Laxia von Roswell vs. Sheila Morgan - Lightning in a Bottle

[BlackAkuma]

Sheila’s body was strong, tough, had a great well of stamina to work with, but even she had her limits, and as she bounced around the ring at full speed, she could feel herself nearing them. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, taxing her with every step, and she was honestly starting to feel like her body could give out at any moment. The blunt force trauma, the bleeding, the dehydration, the repeated pounding she’d taken for the past ten or so minutes - it was all starting to culminate. She was on empty.

But it wouldn’t matter. In a few seconds, she would hit Laxia with another bat-out-of-hell tope suicida,she’d bring her down, drag her into the ring, finish her off with a Kitchen Sink, and then it was goodnight, Irene.

Sheila dropped down, flew through the ropes and-

Pain.

No thought, no prelude, no other feelings. Sheila couldn't even properly process what happened to her at first, as if her mind wasn’t used to dealing with this sort of extreme stimulus like this. There was just this insane, impossible pain in her face, a red mist and a white flash, and then she was falling, and then she was on the floor while the crowd was roaring around her.

It was only after she was on the ground, curling into the fetal position, that it all came together. Laxia hit her with a chair in the face while she was midflight. She’d jumped right into it, probably taking it in the face at about thirty miles an hour. By all rights, she should be unconscious. She sort of wished she was.

All she could do now was moan and rub her face and feebly kick her legs, as she vainly tried to deal with a shattered face.

[Letta]

CLANG - !

A heavy jolt shot through Laxia’s palm and up her arm as metal rang out. Her grip gave way. The steel chair clattered to the floor, and she drew her empty hand back, staggering a step. Sheila lay crumpled before her. Only moments ago, Laxia had been furious about being hit in the face. Now she had done the same to her opponent, with a chair, no less. The crowd roared. Laxia stood there, breathing hard. She had stopped her. The relentless onslaught had finally stopped, bringing a brief sense of release. But her relief was tempered by concern as she watched Sheila curl up with her hands over her face. Faint moans. Feeble movements of her legs. After flying face-first into a chair like that, there was no way she could have come through it unhurt.

Laxia’s lips parted, then closed again. No taunt came to mind. The match, however, was not over. She could not always fight with the elegance she wanted, especially in a match where anything could become a weapon. But that did not mean she had to let this madness continue indefinitely. As she looked down at Sheila, a sudden realization cut through her exhaustion. This was her chance. Not merely to regain control, but to end the match...! There was no need for another spectacular move to dazzle the crowd, or one more cutting remark for Sheila.

“Hah... hah...”

Laxia approached her opponent, trying to steady her breathing. Even those few steps made her back ache, but this time she did not stop. Kneeling beside Sheila, she took her shoulder with her good hand and rolled her onto her back. She straddled Sheila’s chest and settled her weight onto her. This time, she had no intention of sitting there and interrogating her. Laxia reached one arm behind her, hooked it beneath Sheila’s knee, and drew the leg up toward her. Her other arm followed beneath the opposite knee. With both arms hooked firmly beneath Sheila’s legs, she lifted them higher. Pain flared in her injured hand whenever her fingers tensed, but Laxia gritted her teeth and held on.

“Ref... count...!”

The referee was already beside them. Holding Sheila’s legs high, Laxia leaned forward. She kept her opponent folded up, using her weight to press both shoulders against the ringside floor. The referee crouched to check them, then raised a hand.

“1...!”

A palm slapped the floor. Laxia’s orange hair hung in tangled strands around her face, and a smear of blood stood out at the corner of her mouth. Her arms trembled slightly with the effort of maintaining the pin. Breathing hard, she looked down at Sheila beneath her.

[BlackAkuma]

”Nnh…you..mmmhfuck.”

Sheila’s brain was sort of a mess, even during the best of time, but right now it was certainly, incredibly, irreparably fucked. To say that chair shot had messed her her head up would be the understatement of the millennium. She was reasonably certain that she’d actually gone unconscious somewhere between the impact and the floor, totally knocked out for a second, and after the impact she was still in some weird space between the dreaming and waking words. It was like she should be out, but her brain was just too stupid to realize it yet.

Was she done? She felt like she was done. As she laid on the floor, she twitched and twisted like her body was in a death rattle, her nervous system utterly fried and ignoring all of her commands.

She was so out of it, in fact, that she was only vaguely aware of Laxia rolling her onto her back. If her eyes hadn't been open to see the lights overhead, she might not have even noticed, might not have even realized that Laxia had draped over her and was going for the pinfall.

”2…!”

But she was reasonably certain that would’ve woken her up, either way.

Sheila honestly had no idea how she managed to get her shoulders up. Maybe it was some kind of wrestling reflex, a Pavlovian thing brought on by years of kicking out at two. Maybe it was just sheer instinct, her body working on its own to follow her subconscious will. Or, maybe, she was just really stupid and stubborn and spiteful, and she felt like being a pain in Laxia’s cute ass for a little while longer.

How she did it wasn’t important. But she did do it. The millisecond before the referee’s hand hit the floor, Sheila spasmed up and raised a shoulder, saving herself and breaking the count.

After that, she flopped back down, closed her eyes and spoke with breathless words. ”Kiss…my ass.”

[Letta]

Sheila’s thick thighs felt heavier by the second in Laxia’s arms. She gritted her teeth and maintained the pin. Her fingers tingled, and her back ached as she kept her weight pressed forward.

“2...!”

One more. It might really be over. She might finally be done with this relentless opponent and this entire chaotic match. Yet, when she should have felt relieved, something still troubled her. It was not just that she had hit Sheila in the face with a chair. Sitting on her dazed opponent, waiting for that final count, she felt as though something was missing. Nor was it a matter of who had drawn the louder cheers. If it ended here, the lasting impression would be the clang of a steel chair, not her own technique. It had been a clever counter, and a win was a win. Yet that did not quite satisfy her. She wanted it over. That had not changed. She simply was not certain she wanted it to end like this. Then the body beneath her jolted.

“Ah...!”

Laxia rocked forward. The legs hooked in her arms jerked, and just before the referee’s hand struck the floor, one of Sheila’s shoulders came up. The count stopped. For a moment, Laxia froze, her eyes wide. She looked at the referee’s two raised fingers, then back down. Sheila had already slumped beneath her again, seemingly spent. Yet she still found enough breath for one last insult.

A short breath escaped Laxia’s lips. There was no impatience or irritation in it. If anything, it was relief. Feeling that way under the circumstances struck her as faintly absurd, but it made clear what had been bothering her. She wanted to finish this with a move of her own. Sheila took such pride in her daring. Laxia wanted to match it, but on her own terms. She wanted a finish worthy of this reckless, brutal match, but unmistakably hers. Whether Sheila would appreciate it was another matter. Perhaps it would only make her dislike Laxia even more. Either way, her mind was already made up.

Laxia lowered Sheila’s legs and moved off her. Taking one arm and a handful of disheveled blonde hair, she struggled to her feet, hauling her opponent up with her. Pain flared through her fingers, drawing a brief wince, but she did not let go. She brought Sheila to the apron and shoved her beneath the bottom rope. Only once her opponent was inside did Laxia draw back her injured hand and give it a quick shake.

“Nn...”

It still stung. With her hand in this state, a prolonged grappling exchange was the last thing she wanted. Following her into the ring, Laxia took Sheila by one arm with her good hand and dragged her toward the center. She hauled her halfway upright, then released her and drove a short, sharp kick into her chest. Leaving Sheila flat on the mat again, Laxia turned toward the corner, breathing hard. Her back throbbed with every step. Her body was helpfully reminding her what it cost to keep going when she had come so close to being done. Still, she did not stop. At the corner, Laxia glanced over her shoulder to check Sheila’s position. Then she raised one hand, extending her index finger toward the lights. The crowd grew louder again.

“Let’s... finish this.”

Her voice was breathless, but there was no hesitation left in it. One more. Laxia caught the ropes and sprang onto the bottom strand. She pushed off almost immediately, finding the middle rope with her next step. It dipped beneath her weight, and she used its recoil to propel herself higher. In one fluid sequence, both boots landed on the top rope. It bowed deeply beneath her. She had no intention of staying there. Laxia bent her knees, moving with the rope as it stretched, then threw everything she had left into the rebound.

“Haaah...!”

She soared. Her arms spread as she arched backward, her tangled orange hair streaming through the air. The body that had ached with every step only moments ago now traced an elegant arc beneath the arena lights. Below her, Sheila lay on the mat. A leap toward a spectacular finish, and one last reckless gamble. Laxia descended toward her opponent with her moonsault finisher, Roswell Ascension...!

Roswell Ascension

[BlackAkuma]

Sheila could be beaten. She could be broken. She could be bleeding out, bruised all over, lacerated and masticated and eviscerated and defenestrated. She could be hanging out at death’s door, one foot in the grave.

But she would always, always have enough energy left to insult someone. Until the day she died, until she took her last breath. Always.

Not that it would matter much now. While she had managed to get her arm up and break the count, it had been more of an act of rebellion than anything, one last shot at making things as hard as possible for her opponent. In fairness, she thought she had done a decent enough job throughout the match, so she was happy to keep that trend going. But even Sheila was under no delusions here - she was done.

She could barely rise as Laxia hauled her back into the ring, moving like a puppet with cut strings as she was rolled under the bottom rope. She made a feeble attempt at struggling as she was dragged to the center of the ring, but Laxia shut that down with a stiff kick to the sternum, one that flattened the wild one and left her breathless once again.

Hair disheveled, body aching, she lay in the middle of the ring, in a spot that might as well have had a bullseye. She knew what was coming, more or less, but there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it, not much she could do at all besides lay and breathe and wait.

She wouldn’t have to do that last thing for long, either. Only a few moments passed before she looked up and saw a shadow flying overhead, a figure that was growing larger and larger and larger at a worrying rate.

Laxia hit, dead on, like someone dropped a bomb on Sheila from orbit. The blow bounced her, sent her rolling off, and flopped her to the side. This time, there was no writhing, no squirming, no crying out in pain - Sheila just lay on the canvas, a defenseless and lifeless lump, eyes glazed over, her brain on a completely different planet.

[Letta]

High above the ring, Laxia felt freer than she had at any other point in the match.. a strange irony, given the state she was in. Her body was battered. Her hair was disheveled, and dried blood marked the corner of her mouth. Her lower back and abdomen ached as she arched backward, and her injured hand still throbbed. Yet, for once, she felt no need to compose herself. She was not thinking about fixing her hair or wondering how her expression looked to the crowd. She had already left the ropes. All that remained was to trust the movements she had practiced countless times. There was something faintly funny about looking such a wreck at the very moment she felt most free. Was this how Sheila felt?

One was rough and impulsive, the other valued calculation and elegance. On the surface, they were polar opposites. But perhaps the thrill of throwing themselves from a height, of staking everything on one fleeting moment, was not so different. They approached the risk differently, but what they sought in it might have been surprisingly similar. Before she could finish the thought, Sheila came rushing closer beneath her.

THUD - !

Her graceful descent ended in a heavy collision with Sheila. Her abdomen struck Sheila’s with the full force of her descent, sending a jolt through both women. The collision stole Laxia’s breath as well. As the canvas rebounded beneath them, Laxia rolled to one side, planted her good hand, and pushed herself onto her knees. Sheila, meanwhile, had gone limp from the impact. The crowd erupted. Still kneeling, Laxia raised her head. A rush of exhilaration swept through her aching body. The pain had not disappeared. For now, though, the thrill of landing her move perfectly was far stronger.

“Yes...!”

A bright smile spread across her face. Laxia slapped the mat hard with her good hand. The takeoff, the rotation, the precise landing. She had done it. Only after several ragged breaths did she turn to look at Sheila. The aggression that had driven her opponent throughout the match was gone. No struggling. No curses. Just unfocused eyes and a slack body. All she had to do now was pin her. There was no reason to take her time. Move over, press those shoulders down, and wait for the count.

Yet, as she watched, the smile lingering on Laxia’s lips changed slightly. The Wild One, finally quiet. The woman who had hounded her, mocked her, and manhandled her throughout the match now lay defenseless before her. Laxia did not want to let that moment pass unnoticed. She wanted the audience to see it clearly, too. To see who had brought this ferocious opponent under control tonight. Who held the Wild One’s leash.

A thought crossed her mind- enough showing off. Wasn’t ending the match all she had wanted a moment ago? Had she not already shown them enough? She knew. Even so, she wanted to savor that satisfaction a little longer. Perhaps it was not a feeling she could proudly admit to, but neither could she easily shake it off. She would pin her. Just in a way that left a little less doubt about who was in control. Laxia moved her weary body toward Sheila. Pushing at her shoulder, she rolled her onto her back, then straddled her chest and settled into place. It looked as though she might reach back and hook the legs again. This time, however, her hands did not go behind Sheila’s knees.

She leaned forward and caught both wrists, pushing Sheila’s arms above her head and down against the mat. Pain flared through her injured fingers, briefly tightening her lips, but she did not rely on her grip alone. Lowering her upper body, she brought her weight forward to keep the arms pinned. At the same time, she stretched out over Sheila and threaded her toned legs around her opponent’s. Hooking her feet into place, she drew Sheila’s legs apart and held them there, keeping their upper bodies pressed together and using her weight to hold Sheila’s shoulders against the mat. This time, she did not want to give her so much as an opening to buck a shoulder free.

Usually, Laxia tried to make even intricate techniques look effortless. This was different. With her opponent’s arms and legs caught and her body pinned beneath her, she made no attempt to hide her dominance.

Spoiler

Laxia secured the Grapevine Pin and let out a short breath. Disheveled strands of hair fell beside her face, but this time she left them alone. The referee crouched beside them.

“1...!”

Laxia looked down at Sheila and maintained the pin.

[BlackAkuma]

Sheila had lost. She accepted that.

She wasn’t happy about it, but she accepted it.

It was the only real conclusion to draw here. The mind was willing, but the body was weak and spongy and completely fucked. She kept sendings signals to her limbs, but after being hit by that moonsault - the Best Ever, some might say - everything below the neck was shut down for business. Fuck a three count, Laxia probably could get a thirty count on her.

Which raised a question that was increasingly taking up her head space as she laid there - why wasn’t Laxia pinning her?

She couldn't move her head enough to see the woman, but she could sense her, smell her, taste her in the air, so she knew the bitch wasn’t too far away. But she wasn’t moving in for the kill, despite this match already taking a lot out of them both. Was she considering something? Had she knocked herself loopy? ”Hey,” She grumbled and tried to crane her neck to the side. ”What…what the fuck are you doing over-”

Sheila grunted as she was abruptly pulled over, with Laxia taking a seat on her chance soon after. She thought that would be the end of it, but no - the woman started to slide down, wrapping their legs together, pinning her hands to the mat.

A grapevine pin.

”2…!”

Sheila went into a struggling fit, but in her current state, thate, just amounted to some frantic twitching, jittering about on the mat with pathetic spasms. It only made things worse, as she grew keenly aware of the way their bodies kept rubbing together, the heat between them, the way Laxia’s breath was pouring all over.

”3…!”

That final count couldn't have come soon enough. Sheila flopped back and exhaled with a long, ragged breath. ”Fuck, fine, you won, good on you. Now get the fuck off, drongo.”

[Letta]

Sheila squirmed urgently beneath her. Her wrists strained against Laxia’s grip, and their entwined legs jerked against the mat. But the strength that had battered Laxia earlier did not return. Only the determination to escape remained, expressed in short, erratic movements. With each ragged breath, Sheila’s chest rose and fell against hers. Laxia was breathing hard herself. A bead of sweat dripped from her disheveled hair onto Sheila’s forehead, but Laxia paid it no mind.

“2...!”

Laxia pressed her lips together and held her position. Her injured fingers tingled, and her thighs were beginning to tremble from keeping Sheila’s legs trapped. Still, she did not let go. One more. The referee checked Sheila’s shoulders and raised a hand again. Laxia’s eyes followed it. And then...

“3...!”

The palm struck the canvas.

DING DING DING - !!!

At last, the bell rang. Her familiar entrance music rose above the cheering, and the announcer called out the winner’s name. It was over. For a moment, she remained perfectly still. It took a beat to register that the name she had just heard was hers. Then joy burst through her, impossible to contain. She had won. Against Sheila. In a no-DQ match, of all things, practically the woman’s own territory. Her face, her hair, her gear.. she was a mess from head to toe. Yet she could hardly have felt better. The crowd cheered as though she were a gladiator who had been thrown to a lion and walked out alive. Some of the applauding spectators still looked as though they could not believe the result. Laxia released Sheila’s wrists. She unhooked her legs from Sheila’s and sat up, once again straddling her chest.

“Haa... hah...”

No words came. All she could do was breathe hard as the thrill of victory swept through her. A smile spread across her lips, one she could not have concealed if she had tried. A familiar voice rose from beneath her.

“...Now get the fuck off, drongo.”

Laxia looked down. After regarding Sheila for a moment, she gave a quiet chuckle. Even now, her language had not improved in the slightest.

“Now, now... you still think you’re in a position to give orders...?”

She was still a little breathless, but much of her usual haughtiness had returned. Laxia held her ponytail between her lips while using both hands to smooth back the loose strands of orange hair around her face. Even after she had tied it back, a few strands remained beside her cheeks. This time, she left them alone.

“Keep talking like that, and I might just stay a little longer.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Come to think of it... I did promise to do something about that language, didn’t I?”

Her smile disappeared. Folding her arms, Laxia looked down at Sheila with the same mock-stern expression she had worn during the match. She let the moment hang, then slowly brought her good hand toward her opponent’s face. But she was not reaching for her cheek or her chin. Her fingers slipped into the tangled blonde hair instead. Laxia lightly ruffled that unruly mane, a laugh escaping as though she could no longer keep a straight face.

“Pfft... I’m only teasing.”

She had no intention of hitting her again. The match was over, and she had the victory she wanted. Laxia was not cruel enough to keep punishing an opponent she had already defeated. She was not about to give up the last word, though.

“Just don’t forget... who tamed the Wild One tonight.”

Laxia took Sheila by the chin and tilted her face up to meet her gaze, then moved off her. As she planted her good hand against the canvas and pushed herself up, the pain she had been holding at bay made itself felt again. Her breath caught briefly, but the smile stayed on her face. Standing in the ring, Laxia raised both arms. Another wave of cheers washed over her. She lifted her head and savored the moment that was finally, entirely hers. A little later, Laxia slipped between the ropes and climbed down to ringside. Every step hurt, but the smile remained as she made her way up the ramp. Raising a hand to the crowd, she disappeared through the entrance, leaving her music and the cheers behind her.