Mic Chick vs. Angelina Tarrant

[Dubski]

Mic Chick had thrown herself back up to her feet as she saw Angelina get into position on her knees. Furling her lip, looking determined and also in pain still, she stepped forward with a superkick directly into her red-headed opponent's chin, echoing into the arena.

The exertion and pain was enough that as Tarrant began teetering back, Mic fell to her knees, holding her midsection as she cringed, planting her other hand onto the mat before pounding it once. It took a lot out of her to react that fast in her condition, but she wasn't about to let it out. She had to end this match though before Angelina could hit another big move on her.

She then moved quickly, the rocker throwing her body on top of Tarrant. She grabbed Angelina's leg, pulling it back as she rolled, back to her opponent's chest. With one leg hooked, Mic Chick made the pin while she held her stomach in pain, hoping that this pin would make the win happen.

ONE!

[Monsy]

The Marauder had ragdolled. Her brain was bush, and her chest heaved up and down. “Buhhh…” Mic Chic’s weight squeezed her air like a crushed grape. “Hnnng..” Sputtering groans as they rolled over, her leg flipped up, hips rolled, and the second leg followed. Folded in half. Her feet twitched as her arms began to fold up, closer to her head as she sucked in.

TWO!
THR-!

Her legs then coiled on their own accord. These rock fists burled until the fingernails imprinted on her palm, and she bit her lip, opening an eye and letting out a roar as she kicked her legs towards the ceiling. A shoulder popped off the canvas as her arm thrust, but the fallout was little zeal. Like a car giving its last hurrah. She’d end up laying out again, legs parted wide, her arms falling again, and leaning a little to the right like dangling on edge to keep her shoulder off.

[Dubski]

Mic Chick held onto that leg hard. Her pin wasn't the finest, but it was about the best she could handle given the circumstances. Trying to keep all of her weight back on Angelina, suddenly she was shoved forward at the last second, and she would sit there on her keister, still holding her midsection. "Damnit!" yelled the rocker. She planted a hand on the mat before rolling over and looking down at Angelina, letting out a frustrated sigh before knowing she had to act again. She wasn't assured of victory this time, and she wouldn't let it get to her too much. She just needed to try again.

"Come on...!" growled Mic Chick, leaning down and trying to muscle Tarrant up while wrapping her arms around the girl's midsection. Then, gathering her strength, she would attempt to run and drive Angelina into the nearest corner, hoping plant her into it with a shoulder into her gut. It would be a simple maneuver, but mostly a set up one to keep her opponent pinned.

[Monsy]

Her corpsed body lulled, looking around, punch-drunk. She rolled onto a single shoulder, reached up and pawed the canvas, scraping back with her fingernails. Little beyond a hair’s strength, really, a force enough to follow but not rebel against Mic Chick’s will, who lifted her, and Angelina gathered her knees underneath, walking on her toes. She leaned over their shoulder, dashing back, scampering her feet until her back clapped into the turnbuckle pads. “AUGH!” Sputtered out spit, her air leaving within a second. Hair flung over her face, and she swiveled her head, open-mouthed, panting. Both hands came together in front, congregating into a singular fist, then raised up, slow like it was some one-hundred point weight, and brought it down, ax-handle style into their back! One led to another. A third if she could… And fourth… Each one would get a little faster if her momentum wasn’t stopped.

[Dubski]

Mic Chick had managed to summon her strength to plow Angelina into the corner, letting out a gasp of exertion when her shoulder planted into her midsection too. She fell to one knee briefly before assuming pinning her back against the turnbuckle pads again, only to feel a few double axe-handle smashes onto her back. One came down, and then a second, and a third managed to drop Mic to her knees. But then, she let out a growl of aggression. "Grrrrr...!" and with barred teeth, Mic began slamming her shoulder into Angelina's midsection over and over and over again, pistoning hard as the fists kept raining on her back until finally they ceased and she eased up, leaning against the redhead.

Panting, sweat dripping from her brow down her face as she rested her head briefly against the side of Angelina, Mic Chick would then gather herself once more."Alright bitch," she said, the name being more affectionate than malice. "You're going on a ride." Then, Mic grabbed hold of Angelina around her waist and lifted her up onto the top rope with a grunt. Then, the dirty blonde climbed up to the middle rope, trying to hook up Tarrant, preparing her for a big superplex.

[Monsy]

Their back might’ve been an open canvas, but her stomach was just a pillow. Her hips drove into the corner, wedged against the second turnbuckle. Each time it felt like her guts were being punched from every direction. She lurched over, grunting and groaning from the blow, replying with another ax-handle until her body quit, and she was slack, with a bruised stomach that felt like it was swelling into a painful beer belly. She heaved in and out, dizzy eyes as her hands rested on the rocker’s back, slack and she looked around. Then she was looking down, the pain inside her stomach tensed as her weight came onto their shoulder, then up where she sat on the top turnbuckle. She almost fell back until they grabbed her, but Angelina’s hands were even faster, applying to Mic Chick’s shoulders then giving a full-forced shove! "I think the fuck not!"

If it worked, then Angelina would scoot back, grab the ropes on her flanks then hop so her feet planted the top pad. Now she stood tall, back-straight, one foot back, sucking in deeply and waiting for the ripe opportunity to deliver something they would not forget. Whether it was with a foot or an arm was yet to be decided… They just needed to stand and offer themselves like a good musician does to their fans… "I am the master of heights, bitch!"

[Dubski]

Mic Chick had Angelina on the top rope and slung her arms over it for a moment, taking just a moment to rest. Then, she climbed onto the middle rope, hooking the redhead's arm around her own shoulders as she tried to hook her up for a superplex. Only, when she did, Angelina seemed to break free and then gave her a shove back. The rocker's form toppled back and she landed back onto the mat, letting out a loud yell of pain. "Gaaaah...!" Cringing, Chick knew she couldn't just let off, and she tried once to sit back up, but the second attempt got her there as she sat up with a groan. Noticing that Tarrant was already preparing something.

"Master this," said Mic, throwing the "Up Yours" gesture at her before racing up to the middle rope, moving on pure adrenaline as she then hopping off that middle rope and onto the top rope directly beside Angelina, facing the corner. She gave a briefly shrug of her shoulders after that with a grin. Wasting no further time after that, Mic Chick slung her arm around Angelina's chest, and planted her leg behind Angelina's own, and then she leaped and flipped with Angelina right off the top rope with a Spanish Fly she calls Tuning Up. And then, with a loud crash, both women land on the mat with great impact, with Angelina taking far more of the impact!

The crowd cheers wildly for the high flying spectacle, on their feet for what was to come next! Mic Chick grit her teeth as she sat back up on her knees, clenching a fist before laying over her opponent's chest as the pain began racing back into her body again. She wanted this match over right now. Mic would then grab her far leg and hook it, trying for the pin again!

ONE!

[Monsy]

Angelina was a woman on a high castle.
A looming presence to a downed woman, a true monarch! And she shouted it, true and proud! Maybe she should’ve gone with Mistress… Oh, well. She’s not a granny. Their response was one she rolled her eyes, though with this dumb grin. Doesn’t sound so bad… One thing that she never prepared for was this spritz of willpower to do something incredible. It was a marvel to witness, both in herself and in others. However, now, perhaps it wasn’t the best. This form of surprise brought her face-to-face with the Rockstar, turning her wide-eyed as she flinched back her head, “Oh-hello.” Her heart bumped inside her chest and it freezed as they mounted the top turnbuckle pad. It was cloud nine for a moment, that flip inside the air, fan of her hair, her ankles dipping towards the light as the Rockstar and punk became a human comet. Then the plunge. And cloud nine became pain city.

“AAAGH!” She unleashed a powerful cry, followed by coughs as she couldn’t breathe for a moment. Her body snapped into a sitting position from the rebound, then unfurled back, sprawling with arms knitted by her sides, palms face-down as her entire face clamped-shut. The canvas was like a pad of spikes for her back. She wanted to move but couldn’t. Even then, Mic Chick’s weight piled on and she hurled out a pained groan, making her lips contort. Her leg pulled up again. The sense of time was fleeting. Just the noise of the referee’s hand.

TWO!!


Still….
There was something more to be had here… She couldn’t be done. She needed MORE of this. And for a change, her mind’s ambition matched her body’s capacity, and rebelled by kicking her leg and shoulder, just about. It was much weaker than before, with her arm rolling up and just to inch the shoulder off the canvas. But it was enough. Enough for 2.9!

[Dubski]

The crowd was still buzzing after that high flying maneuver that had so impactfully punished Angelina Tarrant. And they thought they might get the end of the match right here while Mic Chick held onto the pin. Her eyes were clamped shut as she kept a hard grasp on that pin. And then... she swore she had it, as the redhead's shoulder shot up. On her knees, Mic put her hands to her cheeks and looked at the referee and held up three fingers. "That was three!?" she exclaimed, her hair a mess and her face drenched with sweat. The referee shook her head and affirmed two. Wiping the sweat from her brow, that pain in her body started creeping back in double time. The rocker groaned out loud and shook her head.

Pulling herself up, she gave a single stomp onto Angelina's body before starting to pull her back up to her feet. "Get your ass back up!" yelled Mic, taking deeper breaths. When she got Angelina upright, she put her forehead against Tarrant's, waiting just a moment. Her opponent was tough. So very tough. She admired it, but it didn't mean she wasn't about to push her to that limit no matter how much abuse she had to level at her.

Mic Chick let out a yell and then fired a knee to Angelina's midsection, just to keep her stunned. "You're gonna stay down!" said Mic in a raspy voice, taking yet another moment before she got mobile once more. She was going to nail her with another big move. Racing to the nearby ropes, the rock star hopped onto the middle one and came back towards Angelina, hurling a Chuck Kick at her head, attempting to nail the Beat Drop! She thought maybe this could finish Angelina off if she hit it--at least she hoped it could.

[Monsy]

The world hardly sputtered back into place. It was still all a dizzy illusion. Her body felt weighed down by a desert, that feeling when you lay, and just can’t muster the willpower or reason to sit up again. As soothing as the canvas lullaby was, Angelina was prompted up to stand. She was a puppet with autonomous joints but zero muscle. Her body lumbered to its feet. Knees dipped in, shoulders like rocks slumped, her back with this arch as her neck lurched, propped as their foreheads touched and she took stock. The back of her shirt stuck to her back like slime. Gallon-sized breaths heaved, sinking with each exhale before rising up again, “Don’t be… hah… Too mad. Hehe…”

Then that knee stabbed her soft belly. “PUGGH!” Her eyes became globes and she doubled over, hobbling on hunched knees, walking forward a few jittery steps on the edges of her footwear. She bumbled about a little left then right. Her feet doubled underneath her, spun around before they moulded back into two. When she looked up, her opponent took to the skies! Her throat was dry and her knees sunk, dropping one to the canvas as she dipped her head; the kick’s violence zipped and kicked up scarlet hairs.

She popped back up on the rebound, yelled with grit teeth, a curled nose and furrowed brows, then jumped, reaching back in hopes to envelop their head with her arms, finger-lock at the chin and they’d fall together for a jumping neckbreaker!