Trudy Rae Calder vs Katsumi Oshiro - "Riot at the Rodeo"

[DJPow]

Of all the triggers in this world, Trudy had the misfortune of stepping directly onto the one Katsumi had laid out like bait. The punkette’s grin widened at the first crack in Trudy’s composure; by the time the cowgirl lunged, fire in her veins and flag-waving fury in her voice, Katsumi’s eyes had already gone sharp with that mean-spirited glee.

And Trudy, god bless her, charged headlong.

The forearm should’ve been money. She had the step, the hip, the torque, all that good brawler pedigree behind it. But instead of a jaw, her momentum found air. Katsumi wasn’t there anymore. One blink and she’d dropped to the side, boots snapping out to scissor Trudy’s ankles. Trudy’s forward drive betrayed her the instant her legs were scooped, and she hit the mat face-and-chest first with a thump sharp enough to rattle her teeth.

Then came the voice all nasal, sing-song, obnoxious in that way only Californians and certain small dogs managed, perched above her like some smug goblin. Niagara Flop, huh. Trudy’s cheek twitched against the mat.

She planted both palms, shoulders bracing under her tank, ribs tightening as she pushed up to one knee. Katsumi might’ve had the snark advantage for now, but Trudy was already rolling her weight through the impact, shaking off the sting blooming through her forearm.

“Cute. Mighty damn cute.” The words came through her teeth, heat crawling up the back of her neck.

While Katsumi was still within arm’s reach admiring her own wit, Trudy lashed up from her kneel and seized a fistful of punkette black hair, yanking the girl down to eye level. “And for the record,” she murmured hot at Katsumi’s ear, fingers still tugging at the scalp, “America ain’t never sucked at wrestlin’. We just like hittin’ people too damn much.”

The crowd roared at the cowgirl going dirty, while the ref-girl sprinted in like she’d just witnessed a murder.

Hair! Miss Calder, release immediately!

With a roll of her eyes, Trudy eventually complied, but not before one last tug. She used the yank to reposition herself, attempting to step her outside leg around Katsumi’s right hip, planting her knee on the mat to flank her. With Katsumi’s head still down, Trudy threaded her right arm under the punkette’s right armpit and up behind the neck, palm flattening between Katsumi’s shoulder blades. Her left hand found the base of Katsumi’s skull, coaxing her head further down in stark contrast to her shoulder joint in an attempt to secure and trap her rival in a painful half nelson!

[CyanDimitrik]

Katsumi had machinations in mind, but she was waiting. Biding her time. Expecting that impact to stun Trudy a little more than it apparently had! It's important to rub it in when working on a taunt, after all. It can't be a one-and-done deal, to turn it from a temporary lapse into aggravated verbal assault, some vinegar has to be doused on that wound. But the fact remains that the sudden sharp stop to Trudy's momentum didn't stun her enough to lay on what the Punk Princess had in mind.

And for that, Katsumi's hair gets yanked.

The yelp response is an automatic one, startled and stinging at the same time. And while hair gets pulled with some frequency in the ring (often by her, in fact!), when it's not being used to reposition someone, it hits a special nerve; a flash of anger behind those emerald eyes. It's a very rare thing when the referee intervenes on Katsumi's behalf, and hearing the audience actually rally for the foreigner grates on that raw nerve a little more.

With a growl, she finds herself yanked one last time, her head jerking with the pull. If nothing else, those silky blueblack tresses are stuck to her head nice and secure! But the motion seemed so pointlessly violating that it jackhammers on that nerve even further. Her words are heard and filed for use in the very immediate sense. But not just yet. Timing is everything, and it has to sting after this.

The arms lock around her, hooking beneath her arms and coming together behind her neck and head to ply that pressure in a classic full nelson, kneeling edition. Katsumi's chin tucks towards her chest, straining her neck muscles against the downward force. The stress builds up around the shoulders, but most importantly, breathing becomes a strain with this hold. And she can't linger in it.

Old Katsumi would've struggled and fought to get to the ropes. Old Katsumi, the brawler Katsumi, the wild animal with a few technical tricks up her sleeve, would've been like most in this situation. The common counter to the full nelson is to loosen the arms and drop free, but you can't really do that with the pair of them on their knees. The only escape would've been to flap a wrist hoping to tap out against something, pass out in the cowgirl's arms, or spend tremendous energy trying to force the two of them into the ropes.

This is not Old Katsumi. This is New Katsumi. The finely-tuned technical savant with a healthy dash and proclivity towards brutalism.

"Then... this... is gonna be.. a reality check!"

Her hands go high, clasping together above her head. Turning her elbows forward, she begins to pressure the arms downwards together before herself, putting strain over Trudy's forearms to ply steadily mounting, severe pressure; the pressure of natural and supported movement against unnatural movement held together only with grip strength. The likely outcome is to see Trudy's hands slip from their positions, with her arms caught beneath Katsumi's elbows.

Should this come to pass, the moment Katsumi feels the hands slip from her neck, her head rockets back to try to catch Trudy with a reverse headbutt.

[DJPow]

Trudy had ridden Katsumi down into that kneeling half-nelson like she meant to fold her up and drag her across a dusty barnyard floor, weight sinking through her hip, forearm snug behind the neck, palm spread tight between the shoulder blades. It wasn’t elegant, but it was mean, honest work. Her knee was planted just off Katsumi’s hip, chest pressed between shoulder blades, her forearm braced behind the neck and palm firm between the blades, coaxing the Osaka girl's chin down.

Had the moment lingered, she would’ve started peeling for the wrist to stretch the hold out into something uglier. But Katsumi was not the type to stay in a bad position out of pride or stubborn theatrics. There was calculation under the irritation, and she began to work the problem with a clarity Trudy didn’t fully appreciate until it was already in motion.

Katsumi lifted both hands, threading her arms upward, elbows turn inward, her forearms forming a wedge against Trudy’s grip. It wasn’t dramatic, not even fast, it was just simply correct. She was using joint alignment rather than strength to pry the hands apart. Trudy tried to re-clamp the fingers but Katsumi pressed through the centerline, pushing her elbows down across Trudy’s forearms until the lock inevitably gave. One hand slipped first, then the other, the half nelson dissolving into nothing more than a staggered collar tie.

Before Trudy could regroup, Katsumi snapped into the next link of the chain.

The back of her skull hammered flush into Trudy’s mouth and nose with a crack that brightened the world white for half a second. Her head rocked back, fingers splayed open as she rocketed behind her. Breath punched out of her in a wet grunt. Pain radiated from cartilage to sinuses in a hot, dizzy line. Her hat would’ve flown off if she’d been wearing the damn thing.

The hold shattered. Trudy reeled, scraping one palm against the canvas to keep from tipping over completely. Her breathing came sharp through her nose, one eye blinking through the sting as the crowd reacted, half shock at the reversal, half delight in the sudden violence of it. Either way Trudy was left thrown for a loop, preoccupied with rolling her tongue along her teeth to make sure none were loose instead of mounting a defense for whatever Katsumi had in store for her next!

[CyanDimitrik]

"Huah!," gasps Katsumi as her head pitches forward again after the reverse headbutt, opposite to the cowgirl behind her.

Her hand finds the mat, gloved palm bracing against the unkindly firm surface. But she doesn't stay put this time; she learned her lesson. Now was the time to make good on her word. To turn this match from a back and forth to the technician-versus-brawler it promised to be. And the first step to that is a simple pump of her folded legs beneath her, shooting the Japanese girl up to her full height.

All things in progress. When one has a step in the right direction, they don't suddenly leap. It takes buildup. More steps. Momentum. So when Katsumi leans down to hook her arms beneath Trudy's shoulders to pull the other girl up to her boots in front of her, her hands hook up behind Trudy's shoulders to take away the most of her swing and isolate her body for her, right where she wanted it.

Knees follow, sharp pumps from the right in rhythmic, marching sequence. Each sharp thrust of her leg seeks to bury her knee into the blonde's midsection, and each stroke accompanied with a step meant to march the cowgirl back towards the center of the ring. Every pump is accompanied with a sharp, controlled exhale between the teeth, and a quick inhale through the button nose, all while her gaze is focused on the other girl's face.