L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

Following the match...

It was enjoyable, working that girl over in the ring. At least, that's what the audience would take away from what they'd witnessed in the ring moments ago. A girl, pretty and perky, dressed to kill, suddenly finding herself in the ring with a veritable goddess. Thrashed around the ring, made to suffer before inevitably being spiked to the mat and pinned in provocative fashion. The magazines would have a special section plastered with a few shots of that entanglement; something Nefretiri would get to enjoy later.

Of course, she's very aware that she left the girl in perfectly fine condition. She's maybe a little roughed up, but nothing worse than a little light training. A jostling. It was really a testament to her acting chops, and Nefretiri's ability to pull back - not something she ever expected to do in the ring, but... if ever there was going to be a time to do it, that felt like the right time. Dare she think it, Beatrix seemed... sweet. Cute and sweet. Very unlike the getup she was wearing would suggest.

Ah, well.. it'll be a fascinating memory to keep. It's unlikely the bookers will put them together again after that showing. But a part of her hopes Beatrix does find some success in the ring. She doesn't often entertain warm or fuzzy thoughts about the competition, but maybe the blonde wiggled her way into her heart. Maybe a little. Earned a soft spot by being so bizarrely agreeable and deferential. She had a hand of cards, and she played them right.

A hard clearing of a throat behind her yanks her out of her reflection. Odion, grand in stature and severe as ever, had been waiting for her to open the door and noticed she'd wandered off into her thoughts. She quickly shoots a look over her shoulder. "Yes, yes. Don't rush perfection," she chides. And with that, she grabs the handle and pops open the door leading into...

...well, it's less like a locker room and more like a lounge. In no small part due to the sheer opulence being thrown at the company for preferential treatment, the room Nefretiri has been given to retire to for the evening is carpeted and decorated, complete with a wall-monitor tuned in to the ring feed. Her mousy attendant is already standing by, wearing her 'garb' as appropriate the gimmick - shendyt and bandeau, with a few baubles. Most importantly, however, is the plate of grapes.

The moment the door is open, she squeaks. "I saw everything! That was a stunning victory! The little runt didn't stand a chance!"

Nefretiri breezes past her, pivoting on heel to let herself languidly descend in a flop onto a plush couch, managing somehow to still retain elegance in the process. The larger man takes position behind the backrest.

Catching herself partway down, Nefretiri's arms fold behind her head and against the middle cushion, gaze focusing on the attendant. "Were there any doubts?," she asks. Her legs stretch out along the armrest, toes flexing before relaxing again. "..My slippers disappeared."

"O-oh, I'll find them at once--"

"No, someone must have taken them for safekeeping. You have a more important job to see to."

"..I do?"

Nefretiri's smile edges in impish haughtiness. "Grapes, Aneksi."


Startling, the girl hurries behind the couch and angles the plate closer to her. Nefretiri sinks fully back onto the couch at this point and plucks one of the fruit-morsels from the bunch, inspecting it between her fingers.

"...she wasn't really a runt," she mentions. "Smaller, yes. But not by much. Not as strong as me, no. But a runt...?" She breathes a soft sigh, thoughtful. It doesn't feel good insulting Beatrix, even though she knows fully well that's what the norm would be here; gloating. Reveling in victory. She pops the grape into her mouth and crunches on it, the burst of tart sweetness instantly refreshing.

Another grape is plucked, and she shifts her gaze aside enough to catch Aneksi eyeing her curiously.

"If she asked for my mark, I wouldn't deny her," Nefretiri offers by way of explaining herself. "She has- merits." The focus returns to the small, spherical fruit between her fingers, but her mind is distant; focused on the match. Squeezing Beatrix, holding her by the hair, pinning her, feeling her pinning her down, that finish...

A wistful sigh escapes her.

"I didn't get to use my magic on her. And I'll probably never run into her again anyway."

This was a bad idea. This was an extremely bad idea. This was, maybe, the worst idea in the history of bad ideas, but Beatrice was doing it, anyway.

In the back of her mind, she knew how silly this was. She’d already gotten lucky with Nefretiri today. The woman could’ve crushed her, couldn't broken her in half, could’ve torn her apart and humiliated her and left her a broken wreck, an example to anyone and everyone who would ever oppose her. Instead, Beatrice was given mercy. She was spared. Better yet, they worked together to get what they both wanted. Nefretiri wanted to put on a show; Beatrice wanted to not get her head kicked off.

So, with that amazing good fortune, she should’ve been happy. Should’ve called it a day. Should’ve let it be. Should’ve moved on.

She absolutely should not have dressed in her

and gone looking for the very woman who’d just held her life in the palm of her hands. This was the textbook definition of pushing her luck.

But she was doing it. God, help her, she was doing it.

Beatrice had taken a hot shower, then a cold shower, and she still couldn't Nefretiri out of her mind. So many of those sensations lingered. She still felt the woman laying across her, still felt those arms clamping down around her midsection. She still smelled her - this rich, honeyed fragrance that no human had any business smelling. She could still hear Nefretiri’s words in her ear, instructing her, ordering her, comforting her…

She had it bad, and she knew it, and she had to know if Nefretiri did, too. So, yes, she was doing this.

Thankfully, finding Nefretiri wouldn’t be a problem. Apparently, the woman had a special setup in the bowels of the arena, her own private lounge to retire to, and asking a stagehand got her the location. The person who told her looked at her like she was insane, but he coughed it up nonetheless.

Now, she was here, standing in front of the door to Nefretiri’s boudoir. She’d already texted Sabine and told her she might be back late tonight, so Sabine wouldn’t interfere. She inhaled, raised her hand, and…

Didn’t knock.

Lowered the hand. Raised it again.

Didn’t knock.

”Uuuuuuuuugh.” She had a long, haggard groan and threw her head back. ”Just knock, Bea. You got this. You. Have Got. This. Just bring your hand up, ball your fist, and-”

Crunch. Crunch. Grapes, so decadent a fruit. It's no wonder it used to be seen as a sign of copious wealth. It started as a tongue-in-cheek ironic behavior, but at this point, Nefretiri simply enjoys being pampered in this way; a willing subject, feeding her hee favorite fruit.

Crunch, crunch.

"She wasn't so bad...," the Egyptian murmurs, as if in defense. But the volume is too low for it to really matter to anyone but herself. The girl has a certain... young Meg Ryan quality about her, maybe.

Her mind wanders as her gaze drifts to her toes. Bare. Backstage. Ugh. How beastly.

"Odion."

The muscular man's head lifts.

"Do find my slippers. If someone stole them, help them understand not to do it again."

A low rumble in acknowledgement, and the bodyguard heads to the door, and--

He freezes. Nefretiri's former opponent is standing there. His neck cranes to look down at her.

"...Odion? Why aren't you going?"

"Someone is here. A spy."

A musical laugh rises from the couch, terribly amused by the notion. "Here only a few weeks, and already the subject of espionage. Be a dear and remove him."

"Her. It's your opponent. Mistress Beatrix. And right away."

The laughter and merriment has ended abruptly behind the man. Nefretiri shoots up, eyes suddenly widened. "Wait." Her legs swing over to find the carpeted floor again, and she rises to her full height.

Soon, she appears beside the paused hulk of a man, gently setting a hand to his bicep. "I'm sure she has a perfectly reasonable excuse to visit me," she says. Her gaze dips, taking in Beatrice Casual. Fishnet, skirt, jacket... she's dressed a little street. Though she preferred her wrestling gear. For reasons.

"Leave us. Aneksi, help him find the slippers."

Odion rumbles again in acknowledgement and steps forward with the full expectation that Beatrice will move. Or get body-checked out of the way. Aneksi, meanwhile, sets the plate aside before heading for the doorway. She pauses long enough to give the blonde a quick, appraising once-over before pointing her nose into the air with a small, "Hmf!," and striding out.

Nefretiri tracks their departure with her eyes, and when suitably distant, she sidestep to give the blonde entry. "Come in. You look... refreshed."

Wow, this guy is huge.

It was the same guy from the match, the one who’d been lumbering around the ring. Beatrice wasn’t so smitten that she could miss him, like she wouldn’t miss Godzilla stomping through the arena. Bodyguard? Manager? Possibly both. If his job was just to stand around and look intimidating, then congratulations, he was nailing it.

Beatrice stood in mid-knock, staring up at this hulking brute of a man, unsure whether she should speak, run away, or play dead and hope he lost interest. Thankfully, she would have to do none of those things.

Her shoulders sagged as she heard Nef’s voice, a reflexive calming, and she stood on her tiptoes in a failed attempt to look over the man’s - ‘Odion’, what a name - shoulder. That didn’t work, he was still too tall, but the woman herself came around a moment later and made it unnecessary.

She still looked beautiful. Of course she did; she'd been beautiful before, but Beatrice had thought at least some of it was the lights or the moment's presentation.

She was wrong.

She was so spellbound that she nearly got bowled over when Odion came rumbling past, barely jumping aside in time to avoid being steamrolled. She exchanged a quick glance with the other woman who came out and gave her the stink-eye, noting that she was dressed up in Egyptian garb, too. So the whole ‘Queen of the Nile’ thing wasn’t just for the ring, it seemed. That was good to know, really.

At Nef’s urging, Beatrice came inside, keeping her head down the whole way, because…she wasn’t sure why, honestly. She kept avoiding the taller woman’s face without meaning to, as if she’d turn to stone if she looked directly at her. Maybe she would.

”I am. Thanks to you.” She shifted from heel to heel, turning toward Nef. ”That’s part of why I came by. I wanted to thank you. For that. For…”

Beatrice waved her arm, hoping the sentence would finish itself, but when she looked around, her eyes widened. She’d only just registered the room she was standing in, but when she did, her eyes and mouth widened. ”Oh, wow! Where did this place come from? You…” She looked back at Nefretiri with furrowed brows, unable to contain the shock. ”You have a private locker room?”

Nefretiri watches her cross the threshold and... simply radiate nervous energy. It's cute. A little endearing. Maybe she wouldn't be thinking of her this way if she had genuinely opposed her, but...

"I do." The report is simple, to the point, and affirmed with a haughty little smile. "Only the best for the greatest."

She closes the distance with her again in only a couple steps. A hand soon moves with deft grace to find the edge of Beatrice's bangs, curving them gently from her face. "I admit I've never done anything like that before. But you offered yourself willingly. To be my... mn."

She pauses, unsure what to call her. A sacrifice? No. Scapegoat? Even worse.

"...to be mine."

Better.

"No resistance. Just acceptance. A desire to show the audience who I am..."

She pauses again, this time attempting to match the deep, mystic purple eyes to Beatrice's bright blues.

"...you trusted me to not hurt you. I didn't... did I?"

Yes. ‘Yes, I have my own private locker room’. Beatrice was flabbergasted by how simple the response was. Nefretiri answered as if she’d been asked something mundane and completely natural, like an extra stick of gum.

She was just about to tell Nef how crazy that was when the woman got close - so, so close. Beatrice gasped as she reached up to touch her hair, looking down on her with those eyes full of care and intent. It alone would’ve frozen her solid, even if she’d said nothing, but…

”I…you…”

Beatrice stepped back.

It wasn’t out of fear, or concern, at least not of Nefretiri. It was just all so much, she was feeling so much, there was so much she wanted to say, and as long as there was distance between them it felt like she didn’t have to say it, didn’t have to confront it. But if that was what she wanted, why was she here in the first place?

”No.” She locked down and fiddled with her skirt, sheepish and skittish. ”No, you didn’t. I didn’t think you would, you were perfect, you were so…”

The standing wasn’t helping. She needed to not be standing. She glanced at the couch, which looked like it cost more than she had ever made in a month. ”Can I sit down? Please?”

The retreat nearly triggers a predatory instinct to pursue, to lock down, to assert her dominance. Even socially, the need to be in that position is ingrained in her. For better or worse.

She advances a step automatically, frame not quite tensing, but the clear view of her body reveals the muscle tone throughout her lithe figure sharpening - like a jungle cat resisting the urge to pounce. It's all of a single step, however. Just one.

"Of course," she purrs, lifting a hand to indicate the cushions. The gold wrapping her wrist and bicep glitters under the bright lights with every turn and tilt.

"If you like, we can watch the next match. It won't be as gripping as ours, though, I'm sure."

She waits until the girl has seated herself before approaching, turning, and grimly descending tk sit beside her. Conspicuously close beside her, but not enough so to be physically touching.

"You seem flustered...," she mentions. "Are you afraid I might hurt you now?"

Match?

Silly as it might’ve been, she hadn't even registered that there was a TV in here. Beatrice supposed she was just used to assuming that a television wouldn’t be in a locker room of all places, but today was a day for new experiences, it seemed.

She took the seat, more than grateful for it, and shook her head. ”Thanks, but no thanks. Quiet is good.”

And the absolute last thing she wanted for this mood was to have the backdrop be two women having sex in the middle of the ring. That was a big part of the equation.

She noted Nef’s closeness as she sat down, and even now, she swore there was a magnetic pull, an instinct to close that gap. She resisted it as best as she could for the time being, but it was a losing battle.

”Absolutely not.” She shook her head, strongly and definitively. ”I know you won’t, at least not physically, but…”

Beatrice sighed and stared at the ceiling for a moment, as if the magic script she was supposed to say would just magically appear up there at any moment. When a miracle didn’t occur after a few moments, she looked back down, turned Nefretiri’s way, and finally found the courage to look at her face. Her big, beautiful face.

”I just…I’m here because I want to know, I have to know. In the ring, when we were together, pressing and moving and everything. I liked it. I liked it a lot. And I thought, I hoped, you liked it, too.” She canted her head to the side. ”Did you?”