around the woman’s throat like a vise, teeth gritted, eyes squeezed shut and tried to drag the two of them sideways, aiming to rip the giantess off her base and take her crashing to the mat with Parker still glued to her back.

[killcarrion]

Roaring adulation started to eclipse the entirety of the stadium from the fervent fandom witnessing Parker showcase resolute determination, emblazoned courage, and the type of fighter's spirit necessary to make miracles become reality. Successive attacks from the fan favorite each equating to Parker deliberately and purposefully chopping away at the base of the mighty redwood with each swing further weakening its wavering verticality. Hit-and-run tactics working like gangbusters against the gargantuan grappler ceasing to receive one moment of peace from what felt like the wrestling equivalent of a coked-up speedball battering her from all directions. Bashira struggling with instability after having her one of her legs practically tackled into by the little puke, compelling her into taking a knee with bellowed expletives which expressed Bashira's frustrations about as succinctly as possible. Whatever control she had over the match was effectively non-existent when abruptly...

"HGGH!!!" Parker made her presence known with a masterfully applied sleeperhold wrenched down on Bashira's windpipe, accompanied alongside chortled sputters and clawed flailing at the offending arm. Scratched attempts at dislodging the torqued limb beginning to become more lethargic as the Bear Grappler started taking more shallow breathes with eyes that were sewn shut, seemingly susceptible to the rocking motions of the pugnacious underdog showered with praise by fans and on the cusp of capsizing the beast...were it not for one of her outstretched hands snatched onto the middle rope. A huffed exhalation from her flared nostrils as Bashira arose with both hands now tightened upon the rookie's strength siphoning arm. "Gotcha, ya little puke. Let's see ya hop around now..." Bashira muttered as she stood upright, bent her knees slightly, and catapulted herself backward in an attempt to splash the Northern Star underneath the heavyset brawler who'd swivel to the side once capable.