Christie Myers vs Drake "Domino" Vyril- A prisoner, or a living corpse?

[Armada]

“Prisoner of War” Match.
Standard Match Rules.
Victory achievable via Pins, Knockout, or verbal submission.
Winner will take the loser as their POW for 24 hours.

--

Well, tonight was a special night after all.

Christie had only just recently joined up with the LAW federation, and with her exciting debut out of the way it looked as though she had made some waves inside the LAW management. It had only been a day or so after that match before they began tossing her new ones. This one was a little different, possibly a response to the constant abuse she spouted out towards the entire federation and the ones in charge. The Grave Keeper never did have a great filter, and she loved reminding everyone how pitiful her competition was.

Karma had a strange way of coming around, and it seemed to be in the form of tonight’s match. It was a “Prisoner of War” match, something she had never heard of until it was presented to her. From what she understood, whoever won the fight had something like an “ownership” over the loser for a set period of time, and could make them do all sorts of things. As if that was not quite questionable enough, the contract she had to sign for the match stated her opponent would be someone name “Drake Vyril”. Christie may not have been a rocket scientist, but that sure sounded like a guy’s name to her.

So, a fight against a guy where if she lost, she would essentially become his slave for a set amount of time and had to do whatever he said…it sounded interesting.

If management expected to scare her away, they were dead wrong. She signed the contract with a wicked grin and a wave of the hand. What was there to worry about after all? All she had to do was win, and she got a new pet to mess around with for a little bit. She had no intention of losing any fights, and she would show this place she could handle any one they threw at her, man or woman.

Christie Myers

Entrance Music

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

The unmistakable music of the Crypt Keeper blared out into the stadium filled with eager audience members. The rabidly growing beats of the drums and guitar were accompanied by fog filling the entry way, cloaking the figure underneath until she finally stepped forward like an unholy spirit. Christie Myers had arrived, carrying a large shovel over her shoulder and returning a nasty smirk to the loud Boos the crowd rained down onto her. Her costume that was adorned with jolly rogers and Hell’s flames was partially covered by a leather jacket, which was only zipped up halfway to give her generous bosom room to breathe.

One audience member that was particularly close shouted an obscenity at her, to which she casually flipped them the bird before walking down the ramp that led to the ring.

Despite her aggressive behavior, some cheers could be heard scattered amongst the crowd, the undead juggernaut apparently having a very niche fan club. She paid them little attention, only focusing on the ring ahead of her. She quickly slid underneath the ropes, leaving her shovel outside propped against a corner. She took one look at the referee for the match, sending the girl a scowl before turning back to the crowd and dragging her thumb across her neck, getting another round of jeers thrown her way.

Finally, she walked over towards the red corner, crossing her arms and leaning against the post, sparing a sideways glance towards the exit to try and get a look at who this “Drake Domino” guy was. Hopefully he was an impressive fighter, otherwise she would take it as an insult that she would be stuck with him for the next day or so…

[CyanDimitrik]

Domino wasn't entirely sure what to make of things. He agreed to work with LAW, his contract bought from the previous federation, on the auspices that he'd be given his fair shake. He's been getting matches. Nothing title-related, but he's trying to be fair about it - he's still something of an unknown to this crowd. His presence is growing, a section of the audience warming up to the idea of there being males in this previously female-only arena. He's up for winning them over. But there's just something... odd... about the way they do things here.

They want things to be risque. The management knows sex sells, and intergender matches involve a lot of touching, roughhousing, and pinning. It's pretty charged, he'll admit it. Hell, he was even the victim of it, being blindsided by Kohaku. In the moment, what could he do? But moving forward, he can't let that happen again. Still, they seem to like throwing this type of match around: prisoner of war. Someone's property. They really like the idea of, perhaps even the suggestion thereof, him or a girl being captive.

It's not porno to him, but it's just skirting the edge. He's sure if he invited the federation's camera crew to such an event, they'd be all over it. But sorry, ladies and gentlemen - no dice.

He's had his hands full lately, and had very little time to keep up with anything else going on with the federation. His opponent is a completely unknown factor for him, but he's anxious to get a look at her. Christie Myers. An Anglo name. She's European or American, it sounds like. And then there's the very familiar tune to Crypt Keeper.

"Oh my god, this chick has to be amazing," Domino murmurs to himself. Either she has a sense of humor, is extremely theatrical, or has an interesting sort of gimmick. Consider his eagerness upgraded!

And then the comparatively lame thumps of generic techno begin pulsing from the speakers, and Domino's excitement deadens. He has got to get his theme sorted out. "Aai.."

"And her opponent! From Providence, Rhode Island! Drake! Domino! Vyril!"

He isn't sure he digs his full name going alongside his ringname, but screw it. The curtain is thrown back, and he strides out into view. Something is rather different about his appearance this time, however! He's still wearing his black and white wrestling boots, matching bracers, and brief-style trunks, but his upper-body is clad in a white t-shirt clinging to his slender frame. Emblazoned upon its front is a stylized black and white image of his face with the word "DOMINO" overtop and "EFFECT"" written beneath. Merchandise available in the back, yo.

The young model makes his way down the ramp at an energetic clip, drifting side to side to slap an increasingly-receptive train of highfives. One zealous female audience member even gets a hug! When he reaches the edge of the ring, he hops up onto the apron and grabs the top rope. With a quick stretch of the cable, he nimbly vaults himself up and over to alight on the mat. On the same bounce, he rushes up the turnbuckle to perch on the middle ropes. A pointing finger sweeps out over the cheering audience with a radiant smile in acknowledgment, before coming in to grip the shirt by the collar. At last, the garment is pulled up and over his head, stripping his upper-body bare to expose his defined chest and sleekly-toned six-packed abs. The shirt is then chucked out of the crowd, leaving some lucky guest with a free souvenir!

Domino

Domino at last hops down from his perch with a rotation before landing, facing his opponent. His gaze falls over her, starting at her boots, traveling up her long legs to her bare thighs, then hips, then that jacket not quite covering the swell of her chest, and finally her face. The long, luxurious hair is noted, as well as the curious shade of eyes. It doesn't hurt that the girl is outright pretty.

After a beat, he flashes her a challenging smile and cant of his head. The referee-girl paws at him to inspect for weapons while he calls to Christie, "You bring all the puns with ya?" If she's going to use the Crypt Keeper's theme, he expects some good, or at least adorably cringey, puns!

[Armada]

Well…at least he was something to look at. Christie’s snake-like eyes scanned her opponent’s frame up and down as he walked around and did his little fan fare to those that cared outside of the ring. She spied the merchandise he was wearing and scoffed to herself, thinking it was pretty pathetic to be wearing your own merchandise like a walking billboard, trying to sell garbage to the useless masses. Then again, if they were stupid enough to buy the over priced item, they deserve everything they had coming to them.

She waited patiently while Drake did his thing, leaning against the corner with only a passive interest in the fresh meat management had unwittingly thrown her. When he was good and ready, she finally sat back up, unzipping her jacket and tossing it out near the ring towards the shovel. With the jacket now gone, much more of the Grave Digger’s skin was exposed, and she seemed to stretch almost teasingly as the ref checked her for weapons. It was not until Drake asked her about puns did she finally give him a serious, albeit questioning look.

It took her a moment, but she finally understood what he must have meant by that, with one of Christie’s nickname being “The Crypt Keeper”, which happened to be a popular character on a television horror show wherein he spouted of puns that worked with every situation. Normally, she would have told him to fuck off, but he must have caught her in a good mood, because Christie strolled right on over to Drake with an innocent look in her eyes.
She purposefully got in close, practically pushing herself chest to chest against him, a warm friendly smile lingering on her face while those serpent eyes watched him.

“Listen here little boil,” She whispered so that only he could hear, “You picked the wrong person to get into a fright with. I hope you’re ready for tonight, because soon you will be my own personal grave for 24 hours!”

Having given the man his cheesy little puns, Christie backed up a few steps, giving each fighter some distance. She placed both hands on her hips as she waited for the officials to ring the bell and start the match. She wanted to test Drake out and see what kind of punishment he could take. Sure he was buff, but Christie was willing to bet he didn’t know how to use those muscles.

As soon as the bell did ring, Christie would move in with her arms raised, looking to lock up with Domino in a classic test-of-strength hold.

[CyanDimitrik]

Domino wanted to say something more clever, but really, when one blasts that particular music and dares a pun joke, 'clever' takes a backseat. Still, it seemed to get a visceral reaction in the suddenly very scantly-clad woman, and she began in his direction. Ever at the ready, the young model moves forward to not find himself trapped in the corner. The result: her breasts nearly pushing into his toned pecs near-ish the center of the ring.

And then out come those puns. Oh god. It's wonderful. It hits him right in the nostalgia, the likes of which he hadn't seen since leaving the States. Dark amethyst eyes widen, and he nips onto his bottom lip in an effort to restrain a smile. Oh no, it won't suffice to play his hand like that! Not so quickly, not so early!

But alas, Domino fails. He bursts into lighthearted laughter as she moves back from him, a hand lifting to his mouth for politeness' sake. "Oh man, that- you're great. This is gonna be fun." He lowers his hand again, eyes somehow a little more sparkly than before. "You keep that up, and I'm gonna have a hard time going hard on you. So no more of it. I wanna win."

He begins bobbing from foot to foot, apparently taken in by her innocent, joking demeanor. Who could blame him, really? Confident girl, attractive, not so hung up on herself that she can't make some puns for the sake of it - he could think of worse people to be paired against in a match like this.

The referee-girl flails an arm to signal the bell.

*DING*

Christie is already offering her hands for a test of strength, and Domino wastes no time in reciprocating. His fingers lace between hers and their palms press together. His back arches, the streamlined muscletone of his arms flexing, chest and abs tightening as he pours his back arches and he pours effort into the exchange. He attempts to bear the girl down towards the mat, not looking to dump her onto her back, but to gain physical control of her body to start things off and open her up!

[Armada]

Christie tilted her head a bit after hearing Drake’s request of no more puns. He was grinning like a loon, apparently taken by the poor material she had to make up on the spot and even going so far as to burst into a quite laughter, like a kid hearing his favorite joke from his favorite show, which might have been the case. Perhaps it was because the material was so bad, the man standing across from her could not help but laugh.

Whatever the reason, he seemed to be weak against such childish material, and requested her to stop. As much as Christie hated requests, there would be very little push back on this one. The Grave Keeper was trying to build up a reputation around theses parts, and the last thing she wanted to be known for was her “Death Puns” and her similarities to the Crypt Keeper.

But…one more might not hurt her rep too bad…

“If you really think a wuss like you stands a chance at beating me,” She said with sharp eyes but a playful smile,
“Then you are making a grave mistake!”

Oh wow, that one actually hurt to say.

Christie would not have to linger on that feeling for too long, as the bell signaling the start of the match had finally rung.

Drake accepted the Undead Tyrant’s challenge, lacing his fingers across her own, locking their hands in a tight grip. Christie began to push, using her abs, arms, and legs to push against her foes own muscular power. For a good few minutes, the two seemed evenly matched, a nasty grin plastered on the villainess’s face as she continued to push more and more.

However, time was not on Christie’s side in this hold. Drake had a slight size advantage, and the harder Christie pushed, the more lactic acid poured into her shoulders. Her powerful arms were starting to burn, her muscles requesting a quick break that she would not allow, instead, taking a single step back, giving her foe some ground.

Deciding to end this lock in her favor, she stopped resisting Drake, and instead pulled him in…right into her pointed knee, looking to slam it into his firm abs and wind the poor man, and break down his defense a bit.

[CyanDimitrik]

It's a guilty sort of pleasure. The sort that says, 'Yeah, I know it's dorky and terrible, but that's why you have to love it.' And anyone willing to essentially make fun of themselves has to have a good heart. That's his rationale, at least. And facing off against someone with a good heart, despite their gothic, edgy apparel, is always a bonus in his books. It doesn't hurt that the aforementioned apparel is extremely scant and shows off a killer physique.

She had to pun again before they began their contest. She just had to. It gets a restrained little snicker, but he's on a mission. The bell has rung, and it's time to bring her down. If not for the prize of keeping her for a day, then to prove to the audience he's the real deal - someone to watch. Someone to respect. Something woefully lacking in the other federations.

The struggle continues for longer than he would've expected, genuinely impressed by her physique. But he doesn't back down, nor is he interested in taking it easy on her. His fingers clamp down more on her gloved hands, dark, dramatically-hued eyes locked with similarly dramatic eyes. "Ghhnn..!" His back arches further, and at last, she yields a step. That's enough of an opening for him to exploit! He begins to favor his right arm, intent on twisting her body backwards and low.

...Only things change up! The girl's knee jams into the model's sleek abdominals, briefly caving against the point. "Guh-!" The strength leaves his arms, and he's forced to double over, taken completely by surprise! He attempts to free his hands from hers in favor of wrapping around his midsection protectively.

[Armada]

Okay, so maybe Christie would have to reevaluate whether Drake was just a dumb pretty boy or not. He had a pretty good grip, and he could handle himself in a test of strength better then she expected him to, even going so far as to push her back a step. If the Tomb Walker did not have every intention of wiping the floor with him, she might have offered him some kudos on performing better then she had expected in the first few minutes of the fight.

Of course, Christie was never one for positive reinforcement, and instead kicked Drake right in his abs, causing the model to lose any focus he had in the contest and instead double over her knee, quickly turning the battle over in the red-and-black haired woman’s favor. She released his hand and stood there, looking down on Drake as he cradled his stomach with a cruel smile and a nasty plot.

Reaching a gloved hand down, Christie grabbed a handful of the model’s hair, tugging his head up so she could look him in the eyes with a smug look on her face. She did not bother being gentle with him, and the way the overhead lights shadowed her face made her look like a demon, her red eyes practically glowing, and the smile so large it seemed inhuman.

“Sorry, Drake, but I’m not going to be anyone’s prisoner, especially not to some wannabe fighter like you. The only one that is going to be walking out of here with a win tonight is me, so why don’t you be a good little Domino and fall over?”

With that, Christie would then attempt to push Drake’s head under her armpit, wrapping his head up just before falling back into an early match DDT. If the Dead Walker was successful, she would push him over onto hi back and lay across his chest, going for an early pin as well, hardly taking him as any kind of serious threat.

[CyanDimitrik]

The knee wasn't enough to change his impression of her. He'd done that to plenty of others, himself. It's just part of the fight. And even the hairpulling is something he'd gotten used to. The look on her face, however, is starkly different from what she'd shown him before. And the thing she says earns a widening of his eyes and ignites a fire that immediately dries up that humored, even cheerful attitude. Wannabe fighter?

He's in no position to counter her just yet, but his hands move to her wrist - only to fall to the wayside again when she tucks his head under her arm. The young model has little time to fend off the attack before being yanked down, the top of his head spiking hard against the mat! He rolls over onto his back in a daze, and Christie's weight settles across his chest easily. His chest swells against her body with each breath, eyes squeezed shut, and expression troubled - the taunt still running through his mind.

The referee-girl drops beside the pair and slaps the mat. "One!"

Suddenly, Domino torques his body towards her! His shoulder is forced up off the mat, and he's propping himself on an elbow, head shaking to clear the haze. And the moment it does, he's shooting the girl a glare. "I don't recall giving you the choice..," he mutters, despite his position.

The referee-girl raises a single finger. "One-count! No fall!"

[Armada]

Christie was so smug and confident that she genuinely thought she had beaten Drake within a minute. Her pin was cocky and arrogant, the woman hardly paying any attention to the man she has perched herself atop, simply waiting for the woman to count him out and give her the win so she could go home and rewatch this joke of a match later, maybe even show it to a couple of friends.

So when Drake actually lifted his shoulder off the mat and broke the pin, a look of dull surprise flashed across the Crypt Keeper’s elegant features. Of course, irritation quickly set in, and her face went back to being that of a woman scorned. She sat back up, taking note of what Drake said and the cold glare he decided to send her way. Maybe she was wrong to try and end this fight so quickly. Why not have a little fun first?

As fast as a flicker of light, Christies backhanded Drake across the face, looking to wipe that defiant glare off the face of the earth. Whether she succeeded or not was inconsequential, as she would yet again grab onto his black hair and begin to stand up, dragging him along with her. She would try to pick him up so that he was just barley standing on his own, before a wicked grin spread across her face.

“Y’know, I was going to just go for a quick knock out, pin you, then move on with my day, but now? Now I’m going to rip you apart, and remind you what you are. A pathetic little bitch rolling in the dirt…and whose ass is about to belong to me!”

and whose ass is about to belong to me!

Christie let those words sink in, looking down at Drake with hateful eyes, watching and looking for his expression. For now, she thought of him as nothing more then a plaything, to poke a prod however she wished until she was satisfied. She meant every word she said to the man in her grasp, and the glint in her eyes promised no mercy!

[CyanDimitrik]

The slap lands against his face, creating a streak of a red would-be handprint against his skin. The horrible thing about slaps is that they tend to cause the eyes to tear automatically, and that was not something he wanted to give Christie. She's taken a complete 180 on him, and he let his guard down for it. Shame on him. But the free ride has to come to an end. He just needs an opening. And for his face to quit stinging. The latter may not be an option.

She grips his hair and pulls, causing a burning sensation in his scalp. "Nh..!" His face is turned up to look at her, and she'll find herself the recipient of a glare renewed. There's no intimidation behind those eyes - she's an opportunist who took advantage of a moment. Cocky. Arrogant. Even now, she's taking a lot on the assumption that he's helpless in this position. Yet it's what she's saying that buries any notions of submissiveness beneath a dense mantle of outrage.

Suddenly, a fist rockets inwards, aiming to blast into the girl's exposed stomach. The hopes are to stun her - with the added benefit of perhaps wiping the look off her face - and ease the grip of her hand in his hair. In the end, the latter doesn't matter so much as he clamps a hand onto her wrist. The sole of his boot is tucked under her chin, and he drops back, yanking Christie down with him to smash her chin against said boot the moment his back hits the mat!