Esther Gates vs Katsumi Oshiro - Country Punkin

[CyanDimitrik]

Best 2 of 3 Falls
Falls Scored With Pinfall, Submission, or KO
PoW Stipulation
Winner Keeps Loser for 24 Hours

The LAW arena is electric with anticipation tonight. Cheers, stamping feet, commotion in general floods the main bowl of the dome in excitement for the upcoming event. Two women are about to clash in the ring, who could not be more opposite in appearance and demeanor. The match is expected to go long, and the fighters are expected to be desperate. Because whichever woman comes out on top will claim ownership of the woman defeated. Implications abound, to be sure; the match is loaded straight from the start. Nothing is guaranteed to happen one way or the other after the cameras stop rolling, but conclusions are within leaping range.

Katsumi knows the name of her opponent, and she knows her look. And as far as those looks go, Esther looks formidable. She's muscled in all the right ways, seems confident, and knows how to glamorize the gifts the good lord gave her. It makes her reflect back on her own makeover, going from a street-punk tomboy to the gorgeous (hairtoss added~) femme fatale punkette she is now. Egotistical to view it this way, perhaps, but she can't help but consider the arrangement to be a battle between two egregiously pretty women tonight. And if Esther has a thick accent, she just might die.

..no, NO, forget that last part. Katsumi does not have a type, shut up!

She smacks her gloved palms to her face briefly, as if manually pushing the thought out of her head. It's probably just a gimmick look with weird-ass Amish parents or something, that's all! Some chick from some random state in the western world pretending to be an archetype! Nothing to write home about. No reason to think back to her first kiss with a girl. Not at all. No chance.

Tonight's match is about making another step towards forcing the management to recognize her. To acknowledge her. A chance she doesn't intend to squander, even if they saw it fit to attach that insanely suggestive stipulation to the end of it!

As if that wasn't enough to give Katsumi some serious concerns, as well. Signing herself over to a stranger is horrifying. She just... she can't lose. She just can't. She can trust herself with what she would or wouldn't do to someone. She can't trust someone else.

The lights dimming in the arena cause Katsumi to refocus on the present. It's go-time.

Katsumi's video begins playing on the tron.

Vivid amethyst and emerald laserlights dance along the entrance ramp, flickering in beat with the opening chords.

The music swells, anticipation builds, and with an explosion of industrial rock, Katsumi Oshiro strides out to take the stage. Her arms swing wide, high above her head before coming to rest stretched to either side, presenting her lithe figure to the audience, hips swaying first to the right, then left where it remains cocked. And that figure is left largely on display, foregoing the leather jacket of her typical entrance attire. Primarily black, her trunks hug jealously to her hips and leave her thighs bared, all the way down to kneepads and boots. Gold accents intersperse, from the soles, strings, and toebox, to the studded belt pointlessly looping the trunks. The same scheme carries to her bralet top, similarly studded with gold. The article is fashionably, sportingly abbreviated to leave the full span of her lean, toned midsection on display, and a generous share of cleavage. Elbowpads and fingerless gloves finish the arms, and a narrow choker loops her neck, centered with a gold heart-shape.

Katsumi Oshiro

As her left hand comes to rest on the smooth curve of her waist, a confident smirk plays on the girl's pixie features. Her gaze comes to an aloof half-lidded state, feigning disinterest in the overwhelming noise of the audience around her. The hips suddenly cock the other way like a loaded gun, and her right fist swings high into the air, in tandem with a burst of purple cold sparks erupting from four points around the stage.

And with that, she begins down the ramp.

"Making her way to the ring!," begins the announcer with breathless enthusiasm. "At a height of 5'7"! Weighing in at one hundred and twenty-four pounds!"

"From Osaka, Japan!"

"The Punk Princess!"

"KATSUMIIII! OOOSHIIIROOOO!"

Katsumi's confident stride to the ring is marked with a feminine sway of the hips, her arms poised to shoulder-height at either side. Her palms are pointed out at both sides of the aisle, as if both acknowledging and dismissing the fans simultaneously.

Upon reaching the edge of the ring, she grabs onto the middle rope. With a firm pull, she swings her body up cleanly onto the apron and whirls around to face the crowd she'd just passed. With a wickedly impish smile curving the corners of her lips, her right fist is presented forth to them while her left hand slowly rotates in a cranking motion - gradually producing a middle finger.

"Muah," she air-kisses.

The audience reacts with a mix of praise and scorn. The audience has always received her with that torrid combination, a truly polarizing figure in the world of wrestling. Katsumi revels in it, arching her back against the ropes with languid pleasure before whipping her lower half up and over in a graceful somersault to enter the ring.

From there, she races to the far end of the ring to rush up the middle rope. Standing high above the neglected side of the arena, Katsumi leans out over them and throws her arms wide, presenting herself to their cacophonous frenzy. She loves this. She lives for this. And the pleased, confident smile on her face betrays as much.

At last, the Punk Princess drops from her perch to move into her corner. Vibrant green eyes affix to the entrance, awaiting the night's rival. A knot tightens in her stomach, but she plays it off, reclining against the turnbuckle pad and draping her arms over the top ropes.

[HotWheels]

Esther stared at her reflection in the locker room mirror and let out a long, curious sound. What did she do to keep getting put in these matches?

Beach strip matches. Humiliation matches. At this rate, she half-expected management to throw her in a cage with Godzilla just to see what would happen. She'd better not say that one out loud, or they'd start getting new ideas. And apparently, they had plenty of ideas for her already. Tonight's brilliant plan? A match that was perfectly normal by most wrestling standards - best two out of three falls, nothing too crazy - except for the tiny detail that whoever lost would belong to the winner for the next twenty-four hours.

Esther's stomach did a nervous little flip as she adjusted the knot on her lavender crop top. The white trim caught the light as she turned to check the side view. Her matching bottoms sat high on her hips, showing off her long, toned legs. The decorative white suspenders looped over her shoulders and clipped to her waistband, framing her toned midsection.

And she'd put extra effort into her makeup tonight. A hint of purple eyeshadow to match the highlights in her blonde hair, mascara making her eyes stand out, and just enough lip gloss to catch the arena lights without looking like she'd overdone it. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders in soft waves, purple streaks weaving through the blonde. Her nails blended white and lavender like the rest of the attire, so at least she looked good.

But looking good didn't change the fact that she'd be spending the next however-many minutes fighting to avoid becoming someone's... what? Prisoner? Property? Prize? When management had pitched this to her, she'd almost laughed. Almost. But they'd given her that speech about how she was "acing" her provocative matches, how she was becoming a fan favorite, how this kind of thing got people talking and buying tickets.

She huffed at her reflection, blowing a stray hair out of her face. At least Katsumi looked attractive in the promotional photos they'd shown her. Not that pretty necessarily meant pleasant, but... eh, Esther'd make the most of it. She always did.

Esther grabbed her white cowboy hat from the bench and settled it on her head. She adjusted the angle, checked herself one more time, and slapped herself on both cheeks to amp herself up to get ready.

Her boots echoed against concrete as she headed to gorilla and waited for her cue, trying to psych herself up. She could hear the crowd beyond the curtain, restless and excited.

Then her music hit - "Mississippi Queen" roaring through the speakers - and she put consternation aside in favor of making herself into a show - the show. She burst through the curtain with both arms raised high, her hat tipped back as she grinned out at the crowd. The noise hit her like a wave, and whatever anxiety she'd been feeling backstage got shoved down deep where it belonged.

She roared out at the crowd, and they roared back. She started down the ramp with an exaggerated sway in her hips, playing up the country girl charm. One hand stayed on her hat to keep it in place; the other reached out to slap palms with fans leaning over the barricade. She moved with confidence she didn't entirely feel, all smiles and energy.

Halfway down the ramp, she stopped and reached into the top of her boot and produced a single aster flower. The purple petals looked fresh under the arena lights. She held it up for the crowd to see, brought it to her nose for a theatrical sniff, then tucked it behind a younger fan's ear. By the time she reached the ring, her smile had turned genuine. She climbed the steps, ducked through the ropes, and straightened up inside the squared circle. That's when she finally got a proper look at her opponent.

Katsumi Oshiro's photos hadn't done her justice. Esther took a breath and crossed the ring, pulling off her hat as she approached Katsumi's corner. She held it in both hands, fidgeting with the brim slightly as she came to a stop a few feet from the other woman.

"So, yeah," Esther started, and while the nerves had returned, they didn't sound like nerves coming from Esther - they sounded boisterous. "Prisoner of war, huh? That what we're doin'?"

She twisted the hat in her hands, then seemed to remember the crowd was watching and tossed it toward the audience. Someone caught it, and cheers erupted. Grinning at the reaction, Esther turned back to Katsumi.

"Just so you know, I ain't great at takin' orders," she added, trying to inject some humor. "So you and I might both enjoy it more if I wrangle you."

Spoiler

[CyanDimitrik]

The sheer difference in how the audience received the two women could not be more instantaneously clear.

Don't get it twisted. This is a loud, fully energized, fully invested house. These people came to see a throwdown. Their expectations are high, because the stakes are high. There doesn't have to be heat between them at this juncture; the promise of a clash between two seeming polar opposites is enough. Because on one hand, they're given Katsumi Oshiro, the Punk Princess, the counter-culture spitfire, the rookie-killer, rude, brash, aggressive, and feisty. Historically sadistic, theatrically vicious. On the other hand, they're given Esther Gates, the effervescent, energetic country sweetheart, the crowd-pleaser.

They even look like opposites. Both are tall, both are athletic, both have a sleek, well-toned physique. But the good girl is a tan-skinned, blonde-haired beauty with big blue eyes. The bad girl is fair-skinned, deep blueblack hair, and vibrant green eyes. Management shoved these two together in full awareness of what they were setting up. And then they added a spicy stipulation to make sure both would fight.

It makes perfect sense on paper. The audience's arena-shaking volume would agree.

Only problem is: 'Ah, Hell, she's even hotter in person.'

Katsumi watches the cowgirl sashay down the ramp, inwardly appreciating every second of the approach. The flower gets a curious squint and dismissive little snort, and she turns her face away. But when Esther ducks between the ropes, her eyes are drawn back to her before the rest of her head turns to follow suit. Upon realizing she's closing the distance between them, Katsumi stands straighter, her hands still gripping the ropes behind her.

As Esther speaks, Katsumi's bottom lip is drawn between her teeth for a soft, subconscious nibbling.

"Y-yeah," she answers first, an uncharacteristic stammer caught in her voice. She quickly tamps back down on it and steels her resolve. "That's too bad," she says. "If you aren't good at takin' orders, I'm gonna have to break you like a wild mare. 'Cuz I'm ending the match on top tonight."

Her heart was veritably buzzing in her chest, and she swallows heavily.

Couldn't this Esther girl be boring? Lame? Uninteresting? Did she have to be stunning on top of cute? The remark she'd given felt like she wasn't taking herself too seriously, which is refreshing. But it had just the right amount of competitive mirth in there to hint that actually spending time with her after the match could be fun. And maybe, just maybe, being beaten by her wouldn't be the worst thing.

Not that she's willing to let that happen! She has a career to worry about! Goals to reach! Life choices to justify!

...freaking cowgirls, man.

[HotWheels]

Esther had a theory about attractive people. Of course, she didn't spend much time thinking whether it were true - she never did too much thinking about much of anything - but she still compartmentalized the differences.

Some folks looked their best in photos, videos, all that secondhand stuff. Perfect angles, perfect lighting, that frozen moment in time where everything lined up just right. She'd done enough modeling back in her rodeo queen days to know how that worked - tilt your chin this way, arch your back that way, make sure the sun hit you at exactly the right angle. Those people? They peaked in the camera lens.

Then there were the others. The ones who looked good in pictures, sure, but when you got up close - when you saw their smile in real time, caught the way their eyes moved, noticed all those little details that cameras couldn't quite capture 0=- they were even prettier. Better, somehow, without all the artificial staging. Katsumi fell into that second category, she was thinking.

Esther's eyes had been doing a thorough inventory from the moment she'd stepped through the ropes, and now that she was standing right here in front of the Punk Princess, she couldn't help but notice every detail, especially the eyes. Why did she have to be an eyes person?

Esther caught herself mid-appreciation and gave herself a hard internal shake. The getting distracted by looks thing hadn't worked out too well for her before, so she didn't need to be doing it again. The memory of recent matches flickered through her mind - times when her too-trusting nature and her tendency to get caught up in the moment had left her in some very compromising positions. Literally. She should know better by now. She really, really should.

But knowing better and actually learning the lesson were two different things, weren't they?

Her hands flew to her hips almost defensively, and she tossed her long lavender-streaked hair over one shoulder with more force than necessary. Her head tilted, chin lifting as she locked eyes with Katsumi, and that familiar stubborn streak - the one that had gotten her into and out of more trouble than she could count - flared hot in her chest.

"Break me?" The words came out sharp, indignant, with wounded pride. "Let me tell you somethin' - I have never been broken. Never will be. Don't even start with that nonsense!"

It was... well, it was a total lie in some very specific ways. If Katsumi had seen any of Esther's previous matches, she'd know that Esther had definitely been broken down before. Multiple times, in fact. But had she been broken, broken? The answer to that was standing right here in this ring. She'd taken her lumps, sure. But here she was. Still fighting. Still confident - or at least doing a damn good job of faking it. Still refusing to let any of those losses define her. Still with the crowd behind her.

That thought straightened her spine even more. She was going to use every single inch of Southern confidence she had - real or manufactured - to make herself seem like the biggest, baddest obstacle Katsumi had ever faced. Before she could second-guess herself, Esther stepped in closer, closing the distance between them until she was almost toe-to-toe with the Punk Princess. Her manicured finger came up and jabbed toward Katsumi's chest, stopping just short of actually touching her.

"And another thing, just for that," Esther added, her drawl thickening with emphasis as she leaned in just enough to make her point. "You better hope you wear me out in this match. 'Cause if you don't?"

Her blue eyes flashed with competitive fire, and a grin spread across her glossed lips- not entirely friendly, but not entirely unfriendly either. Somewhere in between. The kind of grin that promised trouble.

"It's gonna be a very full twenty-four hours for you, sugar."

The ref wiggled in between, checked the faces, and decided it seemed time to step back and start calling for the bell.

[CyanDimitrik]

For a moment, fleeting as it was, Katsumi thought she caught Esther looking. And when their eyes meet, the Punk Princess's are sparkling with interest.

Aren't country chicks supposed to be plain? 'Earthy' or whatever? Not pretty? Or have giant, ridiculous hair? Why is it so consistent that every time Katsumi finds herself in the ring with a cowgirl, they're egregiously pretty? Had that always been the case? The first female she ever kissed was a cowgirl. Is that where the fascination comes from?

Esther doesn't look anything like Cathy. Cathy's cute, feisty, freckled. Esther's beautiful, humored, and--

--oh, feisty, too.

Katsumi's gaze half-lids at the blonde's response to her. But whatever she was going to say to her is derailed when she closes the remaining distance. Katsumi's back straightens at the ready, confrontationally erect with shoulders back and chin slightly uptilted (though in her defense, Esther is just slightly taller than her). What comes out as a threat, however, earns a blink in surprise.

Her mouth opens to retort, but there's nothing more than a faint, half-manifested syllable as her brain fizzles out. It wasn't great that Katsumi was already checking the other girl out, already thinking about her in severely flattering terms. Now those thoughts and speculations have been forcibly introduced into her mind with all the finesse of a sledgehammer. She's a star at keeping her expression locked and her gaze steely. But there's no stopping the deep flush in her cheeks.

Damn it.

She can feel the heat radiating from it, but she refuses to touch her face. It'd be a sign of weakness! It'd draw attention to it! Neither is acceptable!

Thankfully, the referee nosies her way in between them to force a split, then signals the bell to begin.

DING!

Katsumi doesn't immediately lunge for her. Instead, her gaze dips briefly over Esther's lean body, and she takes a mild-mannered step closer.

"Tell me something."

Katsumi has swapped to English; a perhaps shockingly impeccable accent right at home with the West Coast of the United States, as if she were born and bred in the suburbs of California. Sonorous, sweet, expressive alto.

She reaches forward, low. Fingers attempt to hook the suspender straps midway up their length.

"Are these actually holding up your trunks?"

They're given a light tug, only to release and allow them to snap back.

"'Cuz that's hilarious."

Daring at contact, but not making the first 'move' per se. It's a psychological opener! One geared towards trying to start the girl off distracted! And obviously risky as a gambit. But Katsumi's a troll. A troll's gotta troll.

[HotWheels]

Esther would have to be as dumb as some people might claim if she didn't notice that her little threat had definitely worked on Katsumi. The flush in the Punk Princess's cheeks, the way her mouth had opened and then closed without saying anything, that fizzle-out moment where words just... stopped coming.
Maybe that's what she should be doing more often - just straight-up telling people exactly what she was going to do when she won, and how she'd get them there. Laying it all out there, no filter, no shame. It wasn't like she had any shame to begin with, so why not use that to her advantage? Throw people off their game before the match even really started?

Esther kept her expression tough and defiant for a moment longer, green eyes locked on Katsumi's, letting that threat hang in the air between them, gain humidity. Then she leaned back slightly, her wrists propping on her hips in a way that showed off the curve of her waist, the lines of her toned midsection, the whole package. Her menace melted into something smaller, sharper - a dangerous little smile that promised she meant every word she'd just said.

But the ref had to go and ruin the moment, wedging herself between them like some kind of professional buzzkill. Esther felt the opportunity slipping away, that perfect tension dissolving as they were forced to back up. She tried to salvage it, leaning to the side to catch Katsumi's eye one more time.

"Think about that," she said, her drawl thick and confident.

The bell rang, and Esther expected Katsumi to come at her hard and fast, ready to prove something. Instead, the Punk Princess just... sauntered closer. Casual. Almost lazy about it. Like she had all the time in the world. Esther's muscles tensed, ready to react. Katsumi was getting into her range now, close enough that Esther could just reach out and grab her by the neck, get this match started properly with a good old-fashioned collar-and-elbow tie-up. Her hands twitched, ready to move.

But then Katsumi opened her mouth, and- switched up her accent?

More importantly, though, Katsumi's hands went low, reaching forward, and Esther's instincts kicked in. She started to pull back, started to defend herself, started to- do... nothing, she realized. Fingers hooked the decorative white straps midway up their length, and Esther froze, confusion flickering across her face as Katsumi gave them a light tug.

The straps snapped back against Esther's skin with a light snap, and she jerked backward reflexively, grimacing at the sting. It wasn't painful, just... unexpected. Annoying. And kind of embarrassing, honestly, because what kind of question was that? Esther's face twisted into an expression of pure incredulity, her mouth dropping open slightly as she stared at Katsumi.

"...No!?" she blurted out, her voice pitched higher with indignation. There should have been more words but she couldn't be bothered to form them.

But she didn't get a chance to finish sputtering her response, because her brain finally caught up with her body and reminded her that this was a wrestling match, not a fashion consultation. Her hands shot forward, reaching for Katsumi's neck. Her fingers tried to wrap around the back of the Punk Princess's head, grabbing for a handful of her hair if she could get it, trying to reel Katsumi in against her belly. The moment she felt resistance - or compliance - Esther twisted her body and drove her elbow down hard down toward Katsumi's mid-back.

[CyanDimitrik]

Esther's trouble.

The way she poses herself, she seems to be fully aware that she's a trim, toned, stunningly beautiful specimen. Worse yet, the way she put herself on display just had to emphasize the sleek lined of muscle along her abdomen. If ever Katsumi had a physical weakness, that had to be it; ever since she became interested in girls, she didn't care about butts. Breast size didn't matter either, really. But having the confidence to show off the stomach, and the smoothly, subtly rippled tone of abdominals?

She's a weird chick. She's made peace with it.

It doesn't help her in this particular moment, though. Esther hits every right note with her. If this were a social call, she'd likely be fumbling over her words, stammering to try to find something cool to say, and ultimately slinking away feeling like an idiot for trying. But in the ring, she can speak her native language.

Nevermind that she's swapping to English. Details!

No, her native language is professional wrestling. That's where she can impress someone like Esther, she thinks. She hopes.

Thankfully, the referee-girl had stepped in to put some space between them, giving Katsumi a chance to regain her mental footing. Then come back in with her own brand of teasing. The sputtered, confused, even indignant response from Esther after snapping her suspenders is absolute ear-candy. Even if not for the sake of getting her a little mentally tilted in payback, the protest was cute. Endearing, in fact. Playfully smug and self-satisfied, Katsumi has nothing but a lippy grin for Esther in its wake.

Then she's grabbed.

"Ack-!"

An involuntarily honest noise as she's yanked forward. There's a brief flash of warm body contact with the other girl, belly-to-belly, before Esther pulls her low. Her hands grab for the offending wrist, ready to pull it away, only for an elbow to hammer into Katsumi's mid-back, sending a bolt of pain through her body.

"Ahn!"

The Punk Princess drops to a knee, arching her upper-body in response.