L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

She was beautiful.

It was a simple thought, not complicated or controversial, but it was the main one that crossed Asp’s mind as she sat cross-legged on the gym floor, watching this voluptuous, gorgeous woman spin before her. She twirled on the pole with a preternatural grace, in total control of her moment, her speed, her weight, as if gravity were only the smallest inconvenience to be ignored. It didn’t look difficult, and that was the wonder in it - so many would have struggled to pull off a single one of these maneuvers, but she flowed from one to the next as if it came to her as naturally as breathing, here and there and there and here, spinning and twirling, her flaming red hair cutting crimson arcs in the air…

Aspasia hadn't come to the gym for this. Really, she hadn't expected to see any other women at this gym at all, let alone ones who would stun her like this. She only ventured to this gym for a change of pace, as much as she enjoyed LAW’s facilities, they could be a touch chaotic even at their best, and with a PPV on the horizon, they tended to turn into a hotspot. Lots of wrestlers there, and with so many in one place, it was a hotbed for backstage ambushes and spontaneous makeout sessions.

She wouldn’t have minded the latter, frankly, but the former made them not worth the risk. Her instincts told her to look elsewhere, and that elsewhere was the Rodriguez Gym, set up not too far away. A smaller facility, more intimate, more private, and willing to let her use the place without a full membership. It suited her needs.

She arrived as the sun was setting, slipped into her

, and hit the floor, running a circuit through the leg machines. It would’ve been an acceptable, if average, way to spend the night.

But then Asp spied her, this woman wrapping herself around the pole, and she found herself entranced. Before she knew it, she was spending too much time at the nearby water fountain. She preferred the weight machines closest to her. Asp was a student of dancing, of choreography, and she found this woman particularly mesmerizing. From one artist to another, she had to spectate.

That all led to where she was now. Sitting. Watching. As if it were a private show she had paid for.

She might still pay, too. There was no way to know how the woman would react to her watching, but she suspected it wouldn’t be taken as a slight. If it was, she was more than prepared to make amends.

Someone was watching her.

She always knew.

But Tris was ready to admit that the Rodriguez gym made it a whole lot easier, which was just one of its charms as far as the redhead was concerned. Despite its proximity to LAW, the overwhelming majority of those she’d seen using its facilities were serious gymgoers. There to work out, do their time and go on to whatever took up the rest of their days.

Particularly at the times Tris was prone to darken its doors (early morning or late at night), almost nobody paid any attention to her beyond the basic courtesies. No fans, no gawkers, not even any creepy-crazy stalker-nuns – what wasn’t to like?

Not that she’d signed up for a full membership or anything, Tris liked her freedoms too much to risk tying herself down like that, but the quaint little oasis of calm and tranquility was rapidly becoming her favourite late-night workout spot.

It hadn’t been some great mystery who her nameless watcher might be, either. Tris hadn’t even really been looking, content as ever to let the situation develop, but she’d gradually become aware of the other redhead caught by her spell. At first, it had just been glances. A blaze of red just present in the corner of her eye. But gradually, the other woman had moved closer, ever closer to her present position.

If she’d been fond of stellar metaphors, Tris might have compared her watcher to a comet trapped by a black hole but, given Tris’ personal predilections, she preferred to imagine the other woman as a sailor lured in by the Sirens or snared by Charybdis.

Somewhere along the line, Tris had slipped seamlessly – so much so that not even she knew when – from practice to putting on a show. She might not be pulling out her best tricks but she hit all the fun beats as she spun and twisted, dancing for an audience of one to a beat only she could hear.

At last, she slowed to a stop, sliding down the pole elegantly to land on her feet. Griping the pole with one hand, Tris offered her audience the shadow of a curtsy, dipping her head and flaring her other arm out to the side. Her chest rose and fell with her every breath, a sheen of sweat gracing the skin bared by her black top.

Only then did she raise her gaze to meet her admirer’s amber eyes. The shadow of a smile tugged at her plush lips, the exhilaration of flying still strong in her veins.

“You know,” Tris began, folding her arms, “I don’t normally do free samples…”

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t polite to stare. But, Asp’s defense, it wasn’t often that you came across so much to stare at.

The redhead - the other redhead - cut such an impressive figure that Aspasia was simply unable to look away, too caught up in the artistry of her movements to do anything else but enjoy the show. And it was a show, she was sure of that. She was making absolutely no effort to hide herself or her attention, and while it was possible that the woman was so wrapped up in her routine that she didn’t notice anything around her, it would’ve been exceptionally hard to notice a woman sitting only a couple yards away from you with blazing red hair. Aspasia was used to standing out in a crowd.

It was hard for her to be sure - again, pole-dancing was not her specialty - but she was reasonable certain that the woman was putting more effort into the display now, too, taking more care to show every angle and giving herself quite the flourish.

It all came to an end soon, too soon for her tastes, as the woman descended and regarded her with a curtsy, putting the bow on her performance. Aspasia happily played into it, giving her a well-deserved round of applause, before she pushed up and stood for the approach.

The comment brought a quick laugh out of her, though she couldn't help but notice the accent behind. A thick and rich brogue, English, savory to the ears. ”I don’t mind compensating you, it would be money well spent. My wallet is in the locker, though, so…”

She happily skipped over to her and nodded the woman’s way as she passed. ”Aspasia El-Shenawy, a pleasure meeting you.” She reached out and grasped the pole, just wanting a feel of it. She could still feel the woman’s heat in the metal. ”You’re exceptionally skilled. Where did you learn?”

Knowing next to nothing about her audience as she did, Tris hadn’t known what reaction to expect from the other redhead. Applause was always welcome, though awed silence was also more than acceptable.

Even in her post-dancing high, Scylla’s eyes were still keen, her gaze flitting unashamedly here and there as her not-so-secret admirer unfurled herself and came over. The other woman was about the same height as she was, but built very differently – lean and lithe and leggy with drum-taut abs, all sleek sexy muscle in a way that made Tris guess…

Dancer? Gymnast maybe? Had the grace for either, that was for sure. And it’d explain the interest.

Her voice was intriguing though. What was that accent?

Tris put that by for later though, chuckling in her turn as her remark was taken quite literally.

“Ah, no need,” She waved the idea away, only to quirk her head as a thought occurred to her, “Or, if you prefer, we could just say you owe me?”

Which was most likely a wasted gesture even if the other redhead agreed; in a city the size of Tokyo, what were the odds of her seeing this woman again? Unless of course Fate said otherwise…

Then Aspasia went and introduced herself, tossing any of her vague notions out the nearest window.

“Beatrice Harper,” Tris offered with a lightly flirtatious smile, “And the pleasure’s all mine.”

She turned, watching but not seeing the other woman’s hips as they swayed by, her attention diverted by the name. Her mum would have disowned her if she didn’t recognise it but that didn’t mean she’d expected to hear it in a Tokyo gym of all places. And El-Shenawy? Arabic per chance?

Oh, it was quite the fascinating conundrum she had here, for all that she was sure the explanation would be rather drolly quotidian. They usually were. People, in her experience, often seemed far more exciting on the surface than they actually were, once you got into the guts of their petty little lives.

Though, of course, that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth exploring…

“Here and there,” she admitted with an offhand shrug, acknowledging Aspasia’s praise but clearly taking it as nothing less than the truth, “On the job, from the other dancers. Some classes. Lots of Youtube.”

And plenty of falling on her arse along the way of course. Fortunately, it was well-padded.

Asp knew when she was being watched.

She always knew.

Of course, it would be odd if Beatrice wasn’t looking at the woman talking to her, but watching was different from watching. In specific, Asp had a good sense when someone was checking out particular parts of her body, a helpful skill in her particular style of dance. Knowing where the gaze was told her what to emphasize, where to draw attention, and where to pull it back. Dancing was just like any other - you had to know your audience, and her audience at the moment was scanning her all over. Approvingly, if she had to guess.

This one was fun, though, Asp could tell that already. She enjoyed a lilting laugh at the prospect of owing her, and decided to keep that play going. ”Perhaps. Though I’ve never liked owing people. It’s stifling.” She moved around the pole and peeked around it, her smile half-covered by the metal. ”I’m sure we could work out a more immediate form of compensation.”

She put just enough allure into that tone to hint at something sensual, but not outright propose it. Maybe she was teasing? Maybe she was serious? Beatrice could take it however she liked.

Without thinking, Asp casually swung around the pole, a light imitation of Beatrice’s own moves. She was sure it wouldn’t impress even a novice, but Asp felt she already had a better feel for it than most would’ve.

”Beatrice Harper. A lovely little arrangement of syllables.” She was earnest, loving how the name flowed off her tongue. ”You can shorten mine to Asp, if you like.”

Beatrice’s final comments drew the most attention, as Asp dared to pick up a little speed in her circling, though she wasn’t daring to let her feet leave the floor just yet. Getting a feel for the motions, the rhythm, the balance. ”I’m a dancer myself, but I’ve yet to try this kind. I always found it fascinating to watch, though. The hand placement, the movements. The way you master centri…centri…” She snapped the finger on her free hand for a rotation as she tried to spit out. ”I cannot say this…centrifugal force. That. It’s such a unique, striking way of dancing.”

She came to a stop behind the pole and took a moment whip her neck about, unraveling her braid, which had curled around her throat like her namesake, from her throat. She could see that this sort of dancing was a problem for her, and she might have to commit the ultimate sacrilege: putting it in a bun. ”But your job, you said? Other dancers? You’re a professional, exotic?”

She hoped that wasn’t too presumptuous, and there wasn’t a hint of disdain in her voice. Some would look down on that particular form of expression, but Asp would never be one of them.