Laxia von Roswell vs. Sheila Morgan II - Bushwacked

[BlackAkuma]

Sheila wasn’t a heavy woman by any means, and she never had been. It wasn’t even on purpose. She had a pretty unhealthy diet, mostly greasy burgers, chicken, and whatever random restaurant she could find when she was out. She was a walking trash compactor most of the time. She was just one of those people who never seemed to get fat.

But she knew how to use the weight she did have. She was a master at that. For instance, say, using her weight to drive her knees into Laxia’s chest, while at the same driving the metal back into her neck, with crushing and effective force.

The results spoke for themselves. After she laid Laxia out, Sheila sat there, waiting for the sweet sound of her groaning in anguish, and she didn’t have to wait long.

”You know, I gotta apologize, Carrot Top.” She rolled over to her hands and knees, looming over Laxia like a lioness with her fresh kill. ”You’re new here, a guest, and I haven’t even shown you around the place. That’s just fucking rude.”

Sheila reached over and grabbed Laxia's ankle. ”Let’s fix that.”

With a tight grip on the woman’s leg, Sheila stood up and dragged her toward the edge of the ring, a baseball bat slung over her shoulder, looking every bit like a cavewoman hauling her meal home for the day. Once she was close enough to the edge, she pulled Laxia around and gave her a few stiff kicks in the side, trying to punt her out under the bottom rope and on the dirt floor floor, where she’d be following shortly.

[Letta]

Groaning in pain, Laxia could scarcely believe what she was hearing.

What...?

An apology..? Manners?

Neither was something she expected to hear from Sheila. Had all her attempts to teach the woman some manners finally paid off? But under the circumstances, Sheila bringing up etiquette was hardly reassuring. If anything, it sounded downright ominous. Wincing, Laxia raised her head. Sheila was on her hands and knees, looming over her. The wild-looking gear, the mane spilling around her face, the smile spreading beneath it. Like a lioness inspecting her fallen prey. With a smile like that, Sheila could hardly be planning a pleasant tour. Not for her guest, anyway.

“Nnngh...”

Sheila’s hand closed around her slender ankle. Before Laxia could pull her leg away, she was being dragged along the mat like a piece of luggage, her back and shoulders scraping against the canvas. She planted one hand and tried to resist, but her aching body refused to cooperate. Her palm simply slid across the mat. Looking up, she saw Sheila walking along as though she hadn’t a care in the world, the bat resting on her shoulder. “Wait...! Where are you taking me...?” Instead of an answer, another pull on her ankle swung her body around. Then a kick struck her side.

“Aagh...!” Laxia jolted and rolled sideways. Pain flared through her ribs, still aching from the Codebreaker. She hurriedly reached to cradle her side, but the next kick landed before her hand could get there. “Nngh...!” She was knocked farther along the mat. Laxia tried to curl up and stop herself from rolling any farther. But the kicks kept coming, leaving her no chance to catch her breath as they drove her steadily toward the edge of the ring. With every roll, her view flipped between the sky and the canvas.

“Ooghh...!”

A rope swept past her eyes. Only then did Laxia realize how far she had been driven. She was already rolling beneath the bottom rope. She reached for it, but her fingertips fell short. She tried to brace herself with her other hand, only for it to slip over the edge. “Huh...?”
Her body tipped after it. Before she could react, there was nothing beneath her.

“Gah...!”

Laxia landed face-first in the dirt at ringside. Her outstretched arms had done little to break the fall. A cloud of dry dust rose around her, settling over her face and disheveled hair.

“*Cough*...! Khh...”

As she tried to lift her head, she felt grit clinging to her lips. Dust caught in her throat and sent her coughing again, her cheek scraping against the rough ground. Just dirt, dust, and her body sprawled in the middle of it. Apparently, Sheila’s promised tour had only just begun. Now Laxia had truly been dragged into Sheila’s territory...!

[BlackAkuma]

Fuck, she was already sweating. Sheila had been in Japan - mild, air-conditioned, reasonably warm Japan - for far too long. It was like her body had forgotten how to properly deal with heat. Even with her skimpy attire giving her a good deal of air, the beads were already forming and dripping before she had really done much of anything. Laxia wasn’t anywhere close to being that heavy.

Thankfully, she’d properly hydrated before this all started, so unless things went on for a stupid amount of time, that wouldn’t be too big of a concern. She only hoped that Laxia had taken similar precautions. The absolute last thing she wanted was for the rich bitch to pass out mid-match. That’d be good for a laugh, but not much else.

”So, little history lesson.” Sheila made her way through the ropes as Laxia wallowed on the outside. ”This football field? Used to belong to the school I went to, long time ago, like a decade. Place got wrecked up real bad during a storm, flooded out, repairs cost too much, so they shut the place down.”

Sheila briefly contemplated smacking Laxia with the bat again, but as fun as that might be, getting repetitive was not the Outback Wrestling way. She needed to be creative, mix things up a little.

She tossed the bat aside, much to the audience’s dismay, but then started reaching under the ring, much to the audience’s delight, gripping the first thing she could get her hands on - just so happened to be a table. ”So we had all this real estate, just sitting here, nothing to do with it.” She pulled the table out and started setting it up. ”So I figured we might as well make something of it, right?”

[Letta]

Laxia planted both hands in the dirt and struggled to lift her head. Pain flared around her ribs as she put weight on her arms. In front of her, Sheila was just beginning her history lesson.

History.

Laxia had always enjoyed those lessons. She knew quite a bit about the subject, too. The family name, its reputation, the inheritance passed down through generations. Learning what her ancestors had built and how they had kept the family going was more than a passing interest for her. She also understood how difficult it was to keep an old family standing. With her own family’s future now in jeopardy, she understood that all too well.

Her usual history lessons, however, had not involved lying facedown in the dirt. Laxia lifted one hand to brush the grit from her lips. Meanwhile, Sheila continued her explanation as she hauled a table out from beneath the ring. A storm. Flooding. Repairs they could not afford. A school forced to close. So they had taken the abandoned field and turned it into this?

Honestly, Laxia did want to hear a little more. What sequence of decisions had produced such a result? At what point had someone decided this was good enough, and had nobody offered an alternative? Pure curiosity. At least, that was what she told herself. She drew one knee beneath her, blew a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, and watched Sheila unfold the table. But her questions would have to wait. She doubted that table was meant to serve as a teacher’s desk.

Gritting her teeth, Laxia pushed herself up. Straightening sent her breath catching in short bursts, but she did not sink back down. With Sheila busy arranging furniture and delivering her lecture, she finally had an opening. What had happened to the school was unfortunate. That did not mean Laxia intended to sit through the rest of the lesson and let herself be reduced to rubble, too.

Some things crumbled and disappeared. Others survived. And history was written by the victors, wasn’t it?

There was no reason to let Sheila write today’s account all by herself. Laxia approached from behind, trying to quiet her ragged breathing. Only moments ago, every speck of dirt on her had been an affront. Now she barely noticed it beneath her boots. Her eyes stayed fixed on Sheila at the table. Warnings rose from the crowd. Someone shouted for Sheila to look behind her. But her opponent still seemed absorbed in her story and the task of setting up the table, and Laxia hurried through the last few steps.

She reached for the back of Sheila’s head. Her fingers closed around a fistful of that disheveled mane, and she pulled her opponent’s head back. Pain shot through her ribs, but she did not loosen her grip. Instead, she planted her feet and put that frustration into the movement. If Sheila wanted to talk about storms, Laxia could give her another one to remember. She wrenched Sheila’s head forward, aiming to slam her face into the surface of the freshly unfolded table...!

“Hah... hah... Class dismissed...!”

[BlackAkuma]

”So I thought, you know, ‘Outback Wrestling’, right? Little cliché. Okay, really fucking cliché, but wrestling is kind of all about clichés, you know? Might as well roll with it, I say. And we made a damn good killing off it, too. Got people from the whole area to see it, even drew it a few news crews, though they never stuck around for too long. Can’t imagine why.”

Sheila was fucking chatty today. Granted, she wasn’t even one to hold back her tongue even during the calmest of times, but she typically tended to lock in when she was fighting, saving her words for more trashtalking than anything. Something about the moment made her feel like sharing, with Laxia of all people, who probably couldn't have given less of a shit.

Hell, that was the main reason. Laxia didn’t care about it. About the history, about any of it. It was all beneath her, which just made Sheila want to shove the whole place down her throat.

”And now you’re part of the legacy, princess.” Sheila finally finished setting the table, taking way longer than she’d liked with the rusty thing. It was older than she was, most likely. ”So congratulations are in-”

Oh. Laxia was up. Damn, faster than Sheila expected.

Sheila knew that because of a simple reason: the woman was grabbing her by the hair, yanking her head back and bringing it crashing forward into the very table she’d just setup, smacking it into the wood. This wasn’t one of those flimsy tables they used in LAW, either, the kind that broke apart if you looked at them too hard. No, this was solid stuff, with little give. It was only mildly better than hitting your head on a rock.

Her skull bounced off and her legs immediately turned to jelly beneath her, leaving Sheila to crumple to her knees, with only a lazy hand grasping the table for support.

[Letta]

Did she really not understand why the news crews never stayed? Listening to Sheila, Laxia could hardly believe it. She could turn this place into a far more respectable and profitable business. At the very least, she was confident she could keep guests from planning their escape the moment they arrived. But the business advice could wait.

As Sheila’s head struck the tabletop, the impact jarred Laxia’s hand and left her fingertips tingling. The table was much sturdier than she had expected. Finally, she had shut her up, the woman who had dragged her around while talking nonstop. Laxia released her grip with a ragged breath. As Sheila crumpled to her knees, cheers erupted around them. Laxia glanced toward the spectators. Their hometown girl had just had her head slammed into a table, and they were delighted.

Apparently, they were less interested in supporting Sheila than in seeing something violent happen, regardless of who was on the receiving end. Well. At least they were consistent. Perhaps she could give them a little more to watch. Laxia turned back to Sheila. She had only just regained the advantage. She was not about to lose it again by taking her time catching her breath.

Ordinarily, this sort of fighting would have been neither familiar nor appealing. But this was different. Thrown into a jungle like this instead of a proper arena, she had to improvise and find a way to survive. It was hardly the setting she would have chosen. Put that way, there was little reason to feel guilty. Laxia turned toward the nearby ring and lifted the ring skirt, just as Sheila had done moments earlier.

A rusted road sign... A chain... A metal trash can. Why on earth were any of these things under a wrestling ring? Frowning, she picked through the clutter. Whenever she pulled something out, the crowd cheered. Whenever she rejected it and put it down again, disappointed voices followed. She felt as though she were taking requests. Then she found a traffic cone. Laxia was about to put the cone back- but stopped short. Her gaze shifted from the cone to Sheila, who was still kneeling beside the table, holding on for support. Gripping the cone by its tip, Laxia returned to her opponent. Her ribs ached with every step, but this time she did not let it show.

“Part of the legacy... What an honor. I’m quite overwhelmed.”

As she spoke, Laxia positioned the cone’s open base over Sheila’s head and lowered it into place. The wild mane disappeared beneath the orange cone, along with the smug face that had loomed over her only moments ago. Laxia let go and took two steps back. She settled into her stance, eyes fixed on the target. Waist height. Just right. She planted one boot firmly in the dirt and began to turn, her shoulders and hips moving together. The movement was as graceful as the opening of a pirouette onstage. But it was not going to end with a dancer’s pose. Her leg whipped around with the force of the turn, her heel sweeping toward the cone covering Sheila’s head in a sharp spinning heel kick...!

“Spare me... the congratulations!”

[BlackAkuma]

The crowd cheered when Sheila was on top, and now that they were caving in her skull, they were still cheering. Violence for the sake of violence. That was the Outback Wrestling way.

Sheila didn’t take it personally. Hell, she was probably the most popular person to ever come out of this place, the closest they would ever come to a homegrown celebrity, practically royalty among her people, and she still expected this sort of treatment. They’d been exactly the same way when she left, chugging beer and crying for more as she got put through tables and lit on fire and even hit by a car that one time. She wouldn’t have them any other way.

It brought a smile to her face, even as she wallowed in the pain, though a slight burst of panic set in when she felt the ache on her forehead. A finger went to her skull and felt…sweat, but nothing else. No torn skin, no bleeding, thank fucking god. She could live with bleeding in a match like this; it was practically expected, but she’d be damned if Laxia got first blood on her two times in a row. Certain things just could not happen, fuck that.

”Fucking hell, Lax.” She snickered and shook her head as she tried to shake it off. ”That what I’m-”

Orange.

Orange, everywhere.

Sheila’s favorite color, as it turned out, but she was much less happy with it when it blocked her vision. It took her a moment to register that Laxia had put a damn safety cone on her head, and her first instinct was to reach up and remove it, which had the unfortunate effect of leaving her midsection wide open.

A kick. At least, Sheila assumed it was a kick, anyway. Whatever it was, it sank deep into her stomach, folded her off, and sent her flying into the dirt, head over heels, until she flopped onto her chest and laid there, groaning.

The good news? The cone flew off in the process, so she could actually see how bad her ass was getting kicked, now.

[Letta]

Laxia’s kick traced a graceful arc before her heel struck the traffic cone covering Sheila’s head. A sharp smack rang out, and a solid jolt traveled up her leg. A satisfying confirmation that she had connected cleanly. The cone flew off Sheila’s head. Watching her opponent tumble through the dirt and land facedown, Laxia settled back into her stance, the corners of her mouth lifting. The crowd erupted. Their cheers sent an unfamiliar thrill rippling through her. She was straying beyond her usual boundaries, doing things she ordinarily would not have considered. Yet the audience loved it. Perhaps that was precisely why they loved it. Laxia approached her fallen opponent.

“Well? This is what you wanted, isn’t it...?! Hm...?!” Her boot struck Sheila’s side. As her opponent rolled, Laxia followed a step behind. Then she kicked her in the other side, sending her farther through the dirt. “How’s that? Having fun...?! Having the time of your life...?!” Apparently, being kicked out of the ring had not sat particularly well with her. Laxia had never been one to let such things go unanswered, especially while her body still remembered them so vividly. Her ribs ached. She could still feel where the bat had pressed against her chest, and dirt clung to her lips. Sheila deserved to know how it felt, too. Dust sticking to her skin. Grit between her teeth. Dirt in her eyes. Even now, Laxia found herself remembering that laughter. The woman had laughed after having her head slammed into a table.

It was unsettling. She had little desire to understand Sheila, but she was beginning to get a clearer picture of what made her tick. She was much like the people watching them. Who was hitting whom was beside the point. As long as it was rough, loud, and thrilling, they were happy. At least their tastes were consistent. Perhaps Sheila was less a villain than a thrill-seeker willing to put her own body on the line. There was something almost pure about that particular obsession. Understanding it, however, did nothing to soothe Laxia’s anger. She delivered another kick, rolling Sheila closer to the apron, then paused to catch her breath.

“Come to think of it... looking at you reminds me of an old friend.” Turning toward the ring, she briefly pressed a hand to her aching side before lifting the ring skirt again. “Or rather, the Chihuahua she used to take everywhere. Whenever they visited our house, the little thing never stopped yappin' at Monty.” Laxia pulled something out from beneath the ring, inspected it, and put it back with a dissatisfied look. “Oh, Monty is our Great Dane. A purebred, of course. I’m not sure you’d know the breed...” Her hand moved on to something else. “Barely a mouthful for him, and yet all that noise. It’s always the little ones that make the biggest show of being fierce.” Her fingers found something cold and flat. Laxia pulled it out. A triangular metal sign with ‘STOP’ across its face. She gave it a brief inspection. This time, she kept it. “Growling, baring its teeth, acting as though it might lunge at any moment...” Carrying the sign back to Sheila, she tilted her head slightly. “A coward underneath it all.” Laxia pushed at Sheila’s shoulder, rolling her onto her back, then laid the metal sign across her chest. She briefly checked its position before taking her hands away.

“Remind you of anyone...?”

She had no intention of waiting for an answer. Laxia turned and climbed onto the apron. Her side ached again with the effort, but she pressed her lips together and kept going. Standing at the edge, she looked down. Sheila in the dirt. The metal sign across her chest. Laxia bent her knees, then sprang from the apron. Her arms spread for balance as she tucked her knees up in midair before extending both legs toward the target below. Both boots lined up over the metal sign. Laxia descended in a diving double foot stomp, aiming to drive both heels into the sign resting across Sheila’s chest...!

[BlackAkuma]

Was Sheila having fun? Fuck yeah.

A weird thing to think, after having just been kicked in the head, sure, but there was no use hiding how she felt about things. This was her natural environment, here in the dust and dirt, fighting for survival every second. The dust in her mouth was strangely satisfying , as if reminded her of how the way things were supposed to be, that she had no place in sterile environments and santized rings. She felt like a beast who’d been caged for far too long. A real Wild One.

Of course, she would’ve liked it more if she were the one doing the kicking and not being the one kicked, but hey, she was working on that. One step at a time.

She had just started to push her way up when Laxia came after her, driving into her and sending her sprawling back, a punt right to the ribs. Yeah, the bitch was well and truly pissed off now, putting pure venom into every hit. By the end of it, Sheil was way too busy coughing to offer a good reply and she had no idea what was coming her way next.

What she got was, well…a speech. About a dog. Definitely did not expect that, she had to admit. She didn’t get where the woman was going at first, until it all clicked and she brought the tale home, comparing her to the damn Chihuahua. Sheila was more of a cat person, if she were honest, but she picked up on the comparison regardless.

Sheila was still reeling as the woman came and flipped her about like flapjack, putting her over on her back. Stunned as Sheila was, she was only vaguely aware of something heavy and metal being laid across her body. She opened her weary eyes, looked down and found herself wearing a stopsign, of all things. But why…

”Oh.”

Sheila looked up just in time to see Laxia coming down, descending on her from on high with all the subtly of an atomic bomb. Her feet came down, full force, into the stopsigh, driving it hard into her body and damn near planting her in the dirt. A dust cloud erupted around them and Sheila came rolling out of it as she clutched her chest, her mouth agape with a breathless scream. Her entire chest hurt - ribs, breasts, bones, lungs, all of it, just a mass of penetrating pain.

[Letta]

CLANG - !

The metal sign rang sharply beneath Laxia’s boots as her full weight struck it. Dust rose around them in a billowing cloud. Laxia hopped clear, bending her knees as she landed, while Sheila rolled out of the haze with her hands clutched to her chest. The crowd erupted. Laxia turned toward them as though the roar were her cue. With a small flourish of one hand, she bowed like a dancer taking her curtain call. Only then did she straighten and turn her gaze back to Sheila.

“My, my... Did that hurt? Not much padding to soften the blow, was there~?”

Sheila’s curves were hardly any less generous than Laxia’s, but accuracy was not the point. Looking down at Sheila, Laxia cupped her own breasts from beneath and lifted them slightly, then straightened with her chin held high.

“What little you had must be even flatter now~.”

Then something in the crowd caught her eye. A clear jug with a handle, water sloshing around the ice inside. The sight brought her thirst rushing to the surface. Until now, pain and temper had kept it somewhere in the background. Suddenly, she could think of little else. Her mouth was dry, her tongue still gritty with dust, and the heat beneath her wrestling gear seemed to cling to every inch of her. Laxia made straight for the spectators. Before the man holding the jug could say a word, she had taken it from his hand and brought it to her lips. There would be time for manners later. She was far too hot and far too thirsty for small, ladylike sips...! The jug tipped higher, ice rattling inside as she drank. Cold water washed the taste of dust from her mouth, and she swallowed eagerly, barely pausing between mouthfuls. Water spilled over her lips in a steady rush, streaming down her chin and neck and over her shoulders, while more slipped beneath her neckline and into her cleavage. She made no effort to catch it. For once, a little water down her front was the least of her concerns. Only after several long swallows did she lower the jug and draw a breath. Then, with scarcely a moment’s hesitation, she tipped her head back and poured the remaining water over her face.

“Haa....”

A brief sigh escaped her as she closed her eyes. The cold water cooled her flushed face and washed dust from her cheeks and hair. Laxia lowered her head, then tossed it back, sweeping her wet hair behind her. Droplets scattered in the sunlight. Whistles mingled with cheers from the crowd. Only then did Laxia turn back to the jug’s owner.

“Whew... Thank you, dear.”

She winked and handed it back. Judging by the smile on his face, the man did not seem particularly upset at having his drink taken without permission. Laxia lightly wiped her damp lips with the back of her hand. The spectators who had witnessed this unexpected display up close were still watching her. Having unwittingly treated the crowd to quite a show, she turned away. It was time to return to Sheila. But after a couple of steps, she stopped.

A spectator’s sign had caught her eye. Individually cut letters had been stuck onto thick cardboard to spell out ‘WILD ONE.’ It was a little rough around the edges, but someone had clearly put some effort into it. Laxia tilted her head, studying it, then slowly shook her head in disapproval. The spectator looked up in confusion as she approached. Without explanation, she carefully peeled off the ‘W’, turned it upside down, and pressed it back into place with her palm. She stepped back to inspect her work, a satisfied smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

“There. Much better.”

Laughter broke out as the spectators caught on. Laxia gave the sign’s owner a small nod, then finally returned to Sheila. With her thirst quenched and the dirt washed from her face, she felt a little more like herself. Her stride was easier now. Stopping beside Sheila, she gestured toward the crowd behind her.

“Hear those cheers? Can you tell who your hometown crowd is cheering for now...?”

Bending down, she took hold of Sheila’s arm and a handful of disheveled hair. Then she straightened, hauling her opponent up with her. Once Sheila was on her feet, Laxia moved alongside her. She tucked her opponent’s head beneath one arm and secured the hold with her other hand, locking in a firm side headlock. Her soft breast pressed against Sheila’s cheek. She briefly raised one hand to acknowledge the crowd, then tightened her hold again. She already knew where they were going. The table Sheila had brought out and set up herself. Perhaps the cheers had carried her away, or perhaps she simply wanted to give the crowd more of what they craved, something even more reckless and outrageous. Whatever the reason, Laxia began dragging Sheila toward the table.

“Come along. That’s it... Easy now, Mild One.”