L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

Match Type: Bedroom Brawl
Victory Conditions: Victory by knockout only. The winner will be awarded POW privileges over the loser until they voluntarily exit the room.

***

”You sure about this look? ‘Cause I’m not sure about it.”

”Of course I’m sure, mon chérie. You look positively delicious.”

‘Delicious’. That wasn’t quite the word that was coming to mind for Juri at the moment. No, she was more thinking about words like ‘confusing’ and ‘weird’ and maybe ‘fucking stupid’. When her manager initially suggested she take part in this hardcore bedroom match, she was down for it on principle. Heavy potential for violence? Good. In a bedroom, with no referees to stop her from having her way? Better. The POW stips were the icing on the cake. The chance to peel away on some pretty little thing all night long, to have her fill without restrictions, was something she couldn't pass up. It was all good on paper.

But there was one hitch that hadn't been mentioned at the outset: the attire for the evening. Specifically, they wanted her wearing

. It fit in with the theme, sure, but it was kiddy. Childish. Aggressively pink. She’d taken some liberties to sex it up, wearing a black two-piece underneath, but even so…

”Will you stop fretting? These pre-match jitters, they are so unlike you.” Juri glanced over to her phone, which sat up against the vanity mirror she was currently examining her outfit on. Her agent, Aria Castle peered back at her from the Facetime call, lazily look her over while she did…something. Juri couldn't tell exactly what and where she was, but she was sitting down, she would occasionally make little moans, and she was fairly certain there was another person in the room with her. It wasn’t hard for her imagination to run wild. ”Isn’t this exactly the sort of match you’d be craving? You ask, I deliver. You are welcome.” Aria blew a kiss her way. ”Do we like the accommodations?”

Juri shrugged and spun about, taking the time to look at the hotel suite they’d been set up with. It was fancy as fuck, all over, the kind she couldn't have afforded on her best days. Spacious, wide open, with a plush bed in the center and a couple of lights to give it a warm, ambient glow. Paintings on the wall - a ship at sea, some old woman with a child on her lap, some hunters chasing foxes with their dogs, the kind of generic crap that places loved to use for decoration to make themselves look cultured. Wall-mounted TV, comfy armchairs, sleek coffee table, all with this fresh, modern-vibe.

It was the last place you’d expect a hardcore match to take place in, which made it the perfect place for a hardcore match. ”We like, we like.” Juri snatched the cellphone off the vanity table and raised her arms high, beginning to stretch. She’d come here early, but not that early - her opponent would be arriving soon. ”This Spectre chick, she’s a big deal, right?”

”Something like that, yes. You two have a lot in common, actually - I suspect you will get along, much like the house on fire.” Aria had her usual silly giggles. ”But I will say no more. I do not wish to spoil the surprise.”

The surprise wouldn’t keep for much longer, anyway, as Juri heard the sound of the door unlocking - someone was about to come inside. She ended the call, tossed her phone off to the side, and stood on the opposite side of the rooms with folded arms and a slim smile, eager to get a good look at her plaything for the evening.

Juri Han was a real devil of sorts.
During the lead-up, Spectre put her ear to the ground.

A few PIs that needed their amassing debt payments leveraged went on the prowl through gyms, networking and using some fake stories to get the right information out of people. This Juri scared a fair number of people that tended to be shady. Whether it was fighters in traditional gyms, the illicit prizefighter events in underground parking lots, warehouses and misleading buildings in darkly-lit neighbourhoods or storefronts. They told stories of broken bones. She made you gush blood at times, then often chipped, knocked free, loosened and made people swallow their teeth. The technique was recognized as Taekwondo. Bar some videos existing with a shoulder-height phone camera, jousting between right and left shoulders in a moving crowd, there wasn’t much to study wholesale. Juri Han belonged to local, almost invisible scenes, places that don’t care—less than even LAW does—about its participants, production or competitiveness. Even when a fighting organization goes laissez-faire, with its propensity for local trouble like rigging, gang violence and unspoken laws, stars could emerge from a forge of immense pressure. Juri had no rich backer by the looks of it. Just her instincts. That made her much higher in value.

Spectre read these reports in an open beige dossier folder, licking her lips from her office chair in the hotel room, dressed as a salarywoman with a black suit. Her wig was black, about shoulder-length with straight-bangs. The hotel room of green and cream-coloured vertical stripes on the wall to uniform, wood-carved wooden trim. The floor was carpet, green, red, grey, black polypropylene carpet. Just a single King-sized bed was behind her, a long-wise rectangular painting of cherry blossom trees, white blankets, dark-green linens and thick white pillows all untouched except for one side that had a duffle bag.

She closed the folder, stretched her arms far above her head with scrunched features. I’ll likely need the evening off after this. And as the master of her own schedule, making that decision will be easy, but—Actually, I can just work on that side project. Watching something move through an obstacle course shouldn’t be taxing. And indeed, her robot friends could use the attention. It was important for her to be present with them in their testing phases. Although this match won’t provide much useful data for the project, most likely. It’ll have to be purely to make her fingers tingle as she peeeeels them off the floor. For someone like Juri, that feeling was easy. She hadn’t been paired with many sadists in official settings, but by no means was this weighing on her. Juri's stomach had a set of defined abs that looked juuuust soft enough for her fist to do some damage, if put right in the direct spot. Let's do it.

She got up, then went to the bathroom. When she came out, her eyes were covered in purple face paint in the shape of a mask. Her lipstick was applied with purple and black, and she wore cat lingerie after changing out of that awful restrictive suit. Then in the closet between the bathroom, hotel door and living area, her modified

hung up from a hanger. It faced her, the zipper open down the middle, domino mask hanging at its appropriate spot, then the footwear was more like a white slipper with pink pads on the bottom around the toes, heel, and metatarsals. She put it on right in the hotel room hallway, zipped it all the way up to conceal her body and face, then visited the duffel bag which was a basket of toys. Two red crowbars were stuffed up her sleeves, then the wrists were shut by a string. She took the rest of the dufflebag onto her shoulder, then made headway.

There wasn’t really a word to describe the elevator ride she had. Telling strangers, curious ones, that you’re an evil cat that hurts people, does not translate the best when you’re pink, have a smiling face, then also have big soft ears. Or maybe her Japanese just wasn’t perfect. Nevertheless, there was this one man who smelled a touch like ethanol, leaning against the side, touching his nose briefly and looking like he’s floating. The guy talked to everyone, hummed loudly, then when it was just her and him in the elevator, he started yapping about something she tuned out completely. But at one point, he asked, in a rising tone from a slurred whisper to something coherent, “Hey… What weird job are you from?” Said the man. Spectre turned her head slowly, looked up, then said… “I steal heirlooms, I kick people in the balls, I make them wish they were anywhere else, then they leave five-star reviews and a tip.” He seemed to digest this as some wild piece of sarcasm and metaphor, snorted, then covered his mouth briefly before it fell limp. “You would be a good saleswoman. Or, perhaps actually, a Yuru-Kyara. A mascot for cafes, maybe. You’d be good there with that humour.” The elevator door opened at Spectre’s stop. The man continued. “Car sales. Do you work in used car sales?”

Spectre shook her head, then left. “Don’t have a license.”
The man waved. “Seeee you.”

Arriving at Juri Han’s door left her shoulder feeling slightly numb. She let it slide off just around the corner so it would be out of view, then reached into the dufflebag to pull a jack in the box, painted purple, black and red. Holding it in front of herself, she knocked on the door three times. Then waited…

Some fighters liked to look up their opponents beforehand, do their homework and scout out who they were fighting against. Made sense. Know your enemy, right? You could come prepared, work out a strategy for how to take them down, and take care of any traps before you stumble into them. It was the logical way to go about things.

It was also the boring way to go about things, which was why Juri never cared to do it. If someone asked, she would tell them it was because she wanted every fight to be a surprise, treating her opponents like presents to be unwrapped. In reality, it was just a matter of time management - life was way to short for her to waste time watching YouTube videos and reading Wikipedia articles about people she was going to beat the fuck out of and completely forget about in a week.

So, as she waited for her opponent to arrive, Juri spent her time in this lush, plush hotel room doing something far more important - catching up on her shows. Specifically, she was watching the new season of Squid Game, and was halfway through the second episode when the knock came on the door, earlier than she’d expected.

Juri groaned, rolled her eyes, and hit pause on the TV, stopping it just before one of the ads was set to roll. She threw her legs up, leapt off the bed, and promptly padded her way over to the door, only stopping for a moment to look through the peephole to find…

…huh, a woman dressed like an evil, sexy version of the Hamburgular, wearing a onesie much like her own. Pretty hot, definitely some potential there, but what drew Juri’s eyes was the box in her hands.

Juri put the swing bar on the door and opened it, just far enough for her to peek out. She looked down at the box, then brought her gaze up to her opponent’s face. ”Hey.” She glanced down, then back up again. ”What’s in the box?”

Spectre stayed on the spot waiting.

One part of her wanted to grab her crowbars and go-to down on that door. War starts with a siege! And all that. Then another piece wanted to go through the windows for a shattering entrance. Now that would be remembered in the tapings. And another one thought to take a dive through the ventilation system and come creeping in, though she never unscrewed the vent that is certainly fastened in classic don't-steal-our-soap hotel fashion.

Come on.
She heard a click.
Oop--finally. Showtime.

The door opens before her faked grin could fade, coming alive for the initial greetings. A set of abs flashbangs her along with a black bra. Spectre's brows visibly raise by the momentary stretch of the upper portion of her domino mask, then reset. What stroke of buffoonery made us BOTH choose pink, here? Fuck. She searched for an imperfection; a difference to put herself over in her head. A cat motif was her pick. Juri didn't have that, the simpleton!...Though by the time she discovered her imperfection, a good amount had passed where she stared at Juri like she was some unopened present. When Juri asked her question, Spectre met her gaze to answer. "It's a welcoming gift."

The box was raised, tilted so the top pointed at Juri's chin. The crank on the side turned up and extended out, just begging for someone to wield it. "Give it a go."

On some level, Juri had to respect it. It wasn’t everyday that someone tried to run a game on her, after all. It was kind of refreshing to know that she would be fucking with someone who would actually try to fuck with her back.

On the other hand…what the hell was this?

Juri wasn’t so out-of-the-loop that she didn’t know what a Jack In The Box was. She’d never had one, but she was fairly familiar with the concept, enough to know what would hand when she pulled that crank. Was this bitch seriously trying to catch her flatfooted with that? Was this her A material? Sheesh.

Juri cocked one eyebrow, then the other. With an even gaze, she began to crank the box. A little. A little more. Let’s the song play, waiting until the right moment, until…

Just before it popped it open, she tried to tilt it back towards Spectre, wanting it to blow up in the right person’s face.

Once Juri bought into the Jack-In-The-Box crank, it was lowered till it was about Juri's chest height and Spectre's collar level.

This would ensure a comfortable posture as the jingle played out.
There was nothing too special about it.

The classic melody played with just a bit of electronic wobble and distortion overtop. Spectre's proud look only grew the more Juri fed into it. Her head dipped to the left, then dabbed. Then right, and dabbed again. She leaned to her hip and gave her ankle a rhythmic bounce. "Geeeeet ready." And right before POP could go the weasel, Spectre's smirk reached its zenith, looking up at Juri to say, "Looks like first hit is—"

The box's payload aimed at her chin gave her pause and a sudden gaping stare that flushed her colourless. The springing FIST launched and connected solid with her fibre glass chin. ”—mINNeE?!!" A wobbling yelp leaped from her throat in a dab of saliva. Her head shot up with the thumb of the extended boxing glove resting her chin after that eye-wincing THUNK off her head. The box clamoured to the ground in an uncoordinated jumble of movement. Both thighs felt loose like she suddenly got a whole lot of slack in her legs. They bent, dipped, smacked together and she’d stumble into the doorway.

Next? Right into Juri’s person, grabbing onto any part of her as she sunk in sudden punch-drunkenness. Her plans spilling out her ears as she mumbled the first thought that was reconstructed in her now scrambled thinker.

“T-That dd-doesn't count.”

Juri Han felt confident in say that, in the entire recorded history of boxing, wrestling, and combat sports in general, across all time zones and all continents, from the seediest pits to the most upscale fight clubs, not one, single match had ever begun with a Jack-In-The-Box being wound up. She would safely stake her life on it.

Juri had only been with Spectre for a few seconds, but already she could tell that she was one of those sorts of wrestlers. ‘Eccentric’, some would say. ‘Fucking weird’, she would say. She liked to dress up as a spider and smack people with her foot, so she didn’t like to judge, but even so, this whole ploy with Spectre’s was off the page.

And it didn’t work. Of course it didn’t work. After Juri executed the advance technique of turning the obvious trap back in her opponent’s face, she looked on with a flat gaze as the woman fell into her arms, dazed and dizzied by the blow. ”Right. Well.”

Juri slipped her hands and away and let Spectre fall to the floor, then reached out with her foot and kicked the door close. She brought that same foot up high, stretched it towards the ceiling, then brought it crashing down into the woman’s back, stomping her square in the middle of her spine.

”Not sure what your deal is. Don’t care.” She ground her heel down hard, putting more and more weight behind it with each passing second. ”Just gonna start beating you up now, and I’ll make things up as I go along. Sound good? Good.”

Next thing she knew, Spectre whacked the floor like a sledgehammer with a flaccid handle. Her features all scrunched up! It sucked like having her head squeeze in a vice, then somehow feel the back of her head as sensation rippled through the cranium. THAT!... Wasn't the worst. Just a little cobwebs and loose knees. Nothing that wasn't about to reverse--.

"HeEEGK!" That.

Her throat scratched from her throat in a horrible loud croak. The inhale was just as ugly and hoarse. Both her torso came up, plus her legs stiffened. Shook. Then she flopped back down, flat. Both her back muscle and spine was soft and somewhat malleable. She'd curl her toes when the heel nipped down hard and then started kicking the floor while wincing, reaching back frantically with her hands to interrupt Juri's foot! "Haaagh.. Aghh-, g-ghh!" Hissing through her teeth, she hit the ground with her elbow and forced herself to rise just the little she could, turning her head with a visible struggle going on her tight forehead.

"A-Aaand what part--" She took a breath, raising a finger in inquiry... "Of t-that dipshit plan--"

And then she repaired her wounded face with a smile. "Is my welcoming party?"

Juri had to be 100% honest, here - she had no idea what to make of all this. She knew that LAW was well-known for having some weirder types, sure - hell, it was part of the reason she signed up for this place at all, so she could mix it up wit some people who were, hopefully, at her level. But trying to attack her with a children’s toy? That was new. And weird. And a little dumb. What was this bitch’s deal?

She canted her head to the side as she ground her heel into the woman’s back, driving it in deep as she squirmed. To Spectre’s credit, the fight seemed far from knock out of her, if that wild little grin on her face was anything to go by. Seemed like the bitch had some degree of crazy going on in that head. Juri could respect that.

”A fucking party? That’s what you want?” She brought her foot off Spectre’s back, only to reach down and grip the woman’s hoodie. ”I’ll give you a party.”

She pulled Spectre up on her knees, then stepped back, swung her leg out, and sent a roundhouse kick into her opponent’s stomach, looking to send her rolling across the room towards the kitchen area.

Thaaaaank goodness her chiropractic session was over.

Her back still oozed with the sense of a bad fall.

The wind needed to find her sails again, so she sucked in hard and gulped some air. "Yeeeeessss~" Said Spectre, reclaiming her full voice. Right before the world zoomed away from the floor and she saw the well-sculpted glimpse of Juri's thigh through her pink onesi--wait were they both pink? The copycat! This total fangirl! So that's how she must've known her jack-in-the-box was a punching surprise. HA-DOI.

But to be fair, by the time she really conjured this thought, there was shin bone coming to cleave her temple in one masterstroke.

Her arms stretched out by were utterly thwarted by the force.

“W-WAIT!” Was the last noise she made before her diaphragm wilted into a raisin. She slammed onto her back then rolled back, ass to the ceiling before she continued going back like a tumbleweed. The cupboard doors of the medium-sized kitchen was her crashing back and it gave a heavy wooded THUNK for Juri's efforts. She melted to the floor, dizzied by the rolling, feeling limp after her belly was smacked. A tinge of drool leaked with her head hanging off to the left. Her mind was clogged. She could somehow smell the bruise forming on her reddened belly. Right was left and right was up. Down was inward.

Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnk, her brain went. And so with the first idea that plopped in that optimized head, she opened the kitchen's cupboards and dragged herself inside.

Jackpot.