Win by Pinfall, Submission, or KO
It's a brand new day, and Drake has no idea how it's come to this. He came to Japan to be taken seriously in the ring and given his fair shake. He's good; he can say that without ego. He performed well above the gimmick he was pushed into in America. And he continued to perform far above the raw deal he was getting since coming to Japan. He was ready to go for the title. He wanted that title. He wasn't demanding it, he wanted to prove to the audience and everyone watching at home that he rightfully deserved it. But the management just wasn't interested in giving him a chance. Not since realizing he was a model. That seemed to be a career-killer.
It was devastating, having to live with that. No matter how hard he trained, fought, or won, he was kept on a tight leash in a small box. And then LAW, the female-only federation, decided to open its doors to males. He'd joked internally about joining the federation for all the mixed action, but then he was approached a contract offer. He already had some friends in that roster. Hell, he'd dated a girl who worked with them. It wasn't like he was an unknown. But the promise was made to give him his shot, and to not treat him like a second-rate gimmick. They even promised to pay the penalty for breaking contract with his current federation.
'Screw it,' Drake thought to himself. 'Time for a change.'
Pen to paper, Drake migrated Domino officially over to LAW. And then the manager added a little something extra that made the young grappler blush. He'd been fighting with those parting remarks all the way up to now, in his changing room. Also, why the Hell is there a bed in his changing room? It got such a sideways look.
No. Refocus.
Domino
Drake finishes tugging off his shirt, leaving himself only in his ring gear. A pair of black and white boots and wrestling trunks to match, ending with a pair of equally two-toned bracers on his wrists. His body is left mostly on display, from muscled thighs to six-packed, sleek abdominals, firmly toned pecs, and streamlined arms. He's now officially "Domino." Looking at himself in the mirror for a final once-over, he nods in approval. He hasn't lost his edge.
But those comments.
The management of LAW liked him. They've seen him wrestle. They've seen him wrestle even their own talent, such as in special cross-federation events. They know what he can do. But he's also a model, and somehow that always seems to bite him. They wanted to emphasize the "hentai" element of their federation. Perhaps not to the same degree that some of the girls go, but to make sure to work in some spice. To feel free to build that tension - for the audience, for his opponent, everyone. For the ratings. All the ratings.
He wasn't sure how he felt about it. He wanted his matches to focus on the athleticism, to not treat his opponents like a piece of meat, but to respect their skill in the ring by treating them like competitors. That way when he beats them, everyone knows it's because he fought harder; that he earned it. Granted, he'll be locking up with a girl tonight. It could be fun, turning up the heat a little with a lady in the ring.
Oh god, what if she's an absolute Bowser?
His music hits the arena - generic techno that he can never seem to escape. Domino doesn't let it dampen his spirits. New arena, new audience, new opportunities. He throws back the curtain and steps out into the spotlights. His right fist raises, radiant smile worn on his face. He nods to the apprehensive audience, who obviously aren't quite sure how yet to take Y-chromosomes up and in their lady wrestling. But he begins trotting down the ramp to the ring, typically drifting to slap highfives, but with no hands available. Oh yes. He's going to have to win them over from scratch.
Upon reaching the edge of the ring, Domino hops up onto the apron. He slips between the ropes and quickly climbs a turnbuckle. Spotting the floating camera, he points it out and shoots it a wink. Dropping back down to his boots, he turns to make his way to his designated corner to be inspected by the referee-girl.
"A-aheh.. easy," he murmurs to her as she paws over his toned frame. Perhaps a bit more than necessary. Amethyst eyes lift to the entrance he expects his opponent to enter from, silently pleading for her to not be a gross minotaur.
