Match type: Standard Victory conditions: Pinfall, submission, knockout, or disqualification
Trudy Rae Calder pulled on her gear with easy confidence, the familiar weight of leather and denim settling against her skin and drawing a quiet, satisfied smile from her lips. She paused in front of the locker room mirror, not admiring herself so much as taking stock. The woman looking back at her was bright-eyed and restless, excitement coiled tight beneath the surface. The debut rush still hummed in her veins, an intoxicating blur of adrenaline, bodies, and yeah, a whole lotta fucking. Wilder than she’d ever say out loud. Better than she’d hoped. But tonight's bout would be different, more traditional. A reminder of why had she had entered this racket in the first place, for some good, honest wrasslin!
She finished putting on her boots, tugged once to test the tightness, then slapped her thighs and rolled her shoulders. The noise from the arena seeped through the walls now. The low rumble of a crowd waiting to be entertained. Trudy made her way to the gorilla position and stood just outside the curtains, took a deep breath, and finally stepped through Entrance Theme: Dorothy - MUD
Entrance Gear
There was a moment of silence, then a twang of guitar ripped through the speakers, gritty and loud, riding in on a driving beat that kicked the crowd awake. Spotlights snapped on as Trudy burst through the curtain in a wash of smoke and light, hat tilted just so, hips swaying with swagger as she strutted onto the stage, stopping dead at the top of the ramp. Grinning wide, Trudy reached down and drew two dummy pistols from dual holsters on either side of her chaps in one smooth, theatrical motion. She raised them skyward and fired.
BANG. BANG.
Blanks cracked through the air, smoke curling from the barrels as the crowd erupted. “This town ready to get rowdy or what?” Trudy laughed, loud and fearless, spinning the pistols before holstering them again with exaggerated flair. She tipped her hat to one side, teeth flashing, then started down the ramp like she owned the place.
She slapped hands on her way down, blew a kiss to the crowd, then slid under the ropes and popped to her feet, spinning once in the center of the ring to soak it all in. Trudy climbed the ropes, one boot planted high as she raised her arms, hat lifted in salute while the music roared behind her. As the music died down, she dropped off the ropes and shed the hat and holster, tossing it aside as she made her way to corner. Her expression sharpened as she stared back at the entrance, eager to lay eyes on the punkette she'd be sharing the ring with tonight. Standard Gear
Katsumi felt like she had momentum. Like she was starting to turn some heads, starting to gain some traction in this federation that seemed to venerate the lewd. And against all odds, to boot! Despite some... arguably regrettable indulgences with some opponents who tipped too many checkboxes, Katsumi's avoided giving the audience too much. Avoided engaging in any of the explicit matches LAW is known for; the ones that aren't approved for all audiences. Because audiences of all ages needed to watch Katsumi put hands on opponents, and these hands are rated E for everyone.
Tonight would be no different in that regard; a standard singles match. She's so down. Except this time, she's determined to make it sting. To give the audience a lasting impression. To make sure they remember exactly who and what the Punk Princess is. No being nice or charitable this time, no matter how young! Or cute. She's bucking for gold, and that means putting that ahead of everything.
The moment she heard the music and name, Katsumi snorked back a giggle. "Ohoho, no, this is gonna be a-maaaa-ziiing~!," she murmured to herself, hitting a quiet falsetto with impish delight. Sometimes the universe serves you up fine dining on a silver platter. And sometimes you're a social shark; a man-eater. She's wrestled this stereotype before. It's her favorite.
Within the bowl of the arena, the lights dim down low. Down, down, until there is only a sea of velvety black speckled with the twinkling starlight of cellphone screens. Then begin the heavy thrums of an electric guitar with an industrial flavor. Neon green laserlights flicks and flash along the perimeter of the stage in beat as the preamble plays. Her intro video.
A quartet of spotlights converge at the curtain, and when the heavy shred of the intro music kicks on, the woman herself rushes out to energetically meet the crowd; shining in black and gold, athletically trim body largely on display, especially around the midsection and thighs. Her arms and back are covered by a cropped leather jacket as a part of her ring entrance attire, but she's eschewed her typical sunglasses. No, no. Tonight, she wants the audience to be able to see her eyes at the ramp. Katsumi Oshiro
Her arms thrust upwards, fists pointed into the air, and the girl whirls a quick spin, the edges of the stage erupting in a spray of radiant purple cold sparks. Katsumi holds the pose for a second simply to bask in... well, mostly a shower of boos and scorn. The condemnation from the crowd is in stark contrast to the hopeful and supportive cheers Trudy was welcomed with. And yet, Katsumi hardly seems to mind it. She prefers it when they cheer. But she feeds on it when they hate her; the energy they pour into it, jolting her like an adrenaline shot. Loved or hated by the crowd, she savors the attention her presence commands from the crowd.
"And her opponent!," begins the announcer. "From Osaka, Japan! At a height of 5'7", and weighing in at 124 lbs.!"
"The Punk! Princess!"
"KATSUMIIII! OOOOSHIIROOOOO!"
The punkette in question has since dropped her arms, one fist propped to her now cocked hips, slender black eyebrow raised as she stares into the ring at her opponent. She can't get a particularly good look at her, but those chaps say everything. She casts a gaze left, then right, then motions forward, as if asking if everyone else is seeing this.
Then, Katsumi squares her stance with great dignity. And her legs, long as they are, kick side to side like a seesaw in the unmistakably goofiest part of the Cotton-Eyed Joe dance, her wide, expressive, and completely unobstructed eyes fully derped in opposite directions. Yeehaw.
It lasts only a few seconds before terminating in boisterous mocking laughter, Katsumi bent forward with one hand on her knees and the other pointing at Trudy up ahead. The message is clear to the audience: that's you. That's what you look like. She collects herself with a theatrically dainty wiping a tear from her eye, then starts down the ramp. An aloof smirk plays on her lips, hips asway, and gloved hands raised to shoulder height with palms turned out to the audience at either side of the aisle. Not to slap high-fives, no sir. She's simultaneously acknowledging and dismissing fans and detractors alike.
Upon reaching the edge of the ring, Katsumi grab the bottom rope and gracefully sweeps herself up and onto the apron, whirling to face out at the audience in a single, fluid movement. Leaning back against the cables, she presents her left fist forward - and the other hand pantomimes cranking, slowly producing a raised middle finger. The audience responds with a heightened intensity to their vitriol. Katsumi rewards them with an air-kiss.
"Muah."
Her back stretches further over the top rope, her supple form stretching before she smoothly backrolls into the ring. The moment her gold-accented boots touch the mat, she whirls to race to the opposite end of the ring and up the first two ropes of a turnbuckle. Her arms flare out wide to either side, presenting herself to the roaring audience with a wicked smile.
At last, the Punk Princess drops from her perch to return to her designated corner, passing Trudy along the way. The smile is replaced with the return of the confident smirk, and her vivid green gaze dips over her, finally taking her in; from tomboyish face, the curve of her breasts, her extremely toned belly, narrow hips, muscled thighs, and finally, her boots; then back up again, all in a flicker of a once-over.
It's as dismissive to Trudy as she'd been towards the audience on the way in.
Internally, however, she's reeling a little. She's pretty confident Trudy would qualify as a country heartthrob in most everyone's books. And as much as she'd hate to admit it, even her own. What isn't hurting the deal is how very much she resembles one of her earliest opponents in the federation, one who awakened a hitherto-unknown attraction to females. She'd been hoping to find her again, after the awkward way things were left. But that connection seems long gone now.
And- and most importantly, this is not her! Just some dumb blonde broad who happens to be hot! Odds are low that she'll be as irritatingly charming as the other girl! The addition of great abs won't make up for that! Probably!
Upon reaching her corner, Katsumi easily shrugs out of her jacket and deposits it onto the apron beyond the ropes. Now free of the outer-wear, Katsumi turns to grab the top ropes at either side and leans in, arching her slender frame forward in a slow, languid stretch - before angling her head forward and fixing her eyes on Trudy. The smile has made a return in all its predatory glory.
Last edited by CyanDimitrik on Tue Dec 23, 2025 1:32 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Trudy let her eyes wander over the punkette across the ring, letting herself drink in the theatrics. The girl sure knew how to make an entrance. But then came the twirls, the mockery, the little air-kisses. Trudy felt that flare of irritation crawling up her spine, the punk princess clearly taunting her and getting under her skin more than she’d like to admit. In her brief tenure in LAW, opponents often made fun of her good ol’ girl background. What they saw as a gimmick, Trudy lived as a way of life, part of who she was in and out of the ring. She wasn’t about to let some goth girl make her out to be the weird one… even if she was kinda cute, in that dark mysterious way.
Hell, that stuff might’ve rattled someone else. Not her. Not tonight. Let Katsumi put on her little show. Trudy wasn’t here to clap back with fancy poses or ditsy tricks. She was here to break things, starting with whoever had the nerve to smirk at her.
Her boots scraped against the canvas with a steady, rhythmic clink, like iron on wood in an old western. Hips swayed with the easy, dangerous rhythm of a true Southern cowgirl. When she closed the distance, she leaned in just enough and jabbed a finger sharp and deliberate at Katsumi’s chest, just enough to make her take a step back and take notice.
"You done parading, sugar?" she drawled, voice low, easy, carrying a grit that could sting. "‘Cause all that pretty little prancin’ ain’t gonna save ya when I get hold of ya."
She tilted her head, slow and deliberate, eyes sweeping over her opponent from boots to chin like sizing up a stubborn horse. A crooked edge of a smile tugged at her lips, half amusement, half promising trouble.
"Hell, you ain’t nothin’ but a high-steppin’ belle in black makeup," she said, the words sharp, teasing, dangerous. She leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping, teeth catching the light. "And honey… I’m gonna ride you up and down this ring like a busted bronco at the county fair."
The crowd erupted, laughter and cheers mixing with sharp oohs. Trudy straightened, flexed her hands, rolling her neck once. The irritation Katsumi had sparked still burned beneath the surface, but it had been corralled into a single, sharp focus. Fuel. Ready to strike.
She planted her boots, low and coiled, eyes locked on Katsumi, every muscle humming with readiness. The referee stepped in, raising his hand.
Having been stretching in her corner, Katsumi straightens her posture as Trudy approaches. A slender black eyebrow lifts again, unsure what to make of that. Pretty brazen! Pretty bold! Is she so confident she won't just take advantage of the opening as it presets itself? And then comes the pointy fingerpoke, ushering Katsumi back a step into her corner.
Her eyes narrow to little green slits. Then the wicked smile makes a return, just fangy enough at the corners. The Punk Princess leans in towards her, even as the referee is stepping in to try to separate them.
Her words come out in English; smooth, naturally colloquial, with a West coast accent that would be right at home in the 'burbs of West Hollywood. "Is that the pick-up line some cousins used to create you?" Her lips purse in foux-sympathy, complete with a headtilt. "This isn't a rodeo, Bronco Barbie. You're swimmin' in a shark tank. It only gets worse from here."
She shoots her a wink.
Her voice had to rise to be heard as the referee did her job of moving the fighters back. And when Katsumi is signaled to come closer, it's with a prowl. Deliberate steps, poised, confident, her gaze half-hooded and measuring the cowgirl up. She really does look like Cathy. Maybe it's a trend in America? The braid, the blonde hair. But she has that sunkissed skin, and even the green eyes. Even a touch of the same attitude! But hopefully Katsumi can avoid the icebreaker that occurred in that match. She likes a girl who can trashtalk, though. And her own jabs aside, she digs what Trudy's giving her. Something about saucy personalities and confidence, matched with an athletic body and pretty face, it just works.
Not that she'll let her in on that! That's something Katsumi has to keep locked away!
The referee waves a hand for the match to start. The bell sounds off.
She can clearly see the other girl tensed and at the ready, her frame flexed. Katsumi gives her the benefit of the same once-over she's given her, gaze running from her freckled face to the curve of her chest, the chiseled abs, her hips, thighs, and back up again. Then - her arms raise, fingers wiggling invitingly.
She makes the first move, attempting to rush in to meet Trudy. For what it's worth, it's a genuinely direct effort without subterfuge this time. She means to lock up with her, one hand going to the girl's collar, the other ready to seize upon her elbow in a classic start, bringing herself close to her to feel out her strength.
The wink earned a tight curl at the corner of Trudy’s mouth followed by a dismissive scoff. The old cousin-fucker trope, like she hadn't heard that one a million times. Still, it stung at something stubborn and proud in her chest. Katsumi talked slick. Confident. Mean in that way that bordered on both playful and malicious. Considering the business they were in, Trudy could respect that, even if it made her itch to shut the girl up with her hands instead of her mouth.
The bell rang, sharp and final, and the world around her suddenly narrowed.
She sank her weight just a little, boots biting into the canvas, shoulders loose but ready. Her eyes never left Katsumi as the punkette advanced, arms lifting, fingers wiggling in that maddeningly inviting way.
Katsumi rushed in clean, no tricks, reaching for the collar-and-elbow like they’d both agreed to speak the same language for once. Trudy met her halfway. Their forearms clapped together with a dull thud, hands finding shoulders and elbows, bodies colliding chest to chest. Katsumi was quick, she’d give her that. Light on her feet, low center, trying to angle in close and test leverage and strength.
So Trudy dug in. She widened her stance, knees bent, denim-clad thighs bracing as she leaned into the tie-up, testing the punk’s strength right back. There was a brief, grinding stalemate, mat squeaking, muscles bunching and flexing as they jockeyed for position. But instead of fighting it head-on, the cowgirl shifted with it, rolling her shoulder inward and letting Katsumi’s hand slide just enough before clamping down. Her fingers snapped around Katsumi’s wrist, twisting sharply as she stepped to the side, trying to wrench her into a standing wristlock. She immediately applied steady pressure into the hold, wanting to let her opponent know that this wasn't her first rodeo.
She leaned in close as she applied the torque, breath warm, voice low and edged with grit. “Careful, darlin’,” she murmured. “Sharks ain’t the only things that bite.”
Katsumi's a devious little mink. The very worst kind. Opportunistic and vicious, predatory. But for this opening volley, her primary objective is just getting a feel for Trudy. To see how much of those muscles are for show, and how much are for function. So when they collide and the lockup slaps into place with audible skin contact, she isn't holding back. Her sleekly-toned frame arches, her back curving as the trim muscletone through her thighs and biceps flex. Her steps counter Trudy's to not cede space, her effort poured in with a slow upscale in force, wanting to see if Trudy could keep up with her. And as the moment prolongs, she presses herself in closer to the blonde, chest fully pressed into the other girl's.
Then everything changes. It's Trudy who deviates from the unspoken agreement! Katsumi lets out a breathless yelp when she's pitched forward, her wrist rolling inwards to lock up the arm. "Ahn!" The sting is light for now, but the limb is useless in this wound state! And that's usually where the problems arise!
As the pressure mounts, Katsumi hisses with the ache. Her free hand paws uselessly towards the opposite shoulder, and her footing shifts to try to mount some level of resistance. Then Trudy is delivering her sass, in that country-rich voice. God, she loves that.
Her gaze cuts sidelong to the blonde, her face twisted with the strain of the hold. She takes a quick, sharp breath and pitches herself forward, planting her free hand to the mat for balance as she somersaults over! The motion unwinds the wrench in her arm, and she attempts to keep hold of the offending, grabbing hand to complete the spin and reverse the wristlock! She doesn't intend to keep it that way, however, as she bows the elbow to twist the captive arm tight against Trudy's back, the forearm vertical along her spine in a hammerlock.
She leans in, uncaring that this essentially presses her chest against the captive hand. Her head leans in over her left shoulder, connected to the captive hand, and she brings her lips close to Trudy's ear. As she speaks, her warm breath whisks against her skin: "What, you mean like your wrestling skill?"
Last edited by CyanDimitrik on Sun Jan 04, 2026 9:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Trudy had to admit, it was nice seeing the goth chick writhing in her grasp. Unfortunately, the moment wouldn't last long as the savvy technician would quickly find a way to reverse the situation. Before she knew it, Trudy was the one who's limb had been held captive!
The hammerlock bit deep against Trudy’s back, wrist twisted cruelly, the forearm pressing along her spine with a sting that made her grit her teeth and hum a low, frustrated growl. Katsumi’s breath, warm and teasing against her ear, carried that smug little edge that was meant to get under her skin. Trudy let it. She let the irritation flare like wildfire and turned it into action, flexing every muscle as she anchored her boots and coiled her hips.
She let out a sharp wince as her arm was forced up the length of her back, her other hand pawing uselessly at her shoulder. While it did little to quell the pain, it did remind her that she still had another limb at her disposal.
“Talk all you want, darlin’,” Trudy drawled, her voice low and rough, carrying grit and defiance. “But that mouth of yours ain’t gonna save you from the hurt comin’ your way.”
She drove her first elbow back into Katsumi’s ribs, short and sharp, trying to force space, a deliberate jab meant to loosen the hold. She twisted her torso slightly, letting the rotation feed into a second elbow jab, aiming for the same spot as before. Finally, she rotated as much as the hold would allow her, and unleashed a third elbow jab backwards, aiming to strike the tender spot in Katsumi's ribcage and earn her freedom back with brute force!
Katsumi certainly had plans to evolve the hammerlock into more painful, interesting things. Some people might tap to the jointlock contorting their limb this way, especially normies. But Trudy wasn't a normy, now was she? No, she was going to make her work a bit more for it. To give the audience more of a spectacle before giving in to her.
Before she can retort to Trudy's remark - as of course she'd have more to say! - an elbow thumps against her ribs, cutting it short. "Unf!"
She redoubles the cinch on the arm with a soft growl against Trudy's ear, a warning for her to behave. But Trudy aims to do just the opposite. A second elbow thumps into her ribs again, harder this time. "Ungh!"
After that second elbow, Katsumi's grip has slackened. This gives Trudy all the space she needs to land the final, freeing blow against Katsumi's ribs. "Unh!" Her hands release the cowgirl in favor of looping her arms protectively against her middle, very briefly stunned and open to the other girl.
Trudy felt the pressure ease a split second before her body caught up to it. One moment her shoulder was screaming, her arm pinned tight along her spine, and the next there was finally some semblance of space to play with. She tore her wrist free and rolled her shoulder hard, shaking life back into it as she turned into Katsumi’s space instead of away from it.
She stepped in close, crowd noise swelling around them, and drove her knee upward in a sharp, compact thrust toward Katsumi’s gut. While Katsumi's guard was already there, protecting her already battered midsection, Trudy still tried to deliver more than enough Umph behind it to make sure the girl would hopefully stay hunched over for just a wee bit longer.
The instant she felt the opening had been created, Trudy would then dig her fingers into Katsumi's thick black mane and draw her other arm back, shoulder rotating as her torso twisted, winding up with bad intentions written all over the motion. “Best brace yourself, darlin’,” she drawled while flashing a feral grin as she coiled, freckles standing out against flushed skin. “This here’s where most folks learn not to crowd a cowgirl.”
With that, Trudy let the last of the tension go. Her hips snapped through, shoulder rolling forward as she hurled all that pent-up momentum into her signature haymaker hook, a brutal, looping lariat aimed high, designed to catch Katsumi across the neck and jaw if it found its mark. Haymaker Hook
Whether Katsumi ducked, countered, or ate the full force of it, Trudy followed through hard, aiming to send Katsumi's head clean off her shoulders if it landed!
Katsumi always felt a twinge of jealousy when wrestling with girl's like Trudy. It couldn't be helped. Despite her efforts, the Punk Princess seemed doomed to never achieve the full physical glamor of a defined six-pack. She's fit, for certain. Her midsection is muscled, sleek, defined with soft skin and tone lying just beneath. She cut quite a figure. But it wasn't the perfectly-defined abdominals Trudy had. And while the cowgirl grabbed ahold of Katsumi's silky locks to keep her steady, all the while her nursing her elbowed midsection, she couldn't help but be reminded.
The burn against her scalp is a dull sting she'd acclimated to over the years of wrestling; everyone grabs the hair. From the most girlscout opponent to the absolute jerks, everyone pulls people by the scalp. Ever since Katsumi got her makeover and let her hair grow long, it's only been more pronounced. So that isn't what gets Katsumi's attention.
The words Trudy says are what pulls her bright emerald focus up from literal navel-gazing to the blonde's freckly sun-kissed face. She sees the eager look in her eyes. She sees the dramatic, theatric even wind up of her fist. Katsumi blinks at her; possibly the most meekly innocent look Trudy's seen from the punkette yet. Just a slow, guile-free bat of criminally long eyelashes.
The lariat swings dramatically forward. Had Trudy kept ahold of her hair, she would've had no choice but to eat it - and get a health chunk of her hair ripped out in the process. But thankfully, Trudy isn't that kind of monster. And the moment those hips torque, Katsumi is dipping below the well-telegraphed attack to weave beneath her and emerge behind once again!
With Trudy going full tilt into the lariat, the end result of Katsumi dipping in behind her back leaves both girls actually facing each other. But it's Katsumi with the immediate answer, arms lashing out to try to hook around Trudy's waist! With a sharp pull, she attempts to yank the blonde snug to her body and throw herself back into a tight arch!
If successful, Trudy will land square on her back behind Katsumi, with the Punk Princess arched upwards, arms still around the cowgirl's waist, and balanced on the gold toecaps of her boots. A northern lights suplex out of nowhere, into a pinning position!
