Theresa Lyons [D] vs Anna Evans - Standard Match

[veritech892]

Look at you...

Theresa's gaze grew cold as she watched her opponent perform for the crowd. Louts, the lot of them. So undignified, so disrespectful, and they all dared to mock Theresa for what? For being proper? For being better? And this... Ms. Evans. At first her taunts had been an amusing distraction, something to laugh at, with the redheaded noble secure in her supremacy...

But now, they were starting to wear at her, and the noblewoman's blue eyes shot an icy glare that cut through the air like a dagger. Theresa's glare only faded when Anna approached her, and by the time that Anna was lunging in, a wry smile had spread across her expression.

She was going to enjoy this...

"What's wrong, my dear?" The redhead asked, relishing the surprise of Anna's hiss while pressing in against her opponent, gripping at the woman's bicep and shoulder. "Bite off more than you could chew, hm?"

Her posh, RP-accent dripped with sarcasm while she continued to push forwards, her grin only growing wider as she felt Anna pushed back by the noblewoman's assault,, feet scraping along the canvas. Oh, how delicious this wa-

Anna's next comment seemed to strike a nerve. Theresa's eye twitched, her grin pulled tight, stretching into a scowl. "Impudent!" She snarled out, rabid rage scratching through the posh surface as she tried to pull Anna in somewhat in the hopes to throw a savage knee up into Anna's gut. She wanted her opponent off balance, on unstable footing, her goal if successful to Irish Whip the other woman at the ropes and set up for a lariat...!

[Weonna]

The knee rammed straight into Anna’s mid-section—

WHUMP!

—folding her up around Theresa’s thigh.

“Ghh—!”

Air blasted from her lungs, her cheeky grin replaced by a grimace.

Before she could suck that breath back in, the Lady Lyons wrenched her wrist, spun, and flung her across the ring. Anna hit the ropes hard, rebounded— and Theresa’s lariat smashed across her collarbone like a velvet-covered sledgehammer.

CRACK!

Anna flipped to the canvas, boots skidding, body landing in a heap near center ring. The crowd gave a sympathetic groan, watching the smaller Brit clutch her ribs.

But she didn’t stay down long.

With grit in her eyes and pain etched across her face, Anna rolled to a knee and slapped the mat. She pushed herself up, one hand still at her side, breathing heavily. No sass. No bravado.

Just stubborn will.

She began to circle again, slower now, clearly hurting—but refusing to stay down. Her steps were uneven, giving Theresa a golden window to press her advantage while Anna was still trying to recover her footing.

[veritech892]

WHUMP!

Each impact was a treat, each grunt music to her ears, each vibration a little celebration as it rumbled through the canvas and up into her legs.

This was everything that Theresa had wanted. The way that Anna's body folded around her thigh, the feeling of the air pushed from her lungs, impacting upon Theresa's skin...

As a grimace spread across poor Ms. Evans' pretty features, the poise of Theresa's expression twisted into something different; something far more cruel. A sinister - sadistic, even - smirk spread across her lips, pulling the corners up as her cold, blue eyes fixated on the suffering Briton in her grasp.

Theresa shifted her grip to Anna's wrist, wrenching it, spinning, and flinging Ms. Evans across the ring and into the ropes. The woman rebounded and ran straight into a charging Lady Lyons, arm out, her lariat smashing across Anna's collarbone and sending her down to the canvas with a CRACK!

The redheaded noblewoman's momentum kept her going for a few steps before she brought herself to a halt, her sadistic smile a full-on grin now as she rose a hand up and took a bow - to a mixed reaction from the crowd. Some scattered cheers, the expected jeers of uncultured worms, and... barks.

Yet again. How obscene.

Turning to face Anna again, Theresa planted a hand on her hip while she swept her long red hair back behind her head and watched as her foe slapped the canvas and pushed herself back up. The redhead didn't move, not yet, she waited. Waited until Anna was back on her feet; waited so that the commoner knew that Theresa knew her foe was no threat, and she wouldn't debase herself by treating her as though she were.

"Take your time, dear." She taunted, flashing that smug and sadistic smile at her foe. "I'll be along to crush you whenever you're ready."

Arrogance like that tended to come before a fall...

But try telling that to her.

She watched as Anna began to circle again. She was slower now, seemingly hurting, and then Theresa noticed it: her steps were uneven... And that provided an opening.

Lady Lyons charged forth once again, this time her arms went wide as she drew close. Her aim now was to sweep Anna up, off her feet, into Theresa's constricting grasp and into the air for a crushing bearhug.

[Weonna]

Anna barely had time to breathe before arms wrapped around her midsection and she was hoisted clean off the canvas.

Her back arched immediately, a strangled gasp escaping her lips as the pressure clamped around her ribs. Boots kicked uselessly in the air, her hands instinctively grabbing at whatever she could—shoulders, wrists, nothing gave her relief. Her chest pressed tight against her captor’s, breath coming out in hot, uneven bursts as her body was pulled in snug and unrelenting.

"A-ah... f...fu...ahhn...!"

she wheezed.

The crushing force squeezed another moan from her lips, one part pain, one part something else. Her head tilted back, exposing her throat as her body squirmed in place, hips shifting as her spine contorted in the grip. Every breath felt harder to take, her lungs barely expanding with each shallow gasp. Her forehead rested against the shoulder of the hold, her sweat-damp hair sticking to flushed cheeks.

Her legs kicked again—more reflex than strategy—while her voice trembled in a soft, breathy whimper,

“S’too tight... can’t...”

Despite the agony, she wasn’t tapping. Not even close. Her arms, though trembling, stayed active—still pawing and pushing against the hold, desperate to find some kind of weakness or space to breathe. The crowd’s chants bled into the moment, their energy slowly stirring something in her, even as the pain wrapped tight around her midsection.

She was hurting. But she wasn’t done.

[veritech892]

The sound was amusing to her.

That little strangled gasp, as though Anna had perhaps expected the hug to be just a friendly one given by two adoring companions than the crushing pressure of hatred that Theresa unleashed upon her. The way those horrid little boots kicked uselessly in the air, how Anna grabbed at her in a fruitless attempt to, what? Pull herself out? Break the hug?

"Heh...!"

Theresa laughed. It was but a small chuckle, but it came with such a sadistic smile that it was clear that this wasn't the first time that Theresa had found herself in a scrap... And that she took a great pleasure from the pain she inflicted upon her foes.

Her grin only grew wider, her eyes narrowed into a hateful gaze as she watched Anna's head tilt back, exposing her throat, body shifting, straining against Theresa's own surprisingly muscular form in their struggle. Had she been a true predator, perhaps she would have dived in, bitten at that exposed jugular, instead of just feasting on the pain that she was suffering in that moment.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, my dear Ms. Evans. I'm not quite familiar with your style of wrestling..." Theresa cooed, leaning in as she taunted her foe. "But is this the part where you make my 'face meet the mat', hmm?"

And then, she moved to shift her grip down. She wanted to move her bearhug to Anna's lower back as she tried to shift her stance wider, move her center of gravity lower—into a better position to heft Anna up and try to slam her down to the canvas below!

[Weonna]

THUD!

Anna's body hit the canvas with brutal force, the slam echoing through the arena as she bounced slightly from the impact before landing flat on her back, her face contorted in agony. Her arms instinctively shot to her lower back, clutching it tightly as she rolled to her side.

Her legs kicked weakly, boots dragging along the mat as she writhed and withered in pain. Every breath looked like it hurt, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her body curled inward. The once-cheerful energy was gone, replaced by visible suffering as her back arched in reflexive pain.

She didn’t try to get up.

Not yet.

Anna remained on the mat, clutching her back, letting the pain course through her as Theresa loomed nearby.