Playing With the Big Dogs

Leah, up until now, had generally been pitted up against wrestlers who were similar to her in size and weight. Granted, they always tended to be men who tended to be equal to or less capable than her raw muscle, which didn't speak much of their physiques. Beowulf by comparison might looked as though he could have eaten them whole and still had room for several more like them. A goliath of the industry, and tonight in this ring he played the role more literal than figuratively. It was this reason alone that had her grinning like a dopey fool when she ran him down like a dog, flattening him out with long bounding strides as she made her trip from rope to rope.

“Meep meep!” She chirped in passing, digging her boot down into his bulky mass of muscle as it fell beneath her run by antics. It was empowering experience to trample the legend dary wulfman himself, one that she seemed to be enjoying to the fullest. It didn't seem to be driven by a hunger for glory or a rise in popularity to tangling with one of the big dogs… it was just pure unadulterated joy of having fun, no different than playing tag at recess. Her every movement carried with it an infectious energy that was hard to deny, so much so the crowd was popping for her despite not being the real attraction of the match.

Springing off the ropes, the sight of the rising juggernaut did nothing to deter her, in fact she leaned I to her run, pumping her arms even harder. She wore a look of stone cold determination that, on her, looked as threatening as a teddy bear with angry eyebrows taped on. Her footfalls became less frequent as her strides stretched out, preparing for when she finally made the leap. The change in position hadn't managed to lessen her form, the missile dropkick slapped against Beowulf’s meaty arms, halting her forward momentum almost entirely.

Like a cartoon character who had made the sudden realization gravity existed, she fell like a sack of stones to the mat on her back. While the impact was loud, the fall had been taken with a practiced grace any self respecting wrestler had when dealing with basic self inflicted bumps. She quickly sat herself up, rocking forward on her rump before leaning back, throwing herself into a backwards tumble head over heels. Rolling she managed to pop herself upright, arms thrown out to the side in a wobble to maintain balance as she came upright so fast.

Edgar let out a chuckle, cutting himself off before he could really indulge in the moment as if the action here in the arena we're poisonous. Watching the big lug twirl to the mat was pretty funny though, he had to admit… only to himself. He was already annoyed, not just with Beowulf but with Leah as well. She didn't seem to be taking this seriously, all smiles and flitting around like a pixie or something. She should have known by now, from training with him, that sort of thing was just going to get her laid out.

Instinctively the blond boxer took a half step back from his place at ringside as Beowulf’s body sagged up against the ropes, sent reeling from his sister’s dropkick. Peering through the big man’s legs he could see her already recovering… “The hell is she doing?” Waiting time, that was what. The fans were eating it up. The fans didn't know shit about wrestling though. His eyes drifted up to Beowulf, the man already leaning up from the ropes to likely cut his sister off. He could easily run her down, trampling her like a wild stampede of bulls. Unless…

Eyes narrowed in a sly Grinch like expression, Edgar leaned to the side, finding the referee had their back to him, eyes locked on Leah. He could rant on this thoughts on the type of people AFW employed as their officials but in this particular case their lack of attentiveness to the match to oogle his sister was a boon.  

Stepping up to the ring he leaned himself forward, elbows planted on the apron to look as though he was just trying to get a better look. Arm extending outward, his palms slipped themselves along the ankle of Beowulf's boot, fingers interlocking to snap the man's ankle. With a pull, his body tensed, looking to hold the limb hostage long enough for Leah to charge in and get a free shot on the stationary numbskull. “Eat shit.” He muttered under his breath.

With a wide grin she flexed one of her arms, clapping her bicep with a palm. With a roll of her shoulder she added a bit of unnecessary theatrics, winding up her arm for her next attack. In a flash she went from standing still to charging, lips pulled tight with her tongue poking ever so slightly from one corner. So focused, the aid from her brother had gone completely unnoticed. Rearing back, her entire body twisted into preparation for a lariat, swinging wild and high, attempting to throw her weight into Beowulf’s upper body in an attempt to send him spilling backwards over the ropes.

Leah was in the moment, target locked. When she was like this, laser focused, nothing could snap her out of it… normally. The second Beowulf called her name it was like a bullet hit her. He knew her name… or at least remembered it. This was a definite step up for her budding career, right? It was loud enough people could hear too! This was great this was so great!

Drawing back her arm, cocked like the hammer of a revolver in ready to blast the Wulf-man out of the ring she couldn't hide the big dumb grin plastered over her face, even as he hunched forward. Trying to ready himself? Weakly trying to gather himself after her dropkick? She must have been stronger than she had thought.

“Huh?” What an odd request from her opponent, at least until he kindly supplied the context by flipping her high over his head. While Leah wasn't exactly a dainty girl, she wasn't very heavy, throw up and over nearly weightlessly with her momentum and Beowulf’s skillful execution. Unlike their earlier back and forth which had her delighted even as she took blows, this had her paniced and shirking as she flipped end over end outside of the ring.

Edgar's end of the job was done. The veteran bulk, the referee’s wandering eyes, and his good grip were all he needed to set his sister up for success. Sure, if she noticed he would catch hell from her, for a little bit anyhow. It was easy to shrug off her whining or simply buy it off with some ice cream. He received less fight than expected though. Had he not been able to hold the larger man in place, simply tripping him up or causing a distraction would have been enough. No, he seemed content to stand his ground. Like some sort of hero. Whatever.

He heard his sister's shrill cry before he saw her, head craning up as a shadow looked over his head cast by the flying form of his sister. He had time to move, to save himself and let his sibling hit the hard ground below. It was an easy choice for him. Fingers pulled away from Beowulf’s boot as Edgar backpedaled from the ringside, gaze cast high to gauge where his sister was going to land. As she came flying down, he moved to willingly intercept her, trying to catch the woman. She was falling far to fast, and a good deal to heavy for someone like him to pluck her from the air, instead he went crashing to the ground, absorbing most of the impact himself to try and keep his sister from facing the consequences.

The world spun as Leah fell from the open air in a forward rotation. She had no real way to stop herself, no means in which to aim her trajectory towards something less painful. She closed her eyes tightly, holding back the nausea that gripped her stomach in this uncertain moments and hoped for the best. The impact was hard, though not as bad as she expects. Her side ached, having landed on something that wasn't as flat or as hard as the ringside was. Was she dead? An eye opened, glancing around. The crowd was deafening, roaring over what has just happened.

Leah looked down at her brother beneath her. Sweat on his brow, but ultimately unmoved, stoic, looking up at her. His jaw was hard set, she could tell his teeth were likely grit hard beyond his tightly sealed lips. He was hard to read, so often closed off from her this looked the same as most any of his usual days of annoyance. Looking around, she took stock of what must have happened. “Are you okay Ed?”

“Get off, or you won't be.” Edgar hissed back sharply, hiding his biting pain behind the usual wall of aggression. He moved to give his sister a shove, but she was already rising to quickly remove herself from on top of him. She offered him a hand with those big sad eyes of her, wasting concern on him. With a shake of the head he dismissed it, rolling over to rise on his own. His body screamed internally with each movement no matter how small. She had landed on him poorly, not ready enough to cushion her fall. It wasn't something he intended to show her, or give Beowulf the satisfaction of lording over them.

“Stop staring and go wrestle, stupid.” He growled softly, clutching his side as subtle as he could manage. Leah looked ready to protest him, but the referee counting had snapped her back into the moment. He watched her nod and hurry back into the ring, waiting until her attention was back on the match. Slowly he made his way back to the chair he had set ringside, lowering himself down slowly into it. He swore softly under his breath, gingerly pushing at the sorest parts of his body, making sure something solid gave more than it should. “I hate this guy” He muttered under his breath.

Leah had rolled herself back into the ring under the bottom rope, quickly getting to her feet again to avoid the possibility of Beowulf running her down. Her eyes locked onto his, narrowed, lips pursed with a sour look. Her brother had nothing to do with this match in her eyes. Without seeing the interference, it came across as the veteran simply being a bit of a jerk. It lit a fire in her, this one different than her starstruck excitement. Drawing in a deep inhale through her nose, she slipped into her familiar grappling stance which only highlighted the size difference between them. “That was pretty rude.”

That look. What was with the look? She had been set to be angry at Beowulf, really bring the hurt to him after pulling that stunt but now this. It gave her a feeling of emptiness in her heart to see him gaze down upon her like that, thought she didn't really understand why. She momentarily faltered, glancing around to the lingering jeers as she stood before Principle Beowulf ready to put her in detention. Her lower lip puffed out a bit as she hardened up enough to give him an incredulous look. She hadn't done anything wrong, now he was trying to slander her brother too?

This must have been some sort of elaborate mind game pulled straight from the mental fortress that was the veteran's brain.. Wolf-like cunning… or what that foxes? Either way, he was trying to just psyche her out, testing her mettle, seeing if he could crack her resolve. Hmph!

“Tricky… very tricky. You almost had me fooled for a second there!” The two didn't have much distance between them, something she aimed to rectify by taking a long backwards circle around the ring while the two looked eyes and exchanged words. Starry eyed and naive as she could be, their early lockup had given her enough insight to know she needed momentum, leverage, or to hit just the right spot if she wanted her offense to stick. There was some truth to what Edgar said, but she wasn't about to commit to that fully.

“I guess it's about time I GET SERIOUS!” She flashed him a challenging grin as she dragged the sole of her boot along the mat, kicking it back like a bull about to charge. Nothing else really seemed to change in her demenior having brushed what just happened under the rug to rekindle the flames inside of her. She hadn't seen the cheating and the veteran's posturing had been cast aside under the pretense of being a fictitious jab to get her off her game. Her frame pushed back into the ropes, leaning hard until the tension became too difficult to fight.

She kicked off the canvas like a blond rocket to continue her rather straightforward assault, that while spirited in her own charming way, was a bit foolhardy. Sure, she had had some decent success thus far in matching her speed and momentum against Beowulf’s power, but that was more attributed to his lack of aggression. She came running though with a full head of steam. Arms thrown high, she pivoted to the side, cartwheeling mid ring towards Beowulf.

She came out of the acrobatic maneuver  in a low crouch, body leaning into what looked to.be an exaggerated leaping motion towards Beowulf… though it fell short, incredibly so, completely planned, as she stalled out after just a minor hop, dropping herself.down to make a brazen baseball slide through his legs. She was small compared to him, but even then it was a tight squeeze for what she had in mind. Thread the needle, that's all she had to do. Reaching out to either side, she aimed to grab for his ankles, trying to use her forward movement to take him off his feet a d slip to the outside of the ring in one deft motion.

It was a testament to Beowulf’s years in the business that he was able to look so dumbfounded with ease. Leah wasn't sure she would ever have the acting chops to pull it off quite that convincingly… he was a master of the craft to be certain. She couldn’t help but feel as though she had done something wrong, which was impressive, since she hadn't. Guilt was a powerful tool and one of the few weapons that were legal in the ring during a match. Clever. Very clever!

“I totally said so.” He had tested her spirit with promos, her skill with the opening Gambit, all that was left was her mind and body. This game of mental jousting of blame was no doubt the former, so she would prove herself capable by deflecting the blow and going in for critical damage! An impressive display of gymnastic talents left mostly untapped from her youth before she was going in for the setup. All she had to do was put him back on the ground, then she could start packing up blows. Sooner or later he would start to feel it if she kept putting him down enough.

The crowd gasped as she slipped between Beowulf’s legs, not because of how smooth the evasive maneuver had been, but because of how short it had been cut. Arms outstretched, she had just grabbed his ankles when two meaty hands had snapped down to clamp around her throat. Stopped dead below the pulling frame of the Wulf-man she wore a expression of genuine surprise and panic as her hands abandoned their posts on his legs to pry at the fingers curled around her neck. Leah's heels dragged along the canvas as she was draw out from beneath him, hoisted into the air kicking and struggling.

She had managed to get one boot up, pressed up against his pectorals to try and leverage herself out, pushing off him with everything she had. While not a capable lifter, she could leg press an awful lot. Maybe Beowulf wasn't aware of this fact as he kept her at bay regardless as if she was a permanently fixture grafted to his palms. She wasn't sure if things could get worse, until be let her down in the unkindest of ways.

The impact was unlike any she had ever taken. Her back slamming against the ring accompanied by her attackers weight had been like a thunder clap that shook the foundations. She was left breathless and battered, pain dulled only by the numbness that overtook her back from how flatly he had planted her. She lay blinking on the mat, vaguely aware her limp arms had become the perch point for Beowulf's draped legs. She had been doing so well… it didn't seem fair how quickly things had turned on their head.

“One!”

It could have been over here, even the idea of drawing in a labored breathing seemed like an afterthought next to simply laying where she landed. Her broken body buffed back up as oxygen filled her, lungful after lungful. She tried to move, an attempt at turning over thwarted. Her arms were pinned? Her head lulled to the side, stupidly connecting the limb drawn over her arms with the weight keeping her down. That… wasn't good.

“Two!”

She wiggled and twisted, letting out a hacking cough as she accidentally inhaled some of her own saliva. Not exactly the most attractive thing, but right now she wasn't trying to impress anyone, she was trying to survive. With a rough tugging from side to side, she found a rhythm just in time to pry an arm out from under Beowulf, throwing it to the heavens to raise a shoulder off the mat just in time to break the count. Safety secured, for the moment, she limply dropped back to where she lay with her free arm resting over top of Beowulf’s leg. She just needed a moment.

Or two.

Or ten.

Legs no longer held at bay by Beowulf’s hulking frame, Leah’s body unfolded like an accordion, flopping out across the mat with a wheezing exhale of anything that had been squeezed into her lungs still. Her eyes were blinking, fighting back their constant want to roll back in her head as the world around her seemed to twist and sway even while firmly grounded. Since when did the ring become a boat? It had no reason to rock like this.

“My… nyeh… name isn't Mike.” The blond muttered unintelligibly as she was jerked forward by the arm. First to sit, then to rise against her will. She stumbled unsteadily forward, fumbling on the verge of falling. Beowulf however, was a gentleman, and kindly helped her remain upright by locking her head in place with an arm. Her knees buckled, pawing at his bicep as her own weight was pulling her down against his forearm causing her to choke.

The constricting squeeze was enough to jolt a bit of life into her however, not staying limp for long. It felt as though her head were being crushed in a vice, an unwavering grip that would likely see her head cave in before it let up. The tiny terror let out a roar of pain, digging her heels in to draw herself back to no avail. There was only one other thing she could do…

She pushed her body inward, digging her shoulder up against his body, arms reaching out to wrap around his midsection but not quite getting around it completely. As she attempted to brace herself and set her legs for a suplex of her own Beowulf hoisted her up off the mat and dashed her hopeful reversal.

High above the ring, she was suspended upside down, cheeks reddening brightly. Unlike most matches in AFW, it wasn't do to saucy moves or embarrassment, this was all thanks to gravity. Her body remained upright, teetering but never swaying too far out of Beowulf's control. The seconds blurred to get her as she squealed, red face, too afraid to kick her legs for fear of coming down in a worse way if she botched the move. Helplessly she remained suspended until it was time to cash it all in with an uproar of cheers and fanfare that fell on her temporarily deaf ears as she snapped to blade on jarring impact.

Her body snapped straight, muscles tensing as her skull came down like a meteorite on the canvas. Unintentional but impressive hang time, still vertical for a solid count of three to four more second before her little frame slumped to topple back to the mat. She was quiet and unmoving, quite possibly dead. Who knew?

Edgar sat up, then stood up as his sister was at the mercy of the veteran grappler. Teeth grinding in secret behind his closed mouth with the only hint being the stiff shifting of his jaw. Violent thought swirled about his head as he watched this behemoth of the industry manhandle Leah and leave her out on the mat.

She deserved this. This is what she got for participating against men. He warned her, time and again, but she and so many other s were just dumb to logic. Reaching out he gripped the bottom rope, eyes narrowing to piercing glares into Beowulf’s back. Why, if this is how he felt, was he so riled up over this? He didn't even get this angry over issues pertaining to him personally.

He could interfere. It would cost Leah the match, but she was already losing. He wouldn't hear the end of it though, of that he was certain. The fans would blame her too… he didn't care what they thought about him, but it would break his sister’s heart if she came out to boos and jeers, this he knew. So something else. Distractions? Maybe buy her time to get back up and gather herself.

Taking in a deep breath, he stood up straight and began to clap. Slow and steady, just audible enough for Beowulf and those behind the barrier nearest to him to hear. A droning golf clap, all for the big man in the ring. “Nice one, even I can lift her for longer than that. All those years on the juice got you feeling after shock or something?” He put on a smug face, one that came easy to him, the sort that begged to be punched… repeatedly.

“So is Tension where you came to put your career to rest? Couldn't keep up with all the newer younger talent so you came to Japan to pick on the scraps of rookies and whatever the hell else half the female roster of Tension is? Bravo. So when do you think the magic is going to die? Five matches? Ten? I give you a solid seven before the hype dies and people start talking about the glory days when you actually were “good”. That's good with air quotes if you can't make out my sarcasm without a hearing aid.”