Wrestle For a Cause

[Malkavia]

Ka-ka-karunch went ol' Kat's taco.

A thrill ran from the tips of Dots toes, straight through her groin, up to her finger tips and the lips whose smile was nearly as wide as the kitty cat on her screen. Oof went all the sad dumb ducks in the audience. KICK KICK KICK went their hero. Such was the stuff of the most magnificent wet dreams. Absolutely painterly.

Click went a camera in Dot's gleaming visor. Spectre's art slipped from the air into an image formatted to a hard disc below Dot's left ear. For posterity.

But as aesthetically expert as Spectre's move might have been, it wouldn't lay low their thundering preening neanderthal of an opponent for long. If Spectre's role had been to show the audience beauty, Dot decided hers would be to show them finality and the blunt brutality in a kitten's leer.

So Spectre's viceroy would step to the front, grasp Kat's head like her ears were the handles to a trophy, and swing her knee sudden speed into everyone's favorite mascot's teeth. And if she got to do it once, she'd do it twice—give or take a few inches. Maybe the second blow smashes her merch-hawking snout instead.

And on and on it would go—'till sweat poured down Dot's thigh and steamed the inside of her helmet and the boss said it was enough.

[Monsy]

Spectre's legs unhooked from Kat's arms and sent her descending towards the apron itself. Outstretched arms caught her. A handstand had her upside-down and walking towards the corner one hand after the other. She put those legs over the top-turnbuckle, locked the ankles, then used the leverage to torque her torso to sit-up on the corner pad.

Now what was Dot doing?

EXCELLENCE, 'tis what. Putting Katherine Hart to bed was about to be the newest headline they accrued in the wrestling world. What they planned talking shop materialized right before their eyes to nearly the letter. Dot did want some liberties. A little offering to get her kicks in. Or rather: knees.

Naturally she viewed herself as the Emperor on her own very podium that watched her gladiator squash the competition. WHAM-WHAMMY-WHAMMO.

Spectre clapped her hands loudly together, then raised a fist to her shoulder and shut her eyes. STOP! Was the order.

"Mmmm. Not quite my tempo." Then off to the canvas she went and strode up to Dot. "Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk." Spectre clapped her hands for each beat, then spread her arms to smack them together and twist them together in rotations. "Squisssshhhhhhhh."

FINALLY...

She gestured at Kat again. Her two index fingers were about to be maestro wands to control the choir. "Froooom the top. And a one and a two and--..."