PhDoom vs. Big Barda - Comic Book Women

Ha. Her first chair shot. Kind of a milestone, in a way.

How many times had she seen a wrestler take a chair shot? Hundreds? Heck, maybe even thousands. It seemed to happen once every program, at least. It didn't look pleasant, obviously, but the wrestlers could usually take one or two good hits before they were completely incapacitated. Then again, Barda had never seen them take a shot to the jaw like she'd just taken - the tip of the chair getting driven right into her head, and as a surprise, no less.

Barda started to sit up, shaking her head, just in time to see Doom getting over - but not in time to do anything about it. The chair came down and struck her hard in the stomach, forcing her to cry out yet again as she crawled into a ball, curling up at the pain, her muscles contracting and screaming from the torture.

After stepping back into the ring, Doom had circled Barda slowly, taking in the full view of her opponent's agony. Doom felt vindicated; the feeling of that chair, impacting against Barda's jaw, had been every ounce as gratifying as she could have ever hoped. The second strike, driving the edge of the chair into Barda's midsection, was even moreso.

Doom stood stock straight, a long, loud laugh escaping her throat as she watched Barda curl up on the mat and nurse her wounds. “Seems to Doom that you aren't holding up so well,” the punk sneered down at Barda, as she tightened her grip on the chair legs. “Would it help, perhaps, if Doom were to add sound effects? Would that make the ridiculously-overmuscled nerd a bit more comfortable, perhaps? Doom is nothing, if not magnanimous ...”

Doom lifted the chair over her head, swiftly bringing it crashing down towards Barda's back, swinging from her hips for full power. “Biff!” Doom shouted, mockingly. She knew she'd have to let up before too much longer, or risk exhausting herself swinging that heavy chair. For the moment, however, Doom was going to relish every moment of this that she could.

Barda was starting to find this woman extremely irritating.

It wasn't just the difference in comic tastes - for all the back and forth banter, Barda didn't really care all that much about comic loyalty - she would be the first to admit that DC was far from perfect. Heck, she'd almost stopped reading them altogether after Final Crisis and the debacle with Mary Marvel.

No, it was just her whole...demeanor? To put it as bluntly as possible, the woman was a childish ass.

Barda was hurt, but if Doom thought a couple of chair shots would put the kibosh on her, she was dead wrong - she had plenty of life left, and the taunting only helped. When Doom brought the chair down, Barda tried to catch it for the side with both hands, holding it tight."I think 'clang' would make more sense, but whatever..."

Doom was utterly shocked to feel the chair stopping suddenly, just shy of completing her swing. She wasn't entirely certain of where Barda had found the strength to suddenly catch the chair- had the cosplayer been faking her pain, a moment ago? Was the nerd in the body of a brick house cagey enough to play Doom in such a manner?

Regardless, Doom released the chair immediately, but continued to loom over Barda. “How dare you question Doom's choices in sound effects? The utter gall of it! Would you prefer a 'wank,' perhaps?” As she ranted further, Doom stepped forward, lifting a boot to stomp down on the top of the chair. She had hoped that, with the leverage of her position and the position of the chair, she'd be able to kick the thing into Barda's face as she passed the woman by.

Regardless of wether or not the attack was a success, however, Doom would briskly be making her way to the other side of the ring. If the classic chair shot wasn't going to do the job, Doom resolved, that was fine. There were plenty of interesting new implements of violence, just waiting for her beneath the ring apron.

Barda was expecting her to struggle for the chair, try to wrestle it free. In truth, Doom might have been able to get it off and only lose a little time over it. Barda was just barely holding onto it, and she certainly didn't have the leverage.

But instead, the bitter brawler let go, of all the things she could have done, and starting talking. Of course. "Wank, huh?" Barda snickered. "Now who's got something dirty on her-"

The stomp to her head silenced the retort, enforced by the steel chair. The other hits hadn't been pleasant, but that one knocked Barda straight and senseless. She let out a meek - for her size - cry and rolled around on the floor, the chair flopping off as she went.

She needed some distance. Needed to recover, put some space between the two of them. As Doom went one way, Barda crawled the other, trying to make her way over to the turnbuckle so she could get up and make a stand against Doom's raging offense.

Doom tried to play off her stumbling, as she stepped off of the clattering chair and away from Barda. Still, she couldn't hide her satisfaction at the strike finding its mark. This hadn't been Doom's most orthodox match, that was for certain, but the arrogant punk figured that she could at least stand tall for adapting to her situation, as she had.

Momentarily, Doom wanted to take in the sight of Barda rolling away, suffering for the power and precision of Doom's attack. Still, the educated brawler knew she couldn't afford to take glee in her opponent's pain. Too much glee, anyways. There was always time for a little glee, as a sick smile crept across Doom's face. Still, her opponent was a big woman, and it was going to take more than a few glancing chair shots to put her away, tonight.

Doom ducked low, rolling under the ring ropes to get out to the ringside area. There, she took a moment to sneer for the crowd, listening to the rumbling of disapproval that went through the audience at Doom's painfully unsportsmanlike conduct, through the match. Stopping a moment, Doom posed for the crowd, flexing, showing off her toned physique to further taunt the crowd.

Snapping back to attention, Doom ducked back under the apron, and pulled out the first thing she could find. Her hands wrapping around a large, aluminum garbage can, she rolled it out, and could barely contain her confusion and excitement. A garbage can. Why not? Picking it up off the mat, she rolled it in under the bottom rope. The entire time, Doom gave a gloating, mischievous look to Barda, hoping to taunt her with the threat of what was to come.

You would probably think a big girl like Barda would have her way all through a hardcore match. Heck, whoever set this match up was probably thinking that. Well, this whole thing was showing just how wrong that notion was. Frankly, Barda wasn't sure what she was doing. She'd trained for this match, sure, but none of that included using weapons or fighting without rules or anything like this.

Fortunately for her, Doom was true to her namesake - a big blowhard who talked too much and loved to put on a big show. Her gallivanting outside the ring bought her all the time she needed to make it to the turnbuckle and start to pull herself up, as a few sections of the crowd cheered her on. She needed the support, too. Her head was ringing something awful, still a bit dizzy, and without the ropes she wasn't sure she could manage it...but she did manage it, putting two solid feet under her as Doom got back in the ring. With a garbage can.

"A garbage can? Really?" She raised an eyebrow as she leaned back against the turnbuckle, both to look cool and for much-needed support. "You're going to hit me with your house?"

Glib aside, she knew she had to be cautious. That was an unwieldy weapon, but dangerous, all the same.

Doom rolled into the ring, following the clattering garbage can. She listened to the cheering of the crowd, relishing in it. It reminded her of her first night in AFW, listening to the cheers of the audience, celebrating Dixie Clement's managing to pin Doom. Cheers which had turned to bitter, lamenting jeers, after Doom laid the much-loved cowgirl low. As she got to her feet, Doom grinned in anticipation of hearing that same shift in the crowd's tone, tonight.

Doom took a moment to size up Barda, as she reached down to pick up the garbage can in both hands. The larger woman had gotten to her feet, and seemed to be on her way to rallying back. Doom knew she would be putting the work in, tonight, in trying to cut the bodybuilding cosplayer down to size. Still, slowly but certainly, it seemed that work was getting done. Upon hearing Barda's taunts, Doom sneered, bracing the can against herself. “Clever words, for an overmuscled nerd,” Doom said, “truly befitting the wit of one who's never read a book that wasn't mostly made of pictures ...”

With that, Doom hoisted the can over her head, took a few steps towards Barda's corner, and flung the thing with reckless force at the larger woman. It was far from graceful, far from dignified, but the metal can came tumbling at Barda relentlessly, as Doom watched to see how her opponent would react.

Barda was a little puzzled by the garbage can, despite all the posturing. Not exactly the most comfortable weapon, when you thought about. There was only one real way to bash someone with it: over the head. And since Barda's head was a good bit above Doom's head...

But Doom wasn't an idiot, despite dressing like one, so as Bard rose to her feet, she was on guard...as much as she could be after those chair shots rocked her clock, anyway. Sure enough, here diligence paid off, as Doom tried to use the stupid thing straight at her, a projectile. Dodging it was out, not with her size. Blocking it would just hurt.

So, Barda just tried to catch it in her arms and throw it right back.

Doom watched as the garbage can clattered down at her corner-bound foe, and watched it come clattering straight back. The towering cosplayer had deflected the attack quite easily, deflecting the attack from what would have been a vulnerable position for most people. Doom scattered to one side, her footwork keeping light and loose the way she'd had to do back when she competed in MMA. It'd been some time since Doom had been forced to break out that sort of footwork, and it felt good.

For once, however, there was no time for Doom to sit back and congratulate Doom (as much as Doom loved doing so). As the trash can clattered across the mat, Doom would rush forward, coming down hard and fast on her opponent, from the moment that she sidestepped the garbage can. Coming in hard, Doom would unleash a series of kicks on her opponent's impressive physique, kick after kick, knee after knee, hoping that she could break her foe down with a series of hard, relentless attacks. Barda was stronger and possibly even smarter than Doom would have given her credit for, and the bitter brawler attacked with new fervor, knowing slightly better what sort of woman she was contending with, tonight.