'Til They Collapse (Black Severin and Bella Pirata vs Nixanne Severin and Troy Mikkelsen)

[DSX93]

***
Match Type: Tag Team Elimination
Victory Conditions: Pinfall, Submission, Knockout, or Count Out. Both members of the opposing team must be eliminated.
***

A crowd had formed around

Entrance Jacket

Ring Gear

and

as they readied themselves at the building's entrance.

in a position that was quite familiar to the both of them, but especially to Beatriz, who has Track and Field on the list of sports she participated in back in school. Back then, they ran together every morning before school. A ritual that they'd revive whenever their schedules had them in the same town.

She gave her hips a little wiggle and got an influx of camera flashes in response. To Bella Bonny, and as far as their audience could tell, it was no big deal. Just a casual bit of fanservice. But Beatriz herself was still trying to lock into that confidence. One would think that being invited to compete on such a grand stage as LAW would make that an easy task...until you see what you're going to be surrounded with: World class beauties who put top models to shame.

It was never her priority, and she wasn't about to start making it so, but nonetheless, it's been an adjustment after being held up as one of Proxima Generacion de Lucha Libre's prettiest.

It was nice to have some appreciative eyes looking her way in this sea of Keira Robinsons, Alix Jacqueses, Alicia Sotos, Blair Dames, and so on.

Her mind wouldn't linger on her insecurities for long, as Terrell's goofy self was not one to be outdone. He didn't go all video vixen with it, but he made that thing wobble.

"Eyy! 'Eyy! 'Eyy!"

Much to the appreciation of the women, and her funny bones. She gave him a little backhand that bounced harmlessly off of his shoulder. "¡Eres un payaso!"

To that, he'd simply reply, while reaching beneath his dreads with one hand and giving them a flip, "¡No me odies porque soy hermoso!"

"Jus' shut up 'n count, ye silly bastard!"

Severin would switch over to Pirate English here. But unlike his Spanish, it needed some work. "Alroight, alroight, don't get yer knickers caught in a locker!"

Got another laugh out of her, though. "What?"

"Three pints o' ale! Two pints o' ale! One pi-"

Aaaaand she's off.

"Son of a bitch!"

Then so was he. The backstage area had just become their playground. Every box, chair, ladder, table, and what have you became obstacles and tools. Things to scale and dodge. Opportunities for slides, rolls, and flips to earn some style points in front of the camera. Severin in particular felt that he'd gotten a huge bonus at one point: There was a guy -- must've been on a break -- walking down the hall, back turned, with a pair of earbuds preventing him from hearing their approach.

Bella simply moved to the side and ran past. Severin? Did the math in his head. From a distance, he appeared to be in the same ballpark where height was concerned. Upon getting closer...nope. The guy was actually a few inches shorter.

So Severin opted for the cool factor, his split legs leaving a few clean inches of air as he leapt up and over his head like his last name was

In his own head, Severin could hear that one

that accompanied special tricks in the Tony Hawk games. And he stuck the landing and kept it moving like it was nothing!

"Showoff!" She jabbed, but with a smile. She had to admit, that was pretty sick. But sick moves wouldn't be enough to win the race. But he'd come damn close. Too close for it to be a satisfactory win when her hand touched the double doors that would lead to the bottom flight of stairs in the audience section. Just big enough a fraction of a second for it to be clear.

"Nah. Nah, homie." He was shaking his head at the result, with some laughter coming through. "You know that don't count."

"Tis wrestlin', lad! 'n if it's a fair contest ye're lookin' fer, ye've come t' the wrong woman!"

Severin had some smart words for the pirate, but one of the helping hands backstage would approach them before he could say anything, two wooden mugs of apple ale in hand. Bella caught on immediately when he shot her that challenging smirk, but gave her head a quick shake. They had one more contest to get through before the bell rang. But not right now.

And step through the doors. The fans had their drinks in the air. Cups, flasks, and mugs both glass and wooden like their own, all ready for the word go. Cheers, mates! And right down the hatch.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, at a combined weight of three hundred and five pounds, Bellaaaaaaa Piraaaaaataaaa, and Blaaaaaaaaack Severin!"

Two hearty belches later, and the best friends were on the way down the stairs, stopping here and there to bump their mugs against whatever and pour a measure of its contents down a waiting gullet, or to sync up with the damn pirates and say, with a finger pointed at a camera -- through it, but at no one in particular...

"YO! HO! HO! YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!"/"YO! HO! HO! YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!"/"YO! HO! HO! YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!"

Terrell had followed Beatriz's wrestling journey in Mexico closely, so he was able to follow her practiced pace with ease. Their eyes turned to meet the other as they approached the barricade, their minds in sync. In a split second, an mini-contest had been agreed to, and he won, being the first to leap onto the barricade. They turned to the crowd, in time to lead the chorus.

"♩We are the Pirate Metal Drinking Crew! We think you're dumb, and we hate you too! We are the Pirate Metal Drinking Crew! We don't give a fuck! We think you all suck!♩"/"♩We are the Pirate Metal Drinking Crew! We think you're dumb, and we hate you too! We are the Pirate Metal Drinking Crew! We don't give a fuck! We think you all suck!♩"/"♩WE ARE THE PIRATE METAL DRINKING CREW! WE THINK YOU'RE DUMB AND WE HATE YOU TOO! WE ARE THE PIRATE METAL DRINKING CREW! WE DON'T GIVE A FUCK! WE THINK YOU ALL SUCK!♩"

They turned to each other again.

Now.

They bumped their mugs and chugged the remainders down. The masked man proved to be better equipped for the task, letting out a hearty belch and turning his upside down some seconds later. Not a drop had survived. Meanwhile, Bella was just a bit past halfway through the rest of hers.

Okay. He won that race, but she'd bring the real thunder afterwards. It was their first burping contest in years, so she had to belt out a thing of legend. And thus, "The Crossover", as she'd later call it, would be born. The beast would do Barney Gumble and the Dragonborn proud, managing to be audible even through the crowd's singing of the profane lyrics.

"♩WE ARE THE PIRATE METAL DRINKING CREW! WE DON'T GIVE A FUCK! WE THINK YOU ALL SUCK!♩"

This was normally the part where Bella would turn to a camera and flip it the bird to go with the final...

"♩FUCK YOU!♩"

...But she was distracted with a regretful thought: She should've seen this coming and and gobbled down some garlic bread like he did last time. He didn't intend to blow enough gas in her face to kill freaking Dracula himself, but he did.

Terrell applauded her with a round of clapping, and she bathed in the victory that made them equal. And seconds later, she'd go on to win their contest, at least in her mind: He didn't have anyone reaching out and begging for his mug when they stepped down to the other side of the barricade, and in the last few weeks, she's seen a couple of hers fetching a pretty penny online. None of that money went to her, and she didn't really want it anyway. But the rate was flattering.

Climbing onto the apron, the two would stop to point a finger at another camera. This time, their words had a target: The lovers waiting backstage. "There's no escape! Tonight you're screwed!"

"'CAUSE WE'RE THE PIRATE METAL DRINKING CREW!"/"'CAUSE WE'RE THE PIRATE METAL DRINKING CREW!"/"'CAUSE WE'RE THE PIRATE METAL DRINKING CREW!"

After bending through the ropes (eliciting some amorous whistles in the process) and climbing to the second rope, the captain and her Crew would sing along to the trash talking chorus one more time, leaving her feeling invigorated (and nicely buzzed) when she jumped off and stood over at the far end of the ring. In Terrell's mind, they were even. But she took the initiative to start the match, and they'd come out to her theme song, doing her entrance. So it was her right, really.

Spanish to English Translation

"¡Eres un payaso!" -- "You're such a clown!"

"¡No me odies porque soy hermoso!" -- "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful!"

[Delalily]

The sun was already low when Troy’s car pulled into the arena parking lot. The asphalt was a sea of fading heat and exhaust fumes, punctuated by the massive silhouettes of the stadium. He cut the engine, and for a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the AC fading away.

“Ready?” Troy asked, turning to Nix in the passenger seat. His blue eyes held that familiar mix of bravado and quiet concern.

Nix adjusted her glasses, scanning the line of tour buses near the loading dock. “As ready as we ever are.” She unbuckled her seatbelt, the click echoing in the quiet interior. Her tone was analytical, but there was a slight tremor in her fingers as she gathered her gym bag—the kind that only Troy noticed.

He grinned, that pretty-boy smile that made his youthful features look almost mischievous. “We’re gonna have fun tonight.”

“Fun,” Nix echoed, her voice laced with a subtle excitement that betrayed her usual calm demeanor. She leaned forward slightly, her dark eyes glinting behind her glasses. “Your definition of fun might involve me getting thrown into the third row, but you know I live for this. There’s nothing like stepping into that ring.”

Troy chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed his own bag from the backseat. “True enough. You’re the one who practically drags me to the gym every day to make sure we’re in top shape. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re more hyped than I am.”

Nix smirked, her confidence radiating as she stepped out of the car. “Someone’s gotta keep us sharp. And tonight, we’re tearing it up.” Her tone was firm, almost daring, but there was a hint of warmth beneath her words.

Troy followed her lead, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Alright, coach. Lead the way.”

They headed toward the arena, the anticipation between them palpable. Nix’s passion for wrestling was undeniable, and Troy couldn’t help but admire her drive—even if it meant he’d end up taking a few extra hits to keep up with her.

The backstage area was a labyrinth of cold concrete, humming cables, and the distant roar of a gathering crowd. They found their assigned locker room—a sparse, utilitarian space with two benches and a single flickering fluorescent light.

Nix stepped forward, her movements deliberate as she bent at the waist in a deep stretch. Her hands brushed the canvas, her back arcing gracefully. She rolled her shoulders, loosening up with practiced ease, her focus sharp despite the chaos around her.

Troy chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re in rare form tonight. I swear, you’re more pumped than usual.”

Nix grinned, but there was a flicker of something sharper in her expression—a mix of excitement and caution. “I’m always pumped for a match,” she said, her tone light but edged with thoughtfulness. “But don’t let that fool you. Black Severin and Bella Pirata might look like a couple of wildcards, but they’re clever. And clever opponents are the ones who can catch you off guard.”

Troy raised an eyebrow, amused by her intensity. “So what? You’re saying we shouldn’t underestimate them?”

“Exactly,” she replied, adjusting her wristbands with a precise tug. “I’m not saying we should be paranoid, but aware. They’ll pull off unpredictable moves. I want to be ready for whatever they throw at us.”

Her words carried that familiar analytical edge, but there was no mistaking the spark of anticipation in her eyes. She thrived on the challenge, on the thrill of outsmarting her opponents as much as outmuscling them.

Troy smirked, leaning casually against the locker room wall. “Well, lucky for us, you’re the brains of this operation. I’ll just follow your lead.”

Nix rolled her eyes, but her smile softened. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got instincts I can’t match. We’re a team, remember?”

He nodded, the playful banter momentarily replaced by a quiet understanding. “Always. Let’s go give them a show.”

Her grin widened, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. “Now you’re talking.”

A sudden, cacophonous blast of sound shattered the locker room’s quiet. Distorted guitar riffs, crashing drums, and a chaotic, shouting voice—the entrance theme of Black Severin and Bella Pirata. It was already playing. The match hadn’t started, but they were making their entrance.

Troy and Nix both froze for a second, listening. Through the thin walls, they could hear the crowd’s reaction—not cheers, but a mix of laughter and bewildered shouts. There was the distinct sound of something glass breaking, followed by drunken yelling that was probably their opponents.

A slow smile spread across Troy’s face. “Sounds like they’re starting the party early.” He shook his head, the bravado returning full force. “We shouldn’t have any trouble beating a bunch of drunkards.”

Nix finally laughed, a real laugh that eased the tension in her shoulders. “Like I said, don’t get too cocky,” she warned, but her own analysis was kicking in. “Still...I thought they’d be more… intimidating. From the hype, you’d think they were feral.”

“Maybe they’re just feral on cheap whiskey,” Troy quipped.

They didn’t have time to dwell on it. A stagehand, a young woman with a clipboard and a headset, tapped on the door and opened it. “You’re on. Curtain in two.”

The walk to the curtain was a blur of concrete and tension. The noise of the arena swelled—the drunk, chaotic spectacle of their opponents was still unfolding in the ring beyond. Troy and Nix stood side-by-side in the dim backstage gloom, the heavy black curtain separating them from the blinding lights and thousands of eyes.

Then, their music hit. A mashup of Madonna’s “4 Minutes” welded to the explosive, declarative chorus of Britney Spears’ “Get Back.”

The sound blasted through the arena, a clean, powerful wave that cut through the residual chaos of the previous entrance. Troy looked at Nix. Her analytical mask was gone. Her green eyes were blazing, her body poised. This was the moment she lived for—the call to fight.

“Let’s go tell our story,” he said, not teasing, not joking. It was a promise.

She nodded, a fierce, silent agreement.

The curtain swept aside.

The light was blinding. The roar of the crowd—now a proper roar, not a confused murmur—was a physical force. They marched together, a synchronized stride down the sloping ramp. Troy in his white, looking like some avenging angel of the ring; Nix in her yellow, a splash of defiant color. She didn’t look at the crowd; she looked at the ring, at the two figures already there—their opponents, Black Severin and Bella Pirata.

As Troy and Nix stepped into the ring, the crowd’s energy buzzed around them like an electric current. They headed straight to their corner, their movements deliberate and synchronized. Troy leaned against the turnbuckle, stretching his shoulders while keeping his eyes locked on their opponents. Nix crouched low, her fingers gripping the ropes as she scanned the ring with that analytical precision of hers.

The referee, a tall man with a stern expression, walked into the center of the ring, holding up a hand to signal for attention. He raised his hand. The crowd held its collective breath, the anticipation crackling like static in the air. Troy leaned forward, his muscles taut, while Nix shifted her weight, her body poised for action. Everything else faded away—there was only the ring, the opponents, and the fight ahead.